Burnt Sienna

by David Morrell

  “Since now.”

  Malone exhaled and waved him forward.

  “What would you like?” Jeb set the whiskey and the beer on the bureau.

  “Some passports would be nice.” Jeb frowned.

  “A set of new IDs. Just to give me the illusion there’s a future.”

  Jeb opened his mouth, closed it, thought a moment, and finally said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I sort of hoped they were already in the works.”

  Jeb avoided the subject. “What would you like for dinner?”

  “You’re the food director now?”

  “Just trying to make you happy.”

  “Next thing, you’ll be leaving chocolates on the bed.”

  “Hey, this is a shitty deal, I admit. But it’s like what they say about a real prison: You can do easy time or hard time. Why don’t the two of us get loaded, eat a steak dinner, and watch the Lakers game tonight? Things could be worse.”

  “… I want to see her.”

  “I know, pal.”

  “Take me to her.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am. For what it’s worth, she’s been insisting to see you, too.”

  Malone’s chest ached.

  “That’s all she wants. Listen, if the decision was up to me … ” Jeb twisted the cap off the liquor bottle. “But Laster’s determined to give her a reason to remember harder. He figures if she has everything she wants, why should she help us?”

  “One day, he and I are going to have a long talk about this.”

  The rain lanced harder against the window.

  “Have you got any glasses?” Jeb asked.

  “Maybe in the bathroom.”

  Thunder rumbled.

  “I’ll go look,” Jeb said.

  The next rumble shook the building. The thickness of the window wasn’t enough to shut out a muffled scream.

  Jeb froze on his way to the bathroom.

  “That wasn’t thunder,” Malone said.

  11

  “Christ.” Jeb rushed toward the door and jabbed numbers on the pad. When he yanked the door open, Malone was immediately behind him, hearing a commotion down the hallway, urgent footsteps, frantic voices.

  “— in back!”

  “Breached the —”

  Outside, a burst from an assault rifle was followed by a scream and another explosion. Jeb ran along the corridor, yelling to Malone, “Stay here!”

  Like hell, Malone thought, then charged after him. In the foyer, the two guards he had struggled with earlier had drawn their pistols, aiming toward the front entrance. Other guards raced along corridors.

  Louder gunfire, a third explosion.

  I have to find Sienna, Malone thought.

  In the foyer, he turned toward the middle corridor, where he saw Laster and his two assistants rush from a room halfway along on the left. Laster’s face was pale as he slammed the door shut behind him, grabbed a guard running past, and blurted questions.

  Malone whirled toward the guard he had earlier struck in the stomach. “Give me a pistol.”

  Sweat beading his forehead, the guard stared toward the front entrance and didn’t seem to hear him.

  “Listen, damn it, I need a pistol!”

  “Go back to your room!” Laster shouted, reaching him.

  “Where’s Sienna?”

  An explosion shook the front doors. Smoke appeared at the end of the middle corridor. Although the exterior of the house was made of metal and glass, reinforced to withstand an attack, the interior’s wooden walls and beams had caught on fire. Outside, the shots intensified. Then suddenly the shooting wasn’t outside any longer. Malone heard an ear-torturing burst from an assault rifle. Rapid single shots from pistols followed. The smoke worsened.

  “Go back to your —” Laster started to repeat. Gunfire interrupted him.

  “Tell me where Sienna is!”

  “I don’t understand how they —” Laster spun toward an assistant. “Get the woman.”

  The assistant stared at the smoke churning toward him and backed away.

  “Get her!” Laster repeated.

  “Where is she?” Malone demanded. “In the room you just left?”

  Laster whirled toward the sound of an explosion outside.

  “Damn you.” Malone took a deep breath and shoved past. As the smoke enveloped him, it stung his eyes and blurred his vision. For all he knew, it was poison gas, but he didn’t allow himself to think about it. He had to find Sienna. In the swirling haze, he couldn’t tell how far along the corridor he had gone.

  He reached a door, turned the knob, and thrust inside. “Sienna!” The room was free of smoke. Sweet air entered his lungs. Then smoke gusted in, but not before he saw that the room was empty. There weren’t even any sheets on the bed.

