by Meg O'Brien
This time she didn’t hold back. Her fingertips jabbed his eyeballs hard, and he screamed and fell to the ground. His hands covered his face, and she could see that blood seeped from between the fingers.
Pausing for breath, she realized that she was still calm. She had defended herself and even gone on the attack, but there had been no hatred behind it as she so often had felt during practice. Her mind had stayed clear, and she’d known exactly what to do. Damn. Jancy and Davis would be proud.
But Dell was on his feet again and coming at her. Grabbing his right arm, she twisted it clockwise, then circled down the arm. Her right hand grabbed his right wrist from the outside, and she drew back with her left foot and into a right cat stance facing twelve o’clock. Pulling forward with her right hand against his right arm, she leveled a kick to the groin. He went down again, and a quick check showed that he was no longer conscious.
With both men down and out, Abby swept up the second bodyguard’s gun and ran.
Allie’s car was right where she’d said it would be. Abby slipped into it, started the engine and drove slowly away from the house toward the Emerald Gardens’ main gate. Stopping short there, she was stumped. The gate was locked, of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Why hadn’t Allie?
For a minute, she wondered if Allie had set a trap for her after all.
Then her mind cleared, and she realized how exhausted she must be. Exhausted, screwed up and ravenous. Her thinking was off, to suspect Allie of that sort of thing. Reaching up to the sun visor, she found the remote she should have known was there from the first. Pushing the only button on it, she watched the gate open. It was slow, slow as maple syrup at the North Pole, and she wanted to jump out of the car and push it. Even more than that, she wanted to scream.
On the road to the freeway, she picked up speed. At the freeway entrance she paused and set Allie’s GPS to find the house in the marshlands. It directed her north on 45, and after 6.8 miles, right on Mathers Road. After that there were no turns at all—just one long, straight line to the house, as Joey had said.
Allie had left her own cell phone on the passenger’s seat, and before entering the freeway, Abby used it to call the Prayer House. It was late, but Sister Helen answered right away and gave her the information she had expected to hear.
Damn, damn, damn, she muttered under her breath as she jammed her foot down on the accelerator and pulled onto the freeway, nearly running several cars off the road. Why couldn’t I have been wrong?
By the time she reached Mathers Road, it had started raining. A different rain, not the kind that snuck up on you in Carmel, starting with a wisp of fog over the hills and followed by a few gentle drops that turned into what they called a “mizzle” in England—a cross between a mist and a drizzle. This rain was a downpour from the first. The heavens opened up with a loud clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning that streaked across the sky like an angry blast from a shotgun. Abby could almost hear the words from The Movie Network: “God is mad, and He’s not gonna take it anymore!”
Or something like that. Remembering quotes began not to matter as the rain pelted the windshield and the wipers became all but useless. Abby gave up trying to see the road and followed the red taillights of cars ahead. She almost went off the road twice, trying to find the right button to push for the heat to dry the steam from the inside windows. Somewhere along the way, she realized she was chewing the inside of her mouth, a nervous tic.
The Mathers Road sign was bent over and lying in the dirt, apparently the result of some other storm, but the GPS alerted her when she was nearly upon the street. Slowing down, she saw that it really was nothing more than a dirt road. And now, thanks to the rain, it was a muddy dirt road.
She turned off her headlights and parked on the side of Mathers, though there was little space. If another car turned onto the road, they’d see the BMW and know someone was here who shouldn’t be here. A few feet more off the mud, though, and the car would be in the swamp.
Why on earth would anyone build a house out here like this?
So they wouldn’t be bothered by the likes of you, she heard her aunt Kate say. Then, just as quickly, her mother would add, Or because they’re nuts in the head, like you.
Upon which they’d all laugh, including Abby, and the visit would be off to a great start. She missed her mom and Aunt Kate. It was time to go home for a while.
First, though, she had a job to do. Stepping out of the car into the slick mud, Abby hung on to the open car door to make sure she didn’t slip and fall on her face. Then, reaching back in, she picked the bodyguard’s gun off the seat and stuck it into her belt. The tiny flashlight she usually carried was in her back jeans pocket on the left, and her mini burglary kit was in the right back pocket. Not that she expected to need it. Allie’s cell phone was next, and she turned it to vibrate and stuck it in the back of her belt, along with the gun.
Closing the car door, she slid onto her knees in the mud, then onto her stomach. With her elbows bent, she belly-crawled along the road toward the house soldier-style, as they’d taught her to do at Ben’s survival camp. The house was at least three city blocks away, and the rain beat down and blinded her. Mud went up her nose and into her mouth, and there were times when she thought she didn’t have another ounce of strength in her, but she kept going. Even the creepy, crawling things on her bare arms, neck and face didn’t stop her. She pretended she was in a mud bath at a spa, being massaged.
It worked, until something long and squiggly slithered up the leg of her jeans. Smothering a scream, she reached down and grabbed it from her calf before it went any higher. Holding it up, she could barely see it but could tell from the way it moved and felt that it was probably nothing more than a harmless baby snake. She tossed it over into the swamp.
