Carl checked his watch. Three minutes to go. He visualized the attack, going over possible scenarios. With a minute to go, Carl withdrew the combat knife from its sheath. He had made several silent kills, and he knew that he had to act without hesitation. He had already seen in such circumstances a certain phenomenon that convinced him that human beings had some kind of electrical field around them to warn them when there were other humans in close proximity. Though he didn’t know if there had been any scientific studies to support his notion, no matter how stealthy an approach, an intended victim would sense when an attacker entered this field. A moment’s hesitation was all it took to turn a sure kill into a fight to the death.
The guards passed on the lawn, and Carl’s target arrived at the pool just as the other guard disappeared around the side of the house. Carl moved as soon as the guard’s back was to him. The guard was turning as Carl attacked, but he had no chance. The knife struck home and he died without making a sound. Carl dragged the guard’s body into the cabana and changed into his clothes. Now, in addition to the Glocks and his knife, Carl had the guard’s automatic rifle and two extra clips of ammunition.
To make up time Carl walked a little faster than the pace his victim had kept, but he was still late. He spotted the other guard when they were on the north side of the mansion near the door to the cellar. This was fortunate because they were away from any windows. Carl knelt and pretended to tie his laces. He kept his head down to conceal his face.
“What’s up, Rick?” the guard asked as he came in range.
Carl shot him with the silenced Glock and dragged him against the side of the house. He tried the cellar door. It was locked. He rifled the guard’s pockets and found a key chain. The third key he tried opened the door.
In high school, Carl and Vanessa had made love in the basement’s cool darkness on a discarded Persian rug while Vanessa’s father was meeting with movers and shakers above them. The basement was still cool and dark, but those erotic moments were forgotten as Carl moved between the stacked furniture and abandoned art and up the steps to the first floor. He remembered that the basement door led to a short hall near the kitchen. He opened the door wide enough to see into the corridor.
A guard walked past the entrance to the hall, and Carl ducked behind the basement door. As soon as the guard was past, Carl moved down the hall toward him. When he reached the end of the hall, Carl stooped down and peered around the corner. The guard had stopped with his back to Carl. It looked as if he was taking a break. Carl stunned the man with a blow to the back of the skull, then choked him unconscious. He dragged him back into the basement, cuffed him with plastic cuffs he found in the guard’s back pocket, sat him against a stack of mildewed cardboard cartons, and slapped the guard back to consciousness.
The man’s eyes flicked open. They tried to focus on Carl’s face but the taste of metal in his mouth brought the guard’s eyes down to the gun barrel that was wedged between his lips.
“You have one chance to live,” Carl said in a calm, authoritative tone. “When I take this gun barrel out of your mouth you’ll tell me where the General is holding his prisoner or I will shoot you and find someone else who will tell me. Understood?”
The man nodded. Carl withdrew the barrel past the man’s lips.
“Second floor, maid’s room.”
Carl hit the man fast and much harder than he had the first time. The guard slumped sideways as Carl headed for the stairs. He knew the location of the maid’s room. He and Vanessa had screwed there one summer evening. Now that he thought about it, almost every memory he had of Wingate’s mansion was connected to sex.
Carl used the back stairs to get to the second floor. He moved down the hall without making a sound. As he drew close to the maid’s room, he heard voices. Then Vanessa screamed, “I don’t want any more drugs.”
When Carl wrenched open the door the General was pinning Vanessa to the bed and Sam Cutler was poised over her with a hypodermic needle.
“Put down the hypo or die,” Carl said.
Cutler froze. Wingate turned his head toward the door. His mouth opened, but he stifled whatever he had intended to say.
“Put it down, now,” Carl commanded. Cutler laid the needle on the end table next to the bed.
“Get away from her and stand against the wall. Quick!”
Both men obeyed.
“I knew you’d come,” Vanessa said.
