There were two obvious challenges. The first was raising the upper container’s door high enough to physically open the lower door so that it could act as a brace. And the second was getting Beebie to set the whole thing off.
Mason scanned the area and spotted a heavy blue tarp draped over a shipping container three levels up.
He turned to Bowie. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
Without waiting for a woof or an aye-aye, Skipper, Mason pulled himself up and began making his way higher. He would have to work quickly, or risk having Beebie take a pot shot at him. When he got to the top, he squatted down and used his knife to cut the cords holding the tarp in place. It took longer than he would have liked, and he felt his heart pounding with a growing sense of worry.
When the tarp finally pulled free, he dragged it behind him as he descended to the deck. Bowie stood where he had left him, the dog’s nose turned up as he sniffed the air.
Mason set the tarp aside and searched for something to lift the upper door. He settled on a six-foot section of metal railing that had broken free. Holding it above his head, he lifted the upper container’s door while pulling the lower one open. Once it was in position, he lowered the weight of the upper door onto its topmost edge. With everything finally in place, he draped the tarp over the end of the two containers, doing his best to hide the makeshift deadfall.
He stepped back and examined the setup. It was pretty good, but to get it to trip would require that Beebie push the lower door, and to do so with some purpose.
Mason walked Bowie a few feet into the container and had him lie down. The dog seemed confused but settled onto the floor with a quiet sigh. Mason then returned to the door and dropped to one knee as he peeked out through the small space beside the hinges.
With the trap set, there was nothing left to do but wait.
Beebie struggled to control his anger over Dix’s fate. He told himself that his friend may well have survived the fall and was now busily swimming to shore downriver. But even that glimmer of hope was not enough to keep his rage fully suppressed. Marshal Raines was going to pay, not just for what he did to the woman, but also to Dix.
With his AK-47 leading the way, he rounded the corner of a large stack of shipping containers. A narrow corridor lay ahead. He glanced overhead to make sure the marshal wasn’t on high ground, waiting to ambush him like cowboys tucked inside a mountain pass.
The tops of the containers were clear.
Directly ahead, the walkway was blocked by a partially open container door. A heavy blue tarp covered part of the door as well as the container above. Beebie stiffened.
Something didn’t look quite right.
He paused and pressed his back up against the closest wall, confident that the marshal’s .45 could not penetrate the container. That limitation, however, did not extend to Beebie’s AK-47. He brought the weapon up and spread four shots across the door. The 7.62 mm rounds punched neat holes though the steel.
There were no screams of pain. Not even the rustle of a hurried retreat.
“You there, Marshal?”
No answer.
Beebie weighed his options. Dix would have told him to wait for the others. But that might be a long wait. There was no guarantee they would even hear his shots from deep within the ship. Another option would be to circle around and approach the container from the opposite direction. Of course, that might be exactly what Marshal Raines wanted him to do. The more Beebie thought about it, the more convinced he became that the tarp-covered door was nothing more than a scarecrow meant to redirect him.
Keeping one shoulder pressed to the wall, he inched up to the door and paused to listen. The faint sound of breathing came from the other side.
He gave the door a gentle nudge. To his surprise, it didn’t move. Instinctively, Beebie leaned his shoulder into it. The door started to swing closed, grinding against something as it moved. Suddenly, it stopped and pressed back against him. He heard Marshal Raines let out a short grunt as the pressure increased.
Beebie charged forward, ramming his shoulder against the door. He felt the resistance lessen as the marshal was knocked back into the container. He charged ahead, slamming the heavy door closed.
An instant later, something massive struck him from behind. His entire body was thrown forward and pinned against the door, breaking his nose, ribs, and one of his wrists. He tried to wriggle free, but the weight of whatever pressed against him was simply too great.
“No!” he shrieked. But even as he railed against his misfortune, darkness began to take hold.
As soon as Beebie hit the door, things were set in motion. The big man’s shove sent Mason stumbling back into the container to land beside Bowie. The door continued closing until it slammed shut, sealing them in darkness. A moment later, he heard the second door swing down, crushing Beebie between the heavy steel plates. Uncertain of how effective the trap had been, Mason lay there for a moment, his pistol aimed at the door.
Beebie’s scream was his cue to move. He scrambled to his feet, kicked open the left-most door and rushed out with his Supergrade at the ready. Bowie chased after him with an uneasy growl.
They found Beebie standing upright, sandwiched between the adjacent door and the one that had flopped down from above. His AK-47 had fallen to the ground, its stock broken from the thunderous impact. The blow had hit with such force that the big man was now toggling in and out of consciousness, his nose and mouth bleeding and a baseball-sized hematoma forming on his forehead.
Mason used his foot to slide the rifle out from between the doors. It was likely still operable, but he didn’t want to chance using it. Instead, he flung the AK-47 over the side of the boat. Beebie was not known to carry a sidearm, but Mason unclasped a thick-bladed knife hanging at his side.
