"I'll get him," Gabe hollered.
Up ahead, the president glanced back at him and smiled. Then he gathered the reins and prodded the gray with a single brisk kick against the animal's flanks.
"Keep going!" Gabe shouted, pulling alongside.
They galloped that way, shoulder to shoulder, for another minute before Gabe spotted the marker he had built and pointed first to it, then to the woods on the left where the narrow trail would materialize.
The president pumped his fist.
Gabe tried to look as enthusiastic, but he knew he missed. He was consumed by a voice in his head that kept shouting one thing, over and over.
What in the hell have you done?
CHAPTER 61
With the lights off, the President of the United States driving, and his personal physician hanging on behind, the ATV negotiated the crooked dirt roads and trails up Flat Top Mountain to The Aerie. It was dark by the time they reached the castle and parked the four-wheeler in a concealed spot just inside the edge of the woods.
For a few moments, the two men stood by the drawbridge over the moat and watched what were probably three helicopters and a couple of fixed-wing aircraft circling off to the east.
"We made it!" Stoddard exclaimed. "I can't believe it. We made it! It must be absolute chaos back there in Washington."
"Like I said, this country is built to go from one leader to another at a moment's notice and with the minimum of chaos. If all that Twenty-fifth Amendment reading I did when I first arrived in D.C. taught me anything, it taught me that. The country is and always will be bigger than any one man."
"Maybe so. Still, I'd like to think I'm being missed right about now."
"I'm sure you are. You're doing an incredible job."
"Thanks. Speaking of missed, I've got to call Carol. I left her an envelope of instructions including the numbers of a chief with the Virginia State Police whom I trust and a federal magistrate judge as well. Carol can contact them, and they can get the warrants we need and some reliable officers to serve them. They'll meet you at Lily's place first thing tomorrow."
"Perfect. You've been a real hero, Drew. I can't imagine what it must be like to have to walk away from your job."
"I'm certainly hoping to get it back."
"As long as we keep you safe from those transmitters, I'm sure you will."
"Speaking of heroes, you've been one, too . . . and more. You've been a hell of a friend, Gabe. Better than I deserve."
What an odd thing to say, Gabe thought.
"Nonsense," he said. "Go reassure Carol that you're okay and I'm not a madman. Then I want to show you where Ye Olde Royal Physician has decreed you'll be spending the night."
"I already think I know."
For another minute, the two remained immersed in the noisy silence of the forest, trying to wrap their minds around the enormity of what they had just accomplished. Finally, Stoddard motioned Gabe to stay nearby and called his wife. In just a couple of minutes, he passed the phone over.
"You really think someone on our staff is behind this, Gabe?" Carol Stoddard asked.
"I think someone who regularly gets physically close to Drew is involved. That's the most I can say."
"And you think Lily is—was—involved, too?"
"I'm sure of it. I saw firsthand evidence when I was at her place, and Jim Ferendelli told me himself before he . . . was killed."
"But . . . but Lily was one of my dearest friends—like family."
"I'm sorry, Carol."
"And you think she was murdered, too?"
"I do. Alive she was a threat to someone. Once I discovered the laboratory tunnel from her place, she became a loose end."
"Gabe, this is an awful lot for me to digest."
"I understand. It would be for me, too, if I hadn't seen it all. Meet me tomorrow at Lily's farm at, say, noon, with the warrants and the men we need, and you'll see for yourself. For the moment, Drew is safe, and that's all that matters. I suspect we can keep him safe for another twenty-four or even thirty-six hours if we need to, but it's just a matter of time before someone figures out where we are. I'd rather get this business moving and over before anyone has time to react."
Gabe waited until the First Lady had nothing left to say, and then, mouthing the words I don't know, passed the phone back to her husband.
"I love you, sweetheart," Stoddard said. "Believe me, Gabe has done an amazing piece of work for us. You'll see."
Gabe felt certain that whatever Carol Stoddard said wasn't a ringing endorsement of his theories or their actions.
