50
A pan on the stove was sizzling. Betsy spun around; she’d been so nervous she had walked away and left the burner on under the steaks. Pan-frying was so easy, and she didn’t mind cleaning up the sprayed grease. She hadn’t wanted to do anything requiring a lot of thought or creativity, not for Hal Shogren’s dinner.
The fact that the steaks would be burned disappointed her for a moment. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. He’s not going to let you live long enough to worry about it.
Then another thought struck her.
He was coming down the hall toward her. “Bet-syyy,” he said, stretching it out in a sing-song voice. She thought he had gone completely insane. Or he always had been. “What’s for dinner, Bet-syyy? Smells delish. I hope you enjoy it, because it’s your last meal. But don’t worry, little Susie’s going to be waiting for you on the other side of that glowing white tunnel. Isn’t that how they say it works?”
By the time he finished taunting her, he was in the kitchen. It was the biggest kitchen she’d ever cooked in by a wide measure, so he was still more than fifteen feet away.
Not far enough. He hadn’t brought the big gun with him, but he had a pistol. How long would it take a bullet to reach her? A fraction of a second. A single beat of a hummingbird’s wing.
“Keep away from me,” she said. She edged toward the stove.
“I think that’s wrong, though. I’ve seen a lot of people die. More than you’d probably believe. And not one of them—not a single one—looked like he was traveling down a glowing tunnel of light. Not one of them looked happy to be going. No, I think it’s a pretty horrific trip. I guess you’ll find out, though. Soon. Too bad you won’t be able to come back and tell me. I’d kind of like to know before it’s my time.”
The knife block. It was on the counter, closer to her than the stove was. She’d only used one of the knives from it, but it was good and sharp.
Could she reach it in time?
“Don’t even think about it, Betsy,” Shogren said. He gestured with the gun, holding it casually. He didn’t even have his finger on the trigger. She was so insignificant to him, so pathetic a threat, that he didn’t even feel the need to have the gun ready to use. “By the time you could free a knife from the block, you’d be dead. You’d never reach me with it, and if you did, you wouldn’t know how to use it. In your picture-perfect phony world, people don’t have to kill other people. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you could.”
“But you—you can kill an old woman without a second thought, is that it? Is that what the real world is to you? One where life is that cheap? I never did anything to hurt you.”
“You tried to poison Susan against me. She told me the things you used to tell her. How I was worthless. Nothing but trouble. How she shouldn’t let me drag her into the muck with me.”
“And they were all true, weren’t they? Look what happened to her. Look what’s happened to you.”
“Look what’s going to happen to you, Betsy. Whoever lives here will come home, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, and find an old lady’s corpse. That’ll be a surprise, won’t it? Think that’s the kind of thing that’d trouble their sleep for a while?”
“God, you’re… you’re a sick, sick man. I never knew how sick.”
“Guess you found out just in time.” He raised the pistol, and slipped his finger over the trigger.
And the world exploded.
The huge window shattered, glass crashing like frozen rain.
Shogren fired, but his shot went into the ceiling.
Betsy snatched the pan off the stove, still spitting hot grease, ran toward him, and threw it, steaks and all, into his face. He screamed and screamed.
And she ran out into the night.
51
“Ma’am! Mrs. Peabody!”
Her name had been all over the radio on the drive up, along with Shogren’s. Martin raced toward her as she bolted from the house. She veered away from him, as if he was Shogren, still chasing her. But Shogren was inside, trying to claw hot grease out of his eyes. Martin had seen the whole thing. It was priceless.
“Mrs. Peabody!” he shouted as he ran. “It’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you!”
“Martin!”
A voice from behind him, loud and commanding. He almost stopped, but he didn’t. Another couple of paces and he’d have her. He didn’t want her running off into the darkness. She could get hurt out there.
“Martin, stand down!”
He recognized it now. Sam Hanna. He kept going. The old woman was faster than she looked; fear had given her wings. But he had longer legs, and stronger ones. Lungs to match. He lunged, caught her. They both went down, but he twisted in midair so she came down on top of him, the fall cushioned. Last thing he wanted was to break her hip or something.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Peabody. You’re safe now. You’re safe. We’re the cavalry.”
“Martin!” Hanna and Callen had caught up to him. “Martin, what the hell are you doing?”
“Hostage rescue op,” he said. He helped Mrs. Peabody to her feet. “Here she is, safe and sound. Ma’am, these men are with NCIS. That’s the Naval—”
“I know what it is. Is Agent Blye with you?” she asked.
“She’ll be here soon,” Callen said.
“I only had one shot,” Martin said. “I wasn’t sure how thick the glass was, so I didn’t know how much it’d deflect my round. Instead of trying for him, I just fired a burst at the top of the window, to shatter it. She took it from there. I knew she would.”
Hanna looked toward the house. “Well, he’s gone.”
“She threw hot grease right in his face,” Martin said. “He’s not far.”
“You’d better hope not,” Hanna said. “Come on, G. Martin, we have a truck back there. Take her to it, and stay there. That’s an order, sailor.”
