Sweepers

by P. T. Deutermann

  She remained absolutely still. If whoever this was had been near the flash, even behind the disrupter, his might vision would not be terrific, either. You fervently hope, she thought.

  She conjured up an image of a man standing up there in the woods, looking and listening, probably with a gun, or even that disrupter thing in his hand. Somewhere to her left, maybe fifty, sixty feet away, up the hill. There were some big trees up there, but the ground was badly overgrown.

  There shouldn’t be a clear field of vision down here-unless he has a nightvision device. She flattened herself even harder against the ground. He would be on the edge of the trees, just inside their cover, looking down the hill. Don’t move.

  Don’t even twitch.

  He was moving again. She tried her eyes; she thought she could see something now, the outline of her right hand, holding the gun. She very slowly turned her head, individual blades of grass tickling her nose, and looked up the hill.

  There, a darker shadow among the black tree shapes. Everything was still outlined in a purple halo, but her vision was coming back, although she had to loo* just to the side of objects to see them.”Me shadow moved again, going left across her field of vision, obscured now by the mound behind which she was hiding. He was staying in the trees, crossing a dozen yards of ground, until suddenly the buzz of a rattler erupted near him. The deadly sound made Karen jump. She closed her eyes and fought for control. She had never heard a rattlesnake before tonight, but there had been no mistaking it. She opened her eyes, then raised her head again to look. The shadow had stopped at the snake sound.

  Then, making no more effort to be stealthy, the figure crunched back up the hill and disappeared into the darkness surrounding the ruined house.

  Train couldn’t believe what Galantz was doing. He had ordered Sherman to move back, to crawl back over toward Train’ Then, staying in front of the strobe light, he had recounted in a cold, clinical manner how Elizabeth Walsh had died. It’s easy if you know how, Sherman. Not my first one, of course, Turn the head Sideways, then pull straight back.

  You can actually hear it. It’s like a rattlesnake: an unmistakable sound Sherman’s hands had dropped as Galantz told his story.

  Train could not read hiseyes in the strobe light, but everything in Sherman’s posture spelled total defeat.

  And her only crime was to have been your girlfriend Just like the old man: He was really your only friend, wasn’t he, Sherman? Did I get that right? Ifelt a twinge about killing the woman, but the old man-well, he was on borrowed time. I think he actually had a heart attack, when he saw my face. Not the first guy to do tffat, either. The face you gave me, Sherman. You remember, don’t you?

  The rhythm of Galantz’s voice was almost hypnotic-die strong inhalation, the stream of words through the voice box, with that wheezy harmonic.

  Sherman was shaking his head slowly, as if unwilling to hear any more of this. There was a rattle of boards above, and then the trapdoor opened and Jack came back down the steps.

  “The yard area’s clear,” he said. “Can’t tell what’s out there on the hillside. If they’re out there like you think, they haven’t moved -any closer.”

  Galantz moved to the other side of the strobe, passing directly in front of it. Train got a glimpse of his face in the reflected light. He definitely had some kind of mask on.

  Train wished he could fire a disrupter right about then. The light amplifier of a nightvision mask would really do a number on him.

  That woman is out there somewhere, Jack Your father here isn’t brave enough to come alone. Get me the flip phone. Jack went to the desk, sorted through some things, and then brought Galantz a small flat object. Train chose that moment to begin creeping very slowly along the wall, an inch at a time, toward Sherman. He didn’t have a plan, but he couldn’t bear just standing there anymore. He had gone about two inches when he sensed Galantz looking at him, and then there was a bellowing blast from the .45 and something hit the wall next to his head, stinging his face with stone splinters, followed by the sounds of a bullet ricocheting around the stone walls. Everyone in the room except Galantz ducked down instinctively, including Jack.

  Train straightened tip and put a hand up to the right side of his face.

  It was wet, the blood making a black smear in -the red light.

  “Is that like”Don’t move’?” he asked.

  “Sit still, you crazy bastard,” Jack hissed, rising from his own crouch, his tone of voice clearly intimating that Train wasn , t the only crazy bastard in the basement. Sherman had ducked his bead almost down to the concrete floor, and he was only now raising it. Galantz was talking into the phone as if nothing had happened.

