Without speaking, their arms slowly enfolded one another, and they huddled together, awaiting the dawn.
CHAPTER 103
The old trailer house creaked and groaned as if it might blow apart while the blizzard raged outside. The dream catcher hanging in the window jangled at the end of its string, tapping out a mysterious cadence as the trailer swayed and rocked. A low rumbling like the peal of thunder echoed in the distance, but it went unheard by the old lady on the bed. Eyes wide, she stared off into nothingness, her wispy white hair fanning out around her head.
Her breaths came quick and ragged, more panting than breathing. They grew more rapid and labored until there came a final, deep gasp followed by a long, slow exhalation.
A gossamer mist seemed to rise from her mouth as she expelled her final breath.
The dream catcher rattled against the glass and then fell still.
CHAPTER 104
Kyle woke with a start. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep or know how long he had been out, but something had awakened him.
And then he heard it—something scraping around up front.
He got up, grabbed the shotgun, and crept over to the door. As he pressed his ear against it, he listened for sounds on the other side. Nothing.
He slid the chair from under the knob and cringed as it scraped along the floor. He cracked the door and peered into the hallway. It was dark. The light from the Hummer had died sometime during the night, but a faint, lambent glow seemed to spill into the corridor from up front.
Kyle raised the shotgun and used the barrel to open the door wider. Leaning against the frame, he stuck his head out to get a better look.
He could see up the hall into the front room, where blowing snow swirled in through the open door. Something had made its way inside. His heart knocked against his chest in warning as he peered into the darkness, searching for signs of movement.
A dark, hulking form suddenly rose before him in the hall.
Kyle jumped, his finger tightening on the trigger, but something caused him to stop.
The form tilted awkwardly to one side and slumped against the far wall. It slid forward and then stumbled and fell.
As it fell, Kyle glimpsed the faint shimmer of long, black hair.
“George,” Kyle gasped, rushing forward to help him. The big Indian lay slumped against the far wall. His breathing was shallow and rapid as if he were still in shock. In spite of the long exposure to the cold, his skin was dry and hot as if fevered. His right arm hung limply from a badly mangled shoulder.
Kyle whispered urgently for Carrie, who then joined him in the hallway. As gently as possible, they helped to lever the sheriff up off the floor. He never once groaned or cried out in pain as they helped him shuffle into the storage room, where they laid him on the cot.
When he turned on the lights, Kyle found two cases of bottled water wrapped in heavy plastic on the floor below the shelves. Carrie found a pack of paper hand towels for the bathroom, ripped them open, and pulled out a handful. Kyle dampened the stack of towels, which Carrie placed on the sheriff’s brow.
Kyle trickled a little of the water into the sheriff’s mouth, careful to make sure he didn’t choke. The sheriff, still seemingly dazed, was slow to swallow at first, and a good portion of it just dribbled from his mouth and onto his chest. But then he seemed to come around a little. His eyes opened halfway. They seemed glazed and distant as he tried to speak.
“Grandmother … came to me,” his deep voice croaked. “Her spirit … guided me,” he managed before he fell silent again.
Carrie looked at Kyle, worry creasing her brow. “I think he’s delirious. What do we do?”
“It’s getting close to dawn,” Kyle said. “As soon as it lightens a little, I’ll try to find the keys to the Suburban out back, and we’ll get him out of here as fast as we can.”
A short while later, when the dark line beneath the door had begun to fade, Kyle picked up the shotgun. He wasn’t looking forward to fishing through the pockets of the dead men up front, but it had to be done. They had to get the sheriff out of there.
He slipped into the corridor, still cautious in spite of the fact that dawn had arrived. The stench of death hung heavy in the cabin, and Kyle found himself wishing he had something—even if it was a menthol cigarette—to help mask the smell.
As he made his way up front, he heard the high-pitched whine of a hard-working engine approaching. He crept to the front door, which was still ajar, and watched as a black Expedition crusted with dirty snow and ice came lurching down the roadway.