Carl moved to the side of the bed. For a brief second, his eyes left Wingate and Cutler and moved over Vanessa. In that instant, Sam Cutler slipped a Shirken out of his sleeve. The Japanese throwing star had six knife-sharp points. Cutler hurled it across the bed like a discus into Carl’s right shoulder. The shoulder went numb and he dropped the Glock. Cutler leaped across the bed. Vanessa raised her leg, catching Cutler across the knees. As he stumbled over her, Vanessa grabbed the hypodermic and rammed the needle into Cutler’s thigh.
“You bitch!” he screamed. Then his eyes started to loose focus. Vanessa knew exactly what was happening to Cutler’s body. It had been happening to hers with regularity ever since Cutler had injected her in the woods.
Wingate took a step toward Rice, then changed direction and charged out of the room when Carl grabbed the Glock with his left hand and start to aim. The shot went through the open door and into the wall, sending plaster chips spraying across the hallway. The General was shouting at the top of his lungs. Rice peered into the hall. It was empty but it wouldn’t stay that way long.
“Get up, Vanessa.”
Vanessa struggled to her feet. She wanted to move faster but her legs felt like noodles. Carl helped her stand. He knew it was going to be impossible to fight his way out of the house and escape down the cliff with Vanessa in this condition, but he didn’t dwell on the future. He would complete his mission one step at a time and whatever happened, happened. And the first step was getting out of the room.
Carl held the Glock in his left hand and gripped Vanessa’s elbow with his right.
“Concentrate, Van. We have to get out of here fast.”
“Okay,” she answered in a sleepy voice.
Carl took a step into the corridor, and a bullet almost took his head off. He ducked back inside the maid’s room as wood splinters from the door frame flew through the air. Carl slammed the door shut and jammed the chair under the knob. Then he dumped Sam Cutler on the floor and pushed the bed onto its side.
“Get behind the bed and hug the floor. There are going to be a lot of bullets coming through the door and walls.”
Carl joined Vanessa behind the bed and set out all his weapons and ammunition on the floor beside him. He had enough firepower to hold out for a while, but then what?
“What’s going to happen?” Vanessa asked. She still sounded a little spacey.
“I don’t know. We’re trapped in here. There’s only one way out-the door-and your father has that covered. Even if we got out the door, we’d have to fight our way down the corridor to get to the stairs. Then we’d have to fight our way down the stairs and through the house.”
Carl shrugged. Vanessa forced herself to focus. She was getting sharper every second and during one of those seconds she’d had a glimmer of an idea, but she’d been too groggy to hold on to it. She had figured out one thing, though. She had wondered why, if her father loved her enough to save her old pajamas, he had put her in a deserted wing of the mansion in the maid’s room instead of her old room. Now she knew the answer to her question. The General had expected Carl to come for her. All she’d been to him was bait, and this room had always been a trap.
“Carl, be reasonable,” the General called out. “There’s no way out of there. Throw out your weapons. That way, Vanessa won’t get hurt and neither will you.”
“That does sound reasonable, Morris,” Carl answered sarcastically. “I’m sure we can trust you. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat and reminisce about old times, too, like the mission to rescue the MIAs that your flunky led. You sure looked
out for me and the rest of your boys then.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carl. The only time Sam led a mission with you as a member of the team was your first mission, and you cracked up after it. You’re a sick man, Carl. I’ll tell that to the authorities. Maybe we can have you hospitalized instead of sent to prison.”
“That’s it,” Vanessa said, as she suddenly remembered her idea.
“What?” Carl asked her, but Vanessa didn’t answer. Instead, she started searching Sam Cutler. Just before they’d taken off from the airport in the Computex helicopter, Cutler had made a call on a cell phone, which he’d put in his pocket.
“Yes!” she said when she found it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Victor Hobson had crawled under the covers of his hotel bed a little after midnight at the end of a fruitless day spent shuttling between the Portland police bureau and the FBI office. Then he had tossed and turned all night. At five in the morning, he dragged himself out of bed feeling more exhausted than he’d been when he went to sleep. On the east coast it was eight o’clock. If he were home, he would be at least an hour behind his usual schedule.
