72 Hours (A Thriller)

by Moreton, William Casey

  “OK, what about the other two?”

  “Haven’t seen them,” Raj said.

  “Negative,” Simeon seconded.

  “OK,” Archer said. “Raj, find out what you can from your POW. I want to know who sent them. How they found us. Get names. Dig it out of him, but be careful. Don’t turn your back for a second. These guys are big and nasty.”

  “What about you?” Raj asked him.

  “I’m going back down,” Archer said. “I’ve got to find Lindsay.”

  CHAPTER 102

  Lindsay was covered in dust and grime, grease and cobwebs. When the door exploded it had felt like the entire world was crashing down on top of her. She had dropped into absolute darkness, and the darkness had shook like the earth was coming apart at the seams. She had been thrown against an iron beam. She had smashed into it with her left shoulder. Hard. There was pain vibrating down her skeleton like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The impact had left her stunned. For a long moment she had lay on her back with her arms crossed over her face. The force of the detonation had sent dust and grit billowing through the cramped space beneath the floor. For several minutes she couldn’t open her eyes, and when she finally did open them, couldn’t see a thing.

  She had dropped about nine feet down a narrow chute from the metal panel in the library. The shaft ended at an incredibly tight crawlspace. It was nice and wide but barely twenty inches from top to bottom. The ceiling of the crawlspace was supported by an array of iron pillars. She had to navigate them by touch, hauling herself forward on her elbows. The space was filthy. She couldn’t move without sliding through a half-inch of scummy buildup.

  Lindsay had no concept of where she was or where she was going. Only that the mercenary couldn’t be far behind.

  * * *

  Tango kicked debris aside with his boot. Crumbled concrete. Wood fragments. Twisted metal. Ribbons of shredded, charred paper.

  Pale fluorescent light from the corridor flickered and winked through the massive hole in the wall where the library door had once stood. The flickering glowed through the dusty haze. Tango crunched around the perimeter of the metal panel. He kicked at the grit and rubble along the edges. He shined the tactical light on the hand pull at one end of the panel and lifted it with his left arm.

  Grit and debris rained down off the metal surface as he raised it from horizontal. Dust plumed. Tango coughed, turned his head. The tactical light cut through the dingy dust and lingering smoke like fog lights through a hazy swamp.

  He shined the light down into the chute. He sat at the edge of the hatch, swung his legs down and felt a cool draft puff across his pant legs. Then he tucked his rifle close against his chest and dropped into the hole.

  * * *

  Archer skimmed down the ladder, his feet only touching every sixth or eight rung. Water rained down from all four sides of the hatch opening. Lightening flashed beneath the clouds.

  Archer pushed through a heavy door and saw flickering light ahead. He made his way to the residential quarters of the underground bunker. It looked like a war zone. Thick clouds of dust drifting through the light. Debris and rubble. Ribbons of smoke lingering near the ceiling.

  Archer crunched through the destruction. He crossed from one corridor into the next. Spotted Simeon standing in the hazy gloom.

  Simeon was staring through the rubble where his library used to be. He shook his head.

  “I don’t know if she could’ve survived this,” Simeon said.

  “There’s no body. No Blood,” Archer said. “She’s alive. But where is she?”

  Simeon crunched through the debris, waved dust and smoke out of his face.

  “Looks to me like she scrambled in here and managed to lock the door,” Simeon said, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s why he had to blow the wall. The only way to get to her.”

  Archer nodded.

  “OK,” he said. “I can see that.”

  Simeon took a step forward and stamped his foot on the metal panel.

  “Then she went down there,” Simeon said.

  “What’s down there?”

  “Nothing, really,” Simeon answered. “Crawlspace. Doesn’t lead anywhere. Just a low, wide crawlspace. If the mercenary who did all this went down there after her, she’s got nowhere left to run.”

