by Marty Steere
Buster stirred in his arm, but then settled back, apparently content, oblivious to what was happening.
Minutes passed. Nate strained to hear sounds. The breeze from earlier in the evening had died down, so even the trees were still.
Suddenly, the calm was again shattered by the sounds of gunfire. It came from the direction of the lake, on the opposite side of the cabin from where Nate was lying. He listened intently. There were definitely two different weapons being discharged. His instincts told him to move, and he was up and running without having given it further thought.
Maggie had turned in the direction of the shots. But she obviously heard the pounding of his feet, and she lurched around as he approached.
“Nate,” she cried out.
He reached out with his left hand, gripped the satchel at the point where it connected with one end of the strap and yanked upwards, allowing his momentum to carry him a couple steps beyond Maggie. The satchel and strap came up over Maggie’s head, and, as soon as it was clear, Nate planted his right foot and slung the bag away with a sidearm motion. It flew out of his hand, sailing in a lazy arc. The thing had traveled maybe twenty yards and was just starting its downward track when it suddenly disappeared in a blinding white blast.
The concussion caused Nate to stumble backwards, striking Maggie, and they both sprawled in the dirt.
Shaking his head to clear it, Nate turned to look at Maggie, but his attention was suddenly arrested by the sight of a figure rounding the far corner of the cabin. It was the man he’d seen earlier. Raen, he now knew. The man’s right arm was thrown across his chest, hand gripping his left shoulder and blood oozing between his fingers. In his left hand, which hung limply at his side, was a large pistol.
A venomous look crossed the man’s face. He released the grip on his shoulder and brought his right hand down to retrieve the gun from his apparently useless left hand.
Nate realized he still had the pistol Matt had given him in his own hand. He rose to one knee, lifted the weapon and pointed it, trying to keep it steady against the shakes that suddenly engulfed him. The other man’s mouth curled up in a grotesque smile.
“You don’t have the balls, Cartwright,” he said, taking his own gun from the hand hanging at his side and bringing it around. Nate thumbed the safety and pulled the trigger.
He hadn’t really aimed, and he’d been shaking badly, so he feared he’d missed. But a crimson stain suddenly appeared at the man’s crotch. The man looked down and almost absently said, “Well, that’s ironic.”
Then he refocused on Nate. Time seemed to slow. The man grimaced, apparently in pain, and he moved his gun hand slightly, lining up on Nate. There was motion at the man’s feet, and he suddenly jerked his leg. His left foot came up, along with Buster. The little dog had his jaws clamped around the man’s ankle. Nate, his gun pointed at the man’s chest, again pulled the trigger, and, at that moment, the sound of multiple weapons discharging shattered the night.
Nate was sure his bullet struck the man in the upper torso. But, incomprehensibly, the man’s forehead exploded, a mist spraying out in front of him. The man toppled forward, his knees striking the ground first, and he landed face down in the dirt, a few feet from Nate and Maggie. Behind the spot where the man had been standing, Nate could see the figure of Matt, poised at the corner of the cabin, a pistol held out in front of him in a two-handed grip.
Nate took frantic stock of his own body. He didn’t feel like he’d been hit, but he was suddenly unsure whether he might be in too much shock to know it. Then he realized his hip and elbow hurt from where they’d struck after falling to the ground. That had to be a good sign, he decided. His heart, which had been on emergency overdrive began to settle, and he found his breath again.
He looked quickly at Maggie. She was lying on her side, hands behind her back, staring up at him. There were no apparent wounds. He searched her face and saw no pain, only concern.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No,” she said, immediately. “You?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, Nate,” she said. He reached for her and pulled her up to him. She lay her head against his chest. “Oh, Nate,” she repeated.
Matt appeared behind Maggie and knelt down, moonlight flashing off the knife in his hand. “Let me help,” he said in an almost playful voice. A moment later, the bindings around her wrist having been cut, Maggie threw her own arms around Nate. They clung to one another, and Nate’s heart once again shifted into overdrive. This time, he didn’t mind.
