Dark to Mortal Eyes

by Eric Wilson

  “Drop the gun, or this knife becomes forever one with your vocal cords.”

  Turney’s sidearm clattered onto the path.

  “Now let’s get to our feet. Easy now.”

  Stahlherz dragged the big man to an upright position. He saw the detective in the parking lot with weapon drawn. In the flower bed, Esprit had rolled into a kneeling position, a priest pleading mercy over his parish.

  “That’s it, Sarge. Stay in front of me.”

  “You’re just askin’ for trouble,” Turney told him. “Best to surrender now.”

  “On the contrary. You’re going to make certain I leave this place alive. I don’t know who these other guys are, but I have one move yet to make. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find Marsh and Trudi—to remind them of all they have taken from me.”

  “You’re wounded. You need medical attention.”

  “Oh no, I’m far beyond that now. Don’t you understand? No more turning back. Walk slowly.” He let the broken and bloodied talon hover at Turney’s throat. “Tell your friends to let us by, or you’ll be tasting metal, even through your double chin.”

  40

  Blades and Birds

  Trudi cradled the canister just as Scoot had done in the thicket. She lofted it so that the moon gleamed in its dull surface, a twinkle in the eyes of the skull and crossbones. One finger played over the metal surface, and as though summoned by the warmth, a thin vapor began to twine from the canister’s seam. Trudi moved behind Josee and tugged at the gag. “Josee, you have an assignment to fulfill. I’ll remove this nuisance if you are willing to behave yourself as a young lady. No spitting, agreed?”

  Josee nodded her head. Whatever it took to breathe freely.

  The gag came off, and Trudi said, “Now, my dear, we come to the point of this entire exercise. You’ve been an important part in a little game stretching back to the end of the Second World War. Your grandfather and I were quite the item, but he saw fit to disentangle himself from me in favor of his homegrown bride. Surely you can empathize. You, too, have been abandoned by one close to you.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Trudi set down the basket. “Why, Scooter, of course.”

  Josee wished her hands were free. She’d gladly deliver a blow to this old witch. “Is he here? Is he okay?”

  “Don’t you know? Your friend’s still in the hospital after that nasty collision with the motorcycle, driven by one of my recruits, I’m proud to say. Scooter slipped into a coma, according to the last report.”

  Josee wanted to challenge the statement, but Trudi’s hands had moved to her neck, encircling her throat, twisting the myrtlewood necklace the nurse had given her. Josee drove her head back against the woman’s collarbone.

  Get off me! Stay away!

  “You think you can resist me?” Trudi hissed. “Like Scooter has tried to do? He betrayed you. How do you think he knew you would be at the park today? Minutes before you and I talked on the phone this morning, Scooter called to reveal your location at the Van der Bruegges’. For three days he’s been my pliable servant. Kept tabs on you.”

  “Your words mean squat to me.”

  Trudi gloated. “He’s been one of mine longer than you think.”

  “But he tried to warn me. I heard him there at Avery Park.”

  Trudi jeered. “A final act to appease his guilt. No, he’s been dabbling in ICV for over a year, starting with a small cell at the University of Washington. He allowed the venom to take hold in the thicket, gave full access to the serpents in his hospital room. No wonder he recovered so quickly. Even that nurse couldn’t make the choice for him. Give this baby an inch”—she tapped the canister—”and it’ll take a mile. Scooter was a virtual breeding ground for these babies. You’ve been a bit more difficult, I daresay.”

  “I’ve had a little help.”

  “Help?”

  “I’m not alone.” Josee thought of her childhood seed of faith—withered and small but growing. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “I’m not one to quit so easily. You’ve still a role to play, a bishop cutting across the board to empty a safe-deposit box. You may have avoided Scooter’s chums, may have dodged the efforts of my coiled friends, but you will not—you will not!—leave me empty handed. Not if you have any desire to see your mother and father again. Though I must point out, there’s still some question as to your parentage.”

  “Kara already explained to me what happened—”

  “Did she now?”

  “So I don’t need you to try messing with my head, you got that?”

