by B. V. Larson
“Detective Perez,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m banged up a bit. You have get Dr. Linscott out of here. I’m not entirely sure why they want to kill her so badly, but the very fact that they’re trying this hard makes me want to keep her alive.”
“They might be after her computer instead,” the Detective said, showing Sandeep the damaged laptop.
“I see. Odd. Has the hard drive been damaged?”
“I don’t think so,” Jackie said.
“Then remove it, and take it with you. Leave the computer here as a decoy.”
She did as he asked, snapping out the small hard drive from the slot in the back after using a penknife to remove the locking screw.
There was a sudden commotion behind her. She turned to see Perez was lifting the body, examining the head area. The man’s eyes were still open, and Jackie winced in horror.
“He’s got a polyp,” Perez said, “in his neck. See this lump? That’s not a thyroid tumor.”
Sandeep stared at Perez, not the dead man’s neck. Jackie didn’t know what to think.
“How do you know about implants?” Sandeep asked, but then he answered his own question almost immediately. “Oh, you fought in Iran. Are you still hosting one?”
“No,” Perez said, “they took it out when I was discharged. Look, his eyes are open. He’s probably still recording us.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Jackie demanded.
“Dr. Linscott,” Perez said, turning toward her, “you might want to turn away for a minute. I’ve got to take this thing out of him.”
“Turn away? What are you going to do to the body?”
“That’s unnecessary,” Sandeep said quickly, “and possibly counterproductive. My people might be able to get something out of that. We—”
He broke off, because Perez wasn’t listening. He’d produced a small blade and quickly opened a two inch gash in the dead man’s neck. Jackie watched in horror as he reached into the slit with his fingers and dug out something red, wet and slippery.
It looked like a partially formed eyeball. She’d expected something metallic, maybe with a battery pack. But this looked organic, like a small bulbous organ.
Perez threw it down and stomped it flat. For a moment, Jackie thought she saw the thing wriggle—but that was impossible. She looked away, wishing she’d followed the detective’s advice.
“You guys are going to have to explain that thing to me!” she said, her voice cracking high in disgust and alarm. For her, watching the procedure had been as bad as watching the man die in the first place.
“Later,” Perez said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Detective,” Sandeep said. “Get her and the disk to Livermore. Take the back roads, avoid the highways.”
“All the way around San Jose?”
“Yes.”
Detective Perez looked over the car. It was a wreck. “I don’t think your machine is going to make the trip, Sandeep.”
Sandeep indicated the pickup that loomed near with a single headlight intact. “Take this gentleman’s truck. I don’t think he’ll be needing it anymore tonight.”
“All right. But we should take you to the hospital first.”
Sandeep shook his head. “Unnecessary. This vehicle is equipped with a GPS and a crash sensor. A silent alarm has already alerted agents. They’ll be coming here soon to retrieve me.”
Jackie looked uncertain. “You want us to just leave you?”
“I can’t help. I can only slow you down. You don’t want to go anywhere near a hospital tonight.”
“But I thought you just said help was on the way?”
“It is, but the enemy is most likely also on their way. I can’t be certain who will get here first.”
“We shouldn’t leave him,” Jackie said. She frowned worriedly at Sandeep.
“He’ll be all right,” the detective said. “We’ll take the truck.” He fished keys out of the dead man’s pocket and climbed into the cab.
Jackie hesitated. She didn’t know if running was the best option, but she’d decided she would rather be close to the detective tonight if people were coming to kill her. He’d already demonstrated more than once he was good to have around in a fight. Besides, Sandeep had assured them that this was the best option.
Sandeep smiled at her, blinking in the glare of the truck’s headlight. His teeth were outlined with blood. She gave his shoulder a squeeze, which made him wince.
“I’ll call this in,” she said. “My cell is working. People are already stopping up on the main road to see what’s happening down here.”
Sandeep’s smile faded. “Don’t call anyone. You must go. Now.”
Scared, she left him. She felt a pang, even though she’d just met him. He had his pistol out, and was checking it. Did he intend to have a gun battle with whoever came after them? She hoped not.
The second she was in the truck and had the door slammed shut, Detective Perez gunned the engine. They turned and began bouncing through the forest. The four-wheel drive was doing its work, maneuvering them downslope through the trees. Fortunately, the trunks were widely spaced.
“Where are we going?” Jackie asked, strapping herself in.
“There’s a backwoods road out here called Summit. We’ll find it and follow it to Mt. Madonna, then take more goat-tracks around the south end of San Jose. We’ll stay in the mountains as much as possible.”
“You know where you’re going?” she asked.
“Pretty much. I’ve hunted and camped in this area.”
“How long will this take?”
“I don’t know. It’s only fifty miles to Livermore from here on the highways, but going this way…? It will take three or four hours, I’d say. At least we’ve got plenty of gas.”
He surprised her then by switching off the lone headlight. With only glowing yellow parking lights on, he navigated the forest to a small country lane. This fed into a bigger road, then another. They passed small houses with lights twinkling in the trees. It all looked so peaceful and normal.
