Thriller 2

by Clive Cussler

  Leon came running out carrying a long-handled shovel in front of him, like a spear.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “Convincing them,” Leon said.

  I sighed. “We have to bring ’em back in good shape, Leon. No bruises or nothing. So Dr. Nell and the others can’t tell anything went on.”

  “First, we’ve gotta bring ’em back,” Leon said. He swung the shovel head to part the tall grass, and we stepped into the shade of the trees.

  I couldn’t see them, but I could hear Sweeny and Bo clucking to each other somewhere up ahead. Leon led the way over the snaky mangrove roots and through the tangles of tree trunks and low limbs.

  I decided to try a simple approach. I called to them. “Hey, Sweeny! Bo! Come back here!” That didn’t work. I shouted their names some more, but I could just as well have been shouting at the birds in the trees.

  I swatted a fat mosquito off my forehead. Leon’s face was red, his blond hair was matted wetly to his head. He carried the shovel on one shoulder now, like a soldier marching to battle. The shovel head kept rattling low tree limbs, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “They’re heading to the ravine,” he said. He spit angrily.

  “That’s bad,” I replied. “They could get caught in the leaf bed.” At the bottom of the ravine, the dead leaves from cedar elms are piled five or six feet high. It was just a natural pit, not man-made or anything. Even if it didn’t bury them, it would make it almost impossible to pull the two big jerks out.

  “Gotta catch ’em before they get stuck in there,” I said. I ducked my head under a low vine, pushed between some palmetto palms tilting as if they were windblown, and started to trot faster.

  Leon was breathing hard. I could see he was having trouble keeping up. Dude kept groaning and rubbing his sore belly as he tried to run.

  We ran into a circle of cedar elms, a small clearing with tall grass in the middle. Three scrawny, brown rabbits high-tailed it over the grass in different directions. I stopped because I realized I didn’t hear Sweeny and Bo anymore.

  I listened. I could hear tree frogs all around in the high limbs. No chimp sounds. Did they already bury themselves in the ravine? Not too likely. It was still pretty far up ahead.

  Leon leaned on the shovel, breathing hard. His shirt was stuck to his body, soaking wet. “Which way?” he muttered, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He stared into the trees.

  “Straight ahead maybe?” I said, pointing. I shook my head. “We came this far. We can’t lose them. We just can’t.”

  Sure, I sounded desperate, but I didn’t care. I was thinking about consequences. Losing our jobs was one thing. But what if the big chimps escaped and got messing with people and hurt somebody or did some real damage? That could be major consequences for me, right?

  I heard a low growl close behind me. And then a grunt.

  I turned and saw two pairs of dark eyes, glowing in the shade of some cedar elms.

  Another growl. Like a warning. Two lumbering figures stepped slowly into the clearing.

  “It’s them,” I murmured. “Look, Leon. They made a circle and they’re creeping up behind us.”

  The two chimps stepped forward, hunkered low, tall grass up to their knees. They pointed at us, snarling, pulling back their lips and showing us their big teeth.

  I took a step back. Leon raised the shovel. But he took a step back, too.

  “Sweeny! Bo! Let’s go back!” I shouted.

  They kept their teeth bared. They lumbered forward, one step at a time.

  I felt a chill run down my spine. “Leon,” I said softly, “see what’s going down here? They’re stalking us.”

  He tightened his grip on the shovel handle. He held it in front of him with both hands. His teeth were gritted. His cheeks were twitching.

  I knew what Leon had in mind. Stand our ground and fight it out with them. But that wasn’t my idea. Try to fight two angry, 200-pound beasts? I’d give us better odds at wrestling a cottonmouth.

  “Follow me, Leon,” I said. “Let ’em chase us. Let ’em chase us right back to the house.”

  He squinted at me. “Huh?”

  “Just keep backing up,” I said. “Stay with me. Act like you’re afraid. Start backing up. We can lead them right back to where we want them.”