The truck slid to a stop in the middle of the road, parallel to the cabin.
On the far side, the driver’s door opened, and Mike Marasco got out. He stood there for a moment, watching the building as if looking for signs of movement. In the past, Kyle would have blithely marched out to greet him, but not anymore. Things had changed. Instead, he hung back in the shadows inside the doorway and waited. Why has Marasco come alone? he wondered. Where are the other agents?
Marasco began cautiously making his way across the snow toward the cabin. When he had made it about halfway across the open expanse, he reached behind his back and pulled a gun from under his thick coat.
Shit. Marasco must be the mole.
“That’s far enough, Marasco,” Kyle called out.
When he heard the voice, Marasco dived for cover behind one of the snowmobiles. Kyle tracked him with the shotgun, but he couldn’t bring himself to shoot. At least not yet. He just hoped his hesitation didn’t cost them all their lives.
“That you, Andrews?” Marasco called back.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“I thought so. Man, are you all right?” He tried to sound relieved when he spoke, but Kyle didn’t believe him. Something wasn’t right.
“What are you doing here?” Kyle asked. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out what was going on. Could Marasco be the mole? When he had first met him, Kyle had pegged Marasco as someone who was loyal to the calling of law enforcement; someone with honesty and integrity in spite of his abrasive nature. But then Kyle remembered Marasco had been undercover in the mob. Even though he had been working for the government, it still showed he was adept at being deceitful. He could be doing the same thing now.
“I came looking for you,” Marasco shouted. “You caused a real shit storm when you three disappeared yesterday. No one knew what had happened. Then I remembered hearing the sheriff talking with someone about a helicopter in the valley, so I figured you must have come here. I was going to come after you yesterday. But then Deputy Johnson turned up dead, and all hell broke loose.”
Clayton is dead too? Kyle felt a pang of grief over yet another death. The deputy had seemed like a kind, good-natured person.
“He was shot with the same caliber bullet that killed Lewis,” Marasco continued. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” Kyle asked, suddenly confused. Why would he think that?
And then it came to him. Kyle remembered the confrontation with Marasco at the hospital, and it all made sense. Marasco wasn’t the mole. He had come after them because he thought Kyle was the killer. Marasco intended to take matters into his own hands. It was the Jersey way. That was why he had left the other agents behind. In an odd sort of way, it was almost flattering that Marasco thought him capable of such actions.
As Kyle continued to sort things out, he realized that Clayton had been the mole. He had been killed in an effort to cover it up just like they had tried with Carrie. The fact that he had been killed with the same gun as Lewis proved it as far as Kyle was concerned. And Kyle knew Marasco wasn’t the killer. The man who had attacked him at Carrie’s motel had been much taller than Marasco. Thinking back, Kyle remembered that the deputy had seemed hesitant when the sheriff had asked him to get the phone records. And later, when Clayton had told them the phone company had turned him down, no one had checked to make sure he was telling the truth.
It all fit.
“So I put two and two together,” Marasco continued to talk. “You were there when Lewis was shot. Then you disappeared, and Clayton turned up dead. So I said to myself, ‘What better way to get rid of the girl and the sheriff than to pretend to go along with them, then bring them out here and kill them?’ I’ve got to admit … you had me fooled all along with your sympathetic act. But you made one major mistake. You should have gotten rid of me first.”
Kyle almost laughed at him. He sounded like someone from a bad cop movie.
“I didn’t kill anyone, you idiot!” Kyle called out. “Carrie and the sheriff are inside. The sheriff’s hurt—bad. He needs medical attention as fast as we can get him back.”
Kyle leaned the shotgun against the wall and stepped out into the open, his hands held high for Marasco to see. He knew he was taking a big chance, but time was of the essence. And he knew he was right.
“Just come inside, and you’ll see,” Kyle said. “Carrie’s with the sheriff in the storage room in back.”
Marasco rose from behind the snowmobile, but he kept his gun leveled at Kyle. His eyes remained narrow, a look of hatred burning in them as he stepped closer. A sick feeling swept over Kyle as he looked down the barrel of the gun. Could he have been wrong?
But then Marasco looked past him, and a broad smile slowly spread across his face. He stood up and shoved the gun into the back of his pants. Relieved, Kyle turned around to find Carrie, the sheriff leaning against her in the doorway.
*
“Aay, no hard feelings, right?” Marasco asked as they helped the sheriff to the truck.
“No hard feelings,” Kyle assured him.
“And you’re not, uh … going to mention this in your report?” Marasco continued.
“I promise. You don’t have anything to worry about,” Kyle said. He suspected the only reports being written would be one by SAC Geddes detailing the numerous reasons for his dismissal.
Carrie got in the backseat with the sheriff, who leaned against her to avoid putting any weight on his right side. Kyle couldn’t help but think about the similar situation with Lewis. It had been only thirty-six hours since they had raced him to the hospital. It had all been so surreal, like a bad nightmare.
As they pulled away, Kyle glanced out the window toward the lookout tower. The overnight accumulation of snow had obscured much of it, but the dark form at the base of the tower was still there.
CHAPTER 105
“Here you go, boss,” Carrie said as she handed Allan the paper. It was a draft copy of the latest in a series of articles she had written about the events that had taken place in Montana.
Dilbeck picked up his reading glasses, leaned back in his burgundy-colored leather chair, and propped his boots up on the corner of his desk.
Over the last week and a half, Carrie’s articles—along with the amazing photographs taken when the FBI returned to the site—had been picked up by all the major wire services, including USA Today. She had made headlines across the country. But that was just the beginning. It had been the top story on every national newscast and twenty-four-hour news outlet, including CNN, FOX, and MSNBC every day since. She had been on the morning shows of every local affiliate in Denver and had even been on the Today Show and Good Morning America to talk about her ordeal. Talk-radio stations across the country had lit up with callers as people endlessly argued the merits of GenTech’s genetic engineering program and her exposé of it. Some praised Carrie’s courage, calling her a hero, while others mercilessly blasted her as a traitor for blowing the whistle on one of the country’s confidential defense secrets. In an effort to ensure her safety, the FBI had provided her with around-the-clock protection.
While debate on the subject had waged on, the military had quietly gone in—or so they claimed—to ensure that no creatures survived. Thanks to equipment left at the scene by the first recon team—which the military vehemently denied it had anything to do with—they had been able to locate the dragon’s lair relatively easily. Three of the creatures had been found, one of which was fully grown and had been badly wounded. According to a statement released by the secretary of defense, all of the creatures had been accounted for and destroyed.
As of yet, they had not been able to determine who was responsible for sending in the first recon team. The members of that team had all apparently been highly skilled and highly paid mercenaries. None of the men identified were shown to have been actively employed by any of the national service branches. There were rumors of them having worked for something called the Terrorism Defense Agency, supposedly a covert branch of Homeland Security, but nothing had been found to validate the existence of any such agency. Unfortunately, the chances of identifying the specific entities and individuals responsible for the project had become even more unlikely as of this morning.
Anderson Colquitt, who had remained out on bail pending his arraignment, had been found dead in his home of an apparent suicide. Officials with the FBI, however, stated that there were suspicious circumstances surrounding the former general’s death and that they would be investigating it as a possible homicide.
To Carrie, it meant that the cover-up was in full effect. They would never get all the answers now.
While Allan continued to read, she looked out the door of his office. Across the room, she could still see the one-eyed plastic Ogre perched on top of Charlie’s monitor. No one had had the heart to take it down yet. It broke Carrie’s heart every time she saw it. The guilt she felt for his death was something she would never get over, and it was part of the reason she had made the decision she had. Denver held too many bad memories for her now. She needed to move on and put the events of the past few weeks behind her. The same went for her personal life. That was why she had decided to sell the rights to her grandparents’ place in Montana and why she had decided to accept the job offered to her by the Washington Post.
