by Rick Riordan
Page 47
Gravel crunched underfoot as we walked toward the water. I watched the restaurant for signs of movement.
Two different planks led from shore. Beer bottles floated in the scummy water between.
Maia drew her Sig Sauer and gestured that she would take the left plank. Matthew and I took the right.
I stepped across the gangplank, pushed on the heavy wooden door. The sign NO ONE
UNDER 18 ADMITTED crinkled under my palm.
A dove flitted out of the exposed rafters and I nearly shot at it.
Matthew and I made our way through a barroom that smelled like lemon ammonia and dried whiskey. I brought out my pencil flashlight and shone it into dark corners—a plastic spoon, a napkin, a forgotten handbag. It was so quiet we could hear the lake gurgle and plunk against the aluminium pontoon floats beneath the floor.
I thought, just for a moment, that I heard a mans voice—a murmured question.
I stopped Pena. We listened.
Nothing.
We rendezvoused with Maia in the main dining room—a forest of upsidedown chairs stacked on tables. The deck doors were open, letting in the smell of the water and the entire panorama of the lake.
Mansfield Dam rose up immediately on the left—an enormous slab of charcoal.
Pena started to whisper, "This was a waste—"
And then someone else spoke, directly in front of us. There was a human form out on the deck.
Pena and I moved toward it, Maia a few steps behind, bringing up the rear.
The man glistened—the glint of wet suit material. Victor Lopez was sitting on the railing of the deck.
"Vic?" I called.
We were at the open doorway now, Lopez only ten feet away.
As my eyes adjusted, I noticed his gear—the air tank, the regulator, the mask around his neck. He wore two weight belts that were solid with squares of lead, another two belts crossing his chest like bandoliers. No BC to counteract the lead. No fins.
If Lopez went over the side like that, he would sink fast and have a hell of a time coming back up. He was also holding a gun at his thigh—not a service pistol.
Something smaller. An oldstyle Raven from back in the 1980s. A . 380 automatic.
Lopez was staring out over the water, as if in a reverie.
I glanced back at Maia, who shook her head slightly—I dont know.
Then Vic mumbled something. "Here. Right here, I think. "
"Lopez?" I called.
He looked over, said nothing.
There was more scuba equipment at his feet—another air tank, fastened to a BC. On a nearby table was a mask. Next to that, a computer disk.
I shone my pencil flashlight in Lopezs face.
His pupils stayed fully dilated. His expression didnt change— as if there were no circulation in his face.
"Is this—" he droned. "Is this . . . okay?"
"We should leave," Pena murmured. "Now. "
Then the deck boards creaked behind us. I spun.
A second figure had separated from the darkness right next to Maia. The only thing that wasnt pure black was the gun. It was pressed against Maias temple.
"Yes," said the voice I didnt recognize at all. "Thats fine, Vic. Put your mask on. "
Metal thudded against wood—Maias gun dropping.
"Thats good, dear heart," the voice crooned, the face still in the shadows. "Now your friends—gun and the flashlight in the water, please. "
Maia said, "Dont, Tres. "
"Ah," the voice said. "But Tres cant shoot, can he? He doesnt trust his aim. He doesnt trust guns. And certainly, he knows Ill kill you if he doesnt cooperate. "
Next to me, Pena stayed still.
I tossed my gun and flashlight over the railing, heard two tiny plooshes in the water.
The figure stepped forward, pushing Maia ahead.
A black baseball cap. A wet suit. A face painted black, eyes intense as a raptors. The gun slid down, pressed tightly into Maias jugular vein.
"My hero. " Dwight Hayes gave me a pleasant smile. "Thanks for coming, Tres. "
CHAPTER 41
"You son of a bitch," Pena said.
"You dont know how appropriate your comment is, Matthew. " Dwights wrist rested on Maias shoulder. The neoprene of the wet suit was soaking the top of her shirt. He moved his free hand around her waist, spreading his fingers caressingly across her abdomen.
"You smell good," Dwight told her. "Ive never been close enough—except for your apartment, looking through your things. Im glad you decided to pursue us, Maia. "
She swallowed. Her throat muscles pushed against Dwights gun and made it look like she was nodding.
I watched her fingers, waited for our old sign—a threefinger countdown, which would mean she was about to risk a move.
"All right, Victor," Dwight said.
Lopez had raised his gun. He was pointing it at Dwight Hayes, but his arm was bent, the gun turned sideways, as if some invisible armwrestling opponent was forcing his hand back at the wrong angle.
"You wont need that," Dwight assured Lopez. His voice was calm, deep. "Dont you remember?"
"Youre drugged, Lopez," I said. "Fight it. Shoot the bastard. "
Lopezs arm trembled. His chest had begun to cave in like an old mans under the weight and heat of the scuba gear.
"Dont remember," he mumbled.
"The little boy," Dwight told him. "The little Asian child. He was right under the deck, wasnt he?"