  In the last of the unfouled air, he took another deep breath and lunged back into the smoke-filled corridor, rushing farther. “Sienna!” He shoved open the next door and found another empty room.

  From down the hallway, he thought he heard a muffled cry. “Chase!” Was he imagining it? Was he making himself hear what he wanted to hear? He ran to the next door, and this time when he charged in, she was there before him, rushing toward him. Coughing, he wanted to slam the door behind him to prevent the smoke from spilling in, but he realized that he’d be locking them in, that he had to keep the door open. He grabbed a chair and braced it between the door and the jamb.

  They held each other. He wanted to keep his arms around her forever, but as nearby gunfire made her flinch, the smoke began to fill the room.

  “Help me,” he said. “We need wet towels.”

  In the bathroom, he filled the sink with cold water. Sienna grabbed two towels and plunged them in, soaking them.

  The gunfire was closer. Smoke reached the bathroom.

  Coughing, Malone pressed a dripping towel against his face. Although it was hard to breathe through, the moisture filtered some of the smoke. But that wouldn’t last long, he knew. As Sienna covered her face with the other towel, they made their way toward the door.

  He shoved the chair aside, grasped Sienna’s hand, and entered the chaos of the hallway. Someone ran past, not seeing them in the smoke. Shots at the end of the corridor made Malone crouch, forcing Sienna down with him. He led her to the right, toward the foyer, where he had been with Laster and his assistants. Jeb? Where was he?

  Unable to see the floor, Malone almost tripped over something. A body. Sienna make a choking sound. He released her hand and stooped toward the corpse. His hand touched warm, sticky liquid on the unmoving chest. He felt a suit and wondered if the body belonged to Laster or one of his assistants. He checked the body’s right hand, found a pistol, and shoved it under his belt. He probed the inside suit pockets and found a wallet, which he also grabbed.

  The moment he shoved the wallet into his jeans, he urged Sienna farther along the corridor. The wet towel became harder to breathe through, the smoke too thick. Sienna coughed. But Malone wasn’t afraid that the sound would attract attention to them — there were too many other sounds: shots, screams, racing footsteps, the roar of a fire at the end of the corridor behind them.

  He kept his shoulder against the wall. Then suddenly the wall was gone. He’d reached the foyer. But the area seemed abandoned. The shots, screams, and footsteps became eerily silent, the only noise the growing whoosh of the flames behind him. Is everybody dead? he wondered.

  “Chase!” someone called.

  Malone spun.

  “Chase!”

  The hoarse voice was Jeb’s. To the right.

  Worried that someone might be forcing Jeb, Malone took the towel from his mouth long enough to whisper to Sienna, “Grab the back of my belt. Don’t let go.” He returned the towel to his mouth. Not that it did much good any longer. The smoke was too strong. As she grabbed his belt, he pulled out the pistol he had taken from the body.

  “Chase!” Jeb sounded closer. At once he appeared amid the smoke, his face red from coughing
, startled by the weapon Malone pointed at him.

  As smoke seared Malone’s throat, he could barely say, “Get us out of here!”

  Jeb tugged his arm, leading him to the right. Outside, two shots made Sienna tighten her grip on Malone’s belt. Abruptly Jeb reached a door and opened it, pulling them into a dimly lit room. The area was comparatively free of smoke, and as Malone and Sienna breathed in, trying to fill their lungs, Jeb quickly closed the door.

  But this is a trap, Malone thought. How are we going to leave the building? Immediately he noticed concrete steps leading downward.

  “There’s a utility tunnel that goes to the pool house,” Jeb said.

  Malone didn’t need to hear any more. He and Sienna ran down. At the bottom, they paused only long enough for Jeb to find a light switch and flick it on. A concrete corridor was lined with doors. Pipes passed along the ceiling, interspersed with glaring bulbs.

  As Malone ran, his labored breathing echoed. He and Sienna threw their towels into a laundry area. A door banged open behind them. They raced harder.