“You should turn your lights back on,” she said.
“Yeah.”
Finally he did so, and she relaxed a little. Maybe a cop would pull them over—but that might be a good thing. Perez was a cop, and they generally helped each other out.
She sat back in her seat and tried to rest, but her heart was pounding too much. She was hungry, too.
Digging in the glove compartment box, she found a registration and insurance card. The man had a foreign-sounding name. It didn’t seem Russian, but she was no expert. Who were these people? What kind of a person took a job to kill people they didn’t even know?
There was nothing to eat. She sat back and tried not to think about what was happening to her.
Every minute or two, she felt inside her pocket, her fingers closing around the small square shape of her laptop’s hard drive. Was that what they were really after? It seemed likely to her now.
And, with everything that was happening, she was beginning to suspect that she knew why.
Chapter 13
New York City
Day
Captain Brandt was tired, and little Jenna had passed out in his arms. They’d been traveling hard for days. Running was always stressful. Even if you’d lost your pursuers, you could never be one hundred percent sure.
This time he’d chosen to go back home—at least to his home country. Strangely, the U. S. had borders that were easier to cross than most borders in the world. He’d flown into Toronto on a fake passport. Jenna was young enough to travel on his papers.
After that, it had been a fairly simple matter to rent a car and drive it south to the border between Canada and the United States. He didn’t bother doing anything fancy, he just left the car along the road in the Maine woods and walked into his homeland, carrying Jenna most of the way.
When he found a small town on the other side, he met up with his only difficulties. New Englanders were vi
gilant—or at least nosy. They knew a man and a girl coming out of their woods without a car was an odd thing. Fortunately, he had money. He managed to rent a new car with a new ID and continue south.
Jenna never questioned events of this nature. She was used to it. Her father had been trained to slip in and out of countries, and she accepted this as a normal facet of life.
It bothered Brandt, however, every time he committed a crime with her in tow. Even a small thing was endangering her, he knew. If he was picked up and couldn’t worm his way out of a jail term, she’d be taken by CPS. Just finding her after that would be difficult, and retrieving her would be nearly impossible. But as usual, his pursuers hadn’t given him much choice.
Two days after they crossed the border, they reached New York City. Strangely enough, he thought of this city as an easy place to vanish into. You had to know where to go, of course. You had to know which streets had people who could give you a new identity for cash. You had to know who would trade what, and what a bartered deal was worth.
He headed for Brooklyn first, where he still had a few useful friends. People who wouldn’t turn him in. People who wouldn’t listen to lies from government agents about him turning traitor. People he needed desperately on a day like today.
Old Bill was one of these friends. He had a protruding nose under thick glasses and a shock of wild gray hair on top.
Bill was what they called a “printer.” In the past, he’d counterfeited his way into hard time in the federal pen. But these days he eked out a thinner living making fake papers. He had a scanner, a camera, excellent printers and pro-quality lamination equipment. He also had every kind of paper and ink known to man.
“You shouldn’t have come back to the city, Brandt,” Old Bill told him. “Things aren’t the same nowadays.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have if I’d had a choice.”
Bill flipped up his visor and pointed at Jenna, who was watching cartoons in the other room.
“What about her?” he demanded. “Are you even thinking about how this is going to end for her?”
Brandt sighed. Old Bill was a great guy, and he always kept his mouth shut when officials came around. Unfortunately, he did quite the opposite when talking to his clients.
“Yeah,” Brandt said. “I don’t think of much else these days.”
“Take her back.”
“What?”
“Take her back to her mama. A young girl like that—” Bill shook his head as he worked. “She should be with her mom.”
Brandt’s face tightened. “I agree.”
“Well then…why?”
Brandt caught the old man’s eye and shook his head slowly. Old Bill finally caught on. He looked pained and made tsking sounds.
“That’s terrible. She’s gone, is she? Does Jenna know?”
“No, but she might figure it out if you don’t keep your frigging voice down.”
“Sorry.”
Old Bill went back to work on the papers, giving no more advice. When they were finished, he handed them to Brandt to inspect.
“Perfect, as always. How much do I owe you?”
Old Bill shook his head. He put up a hand when Brandt began to insist.
“This one is on the house, Brandt,” he said. Then he leaned forward. “But make it the last one, okay? You’re too hot now. You understand, don’t you?”
Brandt felt a little wave of shock going through him. He’d lost another friend.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “No problem, Bill. We’ll be going.”
“Wait a second,” Old Bill said as he stood up.
“What?”
“I…I heard from your dad.”
Their eyes met. Brandt stared. “You’re kidding.”
“No. He’s alive.”
“How do you know?”
“He contacted me. He wants to know where you are.”
Brandt laughed bitterly. “That will never happen.”
“Why not, man? He’s a grandpa, after all. If I had a little granddaughter like that running around the country homeless, I’m sure I would be worried about her.”
“My dad is different,” Brandt said. He stopped, frowning with a new thought. “When did you hear from him?”
“A few days ago.”
“Phone call?”
