The edge of the forest was just a few feet behind the shed. We'd only gone a few feet through the dense underbrush when she dropped his arms. "I can't," she said, panting.
"This is far enough." The body couldn't be seen from the house, with the shed in the way.
Then I began rummaging through his vest, grabbing all the spare ammo I could find. He had an extra couple of magazines in one of the pockets, already loaded.
We stood behind the shed. Her face was shadowed.
Her lipstick was smeared and her face was scratched and tear-stained. It broke my heart. Gently, I put a hand up to her face and wiped away her tears, the smudged makeup. I wanted to feel the satin skin of her face. She closed her eyes, seemed to respond to the consolation in my touch.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded, began sobbing again.
"Ali." I stroked her hair.
"Who the hell are you, Landry?" she whispered.
69
There isn't any time," I said. "Any second, Russell's going to realize we're both missing. If he hasn't already. We'll talk some other time. Right now I need your help."
She asked all sorts of questions, her mind firing on all cylinders.
"'Close of business today' has to refer to close of business in Europe," she said. "Liechtenstein. Which is, if I remember correctly, next to Switzerland. Nine hours ahead of us. If their banks keep the same hours as our banks, that means Russell probably can't transfer funds after seven in the morning here."
"Did you notice a clock in the game room?" I asked.
"No. But sunrise here is around five A.M. this time of year-I remember going over the schedule. So it's maybe four thirty. The other thing is that he has to wait for our bank in New York to open. Around nine, I'd guess-six o'clock here. So he has one hour to make everything happen."
"And we have about an hour and a half."
"You know what's strange about this whole thing?" she said at last.
"What?"
"Think about how well briefed Russell seems to be. How well prepared. How much he knows about the company."
"He has a source inside the company," I said. "Has to be."
"But do you think it's possible he's actually working for someone inside Hammond?"
I was silent for a moment. "That's what that guy Wayne said, only I didn't quite get what he meant. I asked him who hired them, and he said, 'You did.' Meaning Hammond, I'm guessing."
"Someone here?"
"Possibly."
"But for what?"
"Good old embezzlement, maybe."
"Not so easy these days," Ali said. "Not since Enron, anyway. Too many people looking at the books."
"So if you want to steal a load of money, you've got to get creative, right?"
"I suppose so. Not my area of expertise. But why do something like this-a kidnapping? Why hire Russell and his men to try to pull off something so big and messy and downright risky?"
I nodded. "Only one reason, I figure. If you're trying to make people think it's something it's not."
"I don't follow."
"That's the thing that's been bothering me about this kidnapping-how obvious it feels. How…I don't know, almost staged."
"Staged?"
"You ever hear of something called an autosecuestro?"
She shook her head.
"Happens in Latin America from time to time. It's a staged kidnapping. A self-kidnapping. People fake their own kidnapping, to raise money from insurance companies or employers. Even from their own family members."
"A hoax, then."
"Of a sort."
"But…what kind of massive greed would make someone do something so insane? All this bloodshed."
"Maybe the murders weren't supposed to happen. Maybe Russell's just out of control. And maybe it's not greed."
"Then what?"
"Maybe desperation."
"Huh?"
"Look at all the guys on our management team-they're not reckless types, right? Greedy, sure, some of them. No doubt. But they're not motivated by the big score."
"So what would drive them to do something like this?"
"Fear."
"But who?"
I shook my head.
"Maybe the question to ask is, who had the chance to meet with Russell privately?" she said.
"We all did, right? When he did his 'interviews.'"
"But when problems came up, when decisions had to be made-whoever hired Russell would have had to talk to him in private. So he'd need a way to do that without the rest of us noticing. An excuse."
"Anyone who asked to use the bathroom could have talked secretly with Russell, and we'd never have known it."
"And Upton Barlow asked a bunch of times," I said. "Because of his prostate problem. And Geoff Latimer, with his diabetes."
"Did you know he was diabetic?" she said.
"I never met the guy before today. Though I did see syringes in his suitcase."
"The weird thing is, when I was working in HR, I never saw any medical claims from Latimer that had anything to do with diabetes."
"Geoff Latimer? Get real. Of all the guys here, Latimer strikes me as the least likely to do something like this. And besides, who's more loyal to Cheryl?"
"And she's loyal right back. Like that crap that Bodine's threatening to bring before the board about how Slattery was pushing to strengthen computer security and she turned it down?"
I remembered Slattery saying he could wire as much money as he wanted to out of Hammond's treasury from a laptop at a Starbucks. "What about it?"
"You saw the way she took the fall for it."
"Took the fall? I thought it was her fault."
"That's Cheryl. 'The buck stops here' and all that. She was persuaded not to implement Slattery's plan-by one of her most trusted advisers."
"Geoff Latimer," I said, and stopped.
70
The night sky was still blue-black and clear and crowded with stars, but a pale glow shimmered at the horizon.