  The corridor turned sharply to the left, bringing them to an unlit segment of the tunnel. It was cool, damp, and smelled of mold. The instant Malone rushed around the corner, he took cover in the shadows and aimed back along the corridor.

  At the far end, footsteps clattered down the stairs. Four men rushed into view. They held assault rifles, one of them shouting, “Check every room!”

  As the men split up, Malone held his fire. There were too many men. They were too far away. He glanced toward Jeb, whose strained eyes seemed to be reading his thoughts. Jeb cocked his head toward the continuation of the tunnel, as if to say, Our best chance is to get the hell out of here.

  Hoping that the sounds the men made would prevent them from hearing other sounds, Malone, Sienna, and Jeb hurried on. But the farther they went from the lights at the other end of the tunnel, the more darkness gathered around them. They had to slow, feeling ahead of themselves to make sure they didn’t bump into something.

  The steps caught Malone by surprise, his right shoe striking one. He felt a metal rail to his left and started up, only to stiffen as a furious voice in the other corridor shouted, “I heard something!”

  Malone worked higher up the stairs. Sienna rushed next to him. Ahead, Jeb attempted to free something, making a noise as what sounded like a lock was released.

  “That way!” the angry voice shouted.

  Jesus, Malone thought. As the men’s footsteps raced closer, Jeb yanked open a door. Gray light spilled in. The door’s hinges grated.

  “Around that corner!” one of the men yelled.

  Silhouetted against the light in the tunnel behind them, the men rounded the bend and raised their rifles.

  Malone fired, hit one of them, and fired again, absorbing the pistol’s recoil while the remaining three men scrambled back around the corner. One of them cursed, but Malone barely heard it — his ears rang painfully, as if someone had slammed hands against them.

  He whirled and ran the rest of the way up the steps, entering a utility room, where Sienna shifted a table toward him while Jeb slammed the door. Dusky light through an opposite doorway revealed the pump, filter, and water heater for the swimming pool, but Malone paid little attention. Without a key, they couldn’t lock this door from the outside. Rushing, he helped Sienna move the table, jamming it against the door a moment before a bullet walloped against it from the other side. The door was metal. The bullet didn’t pierce it. But the table wasn’t heavy enough to keep three men from forcing the door open.

  Jeb hefted a large plastic container marked CHLORINE TABLETS and set it on the table. Malone did the same with a second container. It was heavy, but not enough. Any moment, the men would ram their shoulders against the door.

  Malone hurried with Jeb and Sienna to a canopied area next to the pool. In the dimming light, rain pelted a cover stretched over the pool. His pistol ready, Malone scanned the lawn, stable, tennis court, and misted hills. Turning to the left, he saw the house in flames, figures in confusion around it. The roar of the fire must have prevented them from hearing his shots. There was no way to tell whether they were Laster’s men or Bellasar’s. If the latter, Malone couldn’t risk attempting to ambush the men behind him when they charged from the pool house. In the open, the shots would bring more pursuers. The only choice was to keep running.

  The stable, Malone thought. He motioned for Jeb and Sienna to run to the right toward a gate that led to a lane. After the heat of his exertions, the rain felt welcomely cool. But as his wet clothes clung to his legs, back, and chest, a shiver swept through him.

  His shoes slipped on mud. He fought for traction and ran harder. The rain made the dusk gray enough that he prayed they couldn’t be seen from the burning house or from the pool area. The stable loomed closer. They splashed through puddles, reaching a door.

  The rectangular building hadn’t been used in quite a while. A horse trailer was covered with cobwebs. The ten stalls along each side were empty except for dusty straw and more cobwebs.

  Straining to catch his breath, Malone peered out the open door toward the pool area. While he had time, he ejected the magazine from the grip of his pistol and checked to see how many rounds were left. He couldn’t assume that it had been full when he picked it up — the man from whom he had taken it might have fired several times before he was shot. He was right. The weapon, a 9-mm Beretta, the same type of pistol Malone had used in the military, could hold as many as sixteen rounds, but only nine were left.

  “Do you see anybody?” Jeb asked.