Hobson went into the bathroom. The mirror in his hotel room was not kind to him. Shaving, brushing his teeth, and taking a cold shower raised his spirits a little, but his failure to make any progress in the manhunt was still depressing.
Carl Rice had been as insubstantial as a ghost for the past twenty years, and there were times when Hobson had wondered if Carl was just a figment of his imagination. Now, just when it appeared that Rice was in his grasp, he had disappeared again. Victor could not understand how a man could vanish so completely.
It had been too late on the east coast to call Emily before he went to bed, so Hobson decided to call her now, knowing that she’d be up with the kids. He was reaching for the hotel phone when his cell phone rang. Hobson tried to remember where he’d put it and finally found it on the desk after several unnerving rings that sounded to his tired brain like metal dishes clattering on a tile floor.
“Hobson,” he barked as he turned on the desk light.
“Victor, this is Vanessa Kohler.”
Vanessa’s voice acted on Hobson like a strong cup of coffee.
“Where are you?” he asked, trying to hide his excitement.
“I’m with Carl Rice in my father’s mansion. You know where that is, right?”
“Yes.”
“My father’s men kidnapped me and he’s been using drugs to keep me a prisoner. Carl broke into the mansion to rescue me but we’re trapped. We’ve barricaded ourselves in a maid’s room on the second floor. My father’s men are trying to kill us. We’re armed, and we’ll fight if we have to, but we’d rather turn ourselves in.”
“I can arrange that.”
“Then you’d better move fast. I don’t know how long my father will wait before he tells his men to storm the room. Now, here’s what I want you to do. First, you have to tell the local police where we are and that we want to surrender to them. They’ll have to come to the room. We’re afraid to step into the hall if we’re not protected. My father’s men have already fired several shots at us.”
“I’ll call the police immediately,” Hobson assured her.
“As soon as the police are on the way I want you to call my father. I’ll stay on the line so you can hear him if he tries to break into the room. Tell him that you’re talking to me and that the police are coming. Tell him to stop shooting. He’ll kill us if the police aren’t here soon.”
“Give me the number of the estate.”
As soon as Vanessa rattled off the phone number, Hobson dialed Detective Walsh on the hotel phone. Walsh answered almost immediately. He sounded half-asleep.
“Howard, this is Victor Hobson. I’ve got Vanessa Wingate on my cell phone. She’s barricaded in a second-floor room in General Wingate’s mansion in California. Carl Rice is with her and they’re armed, but she assures me that they’ll surrender to the police if the police go to the room and escort them out. Call the police in San Diego and get them to Wingate’s estate immediately. Explain the situation. Vanessa says that her father’s security guards are shooting at her. I’m going to call General Wingate and try to cool things down.”
Once Hobson told Walsh where Wingate’s estate was located, he disconnected and dialed the Wingate mansion.
“Answer that, General,” Hobson heard Vanessa yell as soon as the phone started to ring. “I’m talking to an assistant director of the FBI on Sam’s cell phone. We’ve offered to surrender to the police. He can hear everything that’s going on. He wants to talk to you now.”
“Did you hear that?” Vanessa asked Hobson.
“I can hear you,” Hobson assured her.
“My father knows you’re on the line. If he shoots us it will be murder.”
There was a click on the hotel phone line. “Who is this?” General Wingate asked.
“Victor Hobson, General. I’m an assistant director of the FBI. We spoke many years ago when I was investigating the murder of Congressman Eric Glass.”
“Yes, I remember. You were an agent then.”
“You’ve got a good memory. Your daughter called me. She’s on the line now on a cell phone and can hear what I’m saying. I understand we have a situation at your mansion.”
“My daughter is a sick woman, Director Hobson. Carl Rice-the man who murdered Eric Glass-was in jail in Portland, Oregon. Vanessa helped him escape. He’s insane but very clever. Rice has convinced Vanessa that I’m some master criminal who is trying to kill them.
