‘I thought you said we weren’t ready for this guy.’
‘We caught a few breaks,’ she said, approaching him cautiously. ‘Besides, I never said he was indestructible. Just ruthless. How about let’s put the gun down and get out of here? We don’t have all that much daylight left, and we’re not going to find my rock in the dark.’
‘He’s just going to keep coming,’ he told her, still pointing the gun. Not all that steadily, really. But generally in the right direction. ‘I’ve already got one freak following us around. I don’t need two.’
‘That sounds like rationalizing.’
‘It’s a skill.’
‘Ben, listen to me,’ she said. ‘Malcom is like a jackal. He’s ruthless, but he’s also an opportunist. Basically a coward at heart. If we remove the opportunity that brought him here, I can almost guarantee you’ll never see him again.’
‘No offense, but “almost” doesn’t do much for me right now. And you already killed one of them, so don’t patronize me.’
‘That was different.’
‘Yeah? How so.’
‘He wasn’t defenseless, for one thing.’
‘That sounds like rationalizing.’
Abe sighed. ‘Fine. If you’re going to do it, hurry up and do it. Just give me one second first. I’ll be right back.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To get Charley,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’ll do him some good to see what his dad’s willing to do for him.’
Ben finally looked at her.
Abe stopped in the doorway and looked back.
‘That’s pretty low,’ he told her.
She shrugged. ‘I’m a bitch. Wanna shoot me, instead? I can almost guarantee I’ll live through it.’
Ben stared at her so long that he didn’t even notice he’d lowered the gun until he felt it resting against his leg. Anabeth cracked a grin.
Ben wasn’t in the mood to grin back. ‘You’re the worst.’
‘At least I don’t stand around farting at the printer everybody else has to use. Are we finished here, then?’
Outside, she stopped at the ice machine and filled up the plastic liner she’d swiped from the bucket in the room. She twisted the top and shoved the ice bag at Ben. ‘Here. You need this. Front seat’s all yours.’
They headed toward the car. Anabeth went around to the driver’s side and knocked on Francesca’s window. Francesca lowered the glass.
‘Can I see your lighter?’ Abe asked her.
‘What lighter?’
‘Sweetie, I’m not your parents. I couldn’t care less that you obviously smoked at least two cigarettes on the way up here. Stupid habit, by the way.’
‘Hey! How did you … whatever.’ Frankie dug in her purse, handed over a disposable plastic lighter.
Abe took it and hustled over to the Lincoln. For the first time, Ben noticed the tail of what looked like a pillowcase from the room sticking out of the neck of the open gas tank. The cloth was dripping.
And then it was flaming.
Abe came sprinting back to the Subaru, calling, ‘OK, here we go – quick-quick-fast!’
Ben held the door while she piled into the back next to Wasserman, who lolled against a squashed-looking Charley, who stared out his window with widening eyes. Ben piled into the front passenger seat after her, Frankie throwing the Sube into reverse gear before he’d closed his door.
‘Fast but not too fast,’ Abe cautioned. ‘No careening. We want all those cops over there to notice the explosion, not the white wagon with Nebraska plates squealing away from the explosion like a bat out of hell.’
Frankie white-knuckled the wheel but followed Abe’s instructions, proceeding out to the access road, then on to the highway, heading back toward the ramp to I-29 South. Back toward home.
They heard it and felt it when the Lincoln blew: a low, rumbling detonation, followed by the muffled whump of blast waves strafing the car. Everybody but Wasserman turned in their seats to see the husk of Malcom Frost’s battered transportation in the near distance behind them, now engulfed in orange flames, trailing thick black smoke toward the sky.
‘Oh my god,’ Charley said, momentarily awestruck, the first non-terrified words Ben had heard from his mouth in half an hour.
‘Francesca?’ Abe said. ‘Eyes on the road, honey.’
‘Yeah. OK. Holy balls.’
‘You were stupendous back there, by the way.’
Ben couldn’t have said it better. ‘She’s right. I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘Uh huh.’ Francesca’s eyes flickered between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. ‘My dad is so gonna kill me.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.’
