3 Great Thrillers

by Churton, Alex; Churton, Toby; Locke, John; Lustbader, Eric van; van Lustbader, Eric

  “You think he jumped like them people in the World Trade Center?” Sal asked.

  “My stooge in the CPD says their witness puts Unger on the sidewalk more than a minute before the bomb goes off.”

  Their conversation had gone on like that awhile, according to Sal, but the bottom line was, Joe DeMeo was starting to panic. So he put together a small army and stationed them in and outside the walls of his estate. It would be a formidable challenge, but I was gearing up for it.

  My phone rang.

  “I’ve got the architect,” Quinn said. “I’m in his house right now.”

  “Good. Bring him to the campground.”

  Quinn paused.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “What about the wife?”

  “I thought she was out for the afternoon.”

  “Bad timing. She forgot something and came back to retrieve it.”

  “Retrieve,” I said.

  “Yup.”

  “Bring her, too.”

  Quinn paused.

  “Jesus,” I said. “What else?”

  “He doesn’t have the plans.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was part of the deal. Joe made him turn over all the blueprints.”

  I sighed. “Bring him and the wife, anyway. We’ll tease them both with the ADS beam until he remembers what I want to know.”

  “You got the Hummer yet?” Quinn asked.

  “I’ll have it by the time you get there.”

  44

  Darwin bellowed and blustered and raised nine kinds of hell when he heard what I was up to, but I believed he was secretly pleased I was planning to bring down Joe DeMeo. I decided to test the theory.

  “I can kill him,” I said, “but I can’t take him alive without your help.”

  “Why should I care if he’s dead or not?”

  “If I take him alive, you can turn him over to the FBI for the hotel bombing, along with all the evidence we’ll find in his house.”

  “There won’t be any evidence. Anyway, when the time comes, I’ll grab the other guy, the one who works the whores.”

  “Grasso? He’s one of Joe’s guards. Lives in one of the cottages. Again, without your help, he’s not going to come out of this alive.”

  “What about the whore?”

  “Paige. Her name is Paige,” I said.

  “Whatever.”

  “Paige is probably dead by now.”

  “Maybe not,” he said.

  “I hope not. Even so, her testimony alone won’t be strong enough to put him away for the bombing.”

  Darwin thought about it. “What do you want from me—and it better not be much.”

  I knew whatever I told him would make him blow his stack, but really all I needed was a Pulsed Energy Projectile System (PEPS) weapon mounted on a Hummer.

  “You’re insane!” he shouted.

  “You can fly one to Edwards in a cargo plane,” I said. That’s just down the road from me.”

  “I know where fucking Edwards is,” he said. “Didn’t you just fly there with three ADS weapons?”

  “Yeah, but I need the PEPS.”

  “Let me guess: you want it by tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I need it by six tonight.”

  “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Darwin. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

  “Except keep you on a leash.”

  “Look, I know it’s not going to be easy and no one else in the country could do it—but you’re Darwin!”

  “Fuck you!” he said. “It can’t be done. Period.”

  “I’ll be there at six tonight,” I said. “Impress me.”

  “Go to hell!” Darwin said.

  45

  Hugo and his army of little people had made their base camp six miles east of Highway 33, near an ancient forest ranger lookout stand. I brought the Hummer to a stop about thirty yards from their campground and waited for Quinn.

  “The fuck is that?” Quinn said as he pulled up alongside the Hummer.

  “These are circus people,” I said. “That’s one of their circus wagons.” To be completely honest, it was a bright red Winnebago covered from one end to the other with circus paintings.

  “I thought you were kidding about them being a circus act.”

  “Nope.”

  He looked at me. “We going in or what?”

  “Hugo’s a military man,” I said. “He’ll probably want to invite us into the camp.”

  “Victor and Hugo and the circus people,” Quinn said.

  “And us,” I said.

