by Steven James
“My stepdaughter is not going to be happy about that.”
“Empty your pockets, Pat. Easy. Don’t try anything.”
All I had with me were my Mini Maglite, my car keys, and the roll of athletic tape from the chopper’s first aid kit. I began holding them up one at a time. “Cheryl’s not at her sister’s, is she, Kurt?”
“She’s with Ari. Back pockets.”
“Dead? Are they dead?”
He didn’t answer. I pocketed the flashlight, keys, and tape.
“Where are they, Kurt? You can at least tell me that.”
“Turns out Ari rented a self-storage unit. I’ll be visiting the two of them when we’re done here. Now, let me see your back pockets.”
If he’s going to visit them, they’re still alive.
I showed him that my back pockets were empty, then faced him again just in time to see him press a needle against Cliff’s neck and depress the plunger.
“No!” I sprinted forward.
“Stop!” Kurt wrenched Cliff’s head back, blade at his neck.
I froze but watched for a chance to make a move. My gun lay just a few meters in front of me.
Cliff’s eyes rolled back, he went limp, and Kurt eased him to the ground.
“What did you give him?” I yelled.
“It’s just to knock him out. To give us some time alone. Back away from the gun.”
I held my ground.
He pulled a Wilson Combat 1911, aimed it at me. “Step back.”
I did.
“Farther.”
He waved me back until I was too far away to dive for the SIG, then he folded up his straight razor and slipped it into his pocket. Kept his gun out, kicked mine down the shaft.
“Kelsey was supposed to die in the freezer, wasn’t she?” I said.
“And she could identify you, so that’s why you sent Reggie in with the sketch artist, why you didn’t enter her room at the hospital. Are you going back for her? Calvin too? No loose ends?”
He didn’t reply, and I took that as a yes.
He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Threw them to me. They landed at my feet. “Normally, I prefer ropes, but it’s too hard for a person to tie himself up.” He gestured toward the cuffs. “Put them on.”
I didn’t move. “Besides London last year, were there other stories? How long have you been doing this?”
He waved his gun at the handcuffs. “Cuff your hands behind your back, Pat. When you get to the bottom I’ll leave you the key.”
I still didn’t move, and he fired the 1911, sending a cloud of dirt exploding at my feet.
“Put on the cuffs or the next bullet goes into your leg.”
I believed him. I picked up the cuffs. “I’ll find a way out.”
“There is no way out. Not after the shaft is blown shut.”
“You don’t know me. I’ll get out.”
“I do know you, Pat. Remember? I’m the one who requested that you join the task force. I’ve been watching you. I know you very well. There’s no escape. I made sure. Now, put on-”
“Good.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Good?”
“That there’s no escape.” As I spoke, I surveyed the pulley system, the release lever, the ropes, above the shaft. “Because it might take us awhile to dig you out after I leave you down there, and I wouldn’t want you going anywhere.” I clicked the cuff around my left wrist.
He watched me carefully, with a bit of caution. “Go on. The other wrist.”
I thought of a plan and began to click the other cuff around my right wrist “No. Behind your back-hang on. First, throw me your keys. You have a lock pick set on your key ring. I’ve seen it.”
Oh, this was not good. Not at all.
I pulled out my Maglite to get to my keys.
“You can keep the flashlight. I want you to spend a couple days exploring your new home.”
I tossed him my keys and slipped the flashlight into my back pocket. “Where’s Father Hughes? According to Boccaccio’s story, the priest is supposed to survive. Is he still alive?”
“It’s hard to say. He’s chained to a pole, just like Father Alberto in Pampinea’s story. But now that he’s been up on Dover’s Ridge for a nearly week, and it snowed yesterday, I don’t think his chances are very good.”
The smoldering anger inside of me flared up. I needed to relax or I’d make a mistake. A fatal one.
“Now, the other cuff.”
If I snapped it shut, I’d have no way to escape. It’d all be over. “Will you be the one to find him? The hero?” I put both arms behind my back.
“There are several ways things might play out. That’s one of them.”
“And Cheryl and Ari?”
“I’m shifting Amy Lynn and Cliff to story eight-”
“You said you were going to let Cliff live.”
“I lied to you, Pat. And as far as Ari and Cheryl, I still need to tell story number nine, so it looks like I’ll be serving Mr. Ryman’s heart to my wife for dinner tonight.”
Kurt had planned out every detail, every contingency, and al though I could think of a few loose ends, there weren’t many, and I had a feeling he’d already taken steps to wrap them up.
Think, Pat. Think!
I had my hands behind my back, but I hadn’t snapped the second cuff. “But why, Kurt? Why kill these people?”
Kurt thought for a moment. “It’s interesting to watch people die.”
He said no more, and his stark, simple answer sent a chill slicing through me.
“But what about Hannah’s death?” I said. “You grieved when she died. I watched you.”
“I don’t grieve. I act.” He aimed the gun at my face. “Now, finish with the cuff. I want to hear it snap shut.”
I was no longer sure I could get away. “You’ve been planning this since her death, haven’t you? When Amy Lynn interviewed you, that’s when you chose her for the story.”
I felt the bump of my Mini Maglite in my back pocket.