“Peter,” Nate heard Matt say, “we could use that car now.” After a moment, he heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, and the Explorer pulled into the clearing. Nate reluctantly relaxed his grip on Maggie, shifted his weight, and, as he stood, helped her to her feet. She again fell against him and he happily wrapped his arms around her. The driver’s side door to the Explorer opened, and Peter climbed out.
“Yeah, I see how it is,” Peter said. “While I sit in the dark with a splitting headache, everyone else is having a good time.” He stopped when he saw the body of the man Nate and Matt had shot lying in the dirt. “Well maybe not everyone.” He was about to say more when he suddenly stopped and cocked his head.
Nate heard it too. A distant slapping sound.
Matt slammed shut the rear door to the Explorer and stepped back, something long and slender balanced on his shoulder. He looked at Nate. “Back into the woods.”
Alarmed, Nate pulled his arms from around Maggie. He could hear the thing clearly now. A helicopter, and it seemed to be headed in their direction.
Matt pointed to the spot where he and Nate had been previously. Nate took hold of Maggie’s hand and led her to the edge of the clearing, stepping into the cover of the trees. Peter and Matt followed.
Matt turned to face the clearing, and, from one of his pockets, he retrieved a small object that he inserted into the device he was carrying. The thump of the approaching helicopter quickly became louder, and then it was directly above them. Nate couldn’t see it in the darkness, but the downdraft of its rotors stirred the branches overhead.
Matt stepped quickly from the cover of the trees, putting his eye up against the rear of the sighting mechanism that jutted out at an angle from the front portion of the tube-like device on his shoulder. He pointed the front end up toward the helicopter, the longer end extending back and down almost straight to the ground. With a sudden whoosh of gas discharging behind Matt, an object jumped from the tube and rose quickly, a slight glow revealing its path.
There was a loud explosion, followed almost immediately by an even louder one, and suddenly they were all bathed in a harsh light as the helicopter above them was engulfed in flames. For an instant, Nate could see the thing, hovering about a hundred feet off the ground. Then it tipped forward and slipped away over the top of the cabin with an intense whining sound that abruptly stopped with a loud smack as it apparently struck the surface of the lake, and there was yet another explosion. The cabin was outlined for a moment by an intense backlit glow, which quickly dissipated, then disappeared altogether. With it went the sound, and the silence of the evening once again enveloped them, eerie in its sudden contrast.
Matt tossed the tube aside and looked back at them. “We need to get Patricia and Tim and leave before they realize we’ve completely rained on their parade.”
#
Krantz sat back and dropped the report on his desk. He reached up and gently massaged his temples with both hands.
Marek.
The man had just cost The Organization, what? He did the quick math. A few minutes earlier, one of the men injured in the Bar Harbor assault had died in the hospital in Portland. So the total body count was now up to - for God’s sake - twenty-five? Are you kidding me?
He took a deep breath. He’d never intended to open up this Pandora’s box. In fact, he still had a hard time understanding how it had happened. Marek had taken himself out. He was gone. Good riddance. And th
en? How stupid was that? He let out his breath.
He’d have to deal with it. Quickly. Certainly before the idiots in Washington got hold of it. What a nightmare.
His laptop pinged.
That was unusual.
He stared at the device lying on the desk, cover down. There were only three people in the world who could send him a message that would trigger the signal. One of them was in a coma, and the other two were not likely to attempt a communication at this time. He reached out and slowly lifted the top, revealing the screen. The familiar prompt greeted him. He put a finger over the “enter” button, then paused, a sudden, irrational sense of unease overtaking him. Then, with the certainty he’d always possessed, he pushed down on the button.
A brief message appeared, with no return or identifying information.
“I’m coming for you.”
15
Nate tapped lightly, and, after a short pause, Patricia opened the motel room door. She gave him a broad smile.
“Well, good morning Nate,” she said with an exaggerated cheeriness. “Are you here to call on Maggie?”