“No, it was an email. Funny, it came to my old mailbox. The one I haven’t used for years.”
Brandt’s heart was beginning to accelerate in his chest. He didn’t like the sound of any of this. “Listen, Bill, if you hear anything else from my old man, don’t answer. Forget you know him.”
“All right, all right—” said Bill, impatiently.
“No,” Brandt said, reaching out and grabbing a handful of his shirt. “Listen to me.”
Old Bill’s eyes were wide and round—but not with fear. He was angry.
Brandt looked down. An old-fashioned Smith & Wesson was aiming at his chest. Brandt was impressed. He hadn’t even known the old man had a gun, and that spoke volumes. He’d been trained to spot such things and to know when someone was going to make a move on him.
“Don’t try any rough stuff with me, kid.”
Brandt smiled and slowly released Bill. “Sorry,” he said.
“You say that a lot,” Old Bill pointed out. The gun was still in his hand and aimed up at Brandt.
“Sorry—really. I’m just jumpy. Look, my father got me into this mess. He didn’t like his life, so he bailed out on it. He handed a big bag of shit down to me for safe keeping. I don’t want that life to fall down one more step to Jenna.”
Bill shook his head. “I don’t understand, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to understand. But let me tell you this—”
The old man was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. Brandt lurched, turning toward the window—then he turned back toward Old Bill.
The man’s body had relaxed, and he’d fallen back into his chair, stone dead. There was a perfectly round hole in his forehead. Blood pumped out slowly, running over his face and down into his salt-and-pepper beard.
Brandt leapt into action. He snatched the Smith & Wesson out of Bill’s limp fingers and dashed for Jenna. He grabbed her and charged for the back door, checking the magazine. The gun was fully loaded.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Jenna asked.
“Nothing, honey.”
She saw the gun in his hand, and her face screwed up into a mask of fear. It hurt him to see her like that. She was conditioned by now to know the signs.
“Listen, honey,” he said, staying away from all the windows. “I need you to crawl into Old Bill’s bedroom and hide. Stay on all fours like a kitty, all right? Find the best place to hide in this whole house. I know you can do it. Don’t come out for anything, not until this is over.”
“Do I have to, Daddy?”
“Yes.”
Jenna crawled away obediently, rapidly. She was good at crawling, and it made him sick when he thought about why.
The front door banged and rattled on its hinges. Men shouted and demanded entry. Brandt ignored them. In his mind, he was going over various possible trajectories for the bullets that were soon going to be flying around this old brick house. He didn’t want to stand where a sniper could see him—even though he didn’t think they would shoot him. They wanted him alive at all costs.
Besides worrying about windows, he was concerned about the angle of his own fire. He made sure Jenna wouldn’t be caught in any crossfire. That would end her life and his own, as far as he was concerned, in the same moment.
Old Bill’s front door held firm, despite the determined banging. There were enough locks on it to choke a pit bull, and they finally gave up and moved around the house to try the back.
Brandt helpfully unlocked the back door. The first man through was lucky. He took a chop to the throat and went down, wheezing and eyes bulging. He couldn’t breathe. Brandt took his gun, and combined with Old Bill’s Smith & Wesson, unloaded into the next guy.
The second man managed to pull a taser out. Brandt caught a tiny prong in the left thigh, but the other prong hit his cellphone which was in that pocket. The weapon buzzed ineffectually.
Brandt’s two guns barked, knocking the man off his feet. He rolled in pain, his flak jacket absorbing the rounds.
“Toss your weapon, or I take a headshot,” Brandt said, being careful to stand in the darkened doorway.
The man did as he was told, coughing pink phlegm.
Brandt slammed the door again. He checked the man on the floor, who was still sucking for air like a beached fish. He was turning blue. Brandt stripped off the man’s helmet and flak jacket. Putting them on, he threw open the door again and walked outside.
He waved the all clear toward the next building—toward the figure on the roof.
The sniper up there relaxed and lowered his rifle, thinking he had been signaled by his own man.
The moment the sniper’s guard was down, Brandt blazed with both his pistols. The range was short, but it was still a close thing. He had to fire seven rounds before the sniper on the neighboring roof took one in the face and toppled from his perch.
“That was for you, Bill,” Brandt said quietly, then he walked back inside.
He checked the man with the crushed windpipe on the floor, but the guy had asphyxiated.
It was time to move on. He searched the house for Jenna. She wasn’t where he’d sent her.
He really didn’t get it until he found the cellar. The tiny dark chamber at the bottom of the steps smelled like a musty tomb. Outdated printing equipment filled the place.
There were steps to the outside, and the double doors at the top were wide open.
Brandt rushed out, whirling around, calling her name—but he found nothing. Jenna was gone.
The neighborhood was quiet except for the distant wolf’s howl of sirens.
He knew immediately where he had to go. He knew he was going to have to return to the one place on this green Earth he’d sworn never to go again.
His face was stiff with pain and determination while he ransacked the house and the dead agents. By the time the sirens grew close, he was already driving a black SUV with government plates. The dead sniper had had the keys in his pocket.