He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 5:30.
Six-and-one half more hours for the world to survive to prove he was right and Candy and all the other doomsday shouters wrong.
He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed out of the car, standing in the middle of the road in the fading light and looking in both directions, fighting down the panic that threatened to choke him at any moment. His only hope of getting out of this stupid mess was to stay calm.
No point in trying anything until light. Even with the sun just barely set, he could feel a bite to the air. It was going to be a long, cold night.
He went back to the Jaguar and checked for anything that might help him make it more comfortably. Nothing. He kept the Jaguar’s truck clean enough to eat out of, and he had not thought to bring either food or drink with him.
He had on light slacks, a light shirt, and not much else.
He went back to the car, buckled himself back into the driver’s seat, reclined the seat just slightly, and shut the door.
He had no idea just how cold it got later that evening. But it was colder than he had ever experienced or imagined possible.
FOUR
Elliot Leiferman: December 22nd, 2012, near Death Valley
The cold had drained Elliot more than he had ever imagined it could. His stomach was threatening to claw its way out of his body from hunger, and his lips were already chapped from no water and the extreme dry air.
At sunrise, he had managed to stagger out of the car and back onto the road. Then he had started walking back toward the roadblock at the same pace he used on the gym’s treadmill, a steady 4 miles per hour.
After an hour his speed had slowed and he knew, without a doubt, that he had no chance of making that walk clear back to the roadblock. The intense cold of the night was already being replaced by the hot, dry heat of the day, and the constant wind and blowing sand seemed to suck every ounce of moisture from his body.
His only hope was to return to the car and pray that someone either spotted him from the air or happened to drive by. Even if Candy noticed he was missing and reported that to the police, no one would know where to look. He had never told anyone he used this old highway to take drives on.
He barely made it back to the car, again snapping himself into his seat with his seat belt and leaving the door open for ventilation.
Yesterday clearly hadn’t been the end of the world, at least not for Candy. But it might have been for him unless he got very, very lucky.
That night, after a long, very hot day, the night again got bitingly cold and thunderstorms echoed through the desert, sending flashes of bright white light to show him the vast wasteland and how hopeless his situation really was.
A flash flood also washed out the bridge near the roadblock that night, making it impossible for any car to travel the old county road again.
The next morning he again started off on the walk out, but this time turned around after just a mile, almost too weak at that point to make it back to the car.
He slept off and on through the rest of the heat of the day and into the biting cold of the night, his seat belt holding him in place. The hood of his car and that fence post learning against the bumper of his Jaguar became his entire world as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
By the third day, Elliot’s strength was gone. He could barely keep his eyes open as the intense heat of the day drained away what will to live he had.
His mind escaped the constant of the old fence post, drifting back to the good days with Candy, the fun they had had, the trips they had taken.
Candy had been right.
If he had just listened to her, drank with her, ate with her, got fat with her, enjoyed the last three years as she had done, he wouldn’t be sitting where he was, dying from the heat and thirst and hunger, staring at on old fence post.
He had caused the world, as he and Candy knew it, to end on the last day of the Mayan calendar.
He had caused it by not believing it could happen.
Yet it had. The world had ended.
“I’m so sorry, Candy,” he managed to whisper through cracked, dry lips.
As he slipped off into his last sleep, the sun beating down on the top of his Jaguar, he asked one last question, hoping somehow that Candy could hear him all the way out in Malibu.
How did the Mayans know?
In the first installments, Seattle Police Detectives Bonnie and Craig, while taking a late night walk on a Scottsdale Arizona golf course happen to overhear a conversation between two men plotting to kill a United States Senator.
At the same time, a young golf professional’s wife is kidnapped. Scheduled to play with the Senator, he must do what they ask or his wife will die.
Bonnie and Craig get the FBI and local police involved. Everything is set and they play with the Senator to help protect him.
Nothing goes wrong, but that night, they again see the two men who they had overheard.
Now, the next morning, starting the second round of golf, everyone waits and watches.
A horrific accident on the golf course almost kills the Senator, but he is fine and sent on to Washington while they set a trap for the man coming to kill Danny, the young golf professional.
The man is killed in the hotel room by Craig and an FBI agent.
Danny’s wife is rescued and at that point Bonnie and Craig think they can now go back to their vacation. Nope.
AN EASY SHOT
Part 7 of 8
CHAPTER TWENTY
Monday, April 10th
1:06 a.m.
CHARLES ROBINS SAT back in his chair and smiled as Grant reported the security measures being taken around the estate.
Charles figured that if he was going to have a problem with the man he called Bill because of the short payment, it was going to be tonight.
Or maybe tomorrow night.
So he had called in every member of his security team, under the leadership of Grant, an ex-Marine who knew more about defense and killing than Charles ever wanted to know.