"Thank you, honey," Stoddard replied. "Thanks for trusting us this much. When you speak to the boys, just tell them I'm safe and I love them. Nothing else, though. Okay? . . . Okay?" He put the phone away and turned to Gabe. "That tunnel to the nanobot factory better be where you say it is, or like Ricky Ricardo says to Lucy, we're gonna have some 'splainin' to do."
The two men entered The Aerie.
"You're planning on putting me in the bunker downstairs, aren't you?" Drew said.
"Whoever murdered Jim and Lily and has been doing this to you is remorseless and resourceful. If anything goes wrong, I want you safe, that's all. I cleaned the place up last night."
Whoever murdered Jim and Lily . . .
The words reopened his fears regarding Alison. As soon as things were resolved tomorrow, he vowed to spend every minute searching for her for as long as it took.
"I think it's overkill," Stoddard said. "We pulled it off, Gabe. We kidnapped me right from under the nose of everyone. Now, how about a room with a view?"
"There are posters on the wall of the bunker."
"God, but I hate taking orders."
"Probably not as much as I dislike giving them. We've come this far, Mr. President. Let's not risk screwing everything up by getting complacent. Your safety is what this is all about."
Stoddard sighed and allowed himself to be escorted downstairs to the bunker.
During the minutes that followed, Gabe felt himself hit a wall. The adrenaline rush of their escape was still churning, but it was merging with an intense exhaustion that his body had probably been storing up for days. It was a tribute to eleven-hundred-dollar boots that he was barely aware of having been in them, walking and riding, since early that morning. He trudged up the spiral stone staircase of the West Tower, hauling along the backpack of supplies that had served him so well.
The high-ceilinged circular bedroom was cool and comfortable. Gabe slipped off his boots, lay on the bed, and awaited the return of his exhaustion by flipping through the pages of a three-year-old copy of Field & Stream. A trout-fishing-in-the-Tetons article made him profoundly homesick, and he decided it would be worth petitioning the president for a replacement as soon as the warrants were handed out and the arrests began. Although they had never spoken about it, he strongly suspected that Alison would love pulling on a pair of waders and stepping into a crystal Wyoming river, fly rod in hand.
It was nearly midnight when he finally set the magazine aside and headed for the bathroom. On the way, the spiral metal staircase leading up to the battlements caught his eye, and suddenly he wanted one last view of the magnificent panorama that had contributed to giving the castle its name. Not bothering with his boots, he climbed up and opened the heavy door leading outside.
The sky was somewhat overcast, but the view from the tower might have been fifty miles on a clear day. He was looking mostly out to the distant west and north, although there was nearly a 360-degree panorama available. It was almost by chance that he gazed directly downward when he did. There, past the moat, at the edge of the forest, he saw a figure moving furtively among the trees.
In an instant, any fatigue he was feeling vanished.
"Stop right there!" he called out. "I can see you and I have a gun!"
His words seemed to be swallowed by the night.
Below, the figure vanished into the forest.
Then, from Gabe's right, he saw a
second shadow, moving parallel to the first.
These weren't kids looking for mischief. Every fiber in his being said that whoever was down there was trouble.
For a minute, Gabe continued peering through the dark. Then he raced down the staircase, pulled on his boots, and crossed to the door. He was about to open it when he glanced down at his backpack. He removed the hunting knife and slipped on the pack with its rope and collection of tools.
Then, hefting the knife in his hand, he slipped out of the bedroom and moved cautiously, silently, down the stone staircase.
CHAPTER 62
It had been stupid to yell out from the tower the way he had. Absolutely stupid.
Hunting knife in hand, Gabe reprimanded himself as he cautiously descended to the main floor.
What now?