“Sir, yes sir!” Martin shot back. He put an arm around Mrs. Peabody’s waist, helping support her. “Come on, ma’am. They’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Hanna and Callen were silhouetted against the bright light spilling out of the broken window.
They were pissed, and they probably had good reason.
But he had to admit, he kind of liked those guys.
52
“If he was still in the Navy, I’d have him court-martialed,” Sam said. “Maybe I’d see if they’d be willing to bring back keelhauling.”
“He might have saved her life,” Callen said.
“We were right here. We could have done that.”
“He was closer.”
“Okay, G. You’re right. He did the right thing, and I’m glad he did. But if he let Shogren get away…”
“Like he said, she threw a hot frying pan right in his face. Wherever he is, he’s hurting.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. A cornered animal—”
“I know.”
They’d reached the house. “He could be anywhere,” Sam said. “He’s got his guns, and his money, and he’s desperate.”
“One room at a time,” Callen said.
“There’s a lot of rooms in that house.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be in the first one we check.”
Betsy Peabody had left the front door open when she’d raced out. Even if she hadn’t, the big window next to it had been smashed. Some glazier was going to make a lot of money redoing the glass here, Sam thought.
They went through the door. It led directly to a staircase, with floating steps leading up half a flight. The kitchen was on that first main level. Whatever had been cooking in Betsy’s frying pan, it smelled delicious.
They cleared the kitchen first. Glass everywhere, and lying in it were two steaks. Answered that question.
Beyond the kitchen was a dark hall. In the distance Sam could hear a television. He and Callen took it slowly, cautiously. They spun into the first room, a den, where the TV was. Empty. They followed the hall
to the next opening. It was a large bedroom, with its own bath, and a door to the outside, up the slope from the front door. They cleared the room and the bathroom, then checked outside. “Footprints in the ash,” Callen said. “Fresh. He went out here.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “So he’s out there, somewhere. In the dark. Maybe watching us right now. Did I mention keelhauling?”
“You did,” Callen said.
“Just making sure.” Sam activated his Earwig, “Eric? Can you see anything from the sky? Shogren’s on the run.”
“Not a thing, Sam,” Eric said. “I can try to get a UAV up there with thermal imaging capability.”
“Not enough time,” Sam said.
“On the bright side, you’re about to get reinforcements.”
“Don’t send them here,” Sam said. “Have them go north of our location by a hundred yards or so. Maybe two hundred, depending on how long it takes. They can work their way down toward us.”
“Copy that,” Eric said.
“Let’s find this guy, G. I want to end this.”
“You and me both,” Callen said. “It’s been a long couple of days.”
53
“You’re about parallel with the house,” Nell said. “Keep going. Say, two hundred and twenty yards.”
“You have a tape measure, babe?” Deeks asked.
“Estimate,” Kensi said. “Never mind, I’ll estimate. Just stop when I tell you to.”
“Usually you tell me to keep going.”
“Deeks!” Nell said. “Still listening.”
“Sorry, Nell.”
“Stop!”
Deeks braked the SUV. It fishtailed on the ash-slick road, but came to a stop.
“That’s good,” Nell said. “Now go west. To your left. On foot, cross country. Your fugitive is out there somewhere, probably between you and Callen and Sam. You’ll work downslope toward them. Remember, he’s—”
“We know,” Deeks said. “Armed and dangerous.”
“Hey! Finishing other people’s sentences is my thing.”
“Deeks wants to step in on everybody’s thing,” Kensi said.
“Maybe we could stop insulting Deeks long enough to find the bad guy,” Deeks said. “What do you think?”
Kensi sighed. “Can we start again after we’ve caught him?”
“Sure. Not like I could stop you.”
“That’s right. Okay, Nell. We’re going in.”
“Good luck,” Nell said. “I’m here if you need me.”
“Good to know,” Deeks said. “Over and out.”
“Over and out,” Nell echoed. “Be safe.”
54
Callen and Sam walked into the trees. They were exposed for a couple of minutes, limned against the lights from the house, but nobody shot at them. Was Shogren blinded? Hunkered down somewhere, unable to see well enough to shoot them?
Or was he just waiting for them to get closer, so he’d be less likely to miss?
Callen heard a vehicle go past on the road, then stop up ahead. Kensi and Deeks, he guessed. If Sam’s plan worked, they’d trap Shogren between them.
But he was a Ranger, and he had a head start, so they couldn’t take anything for granted. The fact that he hadn’t already taken a shot was a little disturbing. Maybe he was running. He could be a half mile away already, gaining more distance with every passing minute. He and Sam were walking, trying to see through the dark, listening for any stray sound.
If they lost him, Callen was going to be furious. He was used to long, difficult assignments, but he didn’t relish the idea of spending a night out in this wilderness. Higher up, he could see the glow of the fire. That would keep Shogren from going too far, he figured—the guy wasn’t likely to run right into the flames. But he could cover a lot of ground to the east or west, if he hadn’t been too badly injured.
“Listen!” Sam whispered.
Callen stopped, listened. It came again. Up ahead and to the right, the unmistakable sound of a foot coming down on brush or twigs. But was it Shogren, or Kensi and Deeks?
“I think it’s him,” Sam said quietly. “That way.”