Hoping the flush that came to his cheeks didn’t show, Nate said, “I’m here to let both of you know that we’re pulling out in three minutes.”
At the rear of the motel room, Maggie stepped from behind the wall separating the bathroom from the rest of the small space, drawing Nate’s attention. She had an expectant look, and there was a radiant glow about her. At least that’s the way it appeared to Nate. After a moment, he reluctantly refocused on Patricia, who was chuckling.
“We’ll be out in two minutes,” Patricia said. Then, with a knowing look, she slowly closed the door.
Nate took a steadying breath, turned and almost ran into Matt, who had once again somehow managed to sidle up next to him without making a sound. Matt’s arms were held at his side, weighed down by a gym bag in one hand and a large duffle in the other. He had a smile on his face.
“What?” Nate blurted.
“Have you asked her to the prom yet?”
Nate raised a finger. “Don’t start with me.”
Matt shrugged. “I’m just asking,” he said innocently.
“You’re just asking for trouble is what you’re asking for.”
His brother’s smile widened. “Ok,” he said, “have it your way.” He stepped past Nate with a studied nonchalance and walked to the Honda, which was backed into a nearby parking space. He set the bags down and opened the trunk.
Nate could see that Tim was already in the back seat of the sedan, his head swaddled in the bandage Matt had fashioned for him.
They’d arrived at the small motel well after midnight, following a long, winding drive through the back roads of Maine and New Hampshire. When they’d gratefully pulled themselves from the cars, Matt, to Nate’s surprise, had produced keys to the three rooms.
“Contingency,” he’d explained when Nate had given him an inquiring look.
Matt, who’d quickly field dressed Tim’s wound before they left the cabin, had stitched the gash after they arrived and stayed in the same room with the older man. Nate had bunked with Peter, keeping a wary eye on his brother, concerned that he might have a concussion after his encounter with the butt of the M-16. Fortunately, Peter looked to be none the worse for wear.
And then there were Patricia and Maggie. The two women, it seemed to Nate, had formed a bond, leaning on one another for support, and, though they’d been thoroughly terrified the night before, each had subsequently, it appeared, adopted a philosophical attitude and, with the help of the other, was coping with the circumstances.
Obviously, Matt’s demonstrated ability to anticipate and fend off those who were set to do them harm had given the group confidence. Nate, however, wasn’t buying the notion that they were out of the woods. He could see that Matt, despite his outward appearance of relaxed joviality, was still very much on edge.
From behind him, Peter asked, “Are we ready?”
Nate nodded. “Just waiting on the ladies.”
“You know,” Matt called out, giving Nate a sly look, his hand on the open trunk lid, “I think you and Maggie should have the Explorer today.”
Because the Ford was packed with so much gear, it had room for only two people. On the drive the night before, Patricia had ridden with Matt, while Nate had followed in the Honda with the other three. Now Matt was suggesting that Nate and Maggie travel together.
Just the two of them.
It was a tempting proposition, but Nate pushed it down. He’d already made a decision that, unfortunately, conflicted with his brother’s matchmaking. He gave Matt a direct look and said, “No, I’ll stay with the Honda. I think Peter should ride shotgun with you.”
Matt’s expression became serious, but, after a moment, he nodded and turned his attention to fitting the bags into the trunk.
Nate glanced back at Peter who glared at him with a look that clearly said, What are you doing? Nate merely shrugged.
The door on which Nate had earlier knocked opened, and Maggie and Patricia stepped out. Patricia held up both hands, her two index fingers extended and, in a questioning gesture, crossed them, pointing at the Explorer and the Civic.
“You’re both with me in the Honda,” Nate said. That, he noticed, seemed to please Maggie.
“I’ll sit in the back with Tim,” Patricia announced immediately, and she walked briskly to the sedan.
Nate and Maggie stood staring at one another, Nate uncertain what to say and Maggie apparently having a similar problem.
“Let’s go kids,” Matt said airily as he passed them, headed for the Explorer.