  * * *

  Tango was nine feet beneath them, squeezing through the ridiculously tight space. Pushing the rifle out ahead of him, the tactical light reeling from pillar to pillar, slicing the darkness a few feet at a time. He hauled himself between the iron struts, progressing a few painful inches at a time. Then he would pause, listen carefully, wait for Lindsay Hammond to make a sound. Eventually she’d make a mistake. Sooner or later he’d have her in a corner, and there’d be no escape.

  * * *

  Lindsay could hear him coming. She could see his light bobbing through the alien-like legs of the iron struts. She had slithered about a hundred feet away, pressing herself against a cool, gritty cinderblock wall. It was as far as she could go. She guessed that the crawlspace was at least as wide as it was deep. But whether she went right or left, the man with the gun would eventually close the distance either way.

  She took slow, deep breaths. Every move was subtle and silent. She could hear him scraping towards her. She pressed herself deeper into shadow.

  The light swam across the tight cavity. She heard him grunt. Heard him cursing her.

  Lindsay scooted stealthily toward the corner nearest her, shielding herself from view behind an iron strut. She reached the corner and pivoted, continuing to her left. Soon she was parallel to him. Less than sixty feet between them.

  She froze as he aimed the beam of white light in her direction. The light fluttered briefly through the forest of struts nearest her and then moved on. She could feel her exhausted arms trembling.

  He had nearly reached the rear wall.

  Lindsay reached the front corner and began the long terrible return trip to the entrance to the chute.

  Tango pivoted in the grime and dust. The light glowing through the cobwebs and iron struts. He had a choice to make.

  Lindsay saw him turn away from her and almost came to tears. She inched her way toward the crawlspace entrance. She was almost there when she took a deep breath and sucked some dust into her throat. She could not suppress the tickling sensation, and had to cough.

  Tango heard her. He immediately pivoted, maneuvering the gun. He aimed the light through the obstacle course of iron struts and reeled off a burst of gunfire.

  Lindsay pressed her body against an iron strut and screamed.

  Tango hauled himself toward her on his elbows. He fired again, pushing himself through a face full of thickly layered cobwebs.

  Lindsay knew she had to make a move. She hauled herself toward the opening. Desperate, clawing. He reached the narrow chute and hauled herself through. Bullets stitching through the darkness behind her.

  Tango shouted, “You’re as good as dead!” He held the trigger down, two dozen rounds circulating wildly among the iron struts. Blue sparks flying. A bullet returned in his direction and caught him above the right ear. He dropped the gun and clamped a hand over his face.

  Lindsay heard him cry out in pain as she hauled herself up the chute toward the panel door.

  * * *

  Archer hoisted her up. She hugged him tightly and sobbed.

  Archer placed a hand on the back of her head, pressed the side of her face to his chest.

  “You’re safe now,” he told her.

  He could feel her hot tears on his chest.

  “They can’t get you anymore,” he said.

  She nodded like she believed him.

  “He’s still down there,” she said without pulling away from his embrace.

  “We’ll take care of him,” Archer said.

  “Kill him. Please kill him,” she said through tears.

  Simeon walked into the room holding a metal canister in his hands. He showed it t
o Archer.

  “Tear gas,” Simeon said. “Let him sit down there and suck on this for a while.”

  Archer nodded. “Good idea.”

  Archer moved Lindsay out of the way and escorted her out into the corridor, a safe distance from the noxious fumes of the tear gas.

  Simeon straddled the open hatch. He pulled the pin on the gas canister and chucked it through the opening of the crawlspace. Then he slammed the metal panel shut and parked the remainder of the sofa on top of it.

  “Sweat dreams,” he said with a smile. Then he marched off to join Archer and Lindsay.

  CHAPTER 103

  “Tell me how you found this place,” Raj said.

  Oscar said nothing. He kept walking.

  “Where did you get your information?”

  No response.

  Raj studied the backside of the enormous man walking ahead of him.