  “You’re ready to cooperate then?”

  “What’re you gonna do to Marsh and Kara?”

  “Nothing. Yet. Their fates rest entirely upon you.”

  Trudi’s cell phone chimed. She answered in a husky voice. “Hello, Marsh. Do you see your bride? As you may’ve noticed, yes, she’s a bit weakened by hunger and inactivity, in need of a bath, but healthy nonetheless. For the time being. Are you ready to make the exchange?”

  The big man coughed. “It’s okay, boys. Back off. Just let us on through.”

  “Sarge, we can—”

  “Just let us pass through.”

  “And,” Stahlherz instructed, “tell them to remove the keys from their car and from the Studebaker, then throw them out into that tall grass over the fence.” He knew they could be tailed with a call from the detective’s radio, but all he needed was to buy a few minutes. By then, this bird will’ve flown the coop.

  Turney parroted the order to the detective. The blade’s pressure encouraged compliance, despite the detective’s look of disgust. Keys disappeared into thick grass.

  “God, I’ve let them down,” the sergeant muttered. “I can’t do this on my own.”

  “Too late for prayers, my friend. Get moving, and don’t pretend to be a hero.”

  “Couldn’t be one if I tried.” The defeat was evident in Sergeant Turney’s voice.

  “Yeah, I see her,” Marsh said into the phone. From the edge of the trees, he scanned the beach for a clue to Trudi’s position. “But where are you?”

  “That’s inconsequential.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to deliver the journal to me. For years I’ve looked high and low. Black Butte, the manor, the beach house, Depoe Bay. Where was it, if I may ask?”

  “That’s inconsequential.”

  “Touché.”

  “So where do we go from here? Let’s get this over with.”

  “First, you provide me the journal with the key and the bank information. If you go to your dear wife beforehand, you’ll be shot by those hiding in the woods.”

  “What about Josee?” Marsh stood motionless, eyes searching the trees.

  “She has a bank errand to run.”

  “I want you to release her as well.”

  “You know I can’t do that. Without her, the bank manager will never provide access to the safe-deposit box. It’s just about five, Marsh, only an hour left. We don’t have time to make a court case of this. What do you propose?”

  “Here’s the deal. Josee takes the key and goes with one of your cohorts to fetch the contents of the box. It’s not far from here, I’ll let you know that much. Kara and I’ll join you. Once Josee reaches the bank, she calls, I provide the correct box numbers, then we all wait for her to return.”

  “And risk having Josee slip through my fingers? That’s unacceptable.”

  “Your men will be guarding her. She won’t try anything funny. Besides, the whole purpose of her trip has been to connect with Kara. She won’t leave her mother behind, not if you hold Kara and me as collateral.”

  “You’d willingly place yourselves in my care?”

  “Until Josee returns, yes. Then, once you’ve obtained the box’s contents, you’ll have no further reason to keep us, and we can go our separate ways.”

  More likely that you’ll kill us, but what’re my options? We’ll take
it as it comes.

  The line was silent while Trudi considered his proposal. He heard voices in the background. When Trudi spoke again, her voice was full of irritation. “Where’s the journal? My men have searched every inch of your car. No sign of it.”

  “They broke into my rental?”

  “We haven’t time to dillydally, as you well know.”

  “The bank info’s safe in my head. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “Marsh! This was not the plan. What about the key? Did you swallow it? Must we wait for it to pass through your digestive system?”

  “Josee has it. I gave it to her earlier. Go ahead. You can send her now so she doesn’t get to the bank after they’ve locked the doors. It’s the best idea. We all maintain some control, and we all hold on to something the others need. What options do you have, Trudi? Without Josee’s key and my knowledge, you’re up a creek.”

  “I could’ve inflicted damage long ago!”

  “Yeah, but you want to do it the right way—with your father’s poison, the Nazi venom. Isn’t this what you’ve plotted for, been destined for? Why settle for less?”

  “Okay,” Trudi surrendered. “I’m sending Josee off now. She has her birth certificate. Yes, she says she has the key, and we need you to tell us where to go.”

