Snake Bite

by Jim Heskett

  Harry clenched his fists. "Let me go, Ashleigh. Please. Maybe we can go together. There's a good chance at the end of this, you wind up dead, too. You already know you don't trust him. If you did, you wouldn’t be going behind his back and reporting his activities to this guy he works for.”

  Her eyes darted left and right, faster and faster.

  Harry leaned forward. “Let's get out of here together."

  For a few seconds, she appeared to consider it. Eyes darting over his face. Then, shoulders slumping, she slowly shook her head and turned toward the door. Harry tried to say something else to her, but before he could, she left the room and shut the door. A moment later, it locked.

  INTERLUDE #7

  Littlefield, TX | Eight years ago

  Layne pulls back the door to the barn and lets Juliana slip inside first. No horses or cows or sheep are loitering on the straw-covered interior. A tractor sits in one corner, looking dormant and rusted. No lights, but the moon shines through a hole in the ceiling, now that the rain has stopped, and the clouds have cleared.

  "Bingo," she says as she points toward a trapdoor sitting in the dirt in the middle of the room.

  Layne nods and wipes straw from the surface. Looks as if Jules was probably right. The way to access whatever is underneath the shack a few hundred feet from here lies via this door. Hopefully, the stolen report and Vixen, the person who stole it. Juliana lifts the trapdoor and points her pistol down inside it. Nothing but darkness looks back up at her. A cool waft of air rising in the steamy Texas pre-dawn.

  She waves Layne over, and he picks up their gear and brings it to her. She holsters her pistol and chooses a Mossberg shotgun from the dwindled collection. Layne also takes one. It's the smart choice; no telling if they will be in a wide open space or tight corridors, and a shotgun can handle both. Not a stealthy choice. One pull of the trigger commits them to a course of action.

  Layne stares down into the hole. He wishes they'd had night vision goggles, but those had been among the supplies they had to abandon at the motel shootout. Since having to relocate to the farmhouse, this whole operation has been one big snafu.

  "You thinking about NVG’s?” Jules asks.

  "We’ll have to make do."

  She grins at him. “You like this. You like facing insurmountable odds, going up against a powerful, unknown enemy. You live for the challenge, Boy Scout.”

  “Hardly.”

  Her grin turns into something deeper. Maybe adoration, but it’s hard to see in the lack of light. “It’s been great working with you again.”

  “You too, Jules. When are you due in California?”

  “The new job starts next week.”

  “Next week? I don’t know if we’ll even have the post-op debrief by then.”

  She shrugs. “That’s not my problem. If Control can’t get her shit together, I’m not going to miss out on my payday.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll be sad to see you go.”

  She pulls down her skullcap and zips up her black pullover, up to her neck, leaving only the flesh of her cheeks exposed, which are mostly covered in mud. The humidity in the air has kept the mud from drying. “I’m not going anywhere, Layne. I’ll still be around, trust me.”

  Juliana blows him a kiss and then dips her feet down into the hole. "Here we go." She drops, and Layne watches her sink about eight feet and then land in darkness. Dirt floor and dirt walls. Like a mining tunnel, machine-carved out of the reddish subterranean clay.

  He follows soon after, experiencing a few degrees drop in temperature when he lands in this tunnel. About sixty feet to the north, a lantern hangs from a wooden beam supporting the structure. These wooden supports are staged every dozen feet or so. This place is well-made. Cared for.

  This isn’t a hastily constructed underground hiding spot made by kidnappers or border coyotes. This is a professional operation. Layne doesn’t know what else they're hiding down here, but he suspects heavy resistance.

  Weapons up, they push toward the light. Layne hears commotion somewhere up ahead, but the glow from the nearest light in the darkness makes it too hard to see. A side hallway or a room. He meets Jules’ eyes, and she nods.

  They proceed carefully. Past the light, Layne notes there’s a turn to the left up ahead, into a room. That’s where the noise is coming from. Layne peeks via an angle that won’t reveal his bulky frame and sees a well-lit area, about forty by forty. A dozen people inside, most of them wearing surgical masks. They’re at tables lined with scales and beakers and chemical gear. Pans full of what looks like dirty yellow broken glass.

  So, this is a meth operation. That explains the hostility back in town.

  But, Layne doesn’t think the NSA report is in that room. This meth cooking business is separate from what they’re here for tonight.

  There’s no other exit from that room he can see, and the hallway continues past it. But, they can’t just stroll on by. In addition to the surgical mask workers, there are a couple of armed guards at the back, their gazes pointed toward the door.

  Jules tilts her head at the light in the hall, and Layne nods. It’s not ideal, but killing the light will buy them a few seconds of stealth out here. The next light is another sixty feet down the corridor, far enough away.

  Layne walks to the lamp. It’s electric, battery operated. He grabs hold of the switch to turn it off and then meets Juliana’s eyes. She taps a finger against her chin to indicate she’s ready, and he flicks it off. Now bathed in darkness. He rushes forward, but careful not to move so fast as to make any noise. He’s got jangly things like spare mags and shotgun shells and handcuffs in his pockets and attached to his belt.