The house, as she neared it, looked like one Hitchcock might have rejected for the original Psycho, but only because it was far too scary out here for a camera crew. The rain clouds had covered the moon, and the house was a dark, ominous outline against an even darker sky.
There was a light downstairs, though, which she saw as she wiped her eyes and her vision cleared. It seemed to be coming from a front window, and there might be one on the side as well.
She was covered completely in mud, and that was good; it made for excellent camouflage. She took time to pick a bug out of her ear, but stayed on her belly until she was within feet of the house. There’s probably a dog, she thought, and she prepared herself—at least in her mind—for a possible attack. But there wasn’t even a warning bark.
These people must feel pretty confident about their security out here, she thought.
But why? Were there alarms inside that told them when someone was coming up the drive?
The house seemed to have been built on a small piece of solid land. The yard around it, if it could be called a yard, was circled with white-painted rocks. Abby assumed that the rocks were to show where the solid land ended and the marsh began. At the moment, however, there was little delineation, since the winds and rain had blown mud and vegetation all around the yard, turning it into a six-inch-deep bog.
Abby crept to the lighted front window, and pulled herself up on the outside sill to see in. The window was streaked with rainwater, which made everything blurry, and her arm muscles almost screamed aloud from holding up her weight. Her fingers were raw from scratching through the mud, which had mixed with the sharp gravel of the road bed beneath it. She tried to hang on, but lasted only a few seconds. In that time she was able to see that there were two men in what seemed to be a living room straight out of the Depression years. Flowered wallpaper was stained and peeling, while an overstuffed brown couch was tattered and had springs sticking up out of a cushion.
One of the men was Hardy Boyd, from the warehouse, and the other was someone she didn’t recognize. They sat slouched on armchairs that were frayed and faded, drinking beer as if they hadn’t a care in the world. On the floor between the two men were several empt
y beer cans, and in the middle of the room a card table had been set up. On it was what could only be “the package.”
It was approximately two feet wide by one foot high, and wrapped in brown paper, then secured with mailing tape.
So Linda had made her delivery. They must be waiting now for the Candlelights person they were supposed to turn it over to. But who?
Abby crept to the next window, lifting herself up again to see in. She had to stifle a gasp. Tied to a straight-back wooden chair was Jimmy, and a wave of relief swept over her. It grew when she saw that on another chair was the reason she’d crawled through all that muck and mire: Jancy. Both had tape over their mouths, but both seemed awake and, thankfully, alive.
Since her telephone conversation from the warehouse to the number at this house, Abby had been afraid that Jancy might be the “kid” they were holding. And when Sister Helen confirmed that Jancy had disappeared yet again from the Prayer House, she was sure of it. Since Danny was in New York with Kris, it was the only thing that made sense.
Except that it didn’t make sense. Not really. What on earth could they possibly want from Jancy? To hold her over Pat and Bridget Devlin’s heads until they turned over the bioweapons? But Alicia and Bridget didn’t seem to know that Jancy was here. And how did they get her here? She would have had to be unconscious, or she’d have kicked and screamed all the way.
As for Jimmy, had they grabbed him outside the motel that morning? And what did they want with him?
Before her muscles gave out, Abby let go of the sill with one hand, just long enough to tap lightly on the window. Jancy was the first to hear it. She saw Abby, and must have signaled Jimmy with some sound. He looked at her, and when she nodded toward the window, he turned his head and saw Abby. His eyes widened. Then he shook his head rapidly, as if telling her to get away, and fast.
There was no way for Abby to respond. The most she could do was place one hand against the window in an expression of comfort before she became too weak and slid to the ground. Kneeling there in the dark, she paused, trying to decide what her next move should be.
There was nothing to keep her from walking right up to the front door. She was armed, and she could knock and say she was Linda. If she muffled her voice, the men in the front room probably wouldn’t question it—until they saw her. And the gun she was pointing at them.
But what good would that do? She could free Jancy and Jimmy, but the two men in the front room didn’t seem in charge of anything. In fact, just the opposite—they appeared to be waiting for a boss, someone to tell them what to do with that package, or someone to hand it over to. If she took them on too soon, she might in some way send a warning to the people at the top, the ones who planned to take what they thought was a lethal mix and put it into a bomb.
Those were the ones who should be caught, and then grilled for information, to prevent this from happening again—as well as to protect the Devlins.
But let’s face it. This really isn’t my job anymore. It’s way beyond me, and I’m smart enough to know it.
Backing off quietly until she was twenty feet or so from the house, she pulled out Allie’s cell phone and called Joey, having memorized his number. He didn’t answer, and for the first time she felt truly worried about what she was doing. Until now, she had simply trusted that there would be backup when she needed it.
She left a message on his voice mail, telling him she was at the house on Mathers Road, and that Jimmy was being held hostage here, along with Jancy Gerard. She told him the package was here—the bioweapons for the bomb that was scheduled to be detonated sometime, somewhere, today. She had no idea when someone would be here to pick it up, and they were running out of time to find and round up all the conspirators.
So, now what? she wondered, hanging up. Since she hadn’t been able to reach Joey, she had no idea when he, the local police or the feds might show up here. Should she call Lessing? Ben? Kris?