  “Bank of the Dunes,” he said, “in Florence. Should be there within a half-hour.”

  “Marsh, if you fail to provide the correct box number, my men will kill Josee. You had better toe the line. Enjoy your brief solitude with Kara. You are being watched, so don’t try to escape. Others’ll be down shortly to escort you back up to my position.”

  “Your position. Where?”

  “Up here, on the cliffs by the keeper’s house. We’ll gather for a candlelight family picnic with a special vintage to soothe our palates. From your father’s original harvest—Vintner’s Reserve, Addison Ridge Vineyards, 1951.”

  Marsh stepped from the shelter of the trees and saw etched against the darkening sky the elderly woman’s distant wave from a jutting promontory. From there, he realized, the canister had gone over the edge years ago. On the crags beyond her, Heceta Head Lighthouse stood as wary sentinel, beams feathering through the sky.

  He turned toward his queen’s form on the beach. Chess. Pawn promotion.

  Kara’s tears were hot streaks down her face. Her hands and feet were free. Her swollen lip, her bruised cheek, her stained and smelly jeans. She had accepted the fact that she could die there in the cellar, but then she’d seen her daughter. And now here she sat on a strip of driftwood in the salty breath of the Pacific Ocean. Before her, the waves were white-lipped mouths, champing at the sand and the cliffs.

  She loved it here. Was it true Marsh’d be joining her? Was this a trap?

  She wanted to warn him away. She wanted to hold on to him.

  To think that he had been suspected in her disappearance. To think that his father had betrayed them, fashioning them as pieces in a game. What’d been going through Marsh’s mind all this time? He had held Chauncey Addison on a pedestal.

  A game of Chance? God, help us bring this evil game to an end.

  From perilous cliffs, the lighthouse scanned the sea and sky.

  The key was cold in Josee’s hand. Seated in a red Buick that had waited near the keeper’s house, she weighed her instructions. Pretty basic: If you wish to see your mother and father alive, go to the Bank of the Dunes, sign in at the register, enter the vault to open the safe-deposit box—number to be provided soon—and carefully transfer the entire contents into the carpetbag.

  An inheritance. Could that part be true?

  Josee hated the doubts that now nested in her thoughts. At the very moment she’d begun opening up to her parents, Trudi had contaminated her with accusations. The proof was in the deposit box. Regardless of its contents, she would return to the keeper’s house to be with Kara and Marsh. Newfound connections. She couldn’t toss those away based on the words of some bitter old Nazi chick.

  “Almost there,” the driver said. “You’re not going to give us any trouble, I hope.”

  They descended a long hill, crossed a bridge. She shook her head. “Nope.”

  One of the guys leaned forward from the backseat. “Good answer, cutie.”

  Forced at knifepoint to crawl across the center console into the driver’s seat, Turney tore the Tahoe through the gravel and speared back toward town. On duty, he gave tickets for this sort of driving, but these circumstances were a bit different. And this fellow riding shotgun … Stahlherz was intense, quiet, his dagger tip poised at Turney’s neck, his eyes roving the mirrors and the road for trouble, his shirt globbed with blood.

  By his watch, Turney saw it was 4:57. They’d never make it to the coast in time.

  “Turn here,” the wounded man said.

  “Here? I thought you—”

  “Here!”

  Turney slowed. They were at Elks Drive. He made a right, then followed the fork up to Good Samaritan Regional Medical Center. Even as he rounded the hillside, he spotted the rescue helicopter on the pad and knew what Stahlherz had in mind.

  He pressed on the gas. Maybe he could outrun or outdistance this crazy plan.

  “Slow it down.” Stahlherz dug the blade deeper. “Time to take flight with your badge as our ticket. Over there.” He directed them to the helipad, where a pilot circled the white-and-red machine, alternately sipping on a Mountain Dew and making marks on a clipboard.

  Turney said, “Without proper clearance, he’ll refuse to lift off. Against policy.”