Yes, that’s it.
“Are you Galeotto? From Dante’s Inferno? Is that it? You see yourself as a knight who brings lovers together with death?”
“Bryant gave you that.” Then he started toward me. He must have had enough of my stalling.
I pressed the cuff against my back and clicked it shut.
“Turn around.” He stopped walking, kept the gun on me. “Let me see.”
I turned. Showed him my wrists, handcuffed together.
“OK,” he said, “come here.”
Then I faced him, and as I slowly approached him, I fished my flashlight out of my back pocket and began to unscrew the cylinder from the cap that houses the lightbulb.
Respond accordingly.
All right.
I believe I will.
112
I was able to unscrew the cylinder, but that wasn’t the part I needed. I slipped the flashlight’s casing into my back pocket.
More time. A little more time.
I surveyed the tunnel again. The rock walls and ceiling reminded me of the climbing cave in my garage-how could I use that to my advantage? The lantern? Throw it at him? Find a way to his gun?
Kurt kept his 1911 trained on me but used one finger to tap at a remote detonator that he held in his other hand. I saw the display screen flash thirty seconds, but he didn’t start the countdown. He slipped the device into his pocket.
I stopped walking. “So thirteen years ago in the Midwest. Was it you or Basque?”
“It wasn’t me. But the crimes drew my interest.” He came toward me.
Just a little longer. “You were a fan.”
“No. A competitor. For an audience. Like I told you on Saturday, the articles were my scouting report.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the platform that hung one meter below us in the shaft that was wired to blow. “Now, it’s time for story number ten.”
I let him lead me. “And Basque’s trial-you loaded the gun?”
“L
ast month in the evidence room.”
When we got to the edge he took out the detonator. “Climb down,” he said.
I didn’t move. “Before I do I have a small word of advice for you, Kurt.”
“What’s that?”
“Never leave a handcuffed man who knows how to pick locks alone with the wire spring of his Maglite.”
And then, I was on him.
113
A look of shock flashed across his face as I knocked the gun from his hand and punched him in the jaw as hard as I could, just like I’d done with Basque.
And it felt just as good.
Kurt stumbled backward, then straightened up. “All right, let’s do this thing.” I was about to go for his gun when he flicked out his straight razor. He tapped the detonator’s screen, and the countdown began.: 29 : 28
“Time to end the story, Pat.”
He rushed me, sliced at me, but I leapt to the side. I grabbed his forearm, and as he drove the razor blade toward me, I pivoted backward and both of us tumbled onto the platform.
We crashed onto the boards, and he managed to hang on to the straight razor, but the detonator spun from his hand.
I saw the screen. : 23
He swiped the blade at my neck, but I pushed him off me and scrambled to my feet.
I was on the wrong side of the platform, trapped in the corner farthest from the tunnel.
He held the razor against one end of the rope that passed through the cam. Severed it. The platform teetered but held.
It would drop if he cut the other end. : 20
He eased backward toward the ground so he could get off the platform before cutting the rope. “Good-bye, Pat.”
“Bye, Kurt.”
I leapt and grabbed the wooden beam holding the pulleys, then swung my legs up and kicked him with both feet, hard, in the chest. : 17
He slammed backward onto the platform, and before he could get up, I lifted my feet to the ceiling, just like when I’m rock climbing. I planted one foot against the cam holding the end of the rope and the other against the release lever. Kicked hard. Wedged it all the way open.
And the platform dropped. : 13
“No!” Kurt’s scream slit through the air around me.
I kept the countdown going in my head, flung my legs to the side. Landed on the ground beside the shaft. : 10
Heard the solid crunch of impact from the bottom of the shaft.
“I’m coming for you!” he hollered. He didn’t sound seriously hurt.
I ran to Cliff, dragged him toward the bend. : 06
Around the corner. : 04
The explosion would be deafening. I knelt beside him. : 02
Pressed my knees against his ears: 01
– squeezed my hands over mine.
Boom.
A thunderous crash, a sweep of sound.
Then, air choking me. Dust. Dirt. Rocks falling around me.
A crack against my head.
And everything went black.
114
53 minutes later
Eyes closed.
Movement beneath me. A thousand buzz saws whirring in my head.
A slight sway, the ground bouncing. Or maybe it wasn’t the ground. Maybe it was all a dream, another dream. I groaned and heard a voice, sweet and close, a woman’s voice. “Pat.”
My head was throbbing, pounding. “Lien-hua,” I mumbled.
“It’s me. I’m here.”
“I knew you’d come.” I opened my eyes to a blurry world, and saw her leaning over me. “We can still…” I whispered. “We’ll try again… I need you.”
But as I blinked away the dream, Lien-hua’s face became vapor, and Cheyenne’s appeared in its place. Behind her I saw metal walls. A ceiling. Shelves of first aid supplies. We were inside an ambulance. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I thought-”
“Shh.” She brushed her hand across my forehead. “It’s OK. Are you
… do you know where you are?”
I nodded slightly. “It was Kurt.” My voice sounded raw and dry.
“We know,” Cheyenne said. “Cliff woke up before you did. He told us everything.” She shook her head in disbelief. “It’s unfathomable.”