  It sounds crazy but that’s what we did. We backed over the grass and into the trees, retracing our steps. And the growling monkeys stalked us, keeping their distance, but coming slowly and steadily, letting us know this wasn’t going to end in a friendly way.

  My only question was: when were they going to make their jump at us? If they decided to take it to us before we reached the yard, Leon and I could be chimp meat in seconds.

  So, Leon and I backed our way through the trees. I can’t speak for Leon, but I’ll confess I never was so scared in my life. If you could see the anger boiling off those monkeys’ faces, you’d know why. And I can tell you how happy I was to see the house and the front yard come up behind us.

  Almost there. “Now what?” Leon demanded. “How do we get ’em in the house?”

  “I have an idea,” I said. “Can you keep ’em busy?”

  He spit on the grass. “You being funny?”

  The chimps backed Leon toward the front wall of the house. He raised the shovel, holding it against him like a shield.

  Through the window, I could hear the chimps inside, chittering and wailing and screeching and carrying on like holy hell.

  Deal with that later, Wayne, I told myself. First get our two runaways safely inside. I thought I knew what might pull Sweeny and Bo in. Breakfast.

  I ran down the hall past the front room. I ignored the screams and hollering of the rioting chimps. I knew Leon and me could get ’em soothed once we got in.

  Into the kitchen. Still a mess from breakfast, of course. When did Leon and I have time to clean up? I fumbled in the fruit bin ’til I found what I wanted. I pulled two bananas from the bunch and, holding one in each hand, went running back to the front.

  I held the bananas out the screen door. The chimps were closing in on Leon, bumping up and down on their haunches like movie chimps, ready to make their attack.

  “Leon, get inside,” I said. He slid along the wall till he came to the door, then practically dove into the house.

  I held open the screen door with my hips and raised the bananas. “Come and get it, dudes. Breakfast. A special breakfast for my favorite buddies.”

  The chimps stopped hopping and stared at the bananas. Like they were actually thinking about what was the best thing to do.

  “Come on…” I urged, waving the bananas at them. “Come on…please…please…”

  “Is it working?” Leon called from behind me in the hall.

  “Think so,” I said.

  “I’m gonna beat ’em to death when they get in here,” Leon said. He clanged the shovel head on the floor.

  “No, you’re not,” I said softly. “No more talk like that. I mean it, Leon. We’re gonna keep our jobs. And we’re going to forget this ever happened.”

  Leon stepped up beside me. “I don’t believe in forgetting,” he said.

  I waved the bananas. The chimps finally took the bait. They stepped toward the door, reaching out their arms. I pulled back a step. The chimps followed. Back a step into the hall. Yes! Sweeny and Bo stepped in through the door. Yes!

  Into the front room. The other chimps fell silent, as if stunned to see their pals again. Yes…yes…“Welcome back. Come on, boys. Here are your lovely bananas….”

  Sweeny took his banana. He examined it like he’d never seen one before. Then he raised it high over his head—and with a real powerful thrust, jammed it deep into Leon’s good eye.

  Leon staggered back. His hands shot up to his face. He didn’t make a sound at first. Then he began to howl like a swamp dog caught in a gator trap.

  He dropped to his knees. He gripped the banana in both hands and pulled—and the eye came out with it.r />
  I guess I froze or something. It was just so sick. I don’t know if I could have done anything about it or not. But I didn’t.

  I just stood there with my mouth hanging open as Bo took the shovel, pulled way back on it and slammed the back of the blade into the side of Leon’s head.

  I heard a crack and saw Leon’s neck snap back. Leon made a sound like a hiccup. Then red stuff started to pour out of the side of his face. Like what happens when you squeeze a tomato.

  Leon folded up and dropped onto his side on the floor, all bent and twisted, blood puddling under his head. I knelt down beside him, shook him a bit, but it didn’t take long to see he was dead.

  Was I next?

  Struggling to breathe, I jumped to my feet. Before I could back away, Bo handed me the shovel.