He had told Grant who he needed kept out and Grant had said it would be no problem.
His people would keep everyone out.
Charles was just fine with that.
Grant had just finished explaining the basic defenses of the estate. He had two dozen men, all with state-of-the-art weapons patrolling both the grounds and the house. Three men watched the security monitors at all times, taking shifts. Automatic alarms had been set on every inch of the grounds’ parameter. Grant was convinced that nothing was coming in that they didn’t know about.
“Only one problem I see, Mr. Robins,” Grant said.
“What’s that?” Robins asked. The last thing he needed tonight was problems. So far everything had gone perfectly. Senator Knight wouldn’t be voting later in the day and that was just about as perfect as it got.
“An FBI surveillance van is parked across the street from the main gate,” Grant said without moving his hands from the parade rest position he had been standing in for five minutes, “and they have three other men stationed around the parameter of the estate in observation locations.”
“FBI?” Robins asked, his stomach suddenly twisting in fear. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir,” Grant said, “I’m sure. You pay me to be sure.”
“Any idea why they are out there?” Robins asked.
“No, sir.”
“Are they making any move to come in?” Robins asked.
Grant shook his head. “No, sir. They are strictly in surveillance mode.”
Robins nodded. “So anyone coming in here would have to get past them as well as your people.”
“No one will get past my people,” Grant said. “But the FBI, in the configuration they are working out of, would make no move to stop anyone. The fight would be ours, sir.”
Robins nodded. “Thank you, Grant. I will talk to you in the early morning.”
“Have a good evening, sir,” Grant said. He
spun and moved briskly out of the study, the heels of his boots making no sound on the hardwood floor.
FBI? What were they doing out there?
He felt himself panic and he forced himself to take a few deep breaths, his palms flat on the hard wood of his desk top.
Clearly someone had put the vote tomorrow, and the implications to his companies’ future, together with the Senator’s accident. And since the FBI had failed in keeping the Senator from having his little spill down the hill, it would make sense they would cover all bases.
He forced himself to take more deep breaths and relax and think.
If anyone could prove anything, or even had a shred of evidence besides speculation, the FBI would have come in and taken him. So the fact that they were just in observation mode was good news as well.
That thought released his fear.
Of course. They had nothing on him but motive. And motive wasn’t enough to move against someone like him, even if they did prove it wasn’t an accident.
Charles stood and moved over to his bar and poured himself a small glass of his finest scotch. It was almost time to get some sleep. The legislation that would have killed his companies would not be passed. And by the time it could come up again, he would have enough votes controlled to stop it completely.
He had won.
He should learn to relax a little and savor the victories.
He downed the Scotch and moved toward the back entrance of his study that led up to his bedroom.
A few hours sleep was exactly what he needed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Monday, April 10th
1:37 a.m.
BONNIE KNEW THAT even with Craig’s plans of sex tonight and tomorrow morning—which she liked the sound of a lot—they were going to be lucky to stay awake long enough to make it happen. The last two days had been very stressful to both of them, and after the dip in the soothing warm water of the hot tub, Craig looked almost as tired as she felt.
Yet she wanted to make love to him as much as he said he wanted to make love to her. She could feel the desire slowly building, but she wasn’t going to push it to happen tonight. They still had tomorrow and tomorrow night. More than enough time before heading home. She was just happy that they were out of the entire mess with the Senator.
She brushed her teeth and crawled into the wonderful-feeling clean sheets, letting them soothe her almost as much as the hot water had done earlier.
Craig had just finished brushing his teeth and was coming out of the bathroom naked when there was a knock on the door.
He glanced at her and she shrugged. One-thirty in the morning wasn’t a normal time for anyone to come knocking.
“Who is it? Craig shouted at the door, moving at it to check through the peephole.
“Room service,” Bonnie heard a man’s voice on the other side respond.
Craig looked through the hole in the door, then said, “We didn’t order any room service.”
“Yes, I know, sir,” Bonnie heard. “This is from a friend. A surprise.”
Something was bothering her about that voice. About all this, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Craig glanced back at Bonnie and just shook his head. Then he shouted through the door. “Hold on a second.”
“Who would send us something at this time of the night?” Bonnie asked Craig as he climbed into a pair of shorts and padded back toward the door.
“I’m betting on Hagar,” Craig said. “Or the Senator.”
Bonnie nodded. That was possible. The Senator was a kind-enough man to do something like this all the way from Washington D.C..
But still, there was something wrong here.
Craig opened the door and stood back as a man in a hotel uniform pushed a food cart into the room.
“Hello,” the man said to Bonnie as she held the sheets up under her chin.
Bonnie felt a shock run through her. She knew that voice from...
Suddenly, just as Craig was about to let the door close, two other men burst in, both pointing pistols at Craig.
“What the...?” Craig said, backing away from the door with his hands raised.