  Karen waited ten minutes before moving, keeping her eyes closed to let them rest, listening hard while fighting back the urge just to get up and run full tilt down the hill. She was almost sick with worry about Train. He had to be up there, too, which gave them two hostages. But was down there on the road, with a car and a phone. Finally, she put her head up and looked: across the hillside. But there was nothing moving out there, just the stationary shapes of trees and bushes couched among the’sounds of the night insects. The rain had petered out for the moment, although the diurhp and rumble of thunder in the distance was getting more frequent. She thought about going up the hill, then quickly discarded that idea. The best thing she could do was get help, and help lay at the end of that car phone down the dirt road.

  Staying on her hands and knees, she crawled carefully down the hill, trying to remember where that damned wire was, with all its venomous voices. Another ten minutes and the undergrowth thinned out as she crept closer to the huge downed tree blocking the top of the dirt road, near Jack’s trailer. And then she froze, her skin crawling, when she heard a low, rumbling growl.

  Animal there. Big animal. Dog. Huge dog.

  She raised the gun. She couldn’t see the dog, but there was no mistaking that noise.

  Familiar noise.

  “Gutter?” she called. The rumbling stopped immediately, replaced with an eager whining noise.

  “Gutter, come,” she called, trying not to say it too loudly. The dog bounded out from behind the downed tree and ran straight to her, a hundred-pound mass of sleek, wriggling canine. She hugged the dog with more than just a little relief. She stood up and walked straight down the hill, around the fallen tree, and discovered her Explorer parked to one side. Train. She looked inside, then hurried down the path toward the trailer.

  She was pretty sure that she had heard Galantz tell someone-most likely, Jack-to bring Sherman in. So Jack’s trailer should be empty. She had to find out if Train was in there, although she was pretty sure she knew where Train really was. With the dog at her side, she wasn’t worried anymore about what might be lurking in the bushes.

  She went to the trailer and found the front door open.

  Gutter bounded inside and made a quick sweep, then started whining excitedly. So Train had been here. She followed the dog back out, but then she called him back, her heart sinking, when he started up the hill. All right. So Galantz had them both. Now, get to a phone.

  It took her five minutes to get down the hill, with only one delay when she twisted her ankle in a rut she failed to see. The darkened sedan was parked across the entrance to the dirt road, pointed uphill on the edge of Cherry Hill Road.

  But the car was empty when she peered inside. When she looked up, Hiroshi was standing up across Cherry Hill Road,

  where he had been hiding in some bushes. He cradled what looked like a sawed-off shotgun in his arms. Gutter ran across the road, wiggling a greeting to his old friend.

  “Hiroshi, thank God,” she said. “I need to get on the phone. They’ve taken Admiral Sherman. And I’m sure Train’s up there, at the top of the.hill. There’s an old ruined house up there.”

  Hiroshi trotted over, unlocking the car doors with the remote key set.

  Karen jumped in on the passenger side and powered up the phone while Hiroshi wai
ted outside with the dog, scanning the dirt road. Now, who to call? Mcnair was the obvious choice, but she hesitated. Mcnair already knew that Galantz was probably up on this hill. He had sent a message for Sherman to stay out of here. So why in the hell weren’t the woods full of cops?

  She stared down at the lighted keys on the back of the car phone’s handset, increasingly aware that critical seconds were passing, but also sure she was missing the big picture here.

  Hell with it, she concluded. I’m going to call 911, bust this thing wide open. Even better, call 911, then call the nearest television station.

  Start a media circus. But then she hesitated again. That last bit was not such a great idea. It might provoke Galantz to do-what? Shoot them both, the kid, too, and vanish? She groaned in frustration, finger poised over the keys.