We raced around the back of the lodge, staying low to the ground. Ali took Verne's stubby little Smith & Wesson revolver because it was small and fit her hand, and she was frightened of semi-automatics. I kept the Ruger.
I stashed the SIG-Sauer to use as a backup, just in case we needed it.
Tucked away in the trees behind the lodge was the maintenance shed. It was a rustic old structure, weathered and shingled. The paint on its door was peeling. An ancient brass padlock on a rusted steel hasp secured the door. It was unlocked, though; it came right open, just as the manager had said it would.
Inside was the overpowering odor of oil paint and insecticide and gasoline.
The floor was old plywood. I closed the door behind her, clicked the flashlight on, and set it down on a bench. It illuminated a circle against the shelving on one wall, casting the cramped interior in a dim amber light.
I unclipped Buck's handie-talkie from my belt and switched it on, dialed up the volume. It was still on channel 5, the one Russell's men had been using.
But channel 5 was silent, transmitting only a thin static hiss.
"They could have switched channels, right?" Ali said.
"Or they're not using it. I want you to monitor this, okay? Listen for anything that might tell us what they're doing. And keep that gun in your hand."
"Where are you going?" She sounded alarmed.
"I want to see where Russell and his brother are."
"Why?"
I gave her a level glance. "If they're in the screened porch, I might be able to take them by surprise."
"Take them…?"
"Shoot them, Ali. Take them down. One or both."
"Jesus, Landry!"
"Will you be okay in here?"
"You're worried about me?"
"Can you fire the revolver if you have to?"
"I know how to use a gun."
"I know you do. I'm asking if you can bring yourself to do it."
She inhaled deeply. "If
I have to," she said. "I think so."
The first surprise was the porch: No one was there. It was dark and empty.
The second surprise was the game room, where the wooden blinds had been drawn. They'd been open all night, though the windows had been shut. With the blinds down, I couldn't risk firing.
That meant they knew we were out here. They'd taken precautions.
Dropping to the ground, I waited about a minute, listening for any movement, waiting to see whether I noticed anyone looking out. When I was fairly certain I wasn't being watched, I got to my feet and ran back to the shed.
Standing outside the closed door, I said in a low voice, "It's me."
The door came open slowly. Ali stood there, revolver in her hand, looking like a natural. Her eyes were questioning, but she said nothing.
I went in, shut the door behind me. "They know," I said.
"They know what?"
"That I'm out here. Maybe that you are, too, by now."
"How can you be sure?"
I explained.
"So what does that mean?" Ali said. "What are we going to do?"
"We go to Plan B. I'm going to shut off the generator. Which will do two things."
"They can't wire the money without power," she said.
"Exactly. And unless I splice the cable back together. Which means they're going to have to cooperate if they want the funds. It'll also disorient them. And in the confusion, I'm going to try to get back inside without being noticed."
"Inside? For what?"
"To get the others out. Meanwhile, I want you to stay here and see if you can find a heavyweight bolt cutter."
"For the Zodiac," she said.
I nodded.
"If there was a bolt cutter here, you'd have grabbed it already, Landry. I know what you're doing. You want me to stay here."
I hesitated for barely a second. "Right," I admitted. "I don't want you out there if they start shooting."
"Yeah, well, I'm not staying inside here. I want to do what I can."
"The best thing you can do is stay alive. If anything happens to me, maybe you can get help. Maybe there's a rowboat down there you can take."
"Don't lie to me, Landry. If there were a rowboat, you'd have mentioned it already."
She knew how my mind worked, of course. "All right," I finally said. "But at least wait here until the power goes out. Keep a watch on the house." I edged the door open a bit and looked out. A faint glow was visible in the kitchen window. "When you see the generator shut down, run over to the kitchen entrance."
Then I thought of something. I swept the walls with the flashlight. Tools hung in perfect rows on Peg-Board or on hooks on the wall. Cans of paint and paint thinner and plastic bottles of garden chemicals and hose-end sprayers lined the narrow wooden shelves. Motor oil and dry gas and spare spark plugs on another shelf. Piles of stuff on the floor, the only thing out of place.
Neatly folded on a shelf next to the paint cans, I found something that would work: a canvas drop cloth. I shook it open, then took out Buck's knife and sliced a long rectangle.
"Could you lift up your skirt?" I said.
She looked at me curiously, then got what I was doing. She pulled up her skirt. I positioned the little Smith & Wesson revolver on her thigh, then wound the canvas strip around both the gun and her thigh, just tight enough to secure the weapon in place: a decent makeshift holster.
"I wouldn't mind an explanation," she said.
I pulled the skirt back in place. The gun was still visible through the fabric, so I made a few adjustments, repositioning the revolver closer to the inside of her thigh, where it no longer protruded.
"Element of surprise," I said. She nodded.
"Try it," I said. "Make sure you can do it fast if you need to."
While she practiced, I ran the flashlight up and down the walls, shined the beam on the piles on the floor.
Noticed the crates that didn't belong here.
A cache of spare ammo, it appeared. Russell's men had brought the crates in with them and stashed them out of sight. No firearms that I could see, though.