  Some of the little people started milling about in the distance, staring at our strange-looking vehicle. They were wearing colorful shirts and baggy trousers. They were pointing and chattering as others joined them.

  “What do you suppose they’re saying?” asked Quinn.

  “Follow the yellow brick road,” I said.

  Quinn stared in disbelief.

  “Are you in fact telling me we’re going up against Joe DeMeo, twenty shooters, and eight dogs with this bunch of clowns?” Quinn asked.

  We looked at each other. They were in fact clowns. We burst out laughing. I don’t know, maybe it was the stress, maybe we were just glad to be working together again on a major assignment.

  “I can see it now,” Quinn said. “The little people put a big flower on their shirts. When the goons bend over to sniff the flower, it’s really a squirt gun!”

  I said, “When they shoot their pop guns, a big sign comes out that says BANG!”

  “And Joe says, ‘Who are these clowns?’ and someone says, ‘The fuck do I know? Ringling Brothers?’”

  I said, “Joe DeMeo, captured by midget circus clowns! Any chance they’ll make fun of him in prison?”

  Hugo approached. “What the fuck is that thing?” he asked.

  The PEPS weapon—pulsed energy projectiles—like ADS, was originally developed for crowd control. Accurate up to a mile away, it fires directed bursts of pulsed energy to vaporize solid objects. If fired near a target, it heats the surrounding air until the target explodes. The resulting shock wave will knock down anyone in the vicinity and render them helpless for a minute or more.

  After explaining this to Hugo, he said, “If we have that, why do we need the ADS weapons?”

  I explained that while PEPS would knock down walls and disorient people, it wouldn’t necessarily disarm them or render them helpless.

  “The ADS weapon is different,” I said. “It offers an instant, permanent solution to the problem of resistance.”

  Hugo turned his attention to Quinn. “You are one ugly bastard,” he said. “No offense,” he added.

  Quinn said, “I got this way from eating shrimps. No offense.”

  Looks were exchanged between the two.

  “You want a piece of me?” Hugo snarled.

  “Looks like that’s all there is.”

  “Hey,” I said, “we’re all on the same team here.”

  Hugo noticed the architect and his wife tied up in the back seat of Quinn’s car. “Who are they?” he asked.

  “They’re going to tell me two things: the layout of Joe’s house and how to breach his panic room.”

  46

  I’d completed my chat with the architect and his wife and just begun the final run-through with the circus army when Sal Bonadello called.

  “Joe’s making a move on your wife and kid.”

  I’d expected that. In a normal world, I would have had Callie take Janet and Kimberly to my headquarters for safekeeping, but this wasn’t a normal world; it was Janet’s world. I trusted Callie to protect them, but I feared Joe might firebomb the house from a distance.

  So last night I’d placed a call to Kimberly and explained the situation. I told her to find a way to get her mom out of the house until I called. I told her wherever she went, she’d be safe because Callie would follow them.

  “You got enough guys to handle the threat
?” I asked Sal.

  Besides getting me into Chris Unger’s office, this was the part of the plan where I needed Sal’s help. I wanted his men guarding Janet’s house in case anything went wrong.

  “DeMeo put a contract on you for a million bucks. Told all the families, then called me, said grab your family and hold them hostage.”

  “You think he sent some of his guys anyway?”

  “I do. It would be just like that rat bastard not to trust me.”

  “You running that charity and all.”

  “The Mothers of Sicily,” he said. “So, did you get your family somewhere safe?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Is your wife pissed at you?”

  “Ex-wife. And yeah, she’s pissed. Like always.”

  “Ain’t they all,” he said.

  I finished briefing the circus performers. Quinn checked their equipment. Hugo and I called Victor and gave him an update.

  Next, I called Kathleen.

  “How’s it hanging, cowboy?” she asked.

  “Boring stuff, these Homeland conferences,” I lied.

  “Anyone famous there?”

  “Besides me? Not really.”

  “You’re probably hanging out with one of those pretty high school girls who couldn’t get into the movies.”