"The boy. "
"Right about where youre sitting. "
Pena said, "Jesus Christ, Dwight. "
Pena started to move forward, but Dwight pressed the gun into Maias throat, made her gag. "Tsk, tsk, old friend. First things first. "
Lopez mumbled, "Right here. "
"Good," Dwight said, nodding pleasantly. "What should you do?"
"Search. "
"Thats an excellent idea. You can leave the gun, I think. Your prints are on it now. That should be sufficient. "
Lopezs hand lowered. The Raven clunked on the floor. "I cant— No. "
"You need your mask on," Dwight suggested. "And youll have to keep looking. Even if it gets cold, even if you cant get out, you cant leave a little boy alone down there.
Cant let that happen again. "
Dwights voice had taken on a cadence that wasnt quite human— more like a drum, hit by a small, angry windup machine. "Youll just need to keep searching, Vic. That little boy is down there somewhere. Drowning in the dark. "
Lopez fumbled with his mask.
"No, Vic," I said.
But I was just part of the nightmare. His heart must have been slowing, his mind turning to thick sap, flowing over Dwights words, hardening wherever they stuck.
He bit the regulators mouthpiece, groping for a pressure gauge.
"Oh, there isnt one, Victor," Dwight reassured him. "Time is the divers enemy. This dive, you wont have any limits. No charts. Just your task. Now over you go—itll feel so good to get into the cold water, wont it?"
Lopez had trouble getting his leg over the railing. He slid off awkwardly, his tank hitting the rail as he fell, and then he was gone.
The sound in my ears compressed into a roar. I looked at Dwight. "How much time, you sick fuck?"
He cocked his head. "Air consumption is unpredictable when their metabolism slows down. Its a race, really, whether his heart fails from the drugs before the air gives out. "
Next to me, Pena made his hands into fists. "You killed her. You drugged Adrienne. You followed us—waited for me to leave. You goddamn—"
Dwight made shhshhshh sounds, the way you would for a restless infant. "Adrienne was getting too close to you, Matthew. She was softening you. I couldnt allow that.
You made too good of a shadow to stand in, allowed me to get away with so much. I couldnt give up all the years Id cultivated you. "
"You pointed Pena toward Techsan," I said. "You m
ade the pact with Ruby, killed her when she started having regrets. It was all" your idea—you intended to destroy Jimmy. "
He rubbed his hand across Maias belly. "Lopez needs help. Ill tell you what, Maia—theres my equipment. Ill let you go in. Only you. "
If it was possible for Maia to look any more tense than she already did, with a gun at her throat, Dwights comment did the trick.
"Its only about twenty feet there," Dwight told her. "Pitch black. And of course, youd have to feel around—not knowing when youll touch human flesh, and if hell still be alive when you do. What do you say, honey? It would be worth it, letting you save Lopezs life, just to see you face that. "
Pena said, "Ill destroy you. "
Dwight raised his eyebrows. "Dont lose your only admirable quality now, Matthew.
Youve got to be strong. Youve got to cut those ties, stand alone. Thats what you always wanted. That was why I visited your parents that Christmas. I granted your wish. "
Pena was deadly still for half a second, and then, foolishly, he charged. It might have been an opportunity, but before I could even think of using it, Dwight fired.
The bullet caught Pena in the gut. He contracted like he was catching a football, slammed down on his knees.
After the shot, the silence was intense.
"Ive learned a lot of lessons from you, Matthew," Dwight told him. "I was hoping to spare you. But its only right youre here to help me end this. "
Matthew hugged his middle, made small sounds of pain.
A sheen of sweat had formed on Dwights blackened face, but I got the feeling it had nothing to do with the insulation of the wet suit. Dwight Hayes was overheating from the inside.
"You remember, Matthew? How many times we lay awake at night in the dorm room talking, that first semester? Dont you remember when you gave me the idea? You told me about changing your name, how you wished your parents were dead for ignoring you all those years? You were my inspiration. "
"No," Pena managed.
There was a wet stain on the wood, blood spreading around his knees.
"Oh, yes, you were," Dwight insisted. "You gave me the courage to live. You gave me a purpose. "
I met Maias eyes, saw what she was thinking. Distract him.
"Youre Jimmys brother," I told him. "Clara and Ewins son. "
Dwights smile became disdainful. "You dont see the resemblance, Tres? Dont worry—the disk there on the table, I take the blame for it all. When they find your bodies, theyll understand. All the roots will be pulled—all the pieces of my family, Jimmys family, will be gone. Im sorry Garrett couldnt be here, but hell have enough charges against him to destroy him. After tonight, Claras younger son can rest in peace. "
The way he spoke of himself in the third person chilled me even more than his threat.
"Kill him, Tres," Pena moaned. "You have to kill him. "
Maias first finger went down.
Id have to tackle him. But the way Dwight shot, the speed with which he moved—I was pretty sure Maia and I were both going to die.
Maias second finger went down.
A floorboard creaked in the main dining room, and a voice grumbled, "Eh! What the fucking gunshot about?"
Armand the biker. I had never been happier to hear a Cajun accent in my life.