by Kim Baldwin
He stayed there a long time despite his growing anxiety, because the alternative would be for him to return to the more exposed area of the rock wall and deal with the security panel again. He wasn’t quite ready for that yet.
*
Kat thought that enough time had probably elapsed for the intruder to have investigated the area and left, but still she waited beneath the closed hatch. That sixth sense of hers urged caution and she obeyed, even though various parts of her body complained about the long time she remained suspended on the ladder rungs. She tried to stretch out her muscles, stimulating the blood flow so she would be ready to face whoever was outside.
Too warm now, she unzipped the coveralls to let in the cool air and pulled up the balaclava so it no longer covered her face. She would wait a while longer, although her muscles twitched in anticipation of the confrontation ahead.
*
Jake couldn’t stand it any longer. If she didn’t move now, right now, she wasn’t sure she could prevent an accident. Certainly Kat would understand—she had been in such a hurry to respond to the alarm she hadn’t stopped to consider Jake might need to use the bathroom.
Jake moved her legs over one side of the bed. Trying very hard not to put any weight at all on her bad knee, she slid down to the floor. She hopped to the doorway, opened the door, and continued through the bathroom door to the commode, balancing better on one foot than she expected and getting to her destination just in time.
The relief was enormous. She washed her hands and headed to the bathroom door. Peering out, she glanced around the outer room and got her first real long look at the rest of Kat’s retreat. To her right were large built–in bookcases filled with books. She took in the leather couch and easy chair and the small kitchen opposite the bookshelves. It was a lovely room, but few knickknacks were apparent. The only real decorations were the pictures on the walls—more animal and bird photographs. Kat’s cello case sat against the wall to Jake’s left. Beyond that, and in front of her, was a large desk.
Jake’s eyes were drawn to the only movement in the room—a slight flicker that came from one of the monitors set into the wall behind the desk. Intrigued, Jake moved toward them, momentarily forgetting her promise to Kat. The monitors had an odd green tint to them; they weren’t televisions. Each held a static picture, and Jake realized they must be images from security cameras.
Standing in front of them, she could see that the first one showed a large rock wall and a bit of forest around it. The second camera was focused on a long, narrow corridor of some kind—she could see hats and coats hanging on pegs. The third monitor displayed a small clearing in the woods surrounded by a thick growth of trees. Jake’s eyes were drawn to movement in the last monitor.
One of the dark shadows in the monitor separated itself from the longer shadow that had concealed it. Jake stared, fascinated, as the shadow came into slightly better view of the camera. She could see now it was a person, though it was hard to be sure if it was male or female because the figure was clad in a one-piece suit. A snowmobile suit, she realized. She suspected it was a man because of the disproportionately large upper body.
The man appeared to be eating something. One hand kept going to his mouth. It looked like the he was waiting, hiding, pressed up against the tree like that. Where is Kat? Jake worried.
A flicker to her left brought her attention to the second monitor. There she is, Jake thought with relief. Kat was climbing down rungs at the edge of the screen and skipped the last couple to land gracefully on her feet in the corridor. Then she bounced up and down with nervous energy, stretching her arms and arching her back. Jake tried to look closer at Kat’s surroundings in the monitor. Where are you?
Jake pried her eyes away from the screen long enough to glance around the room she was in. There were two doors besides the ones to the bedroom and bathroom. One was on the other side of the room, next to the refrigerator. The other, probably the exit door because of the locks on it, was set into the wall between the desk and the kitchen. Are you on the other side of that door?
Jake suddenly remembered her promise, and she was a bit concerned that Kat would come through the door and find she had left the bedroom. But she was even more worried about Kat’s safety, given the figure that was evidently waiting outside in the woods. He set off the alarm, Jake realized. That certainly explained Kat’s sudden change in demeanor. She knows he’s out there.
She turned back to the monitors, waiting for something to happen, her sense of anxiety growing. Kat said we were a long way from civilization. Who is he and what does he want?
She watched, transfixed, as Kat calmly pulled a large handgun from the pocket of her white overalls and with practiced efficiency checked the clip. “Who are you really?” Jake whispered, wide-eyed.
Chapter Nineteen
Evan Garner hated being trapped in his office. It was making him claustrophobic. He paced back and forth in front of the large wall of windows.
They had heard nothing from Frank for several hours. Garner was now admitting to himself it might have been a mistake to have sent the man to Tawa. He’d thought of Frank as just another willing gun to throw at Hunter—an expendable one, if things went badly.
But now he worried that if Frank did find Hunter, she would kill him and then run, and that could make everything much more difficult. She knew how to disappear. Worse yet, it might send her straight to his office.
He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk.
Thomas responded at once. “Yes, sir?”
“Call Otter,” Garner instructed. “Fill him in about Frank and the location of the wrecked car. Tell him to get a snowmobile and try to follow the track and see what the hell has happened.”
“Right away, sir,” Thomas responded.
Damn your eyes, Hunter, Garner thought. I wish I didn’t have to kill you. But you leave me no other choice.