‘I just meant he’ll be mad at me. He’s actually gonna kill you.’
‘Yeah, probably,’ Ben said, nails shooting through his brain as he pressed the ice baggie against his face. ‘If he doesn’t get tired standing in line.’
Tom Curnow ran lights and sirens down I-80, using his personal mobile to keep the radio clear. ‘Say again, Sheriff?’
‘Knock it off, Tom, you heard me fine. What’s your location?’
‘Heading back now, ten minutes out. How can there be no sight of him?’
‘I’m comin’ around to Mayor Bobby on this one,’ Prescott said. ‘No sight of it, is what I think we gotta be talkin’ about. Either that, or maybe they put me in a nuthouse somewhere and this whole damned day’s been happening in my head.’
‘You’re telling me we’ve got a helicopter, and a subject on foot, and we’ve got nothing?’
‘Nope. I’m telling you we got three helicopters now,’ Sheriff Prescott said. ‘And a trail that stops at the river. Bunch a deep prints on a sandbar half a mile down, then again a mile later. State’s got a SWAT crew in Louisville, but they ain’t intercepted jack shit yet. Them three paintballers with you?’
‘Left them where I found them,’ Tom said. ‘Omaha PD agreed to babysit until Frerking’s passwords check out on the van cams. The other two didn’t have much to add. What they did say made sense.’
‘Now there’s what I’d call a relative comment.’
‘Where do you want me?’
‘State’s got a scene up and running at the Middleton place. That’s where I’m headed. Let Tiff know you’re safe and meet me out there.’
Tom nudged the speedometer needle up to 105. ‘On my way.’
‘And slow the hell down,’ Sheriff Prescott said in his ear. ‘Last thing I need’s a dead deputy to scrape off the road.’
They met up with Gordon, Jeremy, and Devon at a Casey’s General Store in Crescent, a few miles north of Council Bluffs, just across the river from Omaha, still forty minutes from Ben’s house in the Platte Valley hills.
‘You look like you fell off a building,’ Gordon told him. ‘Who’s that guy passed out in the back?’
‘Reuben Wasserman,’ Ben said. ‘The name means water carrier.’
‘Oh.’
‘What’s the word on Jeeter?’
‘Back in his room. They’re keeping him under, but so far, so good.’
‘Speaking of water,’ Abe said, ‘we should stock up on provisions. I’m buying. Everybody follow me. Except you, Charley.’
As they headed inside, Ben and Charley lingered at the pumps in order to a) gas up the Sube; b) keep an eye on Wasserman; and c) avoid any notice they could succeed in avoiding. Ben doubted anybody would actually recognize his face, even if they’d been following the news, but his tattered, bloodstained clothing certainly might raise a flag. Especially if anyone recognized Charley.
Ben wanted to pull him close and squeeze the daylights out of him. But Charley stood away, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes looking at the ground. He seemed unsure what he ought to be doing with himself. Ben gave him some space, feeling the boy’s occasional worried glance whenever he thought Ben wasn’t looking.
‘I’ve been better,’ Ben finally said. ‘But I’m OK. How are you?
’
Charley shrugged, looked away. ‘I dunno. OK, I guess.’
‘You saved our bacon back there, you know. Texting Frankie.’
‘Yeah.’
Got it pretty bad for her, huh pal? Sounds like murder. You must be going out of your mind. Ben didn’t dare say any of these things. Only: ‘It’s all kind of crazy, huh?’
A silent nod from Charley.
‘I don’t know how you’re doing it, kid. But I’m proud of you. I love you like hell. And I’m sorry this is happening.’ Ben thought hard, tried to come up with something else. Maybe something like, Don’t worry. We’re going to be OK. But he couldn’t think of anything. ‘I guess I don’t know what else to say, really.’
‘Yeah.’ Charley started walking toward the building. ‘I gotta use the bathroom.’
‘Hey, hang on.’
‘Can’t wait.’
He was just about to call Charley’s name when a minivan opened its doors and spilled out a family. Ben bit his tongue and turned away, thinking: You stubborn little numbskull. The others emerged just as Charley went in, Abe and Gordon and Francesca all laden with bulging plastic sacks.