  Rain sizzled through the brush and on the smooth rocks staggered along the ridgeline.

  Raj held the muzzle of the rifle pointed at the center of the man’s back.

  “You will have to talk eventually. Or you will have to die.”

  No response.

  “Stop. Stop walking.”

  Oscar slowed to a halt.

  Raj’s short white hair glistened with rain.

  “I’d suggest you talk, my friend. Who are you? Who sent you? Who hired you?”

  “I…am…the…angel…of…death…” Oscar growled.

  Raj rubbed his thumb on the stock of his rifle. Breathed out through his nose.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I…am…the…angel…of…death.”

  “How much are they paying you?”

  “I…am…the…angel…of…death,” Oscar repeated like a mantra.

  Raj pursed his lips and stared at the back of the man’s neck. He raised his rifle to his shoulder.

  “Was it worth it, to come here and die like this, for nothing?” Raj said, sighting down the barrel at the big beefy target.

  A brief pause, then: “I…AM…THE… ”

  Raj pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  The motor whirred, vibrating loudly inside the wall. Then the thick steel door lifted, sucking back up into the ceiling. Ramey and Wyatt rushed out, flinging themselves into their mother’s arms.

  Lindsay started sobbing, hugging her arms around both children at once.

  “I thought you were dead,” Wyatt said through tears.

  “Of course not,” Lindsay answered. “I’d never leave you.”

  “That was so awful,” Ramey said, face streaked and wet.

  “I know. But it’s over now. We’re alive, and we’re still together. We made it.”

  She pulled away and looked them in the eyes.

  “We made it,” she said again.

  “Best if the three of you stay inside there,” Archer said, holding a long flashlight against his shoulder.

  Simeon disappeared inside a utility closet and threw a heavy red breaker switch. Within seconds full power had returned. The corridors were suddenly and unexpectedly bright.

  “We aren’t in the clear yet,” Archer told Lindsay. “We are down to three of them, including your friend breathing tear gas under the floor. There are still two that are unaccounted for.”

  Lindsay nodded.

  The corridors were still hazy with dust and smoke.

  Archer crunched through scattered debris and kicked his way past the rubble blown from the library wall. He found Simeon in the camera monitoring room. The room was trashed. The last explosion had overturned the long table, spilling the computer monitors, the television, and all the other assorted supplies and equipment to the floor.

  Archer stood in the doorway.

  Simeon ducked around the light fixture rocking lazily side to side from a twisted ceiling bracket. Archer helped Simeon right the table, lifting it back onto its legs. He crunched through the pebbled glass and crushed concrete.

  “Hell of a thing,” Simeon mumbled.

  “Does anything still work?”

  “Not likely,” Simeon said.

  “So the outside cameras are useless to us.”

  Simeon shrugged. Nodded.

  “Super,” Archer sighed.

  Simeon lifted a ruined flat panel display and squared it to the front edge of the tabletop. There was a jagged mouth of glass teeth surrounding the dark cavity where the screen had shattered.

  They heard the satellite phone ring.

  Simeon glanced up at Archer.

  “Help me find it.”

  They kicked aside busted equipment on the floor and shoved away the heavy metal rack that had tipped over.

  “There.” Simeon pointed.

  Archer followed his gaze and retrieved the phone from a collection of rubble. The device was grimy with dust and grit.

  Archer passed it to him.

  Simeon was hesitant.

  “What do you think?”

  Archer shrugged.

  “Is it Penny?”

  Simeon looked unsure.

  “Answer it,” Archer said.

  Simeon nodded. Took a deep breath. Pressed the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Penny Lockwood is looking into the barrel of my loaded gun, right now,” Noella Chu stated. “Whether or not she dies right here and now is completely dependent upon you. Do you understand?”

  “Who are you?”

  She ignored the question.

  “Which one are you?” she asked.

  His eyes flicked to Archer.

  “I am Simeon.”

  “Please say hello to your sister.”

