Requesting the bio-break had proved to be one of those “be careful what you ask for” moments for Pebbles. Even though he’d agreed to her request, it hadn’t been an easy task for either of them. Given the extent of her injuries, and the hours-long incarceration in the trunk, it had been a painful and awkward process to remove her from the cramped chamber — a process made more difficult by his refusal to remove her blindfold or the binding around her wrists. This same refusal also meant a rather humiliating joint effort had been required for her to accomplish the rest of the deed.
But she had learned a few valuable tidbits from the experience that might prove useful later. The first and most important — she had been able to put some weight on her injured leg, enough weight that she could stand when she leaned against him or the car. She also learned she was taller than her captor, and he wasn’t as strong as she expected. He’d had difficulty balancing her weight when he helped lower her into a squatting position. She hadn’t been pleased with how long he’d left her leggings rolled at her ankles after lifting her back up, but at least he hadn’t groped her.
Back onto the road they went. Soon, the drone of the tires lulled Pebbles back to sleep.
Ticonderoga, New York
It took four minutes to reach the perimeter roadblock…or what was left of it, for the gauntlet of police vehicles was now a burning heap of twisted metal. Jack told the driver to halt. He flung the passenger door open and jumped out. In the back of the vehicle, one of the SWAT officers opened the rear gate, and Jennifer followed the two men out the door and into the street. Jennifer hid by the side of the vehicle while Jack sent the two men ahead.
As Jack instructed the driver to hold the road, Jennifer dashed past him. The movement caught his attention and he shouted after Jennifer. “Hey, where in the hell do you think you’re going?”
Jennifer didn’t answer. She just kept running. Ahead, the scene she encountered was surreal. With the exception of two cars parked on the street, fires raged everywhere in the cul-de-sac. Anything that could be ignited had been ignited — trees, houses and cars left in driveways were all ablaze. Even the house Muran had supposedly occupied was engulfed in flames. Jennifer followed the two SWAT officers as they took cover behind a vehicle that had escaped Muran’s fury. Jennifer could hear urgent cries for medical assistance coming from the blackness beyond the fires. Just as Jack arrived at the vehicle, the rat-a-tat of automatic gunfire sounded out. Over his radio, a voice called out, “Suspect’s on the move. In pursuit.”
“What direction? Which way is she headed?” Jack demanded, yanking the chest protector microphone close to his mouth.
“South. Into the woods at the edge of the lake. To the right of the house she came out of,” answered the voice.
For the next few minutes, Jack took control over the chaos. He told the small force trailing the suspect to hold in place while he sorted out the situation. He called up the armored vehicle and stationed it in the center of the cul-de-sac’s circle and instructed his team members scattered around the perimeter to rally to him at the armored vehicle for a quick debrief.
One of Jack’s team leaders was the first to arrive. Jennifer could see the hardened veteran was badly shaken as he relayed the details of the encounter. “Everyone was holding in position, then bam! Lightning bolt comes shooting out of an upstairs window and blows the helicopter out of the sky. I gave the order to fire…and then all hell broke loose. Boat blew up, and then lightning was shooting everywhere...Jesus, Major, it was a total clusterf——!”
As the team leader recounted his story, Jennifer realized Muran had more than Dreylaeks at her disposal. There was no way a pair of Dreylaeks could do the kind of damage described. She had a Flash Stone, a Tuliskaera as the Munuorians called it.
When the man finished his summary, Jack laid out a plan of action. He organized the dozen men who made it to the armored vehicle into three teams. Two of the teams, Alpha and Beta, he sent to take positions at the edge of the woods. Once there, they were to await his arrival, and then together with team Gamma already hunkered at the woods, they would fan out in sectors and scour the woods. Jack denoted the last group of men gathered at the BearCat as team Delta. He instructed Delta to secure the perimeter, search for wounded and missing officers and evacuate them from the area.