  “And sleep each night with your death on his conscience?” Stahlherz’s snort sprayed blood droplets from his nose onto the dash. “Believe me, he’ll do as I say.”

  With his blade hand at the sergeant’s throat, Steele Knight leaned into the big man and did little to fake his own infirmities as they crossed the grass to the helipad. The loss of blood was numbing his body. His bones felt brittle and cold. He snarled into Turney’s ear, demanding action.

  “Hey, there,” Turney called out. “You the one flyin’ this bird?”

  The pilot looked over his clipboard.

  “Got an injured man here. Help me get him on board.”

  “I’ve received no such instructions. Got no flight plan.”

  “Pilot”—Turney whipped his badge into view—”this is an emergency.”

  Training overrode the pilot’s initial suspicion, and he strode forward to assist. He could not ignore a police sergeant and a bleeding man. As he reached out an arm, he noted the dagger tip in Stahlherz’s hand. “Hey, what’s going on? Listen, I’m not—”

  “You are. You’re taking us on a quick ride.”

  The man slapped his clipboard against his leg. “No, I’m not! This is my bird, I’m responsible for it, and it’s not going anywhere.”

  “Then you’ll live with this police officer’s life on your hands.” Stahlherz allowed the evening’s bitterness—kreeackk!—to creep along his arm, to direct the dagger’s edge. The curved talon pierced his hostage’s skin, producing a red trickle.

  Turney gurgled in pain.

  “You ready to watch?” Stahlherz asked the pilot. “Or ready to fly?”

  The pilot cursed, threw his clipboard down on the floor of the chopper, and climbed into his seat. He pulled on a headset and flicked a switch to ignite the motors. The limp rotors jerked to life, then began a lazy spin that accelerated as the engine’s whine grew louder.

  Stahlherz swallowed his own blood. Watched his captive do the same.

  “Get on board,” he told Turney. “Move it!”

  The pilot was speaking into his mouthpiece. As Stahlherz boarded, he snagged the set from the man’s head and demanded radio silence. He flung the object to the grass below and told the sergeant to close the door. He settled into his seat and, to air his wounds, peeled off his black jacket and shoved it beneath the seat. In the cockpit’s cocoon, he imagined the Professor’s surprise when he arrived at the coast.

&nbs
p; This is one pawn that won’t go down so easily. Kaw-haahaa!

  From the front, the pilot’s invective was relentless, audible over the rotors. He tried to warn Stahlherz of the legal consequences of his actions. He insisted the fuel levels were too low to accommodate an excursion over the coastal mountain range to Heceta Head Lighthouse. He spouted off about his ex-wife and the way she’d robbed him blind in court and how he wasn’t going to be taken advantage of again, especially by some old guy with a broken knife and Shredded Wheat for brains.

  Stahlherz said simply, “You’re no different than me.”

  “How so?” The pilot glanced over his shoulder.

  “We’re both driven by anger and bitter disappointment. We’re both—”

  “Don’t feed me a line! Whaddya know? You’re no better than the next guy.”

  “And we’re both driven by our respective birds.” At that, Stahlherz cackled. Feather tips, bristling through his head, tickled his thoughts and stirred his acrimonious swill of emotion. “If we let them, oh yes, they’ll swallow us whole.”

  “Huh?”

  “The descent to hell is easy, my friend. Facilis descensus Averno.”

  “Bite me, pal!”

  Strapped into the seat behind Turney, Stahlherz absorbed the pilot’s hatred, pressed it to his heart as part of his acidic poultice. He’d been betrayed by Chance—abandoned at birth! By Marsh and Esprit—card trick, ha! By the Professor—an empty trunk!

  At this point, death and darkness sounded inviting.

  41

  Knee-Deep

  Marsh strode the hundred yards to Kara’s thin form. With the Glock tucked into his belt beneath his jacket, he surveyed the broad beach and saw no sign of others. Although he distrusted Trudi Ubelhaar, he was certain she would withhold drastic action until Josee had acquired the items from the deposit box.

  That gave him time to think. To speak with his wife.

  “Kara.” He moved closer. “Kara, is that you?”