*
It had taken Otter several minutes to break into the helicopter office. He was a bit out of practice at picking locks. He’d had to break the yellow police tape on the door, but he wasn’t worried he’d be caught. The place was out in the middle of nowhere, just as the guy at the bar had described, and he was pretty sure a small town like Tawa wouldn’t have the manpower to keep it under surveillance.
Otter stepped across the doorway and into the small customer waiting area. It had a half dozen cheap plastic chairs that reminded him of the ones in prison. On a narrow coffee table was an assortment of old magazines, mostly Sports Illustrated but a few hunting and fishing titles as well. He went behind the long counter that ran parallel to the back wall. Atop it was a cash register, which had been emptied, and small stands displaying the owner’s business cards and brochures outlining services and rates.
Shelves beneath the counter held an untidy assortment of magazines, manuals, invoices, and what looked like a lost-and-found depository—a cardboard box containing sunglasses and gloves, hats and pens, an umbrella, children’s toys, a small notebook, and a key ring with keys.
Otter moved behind the counter to a door that led into a small office. He shined the beam of his flashlight around before he stepped into the room. He spotted a desk and chair, filing cabinet, and a small TV on a stand in one corner. The owner was evidently not fussy about neatness. There was a thick coating of dust on the TV and piles of papers on the desk, and the wastebasket beside it was nearly overflowing with fast-food wrappers. Personal items were scattered here and there. On the filing cabinet were several trophies and framed pictures. Along one wall were piles of cardboard boxes, their tops open and contents spilling out like the police had gone haphazardly through them. Hanging on the wall were several framed photographs, most aerial shots evidently taken from the helicopter.
In the middle of the room, on the concrete floor, was the white chalk outline of a body, and what appeared to be a very large dried bloodstain around where the head and neck of the victim had lain.
Otter stepped around the outline a
nd went to the desk. He opened the drawers and poked through their contents. Letters and invoices, old bills, and check stubs. A pint bottle of Jack Daniel’s, nearly empty. A half-eaten bag of potato chips.
Next he tackled the filing cabinet. It contained several folders, organized by date. He frowned. All the files were more than six months old. There was a large blank space in the drawer that logically should have contained the more recent ones, so he suspected the police had taken them.
At first glance, there seemed to be nothing here that could lead him to Hunter. But he was certain she had to have been responsible for this. The only thing he couldn’t figure was why, especially since the helicopter still stood parked outside.
Otter nearly jumped through his skin when his cell phone rang in his pocket. His nerves were on edge. It rang again. “Yeah?” he answered in a clipped voice. He listened for several minutes. A smile spread across his face. “Right on it,” he answered, shutting off the phone and making his way out of the office.
Not a bad way to travel, he remembered, glancing at the helicopter as he returned to his car. But the big machines would always remind him of Hunter’s betrayal. He relished the opportunity to finally settle the score.
Chapter Twenty
Jake watched as Kat’s image on the screen cocked her head as if she was listening for something. Jake’s eyes darted to the third monitor. While she’d been watching Kat, the man behind the tree had disappeared. Jake narrowed her eyes, staring hard at the monitor, praying to see some movement that would tell her what had happened to him. Had he just darted behind the tree he was standing next to? Or had he gone?
She looked back to the middle screen.
Kat was moving now too—she pulled a white ski mask over her face and neck, then slid an odd-looking pair of goggles over her eyes. She moved to the right of the screen and then up out of view, like she was climbing a ladder.
Now Jake could see neither person, and her anxiety doubled. She was tempted to go through the exit door, see if Kat was there and warn her about what she’d seen on the monitor. But she was held in place, both by her promise and by her uncertainty over what she was witnessing.
Kat had looked so comfortable—casual, almost—handling the gun. It was very disconcerting to Jake and didn’t fit at all with the image she held of the woman. Nature photographer, cello player, cook, rescuer. Maybe she was in the military or law enforcement somewhere, she surmised. Or maybe something not quite so innocuous.
There was movement now on the third screen. In the clearing in the forest, the snow moved. No, that’s not it, she realized. Something was under the snow. A large circular object rose perpendicular to the ground, and the snow that had been around it fell away. Kat emerged from the ground. It’s the exit, Jake realized, amazed at how well concealed it had been. Watch out, Kat. He’s out there somewhere, her mind screamed in warning. Jesus, what the hell is going on here?
*
Frank had convinced himself that whatever he thought he’d heard must have been some weird bird or animal. He’d pulled down his cap to cover his ears again. They’d gotten so cold they positively ached. He’d read stories about how people had lost toes and fingers to frostbite, and he worried about his face—particularly his ears and his nose, which ran profusely in the chill air.
He was glad at least it wasn’t snowing. He could follow his own tracks back to the rock wall. He knew he could get lost out here way too easily.
He was less cautious going down the hill than he had been coming up, no longer concerned that someone might be watching him. No one else is stupid enough to be out here, he told himself. He headed back toward the rock wall, not at all looking forward to trying to crack the security panel. He was pretty good at picking most locks, but any kind of electronic device was beyond him. He just had to hope he’d get lucky.
