Several feet away from Anderson there was a mattress and blankets on the floor, and across from him, a toilet. The walls were wood paneled, and the locked steel door had a six-inch hinged opening through which food and bottled water were passed to him three times a day. Above the door a small speaker box suddenly clicked with static. A few seconds later the dreaded, computerized voice filled the room.
"Captain Anderson, Sergeant Elder remembered me-he was the first to do so. Perhaps because it was daylight? He is at rest now, he has finally found peace . . . There is another... one more, Captain Anderson. I am on the way to help him now. Sergeant Walter Schwark. You called him Shark, remember? Do you remember, Captain Anderson? Yes, I'm sure that you do. I must go now . . . but I will call you when it's done. Good-bye."
Anderson stood and screamed at the speaker box, "N0000!"
.
8:39 P. M. Fairfax, Virginia.
Eli opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat as Ashley scooted in behind the steering wheel. He took out his cell phone and looked at his partner. Ashley nodded. "Tell her and let's get some rest."
Eli pushed the number keys and only had to wait a few seconds. "Mona, it's Eli. We just finished talking with the colonel's wife. You have a pen and paper handy? Most of the stuff we got from the agents who already checked Anderson out, but there are some things we found in talking to her that help us. Here goes. Robert Anderson had not been out of the Washington area in over six months. He made no withdrawals from any source and his bank has not processed any checks since his disappearance. His car was found the night his wife reported him missing. It was found at a 7-Eleven where his wife says he got coffee before going to work in the mornings.
The wife we just talked to is his second; the first, Anderson divorced after returning from Vietnam. Agent Sutton called her in Arizona, and it seems Anderson came home from the war despondent and depressed. He transferred out of Special Forces and changed his branch from Infantry to Signal Corps.
"The first wife said he was not the man she married, and they divorced because of irreconcilable differences. The second wife, Sandy, married Anderson in 'seventy-four.
They've had two children, and it appears Anderson is a conscientious, loving husband and father. The eldest daughter is married now and told the colonel and Sandy a week before his disappearance that they would soon be grandparents. Sandy showed us the crib he was making in the garage.
"I also called Anderson's closest friends at work. All three said he was the happiest they had seen him since he'd begun work at the graphics company. Not one said he had any problems they were aware of. The Washington office also gave me a copy of his phone records from the house and office. No calls had been made to any of the victims' towns or cities. Bottom line, Mona, is we found nothing to support Anderson being the killer other than that he's missing. Anything new on your end?'
Eli held the phone away from his ear so Ashley could hear.
Ramona Valez's voice sounded tired. "Afraid so, Eli. The IRS gave the office John Elder's address in Charleston. The resident office there went to the residence to make contact and found his wife almost hysterical. The marina he works for had sent him out to Charleston Bay this evening to fix a rental that radioed in with engine problems. Elder never returned, and the rental cruiser was found burning in an inlet on the Cooper River about two hours ago. No bodies have been found, but the local police are still looking. I do have some good news, though. The other missing team member, Walter Schwark, and his wife, have been found. They were on their way back from Florida on Interstate 85 and stopped four hours ago at a motel in Greenville to get a night's sleep. The motel manager had read the all-points on the Schwarks and notified the office. Resident agents from Greenville responded and are staying with the couple and will accompany them back to Fayetteville."
Eli tensed as he spoke into the phone. "Mona, have you told the SAC about the possibility of the killer having help?"
"Yes, at the three o'clock meeting. As expected, they don't buy it yet, Eli. The information you've just given me will give me another chance in the morning meeting."
"Mona, you've got to try again, now. If we're right and the victims are being watched, then our killer knows about the agents being with the Schwarlcs."
"Oh, God, you're right. I'll call the SAC right now." There was a click. She had hung up.
Ashley looked at Eli. "Are you thinking the killer will still go after Schwark?"
Eli sank back into the seat. "He has the advantage of surprise; the agents don't know they're being watched. Yeah, I think the bastards will try; nothing has stopped them so far."
.
8:48 P. M. Greenville, South Carolina.
Walt Schwark took a beer out of the cooler and looked at the agent sitting on the bed. "You want one?"
The agent shook his head. "I'm on duty, sir."
Sitting on the other twin bed, with her back resting on the headboard, Sally Schwark lowered the book she was reading.
"'Tell him, Walter. This is silly. Staying in our room with us just isn't right. How am I going to sleep? Tell him to stay with his partner next door and we'll promise to keep the door locked."
Walt took a sip of beer and hunched his shoulders. "Jesus, Sal, he's sittin' right here, tell him yourself."
The agent shifted his gaze to Sally. "Mrs. Schwark, I'm truly sorry we can't tell you more, but as I explained before, one of us must stay with you at all times."
Sally ignored the agent and kept her eyes on her husband.
"Walter, I don't mind them eating dinner with us, and I don't mind one of them riding with us in the car tomorrow, but I certainly do mind them sleeping with us."
Walter wrinkled his brow. "Sal, this is for our own good.
Relax, will ya? Order one of them pay movies if it'll make ya feel better."