“Yes.” Even though I’d had more time than she had to process everything, I was still reeling from the fact that Kurt was the killer.
I tested my limbs. Tried to move. Other than my aching head, I seemed to be all right. A paramedic sat beside Cheyenne.
I gave her a faint smile. “So you found my trail?”
“It would have been hard to miss with those strips of first-aid tape at every intersection.”
“And Cliff, he’s OK?”
“He will be. Flight for Life took him.” She gestured around the vehicle. “You get the meat wagon instead.”
“Fair enough.” My thoughts were still muddy. “Cody?”
“I actually managed to make it to the Evergreen hospital without crashing. He’s doing all right-even thanked me for saving his life, so I guess we’re on talking terms again. Small miracles.”
The paramedic, a Latino man in his early thirties, laid two fingers against my wrist, checked my pulse. I had no idea how long I’d been out.
I tried to sort through the jumble of memories that were all fighting for my attention: entering the mine… following the trail of blood… talking with Kurt before the explosion…
“Dover’s Ridge,” I mumbled to Cheyenne, “look for Father Hughes on Dover’s Ridge, he’s chained to a pole… maybe a telephone pole from a power line, I don’t know… and Cheryl and Ari are in a storage… a self-storage… check under Ari’s name.” I could feel myself fading, but I saw Cheyenne pull out her cell. “I don’t know which… you have to check…”
“I will. Relax.”
I tried to think, but everything was becoming a blur. Faintly, I saw the paramedic lean over me while Cheyenne tapped at her phone. The fringes of the moment grew fuzzy.
And I sank into sleep again.
Dreams. Voices. Whispers. Promises made and broken.
Then, soft pressure on my right hand and I was opening my eyes again.
Still in the ambulance. Cheyenne beside me, her hand on mine. She was speaking with someone on the phone.
I eased my hand out from under hers and asked the paramedic how long I’d been out.
“Just a few minutes. We found you about an hour ago. Your climbing buddies on the high angle rescue team are good.”
I nodded.“What happened to me?” My voice still didn’t sound natural.
“A rock fell on your head. Looks like a concussion, other than that-”
“Prop me up.”
It took a little convincing, but finally he tilted the head end of the gurney upright. Cheyenne was still on the phone, so I asked to borrow his. Somewhat reluctantly, he handed it to me.
I tapped in cybercrime’s number. I was afraid I might go unconscious again, so as soon as Angela picked up I explained that I didn’t have much time to talk. “Tell me about Paul Lansing. I think he might be my stepdaughter’s biological father.”
She didn’t answer right away.
“Angela, what is it?”
“Here’s what you need to know for now: he lives in the mountains of Wyoming. No driver’s license. No bank accounts. He doesn’t own a phone or a computer; doesn’t use credit cards or pay utility bills.”
“He’s living off the grid,” I mumbled.
The ambulance slowed down.
“His record is squeaky clean,” she said.
“Too clean?”
“Maybe.”
“Listen, pull together whatever you have on him. I’ll call you when I get to my computer. Just wait for my call, OK?”
“All right.”
“Keep digging. See what you can find.”
“I will.”
Through the windows in the back of the ambulance I could see that we’d reached the hospital. Angela’s words troubled me. A man doesn’t usually disappear
into the mountains and drop off the map unless he’s running from something.
The paramedic accepted his phone back and Cheyenne finished her call, then asked, “Pat, do you know if Kurt survived the explosion?”
“I think he had enough time to get into the tunnel before the shaft blew. But I’m not sure.”
“Are there any other ways out of that passageway?”
“I don’t think so. He chose that tunnel for one reason: there was no possible escape.” I wondered how long it would take a rescue team to dig him out. Maybe weeks. Maybe they wouldn’t even bother. That was a satisfying thought.
Cheyenne considered my words for a moment. “Thomas Bennett and his wife owned the mine. She should know if there are any other passages.”
“Good thought,” I said.
The ambulance stopped, and the paramedic opened the back doors as Cheyenne phoned headquarters for Marianne Bennett’s number.
Two EMTs rushed toward us from the hospital, and with the help of the man who’d been riding with me, they wheeled me out of the ambulance.
“I’ll see you inside,” I called to Cheyenne, and then the emergency room doors slid open and the three men pushed me into the building.
6 minutes later
My nurse set down the blood pressure cuff. “The doctor will be with you in a minute.”
“Thank you.”
I’d been so groggy in the ambulance that I hadn’t thought to ask Cheyenne how Calvin was doing. So, as soon as the nurse stepped out of the exam room, I stood to go find him.
I felt a little wobbly, but managed to make it two steps before the door opened again.
Cheyenne.
A small smile. “Going somewhere?”
I leaned a hand against the wall. “Just to see how Calvin is doing.”
“I was just with him. No change.” She looked at me with concern. “You shouldn’t be walking around.”
“I’m OK.”
I took my hand off the wall and showed her I could stand on my own, but she took my arm to support me. “Pat, since Friday you were nearly burned alive, bitten by a rattlesnake, sealed in a mine, blown up, and crushed by a boulder.”
“Imagine if it’d been an eventful couple days,” I said.