After giving the assembled teams the order to move out, Jack radioed back to the command post and gave a terse rundown to Superintendent Dunsmore. He requested another helicopter to aid the search, and more boats. The superintendent told him they were en route already. They discussed bringing in fire and rescue personnel, but Jack told him the situation was too fluid at present. Jack said they would triage their own wounded as best they could while they worked to secure the perimeter. Once cleared, they would call in fire and rescue.
Jack ended radio transmission, dipped his head down and wiped his brow. Looking back up, he turned to Jennifer and said, “Guess she’s got more range with the Stones than you thought.”
“She didn’t do this with Dreylaeks,” Jennifer said. “She’s got another weapon with her. One you don’t want to f— with.”
“I don’t care if she’s got a f—ing rocket launcher, we’re going after her.” Jabbing a finger into her shoulder, he said, “You need to get out of here. When the wounded get evac’d, you go with them. Until then, get inside the BearCat and stay put.”
“Listen to me! If she’s in those woods and she uses it, you’re toast. It’s a trap. Don’t do it.”
He turned and ran to join his men without a reply. Jennifer swore under her breath, climbed into the armored vehicle’s driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. While she gripped the steering wheel and peered through the bulletproof glass for signs of activity, she listened to updates over the BearCat’s police scanner.
She heard the command post inform Jack that two helicopters were expected on scene within minutes, and the Lake George Marine Patrol had four more boats on the way. In a near whisper, Jack advised the command post of his search plans. “I’m sending team Alpha southeast along the shoreline to cut off an escape to the lake. Team Beta will go southwest through the woods in case she makes for Route 9N or tries to double back to the cul-de-sac. Team Gamma will head due south through the center of the woods.”
Jennifer spied a map the driver had left on the dashboard. She opened it to follow along with the coordinated search plan.
She listened again as the command post acknowledged Jack’s search plan and relayed that troopers had been dispatched to surveil a ten-mile stretch of Route 9N. They also proposed devoting one of the choppers to support team Alpha’s search of the shoreline until the boats arrived, while directing the other to concentrate its searchlights on the woods. Jack agreed with the proposal and suggested dedicating two of the incoming boats for search and rescue of survivors from the earlier helicopter and boat explosions. He proposed platooning the remaining two boats to monitor the lake and shoreline.
Jennifer saw on the map that they’d covered all the possible exit routes. If Muran went east, she’d hit the lake. Without a boat, she’d be a sitting duck in the water. If she tried to double back to the north in a direct line or by curling to the west first, she’d run into one of the SWAT teams. If she tried to cut through the woods to reach the only other road in the area, Muran would be squeezed between the SWAT teams and the troopers on Route 9N. With helicopter support above and boats on the water, Muran was trapped.
She won’t surrender, Jennifer thought. If they corner her, Muran will kill anyone and everyone she can before they put her down. Leaning back against the headrest, Jennifer put aside the map and closed her eyes. She flexed her bandaged hands, aware of the stinging appendages for the first time since leaving the command post. She tried to remember if she had a bottle of enjyia in her tote bag or if she had left it in her Burlington hotel room.
“Crap!” she said, remembering her tote bag was sitting in Colonel Springer’s SUV. Her cell phone was in the tote as well, she
realized, along with her Breylofte. “Double crap!”
The Breylofte would have come in handy if she had run into Muran. The woofer-shaped Stone had a longer range than the Dreylaeks and an air blast from it would have been harder to detect in the darkness. Opening her eyes, Jennifer stared out the window at the orange glow from the surrounding fires and reconsidered the thought. The Breylofte would have been useless in a fight against a Tuliskaera, she concluded.
Focusing her eyes on the scattered fires around the cul-de-sac, Jennifer noticed they were close to linking up into one sprawling inferno. A blaze that would soon spread to the woods, cutting off Jack and his men’s retreat if confronted by Muran. She glanced at the side mirrors and realized the fires would also soon cut off the road into the court, making it difficult to rescue Jack’s wounded men. The thought caused Jennifer to wonder why team Delta hadn’t returned with any injured officers yet. The houses ringing the lakeside cul-de-sac were no more than a hundred yards from the BearCat, so it should have been a quick round-trip for at least a few of the searchers.