"Any one I want?"
"Yeah, but none of them kung fu kickin' flicks. Ya know I can't stand that fake crap."
Sally had already picked up the remote and hit the menu button. "Oh, good, they've got old ones. I wanna see An Affair to Remember. It makes me my every time I see it."
"Sal, I don't think Agent Marks here wants to hear ya sobbin'."
"It'll make me tired, Walt. I'll be able to sleep."
"Fine, watch it. I'll sit over here by Agent Marks and shoot the breeze."
"Whisper, Walter, I want to hear my show."
"Fine, I'll whisp--"
The agent's cell phone began beeping and he reached for it in his jacket pocket, but the door suddenly flew open, sending splinters of wood and pieces of door hardware flying. Marks grabbed for his pistol but was flung back with the impact of a bullet in the forehead.
Having ducked down, Walter looked up, but was pushed to the floor by a man dressed in black. Another man strode past and raised his pistol, aiming at Sally, who had her hands up, waving them in front of her face as if trying to swat invisible flies. She cried out, "No please, no, pleaeeese!"
The man squeezed the trigger and Sally seemed to jump back in the bed as blood, brain, and skull fragments splattered the wall behind her head.
Walter was jerked to his feet and pushed toward the open door, but he still managed to look over his shoulder. He saw his wife, and swung at the man to try and get to her, but he was hit in the stomach so hard he sank to his knees. Again he looked at his wife, who was still sitting up in bed, but her head was slumped forward as if she'd fallen asleep. Unable to breathe, Walter gagged, but was jerked to his feet again and shoved out the door. Unable to keep his balance, he fell forward over a hedge just past the sidewalk. He hit the pavement of the parking lot and lay in a heap trying to breathe. Finally, air came. He looked up. A man was leaning over him.
"Do you remember me, Sergeant Schwark?' Jean Paul asked.
.
10:02 P. M. Manassas, Virginia.
Robert Anderson was awakened by static coming from the speaker. He cringed, knowing a call was coming in. A second later he heard the com
puter-generated voice.
"Captain Anderson, Sergeant Schwark is resting now. He is finally at peace with himself for what he did. All of your team is resting now, Captain Anderson . . . all, but you. I'm coming, Captain Anderson . . . but first there is still unfinished business, quite close to you, actually. They are different, they deserve nothing but suffering for eternity . . . and they shall have it. . . .
I am sorry, I must control myself. You will be last, Captain Anderson, as it should be. Your pain will soon end . . . I will help you. Sleep well. Good night."
Anderson threw back his blanket and shot up from the mattress to scream at the speaker box, but instead stiffly staggered back a step, gasping for air. Suddenly he jerked as if he'd been slapped and clutched his left breast. His eyes bulging, he staggered back again, hitting the wall. Unable to keep his feet, he slid to his buttocks as the security camera whirred, moving right, then lower, to keep him in view. Anderson's eyes rolled back and his arms fell limply to his sides as he toppled over onto his side.
Fifteen seconds later the steel door opened and a man walked in holding a broom in one hand and a pistol in the other. Using the broom handle, the man poked Anderson in the rib cage, then in the groin. He got no response. His finger on . The trigger, he looked into Anderson's vacant eyes, then cautiously moved closer.
"Is he dead, Chin?" asked a second man who came into the room.
Chin turned his head toward the speaker, and Anderson struck then. He kicked his foot up into Chin's groin, doubling him over, and grabbed for the gun.
The man standing in the doorway snatched the pistol from his shoulder holster and flicked off the safety with his thumb all in one motion, but as he raised his arm to fire, he was knocked back by a bullet slamming into his breast.
Anderson swung the pistol and fired again, this time at the gagging man rolling on the floor. The bullet blew through Chin's left ear. He fired again, missed, stepped closer and squeezed the trigger again. Chin's head slammed against the carpet with a dull thud.
Anderson ran out the doorway into a laundry area, where he forced himself to stop and listen. The man he'd shot in the chest was on his back in the doorway, making gurgling sounds as he rolled his head side to side. Then came another noise, a door being opened. Anderson crouched and faced the basement stairs with pistol ready. Hearing footsteps on the wooden steps, he ran toward the stairway firing.
Unprepared for the sudden attack, the man on the stairs ducked without raising his pistol. It was a fatal mistake. Anderson charged up the stairs, pulling the trigger. The man groaned, pitched sideways, hit the wall, bounced back, and fell head first.
Anderson barely had time to flatten himself against the banister before the body tumbled past, leaving a trail of blood.
Listen! Anderson told himself as he stood frozen, peering at the open doorway at the top of the stairs. The cha-link of a round being chambered in an automatic pistol told him another one was waiting. Anderson still didn't move as he listened for more sounds or movement. Not hearing any, he spun around and looked for a way out. A long rectangular window above the washer and dryer was the closest. He backed down the stairway and picked up the pistol carried by the man he'd shot on the stairs. He backed up farther and threw the pistol he held in his right hand at the window. The shattered glass hitting the washer and dryer allowed him to quickly chamber a round and flick off the safety of the newly acquired weapon. He waited, knowing the remaining man had to make a decision, come down the stairs and hope he caught the escapee attempting to climb out the widow or run outside and around the house and shoot him coming out. Footsteps on the stairs told him what decision the man had made. Anderson raised his pistol, and as soon as he saw the man's feet, he fired.