  Then the windshield suddenly filled with headlights, from ahead and from behind, accompanied by the sounds of cars skidding to a stop. She was blinded by all the white light, and she heard Gutter start barking outside, but now the lights were everywhere, all pointing at high beam into the car, and then there were several men outside, shouting some tense orders to Hiroshi to drop the gun, someone else shouting about tranquilizing the dog. A large man was opening the door on the driver’s side and sliding in. Before Karen could say anything, he told her to put her seat belt on, and then he was autolocking the doors and starting up the car. -She looked frantically for Hiroshi, but he was gone, and the other cars outside were already starting to pull out.

  “Who the hell are you?” she asked, ignoring the order to put a seat belt on.

  “The cavalry, Commander. You’ve done your part; now we’re taking over, okay? Put your goddamn seat belt on.”

  He slammed the car in gear and pulled out onto Cherry Hill Road, headed uphill. It looked as if there were two cars in front and another behind.

  “But what about the admiral? And-“

  “Not your prob anymore, Commander.” The car swerved around the next curve, going up the hill at much too high a speed. Karen grabbed a handrest on the right-front door as the car almost went into the ditch.

  She decided she’d better put her belt on.

  “Who the hell are you, goddarrm it?!” she yelled, struggling with the seat belt. “Where are you taking me? What have you done with my dog?”

  “FBI,” he answered, swerving again, again almost missing the next turn.

  There was a roar of gravel from the leftrear wheel. “Goddamned road!” he yelled, looking back in his rearview mirror. The car behind had backed off to avoid all the gravel. “We’re handling the secondary. Another agency is working the primary. That there’s a kill zone, lady, back on that hill. Our orders were to pick up you or anyone else who came back down that hill. The dog’s okay; they’ve just tranked it. This guy Galantz-he’s got von Rensel?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “He was a good man. Too bad.” The two cars ahead were slowing down now that they were well away from the dirt road. “Too bad? “Was’? What’s going to happen up there?”

  He didn’t answer her, concentrating on the road. She repeated the question. He still didn’t answer, but he looked over at her for an instant, and she was shocked to read sympathy in his face. She faced forward then, realizing now that Sherman, Train, and Jack had all become expendable.

  Someone was going to solve the rogue operative problem once and for all, and any bystanders be damned. The cars up ahead were slowing down even more, apparently preparing to turn off into a large driveway that was visible up ahead on the right. The car behind them had already pulled over, its emergency flashers going. The “secondaries” were going to wait here until the “primaries” had finished whatever was planned up on the hill.

  A decision crystallized in her forebrain like a bright sunrise. She didn’t give it a second thought, just like when Jack had run his mouth.

  She pulled the .380 out of her right pocket, pointed it right in front of the driver’s face, and blasted tworounds through his side window, sending the rounds about one inch in front of the big man’s nose. The window exploded.

  With a shout of fear, he slammed on the brakes, bucking up against the wheel as he did so, because he had not put his seat belt on. She fired again, this time behind his head, screaming at him, “Stop the car! Stop the car. Now, get out! Get out of the goddamn car! Now! Do it!”

  She fired once again just past his head. The man was white-faced and screaming back at her, a series of

  “Hey!

  Hey!” and then he was babbling incoherently. She could barely see in all the gunsmoke, but he got the car stopped, and then he was pushing the door. open and rolling out onto the pavement, still yelling as he scrambled away from the car’s rear wheels as it continued to roll forward. Karen unsnapped her belt and grabbed the wheel to pull herself into the driver’s seat. She slammed the door and pulled the big car around in a tire-screeching U-turn, the right-front tire banging off the culvert. She caught a glimse of the terrified agent rolling into the ditch, and then she was blasting back down the hill, nearly losing control as she floored it.

  She had to stomp on the brakes-thank God for antilocks-to maintain control through the first curve, ignoring the flare of headlights and taillights from the chase car that had pulled out of her way. Goddamn them! Goddamn them!

  Absolutely typical. They’d lost control of one, of their supergoons, and now innocent people had to die so they could cover up their latest mess.

  The whole thing had been a setup, right from the beginning. Goats staked out in the jungle, that’s all they had been. Bait for the tiger-Galantz.