Jennifer exited the BearCat and looked toward the houses, shielding her eyes from the glare of the fires. Inside the SWAT truck she had been insulated from the heat of the fires, but now that she was standing outside, she felt their full intensity. Panic rose within her, as did the sense of urgency to leave the cul-de-sac.
With Jack occupied in the woods and no other officers on-site, Jennifer debated using the BearCat’s radio to request a status update from team Delta and to request fire and rescue assistance from the command post. She knew Jack would be pissed with her interference in his operation, but she wasn’t keen on roasting alive either. She climbed back in the BearCat and grabbed the scanner microphone. “Team Delta, this is BearCat One, what’s your status?”
There was no answer, just static. “Repeat, Team Delta, this is BearCat One, what’s your status? Fire’s getting out of hand here. We need to evac ASAP.”
Jack’s voice sounded over the intercom. “Gamma leader to Delta leader. Sit rep.”
Again, no answer. A queasy feeling formed in Jennifer’s stomach. Had Muran slipped back through the SWAT teams’ line? She anxiously scanned the cul-de-sac again, as she heard Jack more forcefully demand an update from team Delta. When none came, Jennifer popped the BearCat into gear and turned the truck around. The road leading out was now blocked by a wall of fire.
“Just frickin’ great!” she said. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other clutching the scanner microphone, Jennifer revved the engine and announced, “Gamma leader. Fire’s out of control. Team Delta unresponsive. I am out of here.”
As she started down the lane, Jack answered, “Ten-four, BearCat One.”
Gritting her teeth, Jennifer tossed aside the microphone and floored the accelerator. As she sped toward the wall of fire, she spat out, “This thing better be fireproof!”
With a loud whoosh, the armored truck pierced through the fire. Inside the truck, Jennifer gasped and shut her eyes as blinding flames coated the hood and windows. Though it only took three seconds for the BearCat to punch through, the roaring sound of the fire seemed to last an eternity. As the back end of the truck cleared the fire, the rear wheels hit something hard enough to cause the truck to lurch to the right. Jennifer’s eyes flew open as the BearCat bounced over the curb. She slammed on the brakes, but not fast enough to avoid clipping a tree on the side of the road.
In her haste to escape, Jennifer had neglected to strap into the seat harness. When the truck hit the tree, her body launched forward. Her abdomen slammed into the steering wheel just before her face hit against the windshield. The truck spun to a stop on the side of the road. Jennifer, dazed and bleeding, slumped onto the center console and passed out.
Back at the command post, a muffled ping sounded from inside Jennifer’s tote bag. She wouldn’t see the message until the following day, when she would be reunited with her bag at the hospital. The text was the first in a series of frantic messages Anlon would leave. It read, “Call me ASAP. Pebbles is missing! Police think she was shot. I’m on my way back to Tahoe.”
Ludlow, California
Pebbles awoke to a hand squeezing her shoulder. “Wake up!”
As her senses stirred, she noticed the aroma of fried food and the sound of music nearby. She felt the man’s hands jerking at the binding around her feet. He whispered, “Time to get you out. No funny business, understood?”
She nodded and he continued with his instructions. “We need to do this quick. It’s less than ten feet to get inside. Do not — I repeat, do not — attract any attention. Got it?”
The command nearly made Pebbles laugh. Here he was, pulling a bruised and bloodied woman from a trunk. A woman restrained, blindfolded and gagged. And he was worried about her attracting attention?
Standing beside her with his arm around her shoulder, he guided Pebbles up onto a curb, then across a small sidewalk, over a door sill and into a carpeted room. To Pebbles’ bare feet, the carpet felt coarse and greasy. She heard him shut and lock the door, and then he led her to a bed and eased her onto it. It creaked in several places as she stretched out on it. Though the mattress was thin and lumpy, it was heavenly compared to the trunk. The aroma she noticed outside was stronger in the room. It was a familiar smell. Fried chicken, perhaps? Whatever it was caused her mouth to water.