Before Bonnie could even react, the man in the hotel uniform pulled out a pistol and leveled it at her, motioning for her to remain still.
She pulled the sheet up even farther over her breasts and stared at the man.
The guy just smiled in return.
The door closed behind the three armed gunmen with a resounding thud and Bonnie suddenly knew that she and Craig were far from out of this entire mess. In fact, they had just become part of the mess.
“I would suggest you both put some clothes on,” the man in the hotel uniform said. “You’re going for a ride to visit a friend.” He smiled. “I told you it was a surprise.”
Now Bonnie absolutely knew the voice. She would remember that voice anywhere. Standing in a hotel uniform with a gun pointed at her was the second man they had overheard on the golf course on Friday night.
She glanced at Craig, but he was staring at the two guns pointed at him.
“Let’s go, people,” the man said. “We honestly don’t have all night.”
Bonnie hadn’t let another man see her nude since she married Craig, but at the moment it looked as if she didn’t have much choice in the matter. She had no doubt this guy would shoot her without a second thought. And dying in this hotel room wasn’t in her plans for the future.
She tossed the sheet aside and stood, moving over to where she had dropped her shorts and blouse when she had put on her swimming suit. With her back to the man, she dressed quickly.
By the time she turned around to again face the guns, Craig had on a golf shirt and was slipping on tennis shoes.
She retrieved her tennis shoes from near the bed and put them on as well.
When she stood, the man in the hotel uniform said, “Good. Now all three of us are going to walk down the hall and through the hotel lobby to a waiting limousine I have out front.”
He pulled off the hotel uniform jacket and untucked his shirt to make himself look like a guest.
Craig glanced at Bonnie, but said nothing.
The man pointed his gun at Craig. “Detective, one false move in the hall or lobby and your pretty wife here will be the first to die, I promise you. My men and I have no problem firing in a public place. Chances are she will not be the only person to die. Am I understood?”
“Perfectly,” Craig said.
“Good,” the man said. He indicated they should go.
One of the gunmen opened the door and took up a position out in the hall, his gun inside a jacket pocket, but still very much in evidence.
Bonnie moved through the door beside Craig and walked beside him down the hall with the men following.
The ride down the elevator was long and uncomfortable, since Bonnie and Craig stood facing the door, the three men behind them. Bonnie could just imagine the three guns pointing at the small of her back. She didn’t like the feeling at all.
The walk through the hotel lobby was just plain frightening. There had to be twenty people standing around or walking through the lobby. Couldn’t they see what was happening?
It seemed that no one did.
There were no shouts or alarms and a few moments later they were out the front door, down the steps, and into the back of a waiting stretch limo.
The three men sat facing Bonnie and Craig. Two had their guns in their hands. The man clearly in charge just sat back and smiled.
Bonnie didn’t feel like smiling back.
“Relax and enjoy the ride,” the man said. “We don’t have that far to go.”
Neither Craig nor Bonnie said a word.
Bonnie had no idea why they were being taken and any question she might ask would only chance giving the man information he might not have. So she said nothing.
Outside the streets of Scottsdale flashed past, the night traffic very light on this early Monday morning.
CHAPT
ER TWENTY-TWO
Monday, April 10th
1:49 a.m.
CRAIG TRIED TO make sure he knew where they were, where they had turned, and what part of Scottsdale they were in. He wished he was more familiar with the area, but if needed, he might be able to retrace the steps from the hotel to the general area they were in now.
Maybe.
Their kidnappers sure seemed unconcerned that he was able to see where they were going. And that lack of concern bothered him. It usually meant that the kidnappers had no thoughts of ever letting them go.
The limo finally pulled over beside an open area, just short of a massive stone wall that towered twenty feet over the street and stretched for a least a half mile. Craig could see that there were a number of very large estates nearby, the biggest more than likely behind the wall. But right at this spot there was nothing but empty desert.
“Okay,” the man said. “Time for a little talk.”
He motioned for the two other gunmen to get out of the limo and then close the doors. When they did, he turned back to face Craig, smiling, his gun in his hand leveled on Bonnie’s midsection.
“Just listen,” the man said. “I have no desire to kill either of you. But make no mistake, I will if I have to.”
Craig nodded and out of the corner of his eye he saw Bonnie do the same.
“First off, my name is not important. Charles Robins calls me Bill, so we’ll just go with that.”
Craig started at the name of Charles Robins. What was this guy up to anyway?
“I’ll tell you this right up front,” the man said, “Charles Robins hired me to stage an accident with Senator Knight so that Knight would not be able to vote later today in Washington on a piece of legislation that would hurt Robins.”
Craig desperately wanted to tell this guy that he had failed, but knew that wouldn’t be a good idea at this point. The guy would find out soon enough as it was.
Smith's Monthly #24 Page 3