  She saw the white blur of the trash piles just in time to slam on the brakes. She barely made the hard left turn onto the dirt road. There were more lights behind her now, but she didn’t care. She had no plan, no idea of what she was going to do up there, but she was god damned if she was going to let them just nuke the place to get Galantz. She blasted bags of trash all over the entranceway as she made the turn, and the big car’s V-8 screamed when she lost traction momentarily in one of the ruts, but then she was banging up that hill, accelerator mashed flat down. The car flew past the bikers’ trailer, went off the road into a stand of small trees, and then back onto the road briefly before swerving off on the other side. She fought the car’s wheel viciously, then realized she still had the accelerator mashed all the way down.

  Control, she thought. Control-slow the hell down!

  The car fishtailed three or four times as she took her foot off the gas, and then it settled into a banging, bumping track up the dirt road, until she finally saw the big dead tree.

  Again, she didn’t hesitate. She hauled on the wheel and drove off to the right, around the tree, fishtailing again in the bushes; except this time, the rightrear wheel hit a soft spot and started spinning helplessly. She banged her fist on the wheel and gunned it, but it was over. Her headlights were pointed directly up the hill, unnaturally high. She cursed the hill, the car, the FBI and every other government agency she could think of, and then shut the car down, tears of pure frustration in her eyes.

  After a minute, reality settled onto her shoulders like a cold, wet towel. What the hell was she doing? She was a Commander in the Navy, a commissioned federal officer, an officer of the court. She had shot at an FBI agent, driven through a law-enforcement cordon, and now what?

  Going to charge up San Juan Hill here guns blazing, like Teddy Roosevelt? And accomplish what, exactly?

  She suddenly felt a wave of nausea sweep through her as’ the adrenaline, started to crash. She punched off the headlights and opened the door. A small cloud of gunsmoke puffed out of the car, along with a few shards of glass from the shattered window. She reached over for the .380 and wondered if there were any rounds left. She swung her legs sideways and sat with her head down, half in, half out of the car, holding the smooth steel of the automatic against her belly and taking deep breaths of rain-cool air. She never heard the man who stepped out of the woods unti
l he called her name.

  She looked up in shock. It was Mcnair, walking carefully through the rain toward the car, his hands held out at his waist, one eye on her face and the other on that .380.

  “Commander Lawrence? Karen? It’s me, Mcnair.”

  She stared dully at him. He was dressed in khaki pants, a white shirt under a dark bulletproof vest covered by a khaki windbreaker, and what looked like combat boots. He had some kind of automatic weapon strapped across his back, the barrel just visible over his right shoulder. He wore a khaki baseball cap on his head. He stopped a few feet from the car and showed her his hands, wiggling his fingers to make sure she saw they were empty. But his left hand wasn’t quite empty, there appeared to be a flip phone in it.

  “Commander?” he said again in a soft voice … “We okay here? This is just a phone, okay?”

  She”Stared at him, her fingers closing unconsciously over the automatic in her lap. He saw her hand move, and he stopped short, his eyes locked on the .380.

  “What’s going on up there?” she spat. “And who and what the hell are you, Mcnair?”

  He nodded slowly, acknowledging that he had some explaining to do. She was dimly aware that there were cars andsome flashing blue lights down at the base of the hill, although they did not seem to be coming up. She had to wipe her eyes, but she never took them off Mcnair.

  “I know, I know,” he.said. “But look, there isn’t much time. He’s holding Sherman and von Rensel. The kid’s in there, too. Galantz is offering a deal.”

  “A deal? A deal!” She shook her head to clear the sudden wave of fatigue sweeping over her, compounding the nausea. “What the hell are you talking about, Mcnair?

  Aren’t you people about to drop a bomb or something up there?” He took a step closer. “We will if we have to,” he said, his voice a lot less solicitous now. “But he says he’ll come out–on one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “You have to go in. He says he needs you as a witness.”

  “A witness? To what? And if I don’t? I mean, why the hell should I put my life in that killer’s hands again? Or yours, for that matter? I can’t trust him, and I sure as hell can’t trust you people, can I? You get us all in there, then drop your bomb or whatever it is you’re planning, and all the potential talkers are in the grave, right?”