  Oh, thank God! I thought. But I didn’t have much time to feel relieved. Cuz the screen door flew open, and in came Charlene, followed by Dr. Nell and a bunch of other staff workers.

  Charlene’s eyes went to the floor and she saw Leon and all the blood and his messed-up face. Then she let out a scream that hurt my ears. “Oh, no. Oh, no. I had a feeling I shouldn’t leave you two on your own!”

  I saw what Dr. Nell was staring at. The bloodstained shovel in my hand.

  “Now, wait,” I said. “I didn’t do it. Really. It wasn’t me! I got a roomful of witnesses!”

  I waved my hand around the room. I gestured to all the chimps that sat there watching the whole thing. “I didn’t do it,” I said. “I’ve got a roomful of witnesses.”

  The chimps stared at me.

  “You guys can all talk,” I said. “I know you can. Tell Dr. Nell what happened here.”

  The chimps stared at me. They didn’t move. They didn’t even blink.

  I turned to Bo and Sweeny. “Tell ’em,” I said. “Tell ’em the truth. Tell ’em who did this. Come on—talk!”

  Bo and Sweeny lowered their eyes to the floor, like they were sad. Then they pointed their fingers at me, and began to rub their pointer fingers together, back and forth.

  PHILLIP MARGOLIN

  “The House on Pine Terrace” shows why every one of Phillip Margolin’s books has hit the New York Times bestseller list. The story is an intricate puzzle—a crime that leads to a romance that triggers another crime that ends with a mystery, which makes you question every event in the story. Phillip’s many interesting jobs over the years—a teacher in the Bronx, Peace Corps volunteer in Liberia, criminal defense attorney—have clearly provided remarkable insight into how ordinary people react to extraordinary circumstances. This is no more evident than in “The House on Pine Terrace,” where every character seems to do the unexpected and yet it all makes perfect sense in the end.

  THE HOUSE ON PINE TERRACE

  There was an intercom attached to the ice-white wall and I used it to call up to the house on Pine Terrace. The voice that answered was the voice on the phone. He sounded just as pleasant now as he had then. Not uptight like I expected a john to be. While we were talking, I heard an electronic hum and the iron gate swung inward. We broke off and I drove my Ford along a winding drive past stands of palm trees. The house was at the end of the drive.

  My father left my mother when I was too young to remember him. From a remark here and a remark there, I’ve figured out that it was no big loss. I do remember that we were always dirt poor. Mama was part of a crew that cleaned houses. You don’t get rich doing that, but you do get to see how the other half lives. A few times, when she couldn’t get anyone to watch me, she risked getting fired by bringing me with her. The only place she brought me that I remember clearly was the house on Pine Terrace.

  When I was little, Mama called me princess. She said someday I would marry a prince and live in a castle and be rich. I’ve never been married, I’m working on rich and this is the castle I’d live in if I had my way. I dreamed about this house. Fantasized about it when I was alone and feeling lazy. Wished for it when I was younger and really believed I could do anything.

  The house was so white the rays of the sun reflected off it. It was long, low, modern and perched on a cliff with a view of the Pacific that was so breathtaking you’d never get tired of it. There was a Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud parked near the front door. Farther down the drive was a sports car so expensive that someone in my tax bracket couldn’t even identify it. I looked at my Ford, thought about the small, singles apartment I lived in and suddenly felt like a visitor from another planet.

  What I saw when the front door opened confused me. Daniel Emery III was one of the handsomest men I’d ever seen. He was six-one or-two, broad-shouldered and tanned a warm, brown color that made you think of tropical beaches. He wore a yellow cashmere V-necked sweater and tight white jeans. There were no gold chains, diamond pinky rings or the other swinger jewelry turnoffs. He was, in other words, the male equivalent of his dream house and I wondered what in the world a guy like this with a place like this wanted with a call girl.

  “You’re Tanya?” he asked, using the phony name I’d given when he phoned in response to the ad in Swinger’s Weekly.

  “And you must be Dan,” I answered, pitching my voice low and sexy.