Although confident that Beebie posed no immediate threat, Mason had no misconception about how dangerous the man remained. Even as broken as he was, Beebie could still easily kill him with his bare hands. No matter how distasteful it was going to be, he needed to ensure that Beebie was down for the count.
One option was to simply put a bullet in his leg. That would almost certainly put Beebie out of commission. Unfortunately, it might also kill him. Hollow-point rounds, like the ones Mason used, mushroomed and sometimes even fragmented, making them less than ideal for careful wounding.
Mason turned his attention to the knife he had taken from Beebie. The black handle was made from an elastomer with a slightly tacky texture, good for handling with wet hands. He slid the blade free, marveling at its thickness. The spine easily measured a quarter of an inch, and its full tang protruded from the pommel, making it useful for breaking out windows. Along the blade’s cheek was written the words “A1 Pro, Fällkniven.”
He knew from his time abroad that Fällkniven provided survival knives to the Swedish Air Force. As such, they had a stellar reputation for making no-nonsense blades that would stand up to the harshest conditions. The A1 Pro sported a razor-sharp, 6.3-inch, laminated cobalt steel blade that was uniquely suited to the task at hand.
Setting aside the sheath, he walked over and picked up one of the bricks that lay scattered across the deck. It was heavy and thick, probably designed to be a garden paver.
When he returned to Beebie, he spoke in a consoling voice.
“I want you to know that I take no pleasure in this. Some things we do only because we must.”
Placing the tip of the blade into a fold running the length of the door, he reared back, and hammered it with the brick. The blade punched through the steel and drove into the thick muscle covering Beebie’s shoulder blade. The big man let out a feeble groan but made no effort to free himself. He now stood pinned to the door like a moth to a specimen board.
Mason leaned in close. “I did my best to avoid hitting anything vital. If you remain still, you should be fine. Once I deal with Cam and Red, I’ll come back and set you free. You have my word on it.”
Beebie’s response came out as a
growl, but the words were unmistakable.
“I’m gonna kill you.”
Mason patted him on the shoulder.
“That may well be, but not today.”
Chapter 17
Tanner awoke face down on a concrete floor. From the painful pinching around his wrists, he guessed that they had used metal wire to bind his hands behind his back. A guard stood nearby, holding a TAVOR X95 bullpup rifle. He looked mean, with hard eyes and a grizzled face. Fortunately, he was not one of the men from the roof the night before. For some reason, people tended to hold a grudge when on the receiving end of broken noses and dislocated joints.
He spotted a second man, this one dressed in an operator’s blue uniform, lying curled up in the corner. His hands were also bound, and based on the swollen purple fingers, amputation would likely be needed if there was to be any chance of preventing gangrene. Dried blood smeared his lips, chin, and neck. No doubt, he was the man who’d had his tongue cut out for using the radio to call for help. Because of his fetal position, it was hard to tell if he was still breathing.
Tanner rolled onto his side and gingerly tested his jaw. It hurt, as did his nose and one of his eyes. They’d had their fun, all right. Moving slowly, so as not to excite the man with the gun, Tanner rocked forward until he managed to sit up.
The guard studied him with an amused look.
“Well, good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?”
Tanner scooted over a few feet so that he could lean against a thick pipe that ran from ceiling to floor.
“I’ve had worse nights.”
The man keyed a button on his two-way radio.
“Tell Hardin the prisoner’s awake.”
The radio squelched twice as someone acknowledged the transmission.
Tanner knew that the time to free himself was before Hardin and his entourage of Watchmen showed up. He flexed his back, pulling at the wire. No good. They had done a respectable job of binding his hands.
He turned to the guard. “You got a name?”
“They call me Pope.”
“Got any water around here, Pope?” Tanner licked his lips. “Kinda thirsty.”
“Now where are my manners?” Pope slipped a flask from his belt and stepped around behind Tanner, careful to stay out of reach of his feet. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He tipped the bottle and trickled water over Tanner’s head. “Let me know when you’ve had enough.”
Tanner closed his eyes and waited until the man tired of his little game.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Great. Glad I could help. Now you let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do.”
The door to the small room opened, and three men entered. Two were clearly there for security, but the third was a big-bellied man wearing a cowboy hat, snakeskin boots, and an American flag belt buckle. Hardin.
“So this is the Big Bad Wolf?” Hardin said, fingering the Dan Wesson Model 745 stainless revolver hanging at his side.
Pope nodded. “I’ve been doing my best to make him comfortable.”
“I can see that.” Hardin towered over Tanner. “Who are you?”
There was nothing to be gained by lying.
“Name’s Tanner Raines.”
“All right, Mr. Raines. Might I ask what you’re doing here?”
“Right now, I’m sitting on the floor with water dripping down my chin.” He eyed Pope, and the man winked at him.
“I see that. And how did you come to be at my plant?”
“Just passing by. Thought I’d stop in to say hello.”