*
Kat sensed, finally, that it was safe to emerge from the emergency exit. She cracked the hatch and snow cascaded into the tunnel around her. She climbed up and out, adjusted her goggles, and quickly scanned the area for the intruder. Satisfied, she closed the hatch and quickly kicked snow over it, trying to obscure the entrance as best as she could. Staying low and moving quickly, she headed to the nearest big tree and concealed herself behind it, listening. She heard soft sounds, not far down the hill. The crunching of boots and the rustling sound of nylon against nylon. She hurried noiselessly toward it.
There was a chance, she knew, that the intruder could be a snowmobiler or hunter who found her sled tracks leading from the crash site and got nosy.
Or maybe someone had discovered the wreck and called the police. The man could be a deputy investigating the stolen car. Either option would be real trouble for her. She didn’t want to kill an innocent man or policeman, yet she had to protect the bunker as long as Jake could not be moved. Kat had to find out who the intruder was and whether he had revealed the location of the bunker to anyone else.
She followed the sounds, finally glimpsing the man through the trees. He was making his way back to the main entrance. She closed in on him, studying him. He was large and muscular, but she could not see his face to tell whether she recognized him. He plodded noisily along, his nylon snowmobile suit making the rustling sounds she’d heard, and he was sniffling loudly.
Suddenly the big man tripped and fell headlong into the deep snow, flailing his arms. He rose to his feet, cursing loudly, and Kat resisted the urge to laugh. A few minutes later, he was back standing before the security panel at the rock wall. He turned on a flashlight and scanned the area with it, then removed his right mitten and began punching numbers into the panel.
Kat crept up behind him, every muscle in her body taut in anticipation. She reached for her Glock as she approached her target.
*
Frank was randomly hitting numbers on the keypad, hoping he wasn’t triggering an alarm, when two things happened simultaneously.
He heard a low female voice directly behind him say “Freeze,” and cold metal was pressed firmly against the back of his neck. It was wedged into the narrow space between his cap and the collar of his snowsuit.
He did as he was told. The fingers on his exposed hand were beginning to freeze, but he took no notice. He kept the flashlight trained on the panel. Hunter, he thought nervously, and despite the cold, he began to sweat a little inside the insulated suit.
Her voice came again, beside his ear, as the cold metal nudged his neck for emphasis. “Who are you?”
“Uh...uh,” Frank stammered, stalling for time. Why the hell hadn’t he anticipated this? He couldn’t admit who he was and what he was doing here. His delay in answering prompted another firm prod from the gun. “My name is John. I...I’m lost,” he said.
“Try again,” the voice said.
She cocked the gun, the sound echoing loudly in his ears despite the cap he wore. He began to sweat in earnest now.
Frank found his voice and tried to keep it steady. “I was following some tracks, just out snowmobiling,” he lied.
“Don’t believe you. Who are you working for?”
“No one,” Frank said, too quickly.
A long sigh from behind him. “You don’t lie very well.” A hand reached around him and took the flashlight from his left hand. “Raise your hands above your head,” the voice instructed.
Frank obeyed. When he did, the mitten he’d been holding under his left arm fell to the ground. His right hand was nearly numb now from the cold, but he resisted the urge to flex his fingers to restore the blood flow.
The cold metal was removed from Frank’s neck. “Turn around, very slowly.”
He did as he was told. As soon as he turned, the bright beam of the flashlight blinded him, shining directly into his eyes. He squinted against the glare.
“Take your hat off. Move slowly,” the voice said from in front of him.
Frank removed his cap and dropped it in the snow. His mind worked furiously trying to come up with an explanation for his presence, bu
t he could think of nothing convincing. It was Hunter, he knew it was, and he suddenly found himself trying to recall details of the stories he’d heard about her. Everyone talked about her reflexes, he remembered. Said she could move faster than you could see. His mouth was dry.
“Let’s try this once more,” the voice said, drawing closer. “What’s your name?”
He took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he answered. “Frank,” he said. Still squinting, he lowered his eyes. He could barely make out the silhouette of her lower body. She was four or five feet away, out of his reach.
“Very good. Now back up, Frank,” the voice commanded. “Up against the wall.”
He obeyed, retreating by small, slow steps until his back was against the hard surface. He waited for her to say something. A minute passed in uncomfortable silence. Trying to feign a nonchalance he didn’t feel, Frank shrugged and opened his mouth. “Look, lady, you got me all wrong—” he began, but his next words were cut off in his throat.
Before he knew what had happened, she was upon him. One large, strong hand tightened around his larynx, cutting off his air. Her thumb dug hard into the pulse point at the base of his jaw, effectively pinning him against the wall. In a reflex action, he struggled against the iron grip and started to bring his hands down, but the second he did that, she tightened her hold until he began to see stars. Damn, she’s strong, he thought fuzzily. His lungs screamed for air. He was going to black out.
He stopped fighting her and put his hands back up. When he did, she loosened her grip enough for him to suck in some sweet air. Then she tightened her hold again slightly, pushing upward against his windpipe until he couldn’t breathe at all unless he was on his tiptoes. The back of his head pressed painfully against the wall. The sharp edge of the security panel cut into his lower back.