Flit in the ankle, the man screamed in agony but didn't fall.
He dropped to his knee and fired as fast as he could pull the trigger. Anderson was suddenly knocked backward. It felt as if he'd been hit in the thigh with a red-hot sledgehammer. The washer kept him from falling down, and he raised his pistol and fired again. Through watering eyes he saw that the man had toppled over but his foot had caught in the banister supports. He was looking at Anderson through unseeing eyes. A small hole above his right eye explained why.
Gritting his teeth, Anderson took a step forward to test his leg. He told himself he could endure the throbbing pain. He took another step and looked down at his wound. The perfectly round bullet hole was two inches above and to the left of his kneecap on his right leg. The exit wound was ugly; it looked like a small chunk of skin and muscle had been taken out of the back of his leg by a miniature backhoe. Worried that he would bleed to death, he bent over the body at the bottom of the stairs and removed the dead man's belt. Cinching it tight, above the wound, he was about to attempt to try the stairs when he heard a muffled voice. He grabbed for the pistol he had stuck in his underpants. Before ever touching the grip, he relaxed and let his arms fall to his side. He bent over again, felt beneath the dead body and touched what he was looking for. He pulled the small handheld Motorola from the man's belt just as the voice came over the radio again.
'House One, this is base, over. . . . House One, House One, this is base, report your situation again, over."
Anderson let the radio fall out of his hands and he clenched his teeth. Grabbing the rail, he began pulling himself up the stairs.
.
11:10 P. M. Days Inn Motel, Fairfax, Virginia.
Eli was laying in bed but couldn't sleep. Thirty minutes earlier Ramona had called with the news that Walter Schwark was dead, as were his wife and two resident agents from Greenville.
Eli stared up at the darkened ceiling seething in frustration, guilt, and anger. Ramona had told him witnesses at the motel heard doors being kicked in and shots being fired. Some had looked out their windows. A salesman had said he saw a man dressed in black stooping over another man in the parking lot and suddenly there was a flash and the sound of a pm going off.
That scared him, and he'd backed away from the window. An elderly widow, on her way to visit her son, said she saw the same thing, but after hearing the shot she saw the man in black join two others and run to a gray van where yet another man was waiting in the driver's seat. The van had sped away.
The phone rang, startling Eli. He picked up the handset.
"Agent Tanner."
Two minutes later, dressed only in jogging shorts and T-shirt, he was in the hallway and knocking on the door of the room beside his.
Ashley opened the door wearing a sweatshirt that went down to her knees. "More bad news?'
Eli headed back to his room while speaking over his shoulder. "The Washington office says the Manassas police just informed them they arrested a man who says he's Robert Anderson. They're taking him to a hospital in Manassas. We can be there in ten minutes."
The Manassas deputy sheriff led the way along the hospital corridor. ". . and there he was in his underwear, sittin' on the floor of McDonald's, holdin' a pistol, waitin' for us. The night crew was scared shitless. They said he came in and told them to call 911 and get out. He surrendered his weapon as soon as we entered and started tellin' us about his kidnappin'. We called you feds immediately. The guy refused to go, sayin' he had to show us where the house was. He said it was close by, but with him bleedin' like he was, I worried he wouldn't make it. We kinds forced him into the ambulance. He fought us like a damn wildcat, yells' somethin' about a voice and men in his team being murdered. A nutcase, if you ask me."
Eli picked up his pace and drew alongside the deputy. "The Washington office agents arrive yet?"
"Yeah, one has. He told me to meet ya at the front entrance and bring ya up. Here we are, this is where they have him. Doctors in Emergency already worked on him."
Eli held the door open for Ashley, who had been trying to keep up. As soon as Eli entered the room and saw the patient lying in bed, he knew it was indeed Anderson. His face was bearded and he'd filled out and gotten gray, but he still had the blue eyes of the you
ng captain standing in the center of his team in the old photograph.
A tall agent standing by the bed turned. "Agent Tanner?'
Eli nodded. "Yes, that's me. This is Agent Sutton, Atlanta.
Thanks for calling."
"No sweat. Brad Brewer, Washington resident office. Agent Sweeney told me he talked to you about the colonel. He said you guys in Atlanta had the lead, so I gave you a call. Colonel Anderson, here, says he will take us to the house."
Anderson winced as he sat up. "We've got to go now. I have to prove to you I'm telling the truth. You've got to find him, he's not through . . . there are others he's going to kill."
Eli approached the bed. "Who is he, Colonel?'
Anderson shook his head. "I don't know, I just heard a voice generated by a computer, but he knows everything about the team and what happened at Camp 147. Please, get me out of here and let me show you."
Solemn Duty (1997) Page 18