  “Like, that’s so totally random,” I said.

  She laughed. “Don’t work too hard, lover boy. I’m expecting the full treatment when you come home.”

  “And you’ll get it,” I said.

  “Speaking of which …”

  “Can’t say yet. Sometimes these things last a couple days, sometimes more.”

  “Until then,” she said, and we hung up.

  And so it was time.

  47

  There was no getting around the noise. Between the Hummer and the Winnebago, we were screwed if we tried to drive within a mile of the chain link fence.

  That’s why I needed the PEPS weapon.

  Hugo, Quinn, and I were in the Hummer. The architect and his wife were in the trunk of Quinn’s rental car, and the little people were in the Winnebago. Quinn was a tight squeeze in any car, and tighter than normal in the Hummer.

  “Try not to breathe on me,” Hugo said to Quinn.

  “Why did you bring a Winnebago?” Quinn asked. “There are only ten of you. I thought you could get at least thirty in one of those little clown cars.”

  “We could,” said Hugo, “but where would we fit the net and trampolines?”

  “Good point,” Quinn said.

  I drove slowly to the highway, the Winnebago close behind me. Then I headed south while the clowns sat tight. I drove past the dirt and gravel road that led to Joe DeMeo’s place, and Quinn caught a glint of something: a belt buckle, gun barrel, or cigarette butt. Whatever it was, there were probably two of them guarding the road.

  The highway curved a half mile beyond the DeMeo entrance, and I drove a quarter mile farther, cut my lights, and turned around. I didn’t expect any traffic, since Highway 33 cuts through the national forest and it was well past closing time. Still, I angled the Hummer several yards off the shoulder just to be safe. We eased out of the vehicle. Quinn and I took rifles and camouflage blankets. Hugo stood behind the Hummer to keep an eye out for any oncoming cars or cagey DeMeo soldiers.

  Quinn and I moved soundlessly up the road to the area where the curve began. There, we set our rifles down, put on our night vision goggles, and dropped to our bellies. We slid the next few yards quietly and waited.

  We spotted the dots of light at the same time.

  Cigarettes.

  We reversed course, picked up our rifles, and checked to make sure the silencers were tight. These were state-of-the-art CIA silencers, which meant we could shoot the guards and make less noise than a mouse peeing in a cotton ball.

  We separated. Quinn began moving silently through the forest, circling behind the men guarding the road, while I made my way slowly through the high ground, opposite DeMeo’s entrance. If everything went according to plan, we’d catch them in a crossfire. But these things never go according to plan, and I didn’t want to take a chance on one of us snapping a twig or rousing an otter or making some other sound that might alert the guards.

  When I was in position, I covered my head and shoulders completely with the blanket and texted the signal to Quinn and Hugo and the circus clowns. Then we went dark with the phones but set them to twitch. I placed mine in my shirt pocket.

  My night vision goggles made it easy to keep an eye on the guards while they smoked, but I was too far away to trust a shot.

  It took two minutes for the Winnebago circus wagon to arrive. As the lights washed over the highway, the guards stubbed out their cigarettes. The Winnebago made a clanking noise and stopped about fifty yards from the entrance. After a moment, two little people climbed out with flashlights and lifted the hood as if to check for trouble. I had hoped at this point that the guards would approach the Winnebago so I could shoot them in the back, but they were well trained. They stayed put.

  My plan didn’t require them to approach the little people. The whole circus wagon ruse was designed to create enough noise so Quinn and I could get closer. As the clowns took turns trying to fire up the engine and hollering directions to each other, I inched my way closer and knew Quinn was doing the same. Finally, the hood slammed shut and the clowns climbed back in the wagon and started revving up the engine with gusto. I probably covered twenty yards undetected during that sequence. Then the clowns turned their radio up full volume and started singing circus songs as they rode steadily down the highway, past the entrance, through the curve, and out of sight.

