“Either way, it looks like they’re getting ready to blow us up, and I may be old, but I like being in one piece.”
“You hear me, Nick?” Carl shouted. “No reason this has to get any uglier. I don’t care about the girl. I just want you.”
Matt held up the keys. “Where’s this car of yours?”
“With those lunkheads on the loose, just far enough away to make getting to it an iffy proposition.”
Of course, Matt thought.
Why should it be easy?
But then he’d spent the past several hours—not to mention the past seven years—battling bad breaks, and he’d managed to survive so far.
No reason that should change now.
But it wasn’t his own survival that worried him. There was Tara to think about, and now Imogene, and potentially hundreds of others.
There was only one way out of this.
“How fast can you move?”
“Depends on the motivation,” Imogene said. “But I figure I can hold my own. Why?”
He handed Tara her car keys. “Here’s how this is going to work.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “What are you planning?”
“Just listen,” he said. “I’m going to do my best to distract these guys, and when I do, I want you and Imogene to get to that car, as fast as humanly possible.”
Tara shook her head. “They’ll kill you. They’ll kill all of us.”
He grabbed the shells off the floor and started reloading the shotgun. “I won’t let that happen. And we can’t just sit here and hope they’ll go away. What’s important is that you get to a phone and contact the police, tell them what Zane’s up to.”
“Like they’ll believe me.”
“Make them believe you. Tell them to get hold of Agent Abernathy or Everhardt with the Anti-Terrorist Task Force. They’ll confirm who I am and what my assignment was.”
“Are you sure you can trust them? Didn’t Zane say he had a mole in the bureau?”
Frank Everhardt had recruited Matt for the mission, and Lloyd Abernathy had been his direct contact. Both men knew about his past, and as much as it killed him to think this, either of them could easily be Zane’s informant.
But which one?
Everhardt was a veteran agent with a long, decorated history in law enforcement, while Abernathy was a cocky young upstart who sometimes played fast and loose with the rules.
But none of this told Matt who the mole might be.
“Everhardt,” he said finally, relying purely on instinct. “Tell them to contact Everhardt.”
Tara shook her head again and grabbed his forearm. “You tell them. I’m not going without you.”
He pried her fingers away. “You don’t have a choice.”
He handed the flashlight to Imogene, then grabbed the lantern and crossed the room. Running a hand along the rear wall, he checked for weak spots in the wood.
“How old is this place?”
“You really have to ask?” Imogene said.
He gave her a look, then found what he was hoping for and pressed against it, feeling the wood give slightly. A couple good kicks would do the trick.
“All right,” he told them, “I’m going to make a hole, and it won’t be quiet. As soon as Carl and his boys hear wood splintering, they’ll come running. So I need you two to get your butts out of here pronto.”
“Matt, please, this is crazy.”
“Can you think of a better plan?”
Tara stared at him, on the verge of tears. Then she shook her head, and he could tell by her look that she knew he was right.
He just hoped this wasn’t the last time he’d see that beautiful face.
Carl was shouting again. “I’m losing my patience, Nicky. You got to the count of three to come out on your own, or we come in, guns blazing.”
Matt looked at Imogene. “Which way is the car from here?”
She gestured. “Up the hill, through the mine.”
“Through the mine?”
“One!” Carl shouted.
Imogene frowned. “Is that a problem for you, Mr. FBI? I keep it parked on the other side of the mountain. The mine takes you straight to it, more or less.”
“All right, fine,” Matt said, then pumped the shotgun, jacking a round into the chamber. “Let’s do it.”
“Two!”
Carl was obviously having fun with this, when the smart thing to do would be to forgo the counting and strike.
But then Carl wasn’t exactly smart, was he?
Matt gestured for them to come in closer, then brought his foot up.
He waited a moment, and when Carl shouted, “Three!” Matt jammed a heel into the wall, feeling it give without much resistance, the wood groaning and splintering.
He kicked again, breaking through this time. Then, using the butt of the shotgun, he hammered at the splintered wood, opening up a hole in the wall, just big enough for Tara and Imogene to squeeze through.
“Go! Go!” he shouted, and as the two swept past him, Tara’s eyes met his, a look that said, “Be safe,” as her fingers grazed his arm.
And then they were outside and Matt moved to the window just in time to see Carl and his men quickly dismounting their horses, three of them heading straight for the shack as three more fanned out to surround it.
Matt didn’t hesitate. He fired the shotgun, aiming high, sending a round into the air.
Carl and his men ducked, dropping into a crouch. They began firing back, and Matt fell away from the window as bullets gouged the walls and floor around him.
When the barrage passed, he jumped up, fired off two more rounds—taking down one of them—then went into a dive and rolled behind the stove for cover.
More bullets gouged the wood around him, clanged against the stove. He knew he was outgunned; there was no way he’d survive this onslaught. He just hoped he had held them off long enough for Tara and Imogene to reach the mine.
Now it was time to get his own butt up there.