Hardin nodded to Pope, and the grizzled Watchman stepped forward and kicked Tanner in the ribs, hard, like he knew what he was doing.
“Have I got your attention, Mr. Raines?” asked Hardin. “Or do I need to have old Pope beat you to within an inch of your life?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Tanner said with a groan.
“We understand each other then?”
“I understand you. Can’t say that anyone really understands me.”
“I’m going to ask you again. Why are you here?”
“It’s like I said. I was happening by. Saw some folks in need. Thought I’d help them out. Nothing more to it.”
“You’d have me believe that you’re a Good Samaritan?”
Tanner nodded. “That’s right.”
“And the prisoners? Where’d they go?”
“Can’t say for sure. Some of them were talking about heading over to Sweetwater.”
Hardin paused. “Do you know why the Watchmen are here, Mr. Raines?”
“Rumor has it you’re trying to restart the reactors.”
“That’s right. And do you know why?”
“Hoping to catch reruns of Doomsday Preppers?”
Pope reared back to kick him again, but Hardin waved him off.
“Honestly, I think you’d wear your boots out on this one.” He turned back to Tanner. “We’re trying to help folks have a better life. I ask you, is that such a bad thing?”
“It is if you accidentally send a nuclear cloud over their homes.”
“I agree. And that’s why we need the operators—to do this thing right.”
“Doing something like this is too big for one man. Let the government decide when—”
“The government’s what got us into this mess. Where do you think the virus came from?”
Tanner said nothing. Having personally met the man who had set it loose upon the world, he knew exactly how the virus had been released.
“Ah, but you already suspected as much. And do you know why they released the virus?”
“Enlighten me.”
Hardin began pacing. “It was about control. The world was becoming less stable. By all accounts, it was headed for destruction. North Korea. Iran. Russia. Even those damn Chicoms. Things were coming to a head. Those in power recognized that World War III was just around the corner. They also understood that it was going to destroy everything they had built. A collective decision was reached to push the reset button. Hell, I don’t really even blame them.”
Tanner knew that what Hardin was saying was untrue, but all in all, it made for a pretty good story.
“And who are they exactly?”
Hardin shrugged. “A world order. A secret illuminati. A few billionaires with a hard-on for changing the status quo. Who knows? All I know is that it’s a game that’s been played repeatedly throughout history. Introduce a calamity and then step in to save the day. In this case, they unleashed the virus as an excuse to shut down national infrastructures—banking, electricity, food distribution. Everything was designed to induce hardship on those who survived.”
“And why would they want to do that?”
“Don’t you see? When things are at their worst, a new power can emerge, someone with the ability to ease suffering. Be good, and we’ll give you fresh water. Be even better, and we’ll heat your home. I suppose President Pike was to be their first messiah. With his passing, I’m sure another will be stood up soon enough.”
“Look around you. Does this look like a well-planned government restructuring?”
Hardin shrugged. “These things don’t always go off as planned. Pike’s untimely death caused the entire house of cards to collapse, leaving us, the people, to pick up the pieces. And that’s exactly what we’re trying to do. Honestly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. We’re not here to do any harm.”
Tanner nodded toward the man lying in the corner.
“He might beg to differ.”
Hardin walked over and used his boot to roll the man onto his back. His face looked like he had been bobbing for apples in a bucket of blood.
“They say that necessity is the mother of invention.” He shrugged. “I say that fear is the father of compliance.”
Tanner didn’t need to hear anything more. It was a song he had heard too many times before.
“If you’re hoping to get me to tell you where th
ey went, you can save your breath. I honestly don’t know.” It was only a partial lie, but Tanner thought he did a fine job of telling it.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hardin said, returning to stand beside his men.
That surprised Tanner. It should have mattered.
“I thought you said you needed them to restart the plant.”
“Oh, I do. But they’re coming back to me. I’m only here because I wanted to meet the man who humbled so many of my men.”
“Why would they come back here?”
“Because I made a deal with that little partner of yours, Samantha.” He shook his head. “Shrewd little negotiator, that one.”
Tanner’s gut tightened.
“She offered to trade the workers for you. The little devil is holding them at gunpoint as we speak.” He smiled. “I like her. I really do. I assume she’s your daughter?”
Tanner’s expression tightened.
“She’s careful too. Set it up so we won’t know where the exchange will happen until the very last moment.” He checked his watch. “The good news is that in twenty minutes, you’ll be a free man. Of course, I’ll send a team out to look for the two of you, but I suspect you’ll get away.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. In the end, I’ll have what I need.”
Hardin knelt down in front of him and offered an understanding smile.
“I know what you’re thinking. It was all for nothing. Am I right?” He thwacked a bruise on Tanner’s forehead with his finger. “The bruises. The cuts. The pain. You took a real beating last night.” He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate really. Not just for you, but for the workers too.”
“What do you mean?”
“They broke the rules. For that, there will have to be a suitable punishment.”
Dark Days Page 21