  While they did that, I covered another fifty yards, maybe more. Now I was close enough to attempt a kill shot. I lined up my rifle and waited for the cigarettes to light.

  And waited.

  Two minutes passed. I had expected at least one of the guards to walk out onto the road to make sure the clowns hadn’t stopped, but neither of them moved or made a sound or relit their cigarettes. These were some incredibly well-trained guards, I thought.

  Then my cell phone twitched.

  I slowly slid my camouflage blanket back over my head, eased my cell phone out of my pocket, and brought it up to my face under the blanket. Making absolutely certain no light would be emitted from the keypad, I held my breath and opened the phone. I didn’t dare speak, not even a whisper.

  “You can come out now,” Quinn said. “I killed both of them.”

  I let out my breath. “Did you check to see if there were any others?”

  “You didn’t just ask me that,” Quinn said.

  “Right. What the hell was I thinking?”

  We made our way back to the Hummer and congratulated the clowns on their performance.

  “And then there were eighteen,” Hugo said.

  “So far as we know,” I said.

  I started the Hummer’s engine but kept the headlights off. The Winnebago turned around and got behind us and followed us back up the road to the entrance, where we headed down the dirt and gravel road toward Joe DeMeo’s place.

  48

  There was only one entrance leading to Joe’s house, and you had to pass through the chain link fence to get there. Charlie Whiteside and I had calibrated the distance to the first fence pretty carefully, so I stopped when I got three-quarters of a mile from it. Any closer and I would probably give away my position.

  Quinn had both the guards’ walkie-talkies, and so far we’d been lucky. No one had asked for an update. I figured we were due, since most security firms go with a fifteen-minute crew check and we’d used all of that and more.

  We all slid out of the Hummer and listened for barking dogs. Hearing none, Quinn took his rifle and headed east of the compound. Hugo took mine and headed west.

  I climbed on top of the Hummer and gave my gunners time to get as close as they could before the dogs picked them up. I’d hoped they’d get at least halfway there, but the dogs
were very alert and the barking started almost immediately. I fired up the PEPS weapon and signaled the circus wagon to make tracks.

  Suddenly, the walkie-talkies crackled and came alive with the sound of frantic voices. We’d caught them off-guard, so score one for us, but we were still a long way from winning.

  The circus wagon veered off the road to give me clearance for a shot. I took it and heard screaming and yelping. I set my cell phone to speaker and turned up the volume. Then I jumped back in the Hummer, flipped on the headlights, and started the engine. The clowns kept their headlights off and continued making their way to their position, left of the hole in the fence I’d just created.

  I cranked the Hummer to about forty and barreled down the road and came to a stop a quarter mile from the entrance. I climbed back onto the roof and gave my clowns time to get their equipment together.

  Quinn told me he was in position. We figured Hugo would take longer. His legs were much shorter, and the gun was pretty heavy for him. Still, he was feisty as a rooster, and I knew he’d do well.

  I heard some shots, which meant DeMeo’s security team had oriented themselves enough to make me their target. The dogs, being smaller, would take longer to get to their feet. The shots continued. There was a protective shield of bulletproof plastic surrounding the front of the PEPS weapon, so I wasn’t overly concerned about being hit. Quinn must have squeezed off a couple of silent shots because his voice came over my cell speaker, saying, “Two more down—security guards.”

  The clowns were taking more time than I anticipated. I wondered if any had been hit. I aimed my weapon to the right of the circus wagon and fired off another burst. I yelled at the circus people to hurry, though it would have been impossible for them to hear me.

  The circus clowns had brought several small trampolines and a giant net used to catch falling trapeze artists. Hugo checked in just as the clowns dragged the net across the road, covering the hole I’d made with the initial blast. They tied the ends to the posts and pulled the center of the net away from the hole to make a large chute. Then they ran back to the Winnebago and grabbed their trampolines and knives, for these were knife-throwing midgets.