The Back Door Man

by Dave Buschi

  James had his oar. He needed to get that oar to a hospital. Somewhere in there that thought actually made sense to him. Yeah, he was losing it. “Mac, you with me?”

  No response.

  James staggered and caught himself. The noise of dogs barking, once a terrifying sound to him, wasn’t fear inducing anymore. They were like sirens luring him in. He went forward, urged on, brain dead from weariness, lack of food and water, oblivious of any of the voices inside him that might suggest caution.

  “Mac, we’re almost there.”

  James could see that the trees thinned out ahead. He made out what looked to be a trailer. Lights were on.

  He was just about to step into the clearing when he saw the van.

  There was a man standing next to it, smoking a cigarette.

  100

  THE girls were squared away in their room. They’d wanted to stay in the room with matching beds and the bearskin rug. Sue had tucked them in. She was finishing singing them a lullaby.

  She hardly sang to them anymore. She used to sing to them all the time when they were babies. But they’d gotten older and she’d stopped at some point. After what they’d been through today, Sue wanted to give them something familiar and comforting. They needed that—or maybe it was her that needed to remember what it was like during a gentler time.

  Sue touched their heads.

  “Mommy, is this our new home?”

  “Where’s Daddy? Is he okay?”

  “I love you, girls. I told you, Daddy will be with us soon. We’re going to stay here with Grandpa for a little while.”

  She kissed their little heