Shoreline

by Carolyn Baugh

  Nora straightened her back and moved to follow when the sound of a gunshot exploded through the quiet.

  “Chid!” she cried.

  And suddenly Ben was pulling him back into the basement. Nora and Ben tugged on him, and Nora then leaned hard against the door, closing it again, as two more shots sent shards of wood flying through the air.

  Chid was gasping in pain. Blood gushed down his arm from the shoulder wound; his pale pink Oxford shirt was immediately saturated.

  “Chid! Chid…” Her hands soaked, Nora looked about desperately for anything to stanch the flow.

  “Fucking rifles,” croaked Chid. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

  Ben was wiggling out of his Kevlar vest and then ripped off his own shirt and used it as a tourniquet around Chid’s shoulder. Chid was grunting in pain, his face gray under the beam from Nora’s light.

  “I’ll call whoever is left to call—and get some EMS help. Where does this tunnel come out?” Ben demanded of Nora.

  “Waterworks.”

  “I’ll try to get someone to that side, too. But you have to get started—Nora, he can’t get away.” Nora was nodding, watching as Ben cradled Chid’s head, trying to keep him from fainting.

  “Peek through the bullet holes in the door, Nora. Shine your light—Check to see if the minecart Chid saw is still there.”

  She did so and then turned to him grimly. “No.”

  Ben looked at Nora and spoke very rapidly, his right hand grasping her shoulder hard. “He has a head start and firepower.”

  “Go on, I’ll be fine,” Chid rasped.

  “Just give me a second,” Ben said, ignoring Chid. “Get a head start, but look: you need me this time, don’t go it alone.”

  Nora was nodding, attempting to rise, but Ben sank his fingers deeper into her shoulder. “We have to take him alive, Nora. Otherwise his cause will martyr him. We have to expose him as a fraud. If you do shoot, you shoot from a safe distance and you aim for a leg.”

  She nodded again, and jumped up, sliding open the door carefully. She and Ben exchanged looks.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said. He had already keyed 9-1-1 into his phone and they both heard the answering voice.

  Nora shone her light down the tunnel and plunged ahead. She refused to say a parting word to Ben or to even look at him so as not to weaken her resolve. Soon she was rocketing through the dark tunnel, ears tracking the sound of the minecart far ahead.

  * * *

  The ground was uneven and made for rough going, with its challenging pattern of metal tracks and wooden planks. But she had worn the right shoes. And it was a radically different trip down this tunnel than the last time. She recalled the slow gait of the man guiding her along, her wrists tied behind her back, Pete limping painfully in front of her. She found a burst of speed at the memory, outraged anew over their abduction.

  Sweat poured down her back and into her eyes. The humidity in the tunnel was almost intolerable and she quickly found herself gasping, wishing she had stopped to drink something at some point along the way.

  There’s a lake at the end of this thing.

  Plenty of water …

  He would have a boat, she knew. There would be a boat waiting. Would there be someone in it, she wondered? Or had they all been left to fight the battle at the compound?

  She urged herself on. I have to get there before he gets to the boat. God, I hate boats.…

  And then she saw a glint of metal ahead, and the minecart came into view. Empty.

  Her steps slowed. She shone her light on the contours of the closed door in front of her.

  She cast a glance behind her, but Ben was not yet close. She pressed her ear against the door and heard the unmistakable rumble of a speedboat engine.

  She pulled gently at the door and found it did not move, so she tugged harder. It moved ever so slightly. The crack she’d made allowed for light to pierce the tunnel’s darkness, illuminating the way for Ben, she hoped. She peered out through the crack and saw Martin heaving a backpack into the forward berth of the same speedboat that had carried her and Pete to the compound. He was smaller than she’d imagined. His hair was white and rather wispy. He was struggling with the heavy pack, and his shirt was sweat-stained.

  There was no one else on the boat.

  Nora spied another backpack on the cement, waiting to be hauled onto the boat.

  Clear shot, safe distance. She aimed her gun through the crack in the door, preparing to fire. She inhaled, steadying herself.

  At that moment the door to the tunnel was kicked open, and Nora was sent sprawling backwards, her gun skittering away. She expected gunshots and rolled behind the minecart. Immediately the minecart was shoved backwards and scooted several feet, exposing her. No shots were fired. It was Goatee, advancing on her, hands outstretched.

  Why isn’t he shooting at me? she asked herself.

  All she could think of was that they didn’t want to draw attention in broad daylight to the boat that was trying to escape. She tried to glimpse her gun, but it was lost in shadow. She pulled herself rapidly into a defensive position.

  Where’s Ben?

  Goatee lunged, and Nora darted left, just out of reach of his huge arm. As she did so, she launched an uppercut into his throat. He clutched at his throat, enraged, and whirled on her. He threw a vicious punch into her midriff that knocked her against the door, slamming it shut again and throwing the tunnel back into darkness. She felt him hurtling toward her and she ducked, allowing him to crash against the door face-first.

  As she came around behind him, she planted her left foot and unleashed several front kicks to his back, hoping to find his spinal column. She could see nothing but felt her right foot connect with a satisfying thud.

  Goatee let out a loud groan just as Ben dashed around the corner. The light from his phone showed them that Goatee had collapsed on the floor of the tunnel.

  Ben skidded to a halt. “What did I say?” he demanded, looking from her to the huge man.

  “Help me pull him aside,” Nora panted. “Martin’s getting away!”

  They yanked at Goatee and shoved him aside, Ben giving him a solid kick for good measure.

  Indeed, Martin had pulled the last backpack into the boat. The moorings were untied and he was pulling away from the concealed dock.

  “No!” Nora howled.

  But Ben surprised her by running out of the tunnel and flinging himself from the dock toward the boat. It was just beyond his reach—he connected, but then slid down its fiberglass side. He had fallen almost totally into the water when his fingers caught on the small aluminum ladder attached to the back of the boat. As Martin slammed the throttle into high gear, attempting to shake him, Ben got both hands onto the ladder and began hauling himself into the boat.

  Nora watched in horror as Martin pulled his rifle from over the dashboard. “No!” she shouted again, overcome by her powerlessness.

  Ben had pulled himself into the boat, soaking, and just as Martin was taking aim, Ben tackled him, pinning him and slamming his head onto the boat’s hydroturf flooring. Gathering the older man’s wrists together, he shoved the rifle out of reach. From his position on the floor, he groped around the driver’s console; he felt for and found the throttle of the boat. Still holding Martin’s wrists with his left hand, with his right hand he yanked the throttle to the idle position.

  The boat came to rest in the calm blue water. Ben, sitting now atop Martin to keep him immobilized, looked back at Nora, chest heaving, as a cascade of sirens sluiced across the afternoon air.

  * * *

  Will Martin was slim and wiry. His eyes were as keen and penetrating as Chid’s, Nora thought. Sharp. She watched him with trepidation as Ben tugged him off the now-docked boat. Squad car doors slammed from not far off.

  Martin stood on the dock, his chest rising and falling. She saw that he was attempting composure. But he was also scared. Cornered. His gaze fell fully upon her, and she felt hersel
f cringe.

  “Ah, the plucky young escape artist, isn’t it?” he said. When he spoke, Nora heard every consonant. His words came out slowly, thoughtfully. Nothing about Will Martin seemed hurried or without calculation.

  She said nothing, only observed him, knowing that her curiosity about him was evident on her features.

  “Do you think by capturing me that you can end this?” he asked her. His eyes were blue and very, very clear.

  Ben interrupted. “I did mention already that you have the right to remain silent.…”

  Martin smiled the smile of a benevolent grandfather. “But that would prevent me from encouraging you to solve the next riddle.”

  Nora felt her whole body tense. “What do you mean next?”

  Six police officers, led by Mike Szymanowski, were barreling down the steep incline from the Waterworks parking lot. Ben, lacking a vehicle, was about to hand Martin over to them.

  “Wait,” hissed Nora. “What do you mean next?”

  Martin regarded her with his penetrating blue eyes. “Surely you do not think that this anticlimactic moment could be a suitable end to our interactions?”

  The slow elegance of his diction made Nora’s blood boil. Her own words tumbled out faster than ever in order to make up for his deliberateness. “What kind of end did you have in mind then?”

  “The countdown began when you stumbled into my brewery,” Martin said. He inhaled deeply, looking around at the cloudless sky and the softly pulsing water. After a long pause, he returned his gaze to her with a rueful smile. “Nothing remote anymore, we learned that lesson. Tick-tock.”

  Ben and Nora exchanged panicked looks.

  “Haven’t you done enough? Isn’t it enough? Call him off.”

  Martin looked at her, almost tenderly. “Oh I assure you that that is quite impossible at this point. But fear not, if you prove yourselves worthy you still might head off this final event and thwart the Fates.”

  Nora leaned in. “We all know that you are the Fates in all this. So call it off.”

  Martin threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Shrewd!” he said at last. “It would seem that I am indeed.”

  “Then register how worthy we are and call off the event yourself,” Ben interjected, shaking his charge’s arm ever so slightly.

  “There’s no drama in that, is there? No chance for heroism in a world begging for heroes.” He leaned toward Nora. “Come, little negress. I’m giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. There are enough explosives in my brewery to decimate three city blocks. Think of all the precious white lives you could save.… It intrigued me that you sorted out the last code. This one is much harder.” He tilted his head and looked at Nora, assessing her curiously. Then he said wryly, “You’ve been busy this week.…”

  She regarded him with blazing eyes. “Who says negress anymore?”

  “… subverting my plans.”

  “I wasn’t alone.”

  “Oh, believe me, this is evident. Pity we had to kill your little Indian friend. I’ll admit he performed admirably, even for a homosexual. I have been watching.”

  “Yeah, I bet you have. Do you know we found out that you’re a calculating bastard just using your little punk racist friends for your own agenda? You could care less about race war.”

  Martin laughed out loud. “What do I care about then?”

  Nora narrowed her eyes. “Not Gabriel Baker and his agenda. Not angry laid off ‘uncultured workers.’ Not alt-right bullshit. You want your lifestyle and the means to keep it.”

  Martin laughed again. The fear in his eyes had vanished, and Nora was starting to think he was actually enjoying himself. “Maybe so. You know the old adage about fools and their money.…”

  “You preyed on them,” Ben said, tilting his head.

  Martin shrugged. “They wanted to be preyed on. They thought they had finally found a leader who would raise their flag, but his own incompetence kept him from effectively keeping his promises.”

  “So you stepped in. All the funds they’d amassed gearing up for civil war…”

  “Had to go somewhere. Better me than … well. Would it have been better to send it all to David Duke?”

  “No, he’d have been far less creative,” Nora spat.

  Martin again laughed loudly. “See? You do understand. Life is art is performance.”

  “Okay, maestro. You didn’t lose your nerve this time. Nice work.”

  Now it was he who narrowed his eyes, assessing her, realizing they knew him better than he had anticipated. “Well. Since you know my motives so well, then, you’ll surely appreciate the one of redemption. A coda, if you will, to all that came before.”

  “This isn’t a game or an operatic drama. You’ve done enough. Just tell us how to defuse it,” Nora demanded.

  Martin looked on placidly.

  Mike Szymanowski looked at Ben and Nora, clearly unsure as to what to do. “I can leave you four officers for backup. What do you need?”

  Nora didn’t take her eyes off Martin. “Call Abe. Have him meet us at the brewery with his crew.”

  Martin’s face was impassive, if slightly bemused.

  Nora’s frustration surged.

  “You have to come with us,” she demanded, bringing her face close to his. When he refused to respond, she said, “Mike, you have to just march him up this tunnel with us. He has to tell us where the trigger mechanism is and how to defuse it.”

  She hated the pleading sound of her voice.

  Martin seemed to love it, though. A slow smile spread across his face. “Why would I do something like that? If you want the Ring, cursed as it is, you’ll have to earn it. Apparently the plebeians did not deserve it enough to keep it. Then again, the mass destruction really was Baker’s angle. I merely provided the packaging.”