No. Not yet. All she needed was for a passel of military choppers to suddenly come swarming over the house. Jimmy and Jancy would be dead within minutes; they’d never be left alive to testify against the men inside or reveal anything they might have learned here.
First Things First was her usual motto. Do Your Best and Leave the Rest was another, and that was what decided her. Stomping up the front steps to the rickety porch, she knocked loudly on the door. At the same time she pulled the Glock 9 mm out of her belt. A man’s voice said cautiously, “Who is it?”
“Linda,” Abby replied in a low voice.
There was a moment or two of hesitation. Too long, Abby thought. Something’s wrong. They know it isn’t Linda. Get ready.
She braced herself. When the door opened a crack she kicked it in, raising the gun at the same time so that it was level with the head of the man who stumbled back from the door and onto the floor.
The other man, a shocked expression on his face, began to rise from his chair.
“Sit!” Abby yelled, moving the gun back and forth between both men. “Both of you! Back in the chairs!”
Make plenty of noise, she’d heard the instructor at the survival school say. Scare the bejeezus out of ’em.
By the expressions on the two men’s faces, she thought she must have succeeded.
The smell in here was horrible. Enough mold, she guessed, to wipe out an army. She tried not to gag.
“Who are you waiting here for?” she demanded in the tone of a drill sergeant. “When is he coming?”
Both men shook their heads, as if their voices had left them. Only then did Abby realize what she must look like, smeared from head to toe with mud, debris, bugs, worms. The Creature from the Black Lagoon had arrived.
“Take a good look,” she said coldly. “You’ll be dying out in those swamps if you don’t start talking soon.”
Hardy, the man from the warehouse, was closest to her. He spoke first. “We’re not waitin’ for nobody. We’ve just been sittin’ here, talkin’.”
“Liar!” She kicked him in the left shin, hard enough to make him yell out. Then she shoved the gun barrel against his neck, so deep that it made a dimple in the thick, fatty flesh. She could see his carotid pulsing against the metal.
“Somebody’s coming here to pick up that package,” she said. “When are they coming?”
Hardy began to sweat. “I don’t know, I swear! I was just told to wait here and keep an eye on it!”
She looked at the other man, who was younger. He was already shaking his head. “I don’t know anything, either. I’m just the caretaker here. I don’t know what anybody does. Honest!”
“Honest, huh?” She crossed over to him and smacked him in the face with the back of her free hand. “Is taking care of human beings part of your job?”
He cringed. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”
“The man and girl in the other room, that’s what I mean! What the hell were you planning to do to them?”
“Nothin’, honest! I didn’t plan nothin’!”
He was wearing old canvas Nikes, and she stomped on his foot, putting all her weight behind it. He yelled and doubled over, moaning.
“Oops, sorry. I didn’t plan that, either,” Abby said.
“My, my,” another voice boomed as a blast of cold, wet rain entered through the front door. “I don’t remember you being so mean, Abby.”
She whirled around and came face-to-face with Gerry Gerard.
A jumble of explanations ran through her mind: Gerry was looking for Jancy and had tracked her here, after learning she’d been kidnapped. He was working with the feds to help find Pat Devlin and make a name for himself as a hero before the elections came up.
“I’m the UPS guy,” Gerry said, smiling. “Here to pick up a little package.”
He came closer. “You can put the gun down now, Abby. This hasn’t anything to do with you. Put the gun down and you can leave. No harm, no foul.”
“Back off,” she said, still confused but not giving an inch. “Stop right
there.”
“Are you going to shoot me, Abby? After all Allie and I have done for you? I don’t think so. Besides, my partner—who just came in through the back, by the way—would have to kill your friends back there.”
“My friends? One of those people is your daughter, Gerry! Do you know that?”
“Know it? I arranged it,” Gerry said, the smile still on his face. “Jancy is what you might call my insurance that this whole thing comes off today.”
“You mean the bomb? No! You can’t be behind that!”
“Oh, Abby,” he said with mock sadness. “I thought you would have figured it out by now. You were always so sharp. It’s that Prayer House, of course. Living there has turned your mind to mush.”
“You may actually be right about that,” Abby conceded, recovering. “Because I sure don’t see what good having Jancy bound and gagged will do you…unless, of course, your plan was to scare the kid to death.”
Keep him talking. Give Joey and the cavalry time to get here.
He chuckled. “Scare Jancy? Have you seen her lately? Oh, that’s right, I forgot—I found her at your Prayer House. In fact, that’s where I convinced her to come with me. For Alicia’s sake, I told her. Fierce little kid! Loves her mom like crazy, though you wouldn’t know it half the time. At any rate, she couldn’t get into the car fast enough. And it’s all your fault, Abby. Yours and Kris’s.”
“Really. How do you figure that, Gerry?”
He had come a step closer as he talked, and all her senses went on alert. At the same time she stayed calm, unemotional. When he made his move, she would have to be ready. Gerry was a large man. He could easily take a woman down.
And there were still the other two men to watch out for. If Gerry got the upper hand with her, they’d pile in just for the fun of it.