“My men rescued Vanessa from Rice but he got away. She was brought here so that I could get her the help she needs. I was going to call the authorities after I contacted a lawyer to represent her, but Rice broke into my home. He’s killed several of my guards and he tried to kill me. I managed to escape and my security force has them pinned down. He’s holding one of my men hostage, if he hasn’t killed him already.”
“Yes, well, I want you to tell your men to hold their fire,” Hobson said. “We’ve contacted the San Diego police and they’re on the way. Vanessa says she and Rice are willing to surrender to them, so there’s no need for you to take any action aside from making certain that they stay put.”
“Did you hear that?” Hobson heard Vanessa yell at her father. “You better not try anything now. Director Hobson will hear everything you do. Carl and I will lay down our weapons when the police come. We won’t hurt anyone, so there won’t be any ‘killed resisting arrest,’ or ‘killed in self-defense.’ If you shoot us you’ll be charged with murder.”
The second line in Hobson’s hotel room started blinking.
“I’m going to put you on hold for a moment, General” he said. “I’m getting another call. It’s probably an update on the police situation.”
“I’ll hold,” Wingate said. “And don’t worry. My men won’t shoot. I don’t want Vanessa hurt.”
Hobson spoke to Detective Walsh long enough to be briefed. Then he reconnected with Wingate.
“The local police are minutes away, General. Please have your gate man let them in.”
“Of course. Now, Director Hobson, will you ask my daughter, as a show of good faith, to send my man out?”
“Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“Your father says that you have a hostage.”
“He’s not a hostage. He’s the bastard who kidnapped me. You’ve met him. He’s Sam Cutler.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Ex-boyfriend. My father paid him to keep an eye on me. He’s the one who’s been giving me drugs, and he tried to murder Carl.”
“Will you send him out as a show of good faith?”
“I should kill the bastard, but I’ll give him back to his master if Carl says it’s okay.”
Hobson held on the phone. He could hear Vanessa and Rice conferring, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“Okay. Tell the General to keep his men back and we
’ll drag him out. He’s still unconscious.”
“Vanessa has agreed to send out your man, but you have to keep back from the door.”
“I’ll tell my men to back away and hold their fire.”
“Good.”
“And I have a favor to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“Please tell the police to treat my daughter gently. She’s a sick woman. I’m certain she has no real grasp of reality. She belongs in a hospital, not a jail.”
Vanessa could hear Victor Hobson’s half of the conversation, and she could imagine what her father was saying. He would be lying, of course, telling Hobson that she and Carl were crazy, but crazy was better than dead.
As soon as Hobson told her that the General had pulled his men down the hall, Carl gave Vanessa his gun.
“He looks like he’s still out,” Carl said, “but don’t hesitate to kill him if he’s faking.”
Vanessa kept the gun trained on Cutler. Carl grimaced from the pain in his shoulder as he pushed the bed out of the way and pulled the chair from beneath the doorknob. Then he grabbed Cutler under the arms and dragged him to the door. Vanessa followed him, keeping the gun trained on Cutler. He still looked unconscious, but Vanessa wasn’t taking chances.
Carl wrestled Cutler to the door and Vanessa opened it. The area in front of the door was empty. Carl laid Cutler on the floor and shoved him into the hall. Vanessa slammed the door shut and Carl wedged the chair under the knob again before pushing the bed back into place.
“We did what you asked,” Vanessa told Hobson. “Sam’s in the hall, safe and sound. Now it’s your job to keep us alive.”
“The police are almost there,” Hobson said.
Vanessa sat down with her back to the far wall and pulled her knees to her chest.
“How are you holding up?” Carl asked.
“I’m fine, just tired. It’s probably the drugs.”
“They’ll wear off soon.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry I got you into this,” Carl said.
“You didn’t get me into anything. I’m the one who broke you out of jail.”
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