He tried without success to get his brain around the answer to who could have found them within just six hours. Drew's belief that few, if any, outside his immediate family knew of The Aerie had to have been misguided. Someone else knew and had put the pieces together. Gabe had heard that of all the investigative services, including the CIA and FBI, the Secret Service was the most resourceful, efficient, and imaginative. It wouldn't surprise him to learn that The Aerie was in one of their files, along with its history and maybe even some blueprints.
Hopefully, Secret Service agents were the ones who were laying siege to the castle right now. In truth, although Gabe had chosen to suspect anyone and everyone as betraying Drew, the president's protective detachment would have been the ones he trusted first. One thing Gabe was certain of—the forms outside weren't his mind playing tricks. He envisioned a Secret Service SWAT team, or the equivalent, silently positioning themselves in the night.
It would take some serious work and preparation to breach the walls of the castle. Probably whoever was out there would take the more straightforward approach of simply setting aside stealth and blowing the massive portcullis to toothpicks.
What in the hell have I done? Gabe wondered once again.
The West Tower staircase opened into the far end of the dining room. To reach Drew, he would have to cross the great room to the basement staircase. Gabe frantically tried to reason out what there was to be gained by alerting Drew before he knew what they were up against. Would Drew agree to stay where he was until it was clear how much of a threat there was to him? At least for the moment he was locked in the bunker and reasonably secure. But he also had the cell phone. Gabe considered and quickly rejected the possibility of trying to sneak out and get down the mountain to ask for help.
Maybe whoever was outside would be unable to breach the walls or blow up the portcullis. Maybe they were just kids looking for mischief. Maybe . . .
Harsh whispers echoing from the kitchen, no more than twenty feet away, stopped him short.
How in the hell had they gotten in?
A siege tunnel! Gabe felt certain of it. Most medieval castles had one or more secret ways to go around or behind a besieging army to escape or to bring in supplies and weapons. It would have been a surprise if eccentric Bedard Stoddard had not built one.
"Crackowski, what in hell happened to you back there?"
The heavy southern drawl was one Gabe recognized immediately.
His heart stopped, considered remaining that way, then slowly started up again, missing every few beats.
"I smashed my fucking head in that fucking tunnel," the other man, Crackowski, said. "Shit, it's bleeding."
"That's what you get for shaving your head."
"Fuck you, Carl. When we've taken care of business here, I'm gonna shave your head."
"It'll be really hard to do that with a bullet through your eye. Now, let's get this over with."
"You take the front half out there, I'll take the rear. Any lights you find, turn them on. Whoever yelled knows we're here, so we're not going to take anyone by surprise. One alive, one dead."
"One alive, one dead," Jim Ferendelli's killer echoed.
Gabe silently backed away and into the great room, where there were some swords and a spear or two, plus a number of places he could conceal himself. If he understood the orders from the man named Crackowski, the other killer, Carl, would be coming his way.
"One alive, one dead."
Gabe had little trouble believing that he was the throwaway. With the nanotechnology at their disposal, it seemed that whoever was behind the transmitters could deal with the president any time they wanted. Of course, it was still possible that Drew was the real target and not just his presidency, as Ferendelli believed. But like Lily Sexton, Gabe had become a dangerous loose end.
The two killers knew about the siege tunnel. Did they know about the bunker as well? If Drew remained locked inside, getting at him would be a hell of a problem . . . unless they were able to shut off his air.
With the skipped heartbeats increasing again, Gabe pressed himself against the wall behind the huge armored stallion and rider and forced himself to calm down and focus, much as he had done over the years when faced with medical crises.
Chances were that he was going to die, but the two men were going to have to earn their kill.
At that moment, Carl moved cautiously into the great room, his heavy pistol ready. Gabe clutched his hunting knife and tried unsuccessfully to imagine any scenario where he might have even a slight advantage. He ducked down and moved deeper into the shadows behind the mannequin steed and its rider as the gunman approached.
Fifteen feet . . . ten . . . five . . .