‘Hey,’ Francesca said as they approached. ‘Wasn’t he supposed to stay out here?’
The pump clicked off. Ben grabbed the nozzle and crammed it back in its cradle. ‘Don’t get me started.’
Abe took one look at him and said, ‘We were the only ones in there. The counter guy is reading a magazine, he barely looked up. I’m sure he’ll be OK. Here, make yourself useful and take one of these.’
Ben grabbed a sack. They’d purchased several liter-sized bottles of water, a pile of prepackaged sandwiches and trail mix, more first-aid supplies, and a new burner phone to replace the one Gordon had cracked in half and tossed into the Dumpster alongside the building. Jeremy and Devon, meanwhile, carried a single bottle of Game Fuel and a package of Donut Gems each.
‘Help me remember when we get back,’ Gordon said.
Devon said, ‘Remember what?’
‘To get new friends.’
Zwart flashed innocent confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
‘OK,’ Abe said. ‘As soon as Charley gets back, we need to keep moving. Can you guys follow us? We could sure use your help.’
‘Right behind you, Gold Leader.’
‘As long as we don’t get pulled over,’ Devon said.
‘Good point. Let’s all keep an eye out for speed traps. That would be … inconvenient. To say the least.’
‘Nah,’ Jeremy said. ‘He means our plates.’
Ben barely heard them. He was busy watching a shiny new Ford F-150 pull in. A young farmer got out. Counting the minivan, that made five new customers since they’d arrived.
Devon said: ‘Riya’s plates, you mean.’
Jeremy looked at Gordon. ‘New friends. That’s a good idea, count me in.’
‘Guys, what are we talking about?’ Ben asked.
‘We sort of ditched some cops back at the hospital.’
‘Oh.’
‘Ancient history,’ Gordon said. ‘We’re ready to roll.’
Now Ben’s heart flooded with relief as Charley emerged from the building again, hands still shoved in his pockets. He walked with his eyes down, turning his face away instinctively from the young farmer on his way in. They were doing an excellent job, it occurred to him, of preparing the kid for a career in crime one day.
Abe squeezed Ben’s arm in reassurance as she nodded to First Floor IT. ‘Fellas, I’m going to make this up to you somehow. In the meantime, let’s hit it. I’ll call you from our car as soon as we have a plan together.’
‘This could be stupid,’ Ben said, watching Charley all the way back to the car, ‘but I might have an idea.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Three hours before sundown, Tom stood on Ben Middleton’s front porch with Sheriff Prescott and watched a dark, ominous-looking sedan climb the lane toward the house, trailing streamers of exhaust and rock dust behind it.
Within a few moments, the car crunched to a stop in the increasingly crowded turnaround, parking behind a KETV NewsWatch 7 microwave truck. The car’s front doors opened together. Out stepped a man and a woman, both wearing dark suits. The newcomers looked around at the crime scene in progress: the yellow tape strung around the property from shrub to bush to tree; the police photographers inside the tape; the news photographers outside the tape; the forensics personnel scurrying around in filter masks.
Prescott looked at Tom. ‘Looks like the Feds are here.’
‘That would have been my guess.’
‘Never thought I’d say this, but that’s just fine with me. Let’s go make ourselves acquainted.’
They headed down the steps and across the leaf-strewn grass to meet them. ‘Hello the driveway,’ the sheriff called out. ‘Dale Prescott, sitting sheriff here in Saunders County. This is Tom Curnow, my senior deputy. Can we help you, folks?’
The man stepped forward. ‘Sheriff. Field Agent Simon Battis, Federal Deviative Assessments Bureau. This is my partner, Field Agent Constance West. Are you in charge of this site?’
‘It’s the state’s site as of one o’clock this afternoon,’ Sheriff Prescott said, perusing the identification Battis offered. ‘I’m just holding down the fort at the moment. Can’t say I’m familiar with your agency.’
‘We maintain unofficial attachments to Homeland Security and the FBI,’ Battis said. ‘Currently working through the FBI’s Omaha group. But we operate independently.’