  Past the door, he takes a look inside to see if the guards have been alerted yet. One of them is walking toward the door. Has he seen Layne? Doesn’t seem like it. But, he’s probably not going to raise his gun and fire off shots with all the valuable merchandise around, even if so.

  Jules seems to understand this, too, as she hustles to get out of sight of the door. A few feet past it, Layne slows, but they still need to hurry. Someone will come soon to check out the non-functioning lantern.

  At the next light, they come upon a four-way intersection. Two tunnels moving off left or right, plus one forward. Jules puts her Bluetooth in her ear, and Layne takes this to mean she intends to split up. He checks his phone, and he has service, so he follows suit and calls her.

  “Got it,” she whispers, and he can hear it in his Bluetooth. “A map would help.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  She takes a step toward the right tunnel and gives him a look. Layne doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to split up, but he’s not going to argue with Juliana. Neither of them is in charge of this mission. They’re supposed to be equals, according to Control’s directive.

  Juliana gives him a grin as she turns toward the right tunnel. He chooses the left one.

  “If I get Vixen first,” she whispers in his ear, “you owe me fifty bucks.”

  “Just fifty? I thought you’d want to make it interesting.”

  “I haven’t officially signed the contract at the new job, and I’m about to be unemployed. It’s risk-reward.”

  “If you say so,” he says as he skulks down his choice of hallway. Thirty feet down, he can now see this one dead-ends with a wall of dirt. It’s unfinished, part of some future expansion, perhaps. When he turns back around, he can see Jules, skulking down the tunnel. A flash of light illuminates her from a doorway a few feet beyond her.

  “No, damn it!” a man shouts from inside that room. Layne can hear it in his earpiece as well from down the hall. “No! Get that away from there! You’re going to—”

  The person doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Two more quick flashes of light follow that one, and then a rumble comes from the room. The rumble quickly turns into an explosion. Red and white light pushes out from the doorway, and something throws Jules to the opposing wall. Layne listens to her grunt as her body smacks into the
hard dirt and then crumples to the floor.

  The ceiling collapses, piles of dirt breaking out of the structure as the wooden supports next to her crash. It’s so loud, Layne has to close his eyes as a mountain of dirt descends.

  Layne tries to run toward her, but within two seconds, there’s nothing but a wall of reddish brown clay instead of a path through the tunnel.

  “Jules,” he says into his earpiece. “Can you hear me?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Hey,” says a gruff male voice. Standing in the intersection, Layne turns back toward the way they came from, and he sees one of the guards from the meth room standing there. Head cocked, mouth open, a pistol in his hand. It’s still pointed at the ground.

  Layne raises his shotgun and shoots him in the chest. The man staggers back, his midsection a mess. The pistol falls from his hand as blood leaks out of the corner of the guy’s mouth.

  Panting, adrenaline rushing, Layne turns and runs.

  Part III

  Secrets To Your Grave

  33

  Ronald paced in the office. Not the office he preferred, but the office in this alternate house, a few miles from the mansion. The main mansion had sweeping views and a nice pool. This place had ants in the kitchen and a musty smell in the basement. Bad plumbing throughout, making all the bathrooms and the kitchen smell funny. Not even three thousand square feet, either.

  But, they’d had to do it. Had to move. He wasn’t ready to face Layne Parrish yet. He’d still held out hope Layne would stop his mission of finding Harry Boukadakis and choose to pursue the report instead.

  “Stupid,” Ronald said, his teeth grinding together to slur the word. “So stupid.”

  As he paced, he could feel his heart thumping against his chest. All of this had gone so wrong. So very wrong. He’d lied, yes, but he never thought it would come to this. It never should have come to this. Ronald shouldn’t have kidnapped Harry, no. He never should have been forced to do it. They should have acquired the NSA report weeks ago. Why were these ex-shadows so willing to give their lives for this stupid claim that the thing had been shredded? It was false. Patently false. And now, because all of them had so stubbornly adhered to that story, Ronald was about to fail.

  Someone had sold him out. He had a traitor in his midst, and he knew who it was. He just had to see her face to be sure of it. To know she had played a part in his downfall.

  Everything seemed to be crashing down. He couldn’t dodge the phone calls from his boss any longer. He couldn’t keep running this game.

  A knock came at the door.

  When he turned to face it, he noticed his fists were clenched so tightly that his fingernails had dug into his palms. Not hard enough to draw blood, but only a fraction of an inch away from it. He tried to take a breath to calm himself and found his jaw locked. He had to work it back and forth a few times before he could speak.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened and there stood Ashleigh, so beautiful in black tights and a blue top. It made her eyes sparkle. Before, he’d thought her beautiful, but now, her appearance almost caused him physical pain.

  Ronald would never bed her. He knew that now, looking at her.

  “What do you have for me?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “If Harry knows anything, he’s not talking.”

  He spun and whipped a hand across the top of the desk, knocking a lamp to the ground. She recoiled, but quickly settled again and stood tall. But, he could still see the fear linger in her eyes.