  “There.” Sienna pointed toward the rain-shrouded lane, where a man with a rifle hurried in their direction.

  “But I don’t see the others.” Malone immediately understood. “Jesus, they’ve split up. They’ll be coming at us from three sides.”

  Jeb pulled out a pistol. “There aren’t any doors along each side. I’ll watch the one at the far end.”

  “How can I help?” Sienna asked.

  “We don’t have another gun. Take cover.”

  “I see one of them,” Jeb said from the other end. “He’s still too far away. I can’t get a shot at him.”

  Malone stared at the man hurrying toward them along the lane. Abruptly the man sank behind the fence that flanked it. “This one’s taking cover, sneaking up.”

  “But where’s the third one?” Jeb asked.

  Straining for a glimpse of a target, Malone told Sienna, “Better get behind those hay bales.”

  But when he glanced in her direction, he didn’t see her. He looked in another direction and saw a ladder that led to a platform above him. She was halfway up.

  “What are you —” Immediately he quit talking, his attention totally focused on the gunman in the lane, who suddenly appeared at an open gate and dashed through the rain to the cover of a shed.

  Malone aimed, ready for him to emerge on the right or the left.

  Above, amid the rain drumming on the corrugated metal roof, Malone heard Sienna on the platform.

  “There’s a window,” she said.

  “For God sake, be careful.” He kept aiming.

  “I’m high enough that I can see him behind the shed. He’s —”

  Her abrupt silence made Malone tense.

  “He’s motioning to someone on your right,” she said. “He’s pointing toward the side of the building. The third man must be heading toward it. He’s going to sneak along it on your blind side.”

  Several rapid thunks at Jeb’s end of the building sounded like bullets slamming into wood.

  “Jesus, are you okay?” Malone asked. “I didn’t hear the shots.”

  “He’s using a silencer,” Jeb said.

  A thought nagged at Malone, but before he could analyze the implications, the man behind the shed fired three rapid shots toward the open door. As Malone pressed himself against the wall next to the door, bullets splintered the slats of a stall behind him. But he didn’t hear the shots, and not
because of the ringing in his ears. This gunman, too, was using a sound suppressor. Why?

  “The one behind the shed is looking to your right again,” Sienna said from above. “Toward the side of the building. I get the sense that the third man’s farther along it.”

  Malone understood. The gunman behind the shed would keep firing to distract Malone while the third man crept next to the door and waited for Malone to return fire. The moment Malone revealed his position, the third man would make his move.

  “The man behind the shed just nodded,” Sienna said. “They’re ready.” Prepared for the gunman behind the shed to show himself, Malone pulled the trigger the instant he saw motion, shooting one, two, three times, the pistol bucking in his hands. As the gunman pitched backward, Malone dove forward through the doorway, landing in mud, firing to his right, toward where Sienna had predicted the third gunman would be. The man’s face twisted in surprise, unable to redirect his aim before Malone’s bullets struck him in the chest, knocking him down.

  Malone scrambled back to the cover of the building. Studying the men he had shot to make sure they weren’t moving, he realized that Sienna was next to him.

  Jeb was next to him also. “The third man took off through the woods. But the ones at the house are running this way.”

  “They work for Laster,” Malone said.

  “How do you know?”

  The thought that had nagged at Malone became clear. “The men I shot wouldn’t have used sound suppressors unless they didn’t want the men at the house to hear them. Laster’s men managed to fight off the attack.”

  “Yes,” Jeb said. “I see Laster.”

  “Go out and tell him we’re safe,” Malone said.

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  “Sienna and I need a minute by ourselves.”

  Jeb hesitated, massaging his left thigh, where he’d been shot the night Malone had saved his life in Panama City. “Sure.” He hesitated longer. “You’ve earned it.”

  He stepped into the dusky rain, heading toward the rapidly approaching men, who were outlined by the smoke of the burning house.

  Watching Jeb walk away, Malone led Sienna deeper into the stable. “They had their chance. They can’t protect us. Your husband couldn’t have found us this fast unless he has an informant in the Agency.”