Jumping to his feet, he tucked the shotgun under his arm and ran for the hole in the wall—which had been fine for the two women, but was barely large enough for him to squeeze through. Ducking low, he pushed forward, wood scraping against his wound as he went, hot pain blossoming in his bicep.
But he didn’t slow down.
Then he was outside, in near pitch darkness, turning toward the direction of the mine—when a flashlight beam washed across his back and someone shouted, “Freeze!”
Matt didn’t hesitate.
Dropping to the ground, he went into a roll and turned, bringing up the shotgun. A muzzle flashed and he fired back, the roar of the blast hammering his eardrums as the flashlight went down.
Then he was on his feet again, trying to get his bearings, as he stumbled through the darkness, hustling past two more shacks before he reached an incline and started up the mountain.
Moving through the trees, he heard more shouts echoing behind him.
“There he is! He’s headed for the mine!”
Matt picked up speed and saw Tara and Imogene at the top of the incline as Imogene pulled a loose sheet of plywood away from a hole in the side of the mountain and guided Tara inside with the flashlight.
Suddenly, bullets gouged the dirt around them and Tara screamed, diving for cover.
Matt spun around and pumped the shotgun, firing into the trees. Once, twice, three times.
Then nothing. The shotgun was empty.
Behind him, Tara shouted, “Hurry, Matt, hurry!” and he didn’t argue, thinking this was probably some very sound advice.
Ditching the weapon, he scrambled up the trail toward her voice.
Tara's heart pounded wildly as she crouched at the mine entrance, watching Matt run up the hill, bullets now scattering the dirt around him.
Below, flashlight beams crisscrossed through the trees like tiny searchlights as Zane’s men made their way up the hill after him, guns flashing.
Then suddenly Matt grunted and f
ell, and Tara felt her chest seize up—
Oh my God, oh my God.
But a second later he was on his feet again, seemingly unharmed, zigzagging wildly, making himself as difficult a target as possible.
Bullets continued to zing past him, and Tara knew it was a miracle that he hadn’t been hit again. But Carl’s men were shooting in the dark and on the run, which made it difficult enough to hit a stationary target.
Then Matt was inside the mine, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her along, shouting, “Go! Go!” as, up ahead, Imogene waved her flashlight, signaling for them to follow.
The mine was a maze of narrow tunnels, reinforced by centuries-old lumber, and Tara knew that without a guide, they could easily get lost in here.
They quickly worked their way up a short incline toward Imogene.
When they reached her, the old woman took one look at Matt, said, “You’re a crazy son of a gun, aren’t you?” then hurried them through the shaft.
They were several yards in when flashlight beams appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. Urgent and angry voices echoed through the mine, Carl’s the loudest of them all.
“You should’ve cooperated, Nick. Now we’re gonna have to get nasty. You ready for some fun, cutie-pie?”
Tara felt her chest tighten again, wishing she could just close her eyes and will these people away.
When would it be over?
“I gotta give those boys credit,” Imogene murmured. “They don’t give up easy.”
No they don’t, Tara thought.
But neither do we.
“Faster,” Matt said. “We gotta move faster.”
Feeling his hand on her back, urging her forward, Tara followed Imogene’s lead as the old woman picked up speed and veered to the right. But now Carl and his men were running, closing in behind them.
“How much farther?” Matt asked.
Imogene gestured with the flashlight. “Just around this bend and we’ll be home free.”
It occurred to Tara that while they may well reach Imogene’s car, that didn’t guarantee they’d be able to get inside, get it started and pull away before their pursuers opened fire. And at the moment, home free sounded more like a pipe dream than a reality.
Her fears were confirmed when they reached the end of the tunnel, only to find themselves at a three-way junction, two more shafts branching off to the left and the right. Imogene came to a sudden stop and turned around, facing the direction they’d just come from, as if waiting for Carl and his men to get closer.
Matt and Tara almost collided with her.
“What are you doing?” Matt said. “We have to keep moving.”
“Watch and see,” Imogene told him.
Smiling now, she stepped to the side of the tunnel where a frayed section of rope that hung from the ceiling was tied to one of the wooden braces. She quickly untied it, then pointed her flashlight beam down the tunnel as Carl and crew came into view.
They were several yards away when Carl held up a hand, bringing his men to a halt, another grin spreading across his pockmarked face.
“What’s this?” he said, squinting against the light. “You’re giving up so easily? Looks like I overestimated you, Nick.”
They brought their guns up.
“Careful, boys. Don’t shoot the reporter. She and I have some unfinished—”
Imogene yanked on the rope and, down the shaft, a brace broke away and the ceiling caved in, letting loose an avalanche of dirt, rock and debris, forcing Carl and his men to stumble back to avoid getting hit.
A moment later, the ground they had occupied was replaced by a wall of fallen rock.
Tara and Matt stared at it incredulously as Imogene’s smile widened.
“Safety precaution,” she said. “You never know who you might run into up here.”
Twelve
Several minutes later, they emerged from the mine on the opposite side of the mountain.
An old Rambler station wagon that looked as if it hadn’t been washed for a decade, or seen any bodywork in at least two, was parked at the side of a road that wound downward through the trees into darkness.