  “Sir, please tell us what’s going on around here. Everyone is confused. We’re late to meet the buyer. I know we don’t have the report yet, but is there a plan to delay or reschedule? What are we supposed to do?”

  Ronald put his hands on his hips and breathed as he met her eyes. “There is no buyer. But, you already knew, didn’t you?”

  He narrowed his eyes as her face contorted. He hadn’t intended to tell her the truth, but it had slipped out, and she already knew, most likely. He did feel a little better with that off his chest, anyway.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He took a step toward her. “There was never going to be a buyer.”

  “Then what the hell are we doing here? Why are we kidnapping and killing people if you never intended to sell the report? Were you ever going to tell us this?”

  “You’re mad, Ashleigh. That’s understandable.”

  “Yes, sir, I am mad. Corn and I and the others have made lots of sacrifices for you because we believed you were going to share the profits with us. You would get back at the government for covering up the contents of the NSA report. That’s what you said. But you were lying to us the whole time?”

  “You want to talk about lying? I’m the only one around here who’s keeping his eyes on the prize. Everyone else is a paid lackey or has their own goals. Right, Ashleigh?”

  She stammered, with tears at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t understand, Ronald. How did this happen?”

  He took another step and put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He paused. “At camp, every counselor has a job. Everyone gets to use their special skill to help out the collective.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ronald frowned. “I can explain it all. Let’s take a step back and look at it objectively.”

  “I don’t see how that will help.”

  “First, you need to get honest with me. I know who you’ve been talking to.”

  She tried to pull back, and something inside him told him not to let her go. That if he let her go, she would turn and run and leave him alone. No. He had to hold on to her and make her understand. There was a greater purpose to this. A purpose higher than money, no matter what his boss or anyone else wanted.

  “Talk to me,” he said.

  “No. Let me go.”

  He held tighter when she tried to wriggle free of his grasp. She couldn’t go. She wasn’t allowed to go.

  His fingers slid up her shoulders and latched around her neck. Now, her eyes bugged out as he applied pressure. She threw a knee into his groin, sending a jolt of pain up from his crotch and into his stomach, a rush of nausea. But he didn’t let go.

  He squeezed harder. The more she resisted, the harder he tightened his grip. She couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when everything else was falling apart. Even if she was a traitor who had gone over his head, he still needed her. He still needed this woman to accomplish his goals.

  “No,” he said, spittle flying from his lips. “You don’t understand. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

  As his pressure intensified, he felt something crinkle underneath his fingers. Ashleigh’s eyes rolled back in her head, and her mouth lolled open. Her tongue jutted out from her mouth, tight and squirming.

  Ronald let go.

  Ashleigh fell to the ground. Crumpled, her limbs splayed out.

  “No,” he said. “No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  He knelt next to her and put two fingers on her neck, underneath her jaw. She no longer had a pulse. He’d killed her. Had he killed her?

  “No. This isn’t real.”

  He stood and took a few steps back until he stepped on the glass from the broken lamp. In his pocket, his phone buzzed. Without thinking, he took out the phone and held it up to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “It's me,” his boss said.

  The words barely even registered. He stared down at Ashleigh, thinking it couldn’t be possible for him to have done this. No, Corn must have killed her. It was the only possible explanation.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “What the hell is going on over there? You missed the meeting with the buyer.”

  “It’s been a long, hard week, full of complications. You have no idea.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason to explain what I’ve been hearing. Is it true you don’t have the report and aren’t meeting the buyer?”

  He
wanted to shout, “You already know,” but he held his tongue. After a few breaths, he was able to speak. No point in not being honest any longer. It would all come out, anyway. “I called off the meeting with the buyer.”

  The voice on the phone sucked in a breath. “You did what?”

  “I canceled it a week ago.”

  “You were going to keep the report. That was your game the whole time, wasn’t it?”

  “You don’t understand,” Ronald pleaded. “It’s better this way. It’s more justice this way if we keep it. We can do great things as long as it's in our possession. And, no, I didn’t tell you, because I knew you wouldn’t agree with me. But now, you have to see it my way.”

  “I don’t. I don’t see it your way. You son of a bitch. How could you throw away all the money I spent? All the strings I had to pull to arrange everything. All wasted.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ronald said. “Yes, I was going to keep the report. But, it doesn’t matter now. We don’t have it, no one knows where it is. We lost. It’s over. The feds are probably on their way, and they’re going to kill us all or take us all to prison.”

  “Don’t do anything. I’m nearby. You stay there, and we’ll deal with this when I’m on site.”

  “You’re in Arizona?”

  “Yes. I’m on my way.”

  The call ended, and Ronald stared down at his phone. He felt lightheaded. Then, he rounded the desk and opened the top drawer to find his pistol. The weight felt good in his hands, now sore from crushing Ashleigh’s windpipe.

  Had Ronald done that? Cornelius hadn’t done that. Corn was dead. Had to be. No one else among his other hired help had done that.

  Ronald had done this terrible thing. A mistake, but he couldn’t go back in time five minutes and make a different choice.