He took a step to his right. Callen followed. His foot was still in the air when he saw a muzzle burst up ahead, heard the blast, and rounds whipped through the air around them. He slammed his arm into Sam’s back and drove them both to the ground.
From higher up the hill, more guns sounded, and bright flashes of light cut the dark, then faded, leaving only ghostly echoes burned on Callen’s retinas. He and Sam opened fire, too, but didn’t want to aim too high for fear of hitting their teammates.
Shogren ran off to the west, away from Kensi and Deeks. Callen could hear him tearing through the brush, and fired a burst toward where he thought the man was. Still on the run, Shogren fired again, keeping Callen and Sam pinned down.
“He knows where we all are now,” Sam said. “So he’s heading the other way.”
“We’re not losing him,” Callen said. “Let’s go.”
“I’m with you,” Sam said. They took off after their quarry. Above, they heard Kensi and Deeks doing the same. Still, Shogren had a head start, and one could travel more quietly than two—or four.
They’d been running for about five minutes. Callen couldn’t hear Shogren anymore, and his heart sank. If he was gone…
Then he heard a different kind of sound crashing through the trees and brush. Louder—much too loud to be just Shogren. And accompanying it, something unexpected.
“Was that a horse?” Sam asked.
“I was just about to ask you.”
Ahead, Shogren fired wildly at something Callen couldn’t see. He emptied his clip, crying out in terror at the same time. Sam took careful aim and fired a quick three-round burst. Shogren went down.
“You got him!” a familiar voice called from the darkness.
“Owen?” Callen asked.
“In the flesh,” Granger said. “The somewhat odoriferous and dehydrated flesh, but the flesh, just the same.”
He clicked on a flashlight and trained the beam on Shogren, who was just getting to his knees.
“I thought you shot him,” Callen said.
“I didn’t want to kill him,” Sam said. “I want him to rot in prison.”
“Works for me.”
Shogren heaved himself to his feet, and took a couple of staggering steps. Owen shifted the big, dark horse’s position, blocking his path. They continued that way: Shogren trying to lunge past, Granger and the horse cutting him off, until Sam and Callen reached him, followed closely by Kensi and Deeks. Sam grabbed the ex-Ranger’s wounded arm and wrenched it behind his back, slapped a bracelet on the wrist, then brought the other arm around and did the same. “Harold Shogren,” he said, “you’re under arrest for murder, attempted murder, bank robbery, and so many other things it’ll take the entire ride to central booking to enumerate them all. You have the right to remain silent, which I strongly advise you take advantage of. If you choose to ignore my advice…”
Epilogue
“You really are special,” Sam said. “Hetty doesn’t let just anyone into this place. It means you’re practically family.”
“I appreciate it,” Kelly Martin said. “Especially considering how much trouble I caused all of you.”
“That you did, Mr. Martin.” Hetty’s voice preceded her into the bullpen. She appeared at the top of the stairs, and continued speaking as she descended. Eric Beale, Nell Jones, and Owen Granger stood by the railing upstairs, watching. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, despite the fact that you ran my people ragged.”
She stopped at the bottom, and extended a hand. Martin took it.
“It’s good to meet you, too. I thought you’d be…” He let the sentence trail off.
“Taller, I know. So did Robert Redford, but he was able to adjust.”
The expression on her face didn’t vary for an instant. Even Callen wasn’t sure if she was joking.
But he wouldn’t have put mo
ney on it.
“I still haven’t finished tabulating the expenses generated on your behalf,” Hetty said. But I will let you know when I have a total.”
“I’m sure you will, Ms. Lange.”
“Don’t forget the old man’s doors,” Callen reminded her.
“I’ve had a long discussion with Mr. Bilsen,” Hetty said. “A very long discussion, in fact. He has some quite… let’s say, colorful ideas about the Constitution, and the role of the federal government therein. And I will be including my time in my final accounting.”
She reached the bottom step and stopped, hands down at her sides. “My hourly rate is considerably more than you want to think about.”
“You can send me the bill,” Martin said. “I don’t know how I’ll pay it, but—”
“There will be no bill,” Hetty said. “I want you to know what this has cost the taxpayers, but you’re not expected to cover it. I understand you were instrumental in rescuing Mrs. Peabody. Mr. Peabody was delighted to have her back. They’ll have a difficult time of it for a while. Possibly for the rest of their lives. To lose a daughter the way they did, then endure such a traumatic experience immediately thereafter… it’s not easily brushed away.”
“I’m sure not,” Martin said.
Hetty broke into a smile that was, for her, effusive. “Nobody’s blaming you, Mr. Martin. You were a victim of those criminals, as much as anyone else was. I can’t say that I approve of all your actions, but I can’t argue with the results.”
“I was just trying to do what I thought was best.”
“All anybody can do,” Sam said. “That’s how we get through the days.”
“I understand you’re recently retired,” Hetty said.
“That’s right.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of having a conversation with the commander of the Naval Special Warfare Command at Coronado, Mr. Martin. He would be delighted to welcome you back at your parting rank, if you’d like. Failing that, he said the base could use a new training officer. It would be a promotion.”
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