  She held the telephone receiver to Penny’s ear and pressed the muzzle of the gun to her forehead.

  Penny closed her eyes. Her cheeks sticky with dried tears.

  “Simeon,” she said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.”

  Simeon could see his sister’s face in his mind’s eye.

  “What does that person want with you?” he said, rage pulsing through his body.

  “I don’t know. She won’t say.”

  “Has she hurt you?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Noella Chu jerked the phone away but kept the gun pressed against the soft flesh, a white ring forming where the muzzle disrupted circulation.

  “Are you listening?” Noella Chu said.

  “Yes.”

  “Do I have your attention?”

  “Of course.”

  “We are going to make a trade.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You are going to give me Lindsay Hammond. And in return I will let your sister live.”

  Simeon stared hard at Archer. It seemed pointless to lie because he had already spoken to Lindsay.

  “Give me your answer,” Noella Chu said. “Your sister for Lindsay Hammond. Yes or no?”

  “Let me speak to Penny again!”

  “Simeon you have exactly three seconds to decide the value of your sister’s life.” Noella Chu pressed the muzzle of the gun into the soft bedding, held the receiver directly against the barrel, and pulled the trigger, firing a round into the mattress.

  Penny jumped.

  Simeon jumped.

  Noella Chu put the phone back to her ear.

  “Simeon, what is your decision?”

  “OK,” he said. “OK.”

  He again cast his glare toward Archer.

  “You have a deal,” he said into the satellite phone. “I will give you Lindsay Hammond.”

  CHAPTER 104

  Kline closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and turned away from the car. He was now convinced that there was nothing good to be said of the world.

  He stood with his eyes closed and pushed the breath out. He waited for something resembling peace or stillness to filter in, but it never did. He tasted bile rising like syrup. His eyes turned glassy. The nausea spiked. A crime scene hadn’t affected him like this in many years. He thought he’d gotten beyond it
, but this was just too close to home. He wished he hadn’t looked inside the car.

  Kline opened his eyes and walked slowly through the surreal juggernaut of law enforcement and medical personnel. Light bars flashing from the tops of squad cars. An ambulance stood waiting with its cargo doors open.

  Kline could see traffic streaming down the 405 in the distance. He gazed across the lights and pavement of LAX. He put one foot in front of the other and moved forward. The noise and lights and chaos faded to the background of his consciousness as he approached his government car. The passenger door was open. Jason Sperry sat staring through the windshield at nothing but the nightmare that had become his life. A pair of uniformed officers stood in the open door, shielding him from the ghoulish scene beyond. They had taken his weapon, anything he could harm himself with. They had put him on suicide watch.

  Kline walked to the front of the car and stood with his hands together on top of the cab. The two uniforms stared at him. His thoughts drifted to his own wife and their grown daughter.

  Someone had noticed the body in the car and dialed 911. Julie Sperry, another victim of Gaston Dunbar’s twisted game. A casualty of the crazed pursuit of Lindsay Hammond. He glared across the cab at the uniforms. They turned away. Kline lifted the handle and opened the door. Jason Sperry stared through the glass like a zombie. The circuitry of his brain had gone fuzzy.

  Headlights blurred along the 405.

  “I’m sorry, Jason.”

  Sperry blinked once, twice, but didn’t respond.

  “Truly sorry,” Kline said. He pressed the palm of one hand to the steering wheel, his eyes flicking out past his window. The asphalt was greasy with the glare of street lamps.

  “I just wish you’d have said something,” Kline sighed. “This didn’t have to happen.” He glanced over at his partner.

  But Sperry had already checked out. He could hear them loading Julie into the ambulance.

  * * *

  The limousine bumped up the freeway onramp and twisted into the casual flow of traffic. Streetlights streamed over the sleek black exterior, sliding across the tinted windows. Big rigs floated past in the night, the wide freeway a gray ribbon cutting through the Southern California landscape.