‘So I see.’ Prescott handed back their IDs. ‘Still never heard of you. No offense.’
‘None taken. We’re not on the org charts.’
‘Deviative Assessments?’
‘We’re a specialty unit,’ said Agent West, handing each of them a card. ‘Non-standard jurisdiction. Please feel free to call this number – Johnson Robetaille, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI field office here. He’ll confirm our credentials.’
‘Non-standard jurisdiction, huh?’ Prescott put the card in his pocket without looking at it. ‘What’s that cover?’
‘Paranormal phenomenon.’
‘Uh … right.’
Tom glanced at Prescott, thinking: If he’s dreaming all this from the nuthouse, we must be sharing a room. ‘Sorry, did you say paranormal?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘You mean like The X-Files?’
Agent Battis sighed. ‘Why does everybody always say that?’
Agent West grinned at Tom. ‘The question he should be asking is, how come they all think he’s supposed to be Scully?’
‘I thought we agreed to retire that joke.’
‘Sheriff Prescott, Deputy Curnow, we’ve been investigating events in the area that may be connected to what’s happening today,’ West continued.
Prescott cocked his head. ‘You mean events besides our little town up the road? The one that looks like it got hit by a tornado full of jackhammers?’
‘Livestock mutilation,’ Agent Battis said. ‘Seventy miles down the road.’
‘When the cattle start turning up headless, we usually get a call,’ Agent West explained. ‘Agent Battis and I believe this instance may be connected to an unexplained murder farther south, across the border in Kansas. Both of which may be connected, as I said, to your situation. We’re not here to push you around, Sheriff. Just to help.’
‘Although we do have a mandate.’
‘Mandate, huh?’
Agent West shot her partner a look. ‘No different to yours, Sheriff. We all just want to figure this out.’
‘And stop it,’ Battis was quick to add. ‘Before anybody else gets hurt.’
Tom stood quietly, listening.
Sheriff Prescott looked at Field Agent West, then Field Agent Battis. He took off his hat, wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. Put his hat back on.
‘I guess “paranormal” seems to just about cover it,’ he finally said, tipping his head back toward the empty glider chair
s on the empty front porch. ‘Come on up to the command center and we’ll fill you in best we can.’
Ben wasn’t much good at remembering numbers, but he remembered email addresses in his dreams. While Francesca drove, he used Abe’s phone to log into his webmail, fired off a message containing the new burner number, and hoped against hope that Caleb Warren was still in the habit of doing his yoga routine before sound check. Or at least that he was awake. Either way, if the guy was conscious, he’d have a device within reach. And Ben thought he knew a way to get his attention.
Sure enough, within five miles, the burner rang.
‘Benzo!’ Caleb’s voice shouted in his ear. ‘You’ve made a poor young farm boy very happy. We’re in Minneapolis tomorrow, Madison on Tuesday. Pack a bag, son.’
It was so nice to speak to someone who sounded happy to hear from him that for a split second, Ben almost forgot why he’d called. ‘Hate to tell you, Cal, but you’re not that young. Neither am I.’
‘Trust me, you’ll get younger every day we’re on the road. Grab a pen, I’ll throw you some deets.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t thinking quite that fast,’ Ben said. ‘We can talk it out. But right now I really need a solid.’
‘If I can do it, it’s done.’
As MiddleTone’s first and best customer, Caleb Warren had done Ben plenty of favors already. Founder and front man of Crane, a local band made good, Caleb was now headlining his own mini-tours, occasionally opening for national acts. He’d been after Ben to be his full-time guitar technician ever since MiddleTone Labs went belly-up, mounting an especially pressing campaign after the divorce, but Ben had never given it a moment’s serious thought. There was just no way he’d ever consider going out away from Charley for eight months of the year. And now that he was sober, he didn’t need the temptation, anyway.
Funny how a couple of days could change a person’s perspective. Crane had a following in the South. Ben figured they probably played Atlanta at least two or three times a year. Food for thought.
But that still wasn’t why he’d requested the call.
‘The Grotto?’ Caleb said. ‘Ha. Yeah, it’s still there. Can’t imagine what you’d want with it.’
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