Then my eyes were caught by several red cylinders about the size and shape of Coke cans. Black markings on them: AN-M14 INCEN TH
"This stuff is theirs?" she asked.
"Right."
"So what are they?"
"Thermite hand grenades."
"Hand grenades?"
"Thermite. Incendiary."
"What for?"
"The Army uses them to burn things down fast. Much faster than splashing gasoline around, and a whole lot hotter."
"My God. You think that's what they're planning to do before they leave? Toss in one of those? Burn the lodge down with everyone inside?"
"That's my guess, yes. But not until the funds go out."
"Which he can't do until the power goes back on. And you fix the satellite cable."
"Exactly."
"Landry," she said. "These grenades. Are they something-we could use?"
"Maybe." I was quiet for a few seconds while I thought about it. And then I explained how.
"I'm going out," I said. "You sure you want to do this? If you're at all-"
"Of course I'm scared," she interrupted. She attempted a brave smile. "But don't worry about me. I'll deal."
"You always do," I said, and turned to leave. "I'll meet you at the back of the lodge. As soon as you see the lights go out."
"Landry," she said. "Make sure you come back."
71
The door to the generator shed was unlocked, of course. Inside it was hot, smelled of machine oil; the floor was a concrete slab.
I panned the flashlight across the gray sheet-metal acoustic enclosure around the generator: a Kubota eighteen-kilowatt. It ran quiet, with only a muffled thrumming.
I flipped open the generator's control panel door and studied the array of knobs. There was a power knob, a fuel valve, various gauges and digital indicators.
The two-way radio, clipped to my belt, chirped.
I froze, listened. Heard nothing.
Turned the volume up.
That was the sound of someone pressing the transmit button. But no voice followed. As if someone had started to transmit, then changed his mind. Or maybe hit the button by accident.
I turned back to the control panel. Just shutting the power off wouldn't do much good. It might throw Russell and his brother into momentary confusion, maybe even flush them out of their sheltered positions.
But just as likely it would heighten their paranoia. Russell would summon Peter the handyman, who'd try the remote start switch inside the lodge. Which wouldn't do it.
The fuel knob, though: There was an idea. Turn off the power, let the engine die, then close the fuel valve and wait a minute or two. When the power switch was turned back on, the fuel valve, too, everything would look normal. But the generator still wouldn't work.
They'd flip the remote start switch, and the generator's starter motor would turn over and over like an old car on a subzero morning. Maybe Russell would send the handyman out to deal with it. Probably accompanied by Travis, to make sure the handyman complied. Travis, of course, would be armed-they knew I was out here, too.
It would take the handyman a long while to figure out what I'd done-he'd check out the control panel, find all the knobs on, everything in the right place. A bafflement. And meanwhile, Russell would be desperate: No power meant no way to get what he'd come for.
The radio chirped again. I stopped.
"Jake."
Russell's voice, tinny and flat from the transmission.
"Time to come back inside," he said.
I stood still. Don't answer, don't let him know you can hear him.
In the background, frenzied shouts.
But Russell's voice remained calm. "I know you're out there, Jake. You really should come back. Your girlfriend's worried."
72
I switched off the flashlight. Turned the HT's volume down, no
t off. The generator remained on.
I pushed the shed door open slowly, looking to either side.
No movement out there as far as I could see.
Keeping in the shadows, I crept along the perimeter of the yard, around the back toward the maintenance shed, where I'd left her.
Even in the gloom, at a distance, I could see the shed door open, the light on inside.
She wouldn't have left the door open and the light on. She wasn't that careless.
I took a few more steps, scanning side to side, alert for any movement.
The shed was empty. Ali was gone.
The radio chirped. "It's over, Jake. She's right here. Hey, remember that Glock 18 you know so much about? Well, she's about to learn even more about it. Firsthand. The best way."
A second or two of silence, then a female voice, a torrent of words, loud and frantic and distorted.
"DON'T DO ANYTHING HE SAYS STAY OUT THERE STAY SAFE DON'T DO WHAT HE SAYS-"
I almost didn't recognize Ali's voice. I'd never heard that kind of fear in her voice before.
I grabbed the Motorola, but at the very last second willed myself to stop.
Don't answer.
He won't do anything until he knows I can hear him. Otherwise, for all he knows, he's talking to dead air.
Don't answer.
Russell's voice cut off her cries. "You don't want to test me, Jake. You know what I'll do. All I want is for you to come back inside."
He paused. I kept silent.
"Once we do the transfer, you and your girlfriend and all your colleagues here can go home," he said. "But if you don't get back in here-well, it's your choice. Like I say, you always got a choice."
73
The screen door hissed as I pulled it shut.
The hall was dark, but light poured out of the open door of the manager's office.
I approached silently. Even before I saw who was sitting at the desk, I caught the faint sweet trace of his Old Spice.
Geoff Latimer looked up, startled, then his face slackened in astonishment.
"Roomie," I said.
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