Far below, the lights of the city twinkled, and Tara thought it might be the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. But then anything would look beautiful right now. She was relieved and exhausted and just wanted to get back to Whitestone.
As Imogene made her way to the Rambler, Tara and Matt stood back a moment, taking in those lights.
“So many people,” Matt said, a faraway look in his eyes. “They work their jobs, go home to their families, have dinner together, watch TV. And they never know when tragedy can strike. When someone like Zane and that maniac Carl can come crashing down on them, destroying everything they know and love.”
Tara felt a sudden hitch in her throat as she thought about grocery stores and cartons of milk and drugged-out punks and mothers and daughters who go out on an errand and never come home again.
She looked at Matt. “Not this time,” she said. “Thanks to you.”
“It isn’t over yet.”
“It will be. And I’ve got a mother, a sister and a couple of nieces who’ll be thanking you, too.”
“Maybe they should be thanking Imogene,” Matt said. “If it weren’t for her little booby trap, we’d probably be facedown in that mine right now.”
As if on cue, the Rambler’s horn honked.
“I can’t start this jalopy without the keys,” Imogene called out. “You two lovebirds want to hurry it up?”
They rode in silence, Tara up front with Imogene as Matt stretched his hard frame across the backseat and quietly dozed.
Tara felt drained, as if some invisible plug had been pulled from her body, letting all the energy leak out. She was battered and bruised and figured she must look like something that had just risen from the grave.
Rode hard and put away wet, Imogene had said.
Tara couldn’t think of a description more apt than that one.
After a while, Imogene glanced in her rearview mirror at Matt. “So how long have you and Mr. FBI known each other?”
“What time is it?” Tara asked.
Imogene glanced at her wristwatch. “Closing in on midnight.”
“About seven hours, then.”
Tara heard herself say the words, but couldn’t quite believe them. It seemed as if a century had passed since Carl had grabbed her in Susan’s cabin.
Imogene’s eyebrows raised. “Seven hours?” she said. “You two work fast.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I walked in on you, dearie, you looked as if you were about ready to jump his bones.”
Tara tried to protest, but Imogene bulldozed her way past it.
“Not that I blame you. He’s a helluva specimen. And that torn-up shirt doesn’t hurt the image, either. Makes you want to tear up the pants, too.”
Tara felt herself redden again. She wasn’t particularly prone to blushing, but hearing this old woman say what she herself had been thinking half the night was embarrassing the heck out of her.
She turned, making sure that Matt was asleep.
“It’s not like that,” she said. “He’s a cop. And I have no interest in cops.”
Imogene looked at her. “You actually fool yourself with a line like that?”
“I’m not trying to fool anyone.”
“Uh-huh,” the old woman said. “One thing I’ve learned in all my years on this Earth is this. You’re presented with an opportunity, you’d better take it, because you might not get the chance again. And, child, I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. That’s the kind of look that only comes around once in a lifetime.”
Tara felt her heart skip slightly, but pushed the feeling away.
“What about you?” Tara asked. “You ever meet Mr. Right?”
Imogene snorted. “What I met was Mr. Wrong, who up and left me right before Mr. Wrong, Jr. was born. Takes everything I got to keep that kid on track, but he’s f
inally coming around.”
“Oh? What does he do?”
“For a living? He’s in construction. You know that new Performing Arts Center? That’s one of the sites he worked on.”
Tara nodded. “My station has been covering it. And I’m supposed to be at the dedication ceremony tomorrow.”
“You’re a reporter, right? I thought I heard one of those idiots back in the mine call you that.”
Tara shook her head. “A segment producer.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“I look for story ideas, listen to pitches from reporters, arrange interviews, stuff like that. It’s not very glamorous, but I enjoy it.”
“You ever meet any movie stars?”
Tara laughed. “Whitestone isn’t exactly a hot spot for the Hollywood crowd. But, who knows, there may be a few at the dedication tomorrow. Along with the mayor, the governor and a handful of big business types. You should stop by. You may get lucky and see somebody famous.”
Imogene nodded. “I might just do that,” she said, and gave Tara a wink.
The drive seemed to take forever.
Halfway down the mountain, Tara felt herself starting to nod off. She resisted at first—some kind of survival mechanism kicking in—then finally succumbed to the temptation and let her mind drift away.
A moment later she was dreaming, images flickering through her brain, speeding up, slowing down, flashing intermittently like gunshots in the dark.
A crying child.
An empty classroom.
A stern-faced teacher checking her watch.
Then, without warning, Tara was back in the mine, crouching next to one of the dilapidated wooden braces, looking in horror at the pile of rock and debris left by Imogene’s booby trap as it began to rumble and shift.
“He’s coming through,” Imogene said, and it was only then that Tara realized that the old woman was crouched next to her.
But when Tara turned to face her, she didn’t see Imogene at all.
It was her mother.
Wearing a wedding dress.
Her mother nodded toward the pile of rock as it continued to shift. Several chunks of debris fell away, leaving behind a jagged hole in the wall.
Deep Cover Page 7