Peter had walked over with an excited Buster straining at the end of his leash. He wordlessly handed the leash to Nate. Then, with one last thunderous look, he turned and climbed into the Explorer.
#
They worked their way south, Matt choosing a more inland route and avoiding the major metropolitan areas along the east coast. Outside Albany, they stopped for gas and a quick bite to eat. Peter, Nate noticed, was unusually reserved, saying little as they sat around the table at the small roadside diner. When they were finished, though, Peter climbed back into the Explorer without hesitation. Nate chose to take that as a good sign.
While Tim had predictably buried his nose in a paperback shortly after they’d started out, Patricia had tapped into a side of her personality that Nate hadn’t previously seen, and she was quite talkative on the drive, keeping up an impressive running commentary on the scenery, the towns they passed, the weather and myriad other subjects of which Nate soon lost count. It seemed to Nate that she might be making an intentional effort to keep from thinking about the people who were chasing them. He didn’t mind. In fact he appreciated her garrulousness.
For the first time since, well, he wasn’t sure, but maybe since high school, he found himself at a complete loss for words. He was so aware of Maggie sitting next to him that it was palpable. And the cat that he thought he’d long ago outwitted had once again gotten his tongue. He was beginning to wonder if Maggie might think there was something wrong with him.
After they merged back onto the interstate, Nate rested his right arm on the center console, and, to his surprise, his fingers brushed lightly against Maggie’s. She had set her hand by the gear shift and was looking out the passenger side window. The contact sent a jolt through Nate, and he involuntarily jerked his hand away, keeping his eyes fixed on the highway in front of them. A few seconds later, though, he casually put his hand back where it had been. With an unusual mixture of relief and excitement, he found that Maggie had not withdrawn hers. Again, he felt the soft touch of skin on skin. Cautiously, he relaxed, delighting in the feeling.
After a moment, he felt Maggie move one of her fingers, a careless gesture. Maybe. Afraid to overreact, he waited a few intense heartbeats, then slightly moved his own small finger. With a silent thrill, he felt an immediate corresponding movement.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Nate,” P
atricia called from the back seat, “just take her hand.”
Nate felt himself flinch. For a moment, he was at a loss. Then, despite himself, he laughed. He glanced over at Maggie. She had turned and was looking at him with those incredibly green eyes. And she laughed.
He lifted his hand, moved it over Maggie’s and set it down. She immediately brought her other hand over and placed it on top.
“There we go,” Patricia said. “That’s so much better.”
And Nate had to agree with that.
They stopped again near Harrisburg as the sun was setting. When they’d finished eating, Matt pulled out a map and showed Nate their destination, a spot in rural Northern Virginia outside the town of Leesburg.
“Is it safe?” Nate asked.
Matt nodded. “It’s off the grid.”
“I take it that’s a good thing.”
“It is.”
#
Matt’s “off the grid” destination turned out to be a small farmhouse tucked up against the base of Catoctin Mountain at the eastern edge of the Blue Ridge. It was accessed off a rural road down a long straight drive that passed between two lines of rugged split-rail fences.
Though it was too dark to tell when they arrived, Nate would see in the morning that small herds of dairy cows grazed the fields on both sides of the fences. As they drove down the lane now in the darkness, their headlights illuminated a series of signs that had been erected along the side in a haphazard fashion. “Private Property, No Trespassing.” “No Solicitations.” “Beware of Dog.” And, Nate’s favorite, the outline of a handgun with the words “Beware of Owner.” Given their recent experiences, it made him chuckle.
At the end of the lane, they came to a gate, which Matt quickly unlocked. They passed through and pulled around behind the house. After they climbed out of the cars, Matt led them not to the rear door, but rather to a squat wooden structure attached to the back wall, on top of which was a weather-beaten trap door secured by a rusty padlock. Matt pulled a key from his pocket and, after springing the lock, lifted the door, propping it open with a hinged slat. Following Matt, they descended a set of wooden steps to a basement below the house, their way lit by an overhead bulb that Matt illuminated by yanking on a chain near the entrance.