  They all exchanged glances and then knew for certain that there could be no more discussion. Mike and Ben each yanked one of Martin’s arms, pulling him forward. Nora trailed behind, and they started pulling him toward the tunnel.

  They had not gone ten steps when they heard a crack.

  Nora looked up and was stunned to see Goatee, body half hidden by the door to the tunnel. As he retreated behind the door, he dropped his weapon, which clattered onto the cement. They all drew their guns in a single breath. As Martin crumpled, the door to the tunnel swung shut once more.

  Nora gasped, blinking, unsure she had seen what she’d seen. “What? No!” she shouted, crouching over Martin.

  Martin had not even emitted a sound; Mike and Ben raced to the tunnel door, but the heavy lock had been slammed back into place.

  Mike and Ben stepped back from the door, pelting it with bullets until the handle shattered and they could burst through.

  Ben met Nora’s eyes. “He’s dead,” she said hoarsely. “Minecart?”

  He shook his head. Swiftly he picked up the discarded gun and opened the chamber. “Empty.”

  “That’s why he didn’t shoot at me. He was saving the last bullet in case Martin was caught,” Nora said. She took a deep breath. “Back up the tunnel.”

  Ben instructed two of the pairs of officers to drive to the brewery and meet them, while the other was to accompany them on foot with Mike.

  They raced along in silence for a while, Ben and Nora in the lead, the other two struggling to keep up. The small beams of light from the officers’ flashlights seemed to nip at the agents’ heels as they ran. Nora’s desperation had left her utterly without words.

  “You think a bomb could go off overhead any minute?” Ben asked Nora breathlessly.

  She refused to answer that. “I’m so angry at that coward. I wanted him to go to prison so bad.”

  “It was never possible. Somebody like that isn’t going to be caught, Nora. It’s just not possible. If one of his followers hadn’t killed him, and I’m sure that guy was following Martin’s own instructions, he would have killed himself. There’s no risotto in prison.”

  She felt herself running a little fa
ster. “And yet he’s left us a puzzle to solve. Maybe we can solve it. Prove ourselves worthy.”

  “Or maybe we’ll die,” Ben said.

  “Maybe so.”

  “I really didn’t want to die in Erie.”

  “Oh, come on, Benjamin,” panted Nora. “Any fool can die in Philadelphia.”

  The EMTs had Chid on a stretcher when Ben and Nora reached the end of the tunnel. They were just attempting to wrestle him up the ramp and into the hall that ran underneath the brewing floor.

  “Wait,” Nora called. “We need him.”

  “Miss, he’s lost a lot of blood,” the EMT protested.

  “Well, stick some back in him,” Ben demanded.

  Chid struggled to look at them. “What’s going on? Martin?”

  “Shot through the head,” Ben said.

  “Did you see a goateed guy pass by here?” Nora demanded.

  Chid gave a gray-faced nod. “Yes. Rather huge and sweaty. I heard the minecart coming and played a very convincing corpse.”

  “Martin triggered the fuse before they left his office,” Ben said. “Another puzzle.”

  The trio of EMTs suddenly looked at Nora and Ben in a distinctly less tolerant way. “We need to get out of here now,” said the ponytailed woman.

  “You’ll get me some First Aid and get me upstairs,” Chid said in his most commanding voice. “And then you can go.”

  The entire group began running through the dark hallways.

  “It’s not supposed to be remote this time so maybe that means there’s no computer. We just have to find the trigger mechanism and talk it down.”

  “And we think there’s a possibility we can do that why?” Chid demanded.

  “Because the bad guy suggested we might be able to prove ourselves worthy and subvert the Fates,” Nora called back.

  “Holy Christ,” Chid said. “Well that’s tweaking the narrative in a radical way.”

  Ramp after ramp led them at last to the brewery floor once again. As the EMTs set the stretcher down, the front doors of the brewery burst open and Abe entered, panting, sweaty, half of his bomb suit on. He looked at them and called out, “Alright people, what’s the story?”