Allan lay down the paper and looked up at her. “The story’s terrific, hon,” he said as he pulled off his readers and tossed them on the blotter. “If you don’t win the Pulitzer, they might as well stop giving the damn thing away.”
Carrie smiled. “Not that you’re biased or anything, but thanks,” she said.
Allan’s face took on a somber look then. “So I guess this is it, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Carrie agreed. “I’ve already packed up my office. The movers should be here to pick it up in the morning.”
“We’re all going to miss you, darlin’. You sure you won’t let us take you out for drinks one last time before you leave?”
“No, I’m not much of a drinker anymore, but thanks anyway,” she said as she looked at her watch. “Besides, I’ve got to get going, or I’ll miss my plane.”
“Now where is it you’re going?” Allan asked.
“I don’t have to be in Washington until next Monday. I decided it would do me some good to get out of the country for a while, try to put all of this behind me. And I’ve had enough of the cold weather to last me the rest of my life. I figured I’d spend a few days soaking up the rays in Cabo.”
“Won’t the place be crawling with college kids?”
“Oh, I don’t think they’ll bother me where I’m going to be,” she said with a grin.
“Well, good luck, hon,” he said as he stood up. “You give those lying and cheating bastards in DC hell, you hear me? And you remember, if you ever need anything, all you’ve got to do is call me.”
“I’ll remember,” she promised as he gave her a big bear hug.
Afterward, as she was leaving the office, she could hear Allan clearing his throat behind her.
CHAPTER 106
Kyle pulled into the driveway in the midst of a typical Texas thunderstorm. Heavy rain drummed on the roof of the car, and strong wind tugged at the door as he opened it, threatening to jerk it from his grasp. Thunder rumbled overhead as he dashed up the drive to the front porch, getting thoroughly soaked in the process. He reached for t
he knob, but the door opened by itself.
Valeria Sanchez stood in the doorway. “Mr. Kyle,” she said and smiled as he stepped inside. “It is so good to see you.” She reached around his waist with her short arms and hugged him.
“Careful, Miss Vera. I’m all wet.”
She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“How have you been?” Kyle asked.
“I am good. Your mother is upstairs in bed.”
Kyle looked at Miss Vera. It was the middle of the morning. Had Janet’s condition worsened already?
Miss Vera apparently noticed his expression, for she quickly said, “No, no, she went out last night. She took her breakfast in bed this morning.”
Kyle frowned and nodded. In other words, she was hungover.
He went down the hall to the downstairs bath to dry off before he went upstairs. The last thing he needed was to piss Janet off right from the start by dripping on the carpet.
After he dried off, he went upstairs and down the hall to the large master bedroom. When he stepped into the room, he noticed that Janet had redecorated—again. She sat propped up in the bed amidst a swarm of decorative pillows. The View was currently on the flat screen television mounted above the fireplace.
She must have assumed he was Miss Vera, for at first, she didn’t look over, but as he neared, she turned in his direction. The blank expression on her face turned to one of surprise.
“Kyle, darling, you’re here. Finally,” she said in an exasperated tone. He leaned over and put his cheek against hers while he reached around her in a halfhearted hug.
A wicker breakfast-in-bed tray sat on top of the extravagant comforter. The dishes from breakfast, if she had eaten anything at all, had been cleared away. All that remained was a half-full glass of what looked like orange juice but was actually, as Kyle knew from experience, a screwdriver. He could smell the alcohol on her breath.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said, slurring the words. Whether it was from alcohol or pills, Kyle couldn’t be sure. “I can’t begin to tell you how awful things have been around here.” Apparently, she hadn’t been watching the news lately. She acted like she had no clue of what he had gone through, or if she did, she just didn’t care.
Shadow Dragon Page 39