  He nodded as he gave me the once-over. I was sure he would like what he saw. His smile confirmed my belief.

  “You certainly fit your description in the ad.”

  “You’re surprised?”

  “A little. I figured there’d be a bit of puffing.”

  I smiled to show him that I appreciated the compliment.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  “No, thanks,” I said, starting to hate what I was going to do. “And we should get the business part out of the way so it won’t interfere with your pleasure.”

  “Sure, the money,” Dan said. “One thousand in cash, you said. I’ve got it here.”

  He handed me an envelope and I thumbed through the ten crisp hundred-dollar bills inside it.

  “One more thing,” I said. “What do you expect for this?”

  He looked puzzled. “Sex.”

  “What kind of sex? Do you want straight sex or head? Anything kinky?”

  “I thought you said you’d do anything I wanted and would stay the night for a thou.”

  He was starting to look worried.

  “That’s right. And you understand there’s no rough stuff.”

  “That’s not my style. Now, have we got the business out of the way?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I said, flashing my badge. I could hear the trunk of the Ford open as my partner, Jack Gripper, got out. “I’m a policewoman, Mr. Emery, and you’re under arrest for prostitution.”

  What a waste, I remember thinking. I meet the guy of my dreams, who lives in the house of my dreams, and instead of balling him, I bust him. Life can sure be cruel. Then, he phoned.

  “Officer Esteban?” he asked, sounding just as pleasant as he’d been during the ride to the station house.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Dan Emery. You arrested me for prostitution three weeks ago.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember.”

  “I didn’t bother getting a lawyer. You had me dead to rights. I just faced the music and pled guilty about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Good for you. I hope the judge wasn’t too tough.”

  “The fine wasn’t much, but the process was pretty humiliating.”

  “Hopefully, it won’t happen again.”

  “That’s for sure. So, the reason I called. Actually, I wanted to call you before, but I thought I should wait until my case was over. Otherwise, I was afraid it would sound like a bribe.”

  “What would?”

  “My dinner invitation.”

  Five years as a cop had taught me how to stay cool in the tensest situations but I was completely flummoxed.

  “I don’t know…” I started.

  “Look, you’re probably thinking I’m some kind of weirdo, what with answering that kinky ad and all. But, really, I’m not like that.
I did it as a lark. Honest. I haven’t been with a prostitute since college and I’ve never had a call girl. I don’t even subscribe to that paper. I picked it up at my barber while I was waiting for a haircut. It just seemed like fun. Really, I’m very embarrassed about the whole thing. And I have been punished. You have no idea what it’s like for a guy to admit he had to pay for sex in a courtroom packed with giggling people.”

  I laughed.

  “Good,” he said, “I’ve got you laughing. Now, if I can just get you to go out with me I’ll be batting a thousand. What do you say?”

  I said yes of course, and dinner was everything I’d hoped it would be even if the restaurant was elegant enough to make me feel a little uncomfortable and I didn’t recognize half the dishes on the menu. Dan turned out to be a perfect gentleman with a sense of humor and none of that macho bullshit that I’m used to from the cops I’ve dated. The only thing that bothered me that first night—and I say bothered, only because I needed a word here, not because I really gave it any thought then—was his reluctance to talk about himself. He was an artist at steering the conversation back to me whenever I’d try to find out a little about him. But I was so used to guys who only wanted to talk about themselves that it was actually a bit of a relief.

  I didn’t sleep with Dan after our first date or our second. I didn’t want him thinking I was an easy lay. The third time we dated he invited me to his house instead of going to a restaurant and he cooked a dinner to die for. We ate on the flagstone patio. The air felt like silk, the view was spectacular and not having sex with him seemed downright silly.

  The next two months were like a fairy tale. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other and I missed him every minute we were apart. Sergeant Groves couldn’t figure out why I was being so nice to him. He knew how upset I’d been when he took me out of narcotics and put me into the call-girl sting operation. I’d yelled sex discrimination and he asked me who else he could use as a call girl. The whole thing was supposed to be temporary, anyway.