Any second, Carl would be able to see him. Gabe braced himself against the armor covering the haunch of the horse and tightened his grip on the handle of the hunting knife, preparing for an overhand stab. Between horse and rider there had to be at least two hundred pounds of steel, probably more. He had to bring the setup down quickly and accurately.
One more step, just one, and . . .
Gabe drove his shoulder into the armor as if he were trying to take out an onrushing lineman. Carl's reaction, not unexpectedly, was to whirl and fire. The impact of the armor sent him stumbling backward, and he fell heavily, with much of the horse collapsing down on him. Gabe dove on top of the armor, slashing randomly downward with the heavy blade again and again until he felt it hit flesh and heard Carl's cry.
Then, an instant later, Gabe was shot.
The bullet, one of a volley of wild shots from Carl's pistol, tore through the tissue just above Gabe's right hip, spinning him backward and off the horse. Above the armor he could see the killer trying to set for another, more accurate shot, but through the gloom he also saw the hunting knife protruding from the man's thigh. Gabe managed to get his feet onto the mannequin and pushed it against the killer as hard as he could. Then Gabe rolled over and stumbled to his feet, gasping at the pain from his wound at the same moment Carl was screaming, "You fucker! You stabbed me! I'll kill you! You fucking bastard! I'll kill you!"
Several more shots exploded, echoing through the vast hall.
Dragging his leg, Gabe lurched toward the dining room and headed for the short stairway leading up to the second level, away from where he suspected the other gunman, Crackowski, would be coming. His jeans were rapidly soaking through with blood, and he felt blood dripping down into his boot. Still, no matter what, he had gotten one in for Jim Ferendelli.
The pain from his wound was intense but manageable. Using the stone banister, he hauled himself up to the second floor and around to the balcony surrounding the empty pool from twelve feet above. It was easy to imagine Drew, his father, and his grandfather, as well as family and friends, jumping and diving from the balcony into the pool, which included, Drew had told him, an overhead grid of pipes used to simulate a rainstorm on cue. In fact, the pipes were still there, illuminated to some extent by light reflecting off the clouds and coming through a glass canopy as large as the pool.
With the glimmer of an idea beginning to form, Gabe ignored the burning pain in his hip and managed to stand on the balcony wall, propping
himself against one of the pillars that supported the glass canopy. Then he tested the main pipe, which seemed solidly anchored to a metal frame that came down from the roof. Whether or not it could hold more than double a man's weight was anyone's guess, but that was what he would be asking it to do.
The knife was gone, and he was hardly mobile enough to go foraging for another weapon. But he did have a weapon—at least a potential one—in his backpack, and he knew damn well how to use it. Carefully, he removed the rope he had used to entertain and educate the stable master's son, Pete—forty feet of excellent lariat cord, purchased in the store where Gabe had gotten his boots. Then he took one end and swung it over the pipe. Finally, he tied that end around his waist and used it and the descending length to test the pipe and lower himself back to the balcony floor.
No problem.
It would be a hell of a throw, but somewhere in a box in his basement were dozens of tarnished trophies that said he could make it.
Spent from the pain and the effort, Gabe sank onto the stone floor of the balcony and waited, trying not to gasp out loud with each breath. It seemed likely that when Carl was upright the two killers would separate again. The knife wound to Carl's leg would have them angry, anxious, and even a little shaken—a recipe for error. All Gabe could hope for now was that one of them didn't come up to the balcony.
He shifted his position and felt a daggerlike pain from his wound into his groin. He was about to check to see if there was an exit hole when he heard noise and sensed movement from below. Peering between the cement balustrades, he could make out a man's form, moving cautiously along the pool. No limp. Then, light through the canopy glinted off his shaved pate.
Crackowski.
Gabe shifted again, checked the knot that fixed the lariat around his waist, then the slipknot he had tied at the business end of the rope. A glance overhead to ensure everything was in place and he gathered in the slack, moved into an agonizing crouch, and waited as, a step at a time, the killer headed toward the spot just beneath where the rope looped over the rain pipe.
The First Patient Page 32