The music she had heard moments earlier had apparently come from a television in the room. It had been a cheery commercial jingle that had since ended and had been replaced by a voice-over promotion for a news broadcast. “The latest on today’s bizarre robbery in New England coming up at the top of the hour. Stay tuned for live coverage from—”
The television clicked off. She heard a bag rustle and the creaking of what she supposed was another bed. Her captor said, “Hungry?”
She nodded.
He maneuvered her legs to the floor and raised her torso into a sitting position. After he unpeeled the tape across her mouth and removed the rag, he hand-fed her strips of fried chicken and french fries. In between portions, he held a straw to her lips through which she sipped cola. Pebbles ate and drank with gusto, and the carb-dense meal quickly filled her empty stomach. When he deemed her feeding complete, he told her to lie down.
“If it’s all the same, I’d rather sit,” she said.
“Suit yourself,” he said. The bag rustled again, and Pebbles heard him start to chew.
While he ate, Pebbles remained silent and took stock of her injuries. The burning sensation in her calf had been replaced by a dull throb, which struck her as odd, given that her lower leg felt numb. Her ribs were still very sore, but so long as she limited her movement and breathed in shallow increments, the pain was manageable. The lump on the side of her head still ached, but the earlier wooziness had tapered off, likely helped by the meal.
She worried about the bullet wound, though. While it was obvious her captor had bandaged her leg, it was less clear whether the wound was still bleeding. The bandage didn’t feel wet against her leg, but Pebbles wondered if the numbness in her lower leg masked the sensation. Yet, he’d checked the wound when they stopped by the road and didn’t administer any new aid. She risked a question. “My leg is numb. Am I still bleeding?”
“No,” he said, his speech obscured by a mouth full of food.
His chomping and sipping went on for some minutes, during which time Pebbles rallied the courage to make an appeal. “Look, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll help you get the Stone you want. Just no more rough stuff, okay? I won’t give you any trouble. I prom—”
“Quiet!” he snapped.
Pebbles dutifully closed her mouth. So much for being cooperative, she thought. A moment later, she heard him clean up the food containers and stuff them in the bag. After plunking the bag in a trash can, he said, “Lie down so I can check your leg.”
Pebbles rolled facedown on the bed and waited for him to uncover the wound. He sat down next to her, his thigh touchi
ng hers. He peeled off the bandage and examined her leg. He lifted off the bed and she heard him walk across the room. She heard water running, and a minute later he returned to her side. She felt him wipe her calf with a warm, wet cloth, then he dabbed the area with a dry one.
“Looks okay,” was all he said. She heard him walk away, and the gurgle of the running water was replaced by the spray of a showerhead. When he returned, he rolled her on her side. “Get up.”
He helped her off the bed and led her toward the running water, his arm around her shoulder. When they reached the bathroom, he removed her blindfold. The fluorescent light was blinding and Pebbles clamped her eyes shut. He gripped her wrists and cut away the binding.
Pebbles massaged the raw skin on each wrist while fluttering her eyes to adjust to the light. Only one of them would fully open. Through this, she looked around the tiny bathroom. She stood facing a mildew-bordered tub, into which the showerhead sprayed. To her immediate right was a toilet without a lid or seat, and to her left was a sink with a dripping faucet and a rusty water stain around the drain. The lime green walls were as dingy as the off-white tile on the floor. Pebbles peeked up at a small mirror above the sink and caught a partial glimpse of her reflection. She immediately turned away from the gruesome image and came face to face with her captor.
Her earlier deductions about his build had been accurate. He was short and relatively thin. He wore a black turtleneck and matching black slacks. They looked expensive and tailored to fit his slim frame. While the look on his face was not friendly, his features did not strike Pebbles as particularly sinister. Yes, there was a thin layer of stubble on his face and his hair was mussed, but with a quick brush of his hair and a clean shave, Pebbles thought he could easily pass for a “corporate casual” businessman. Except, that is, for the gun in his hand, pointed at Pebbles.
“Undress,” he said with a stern voice.
Curse of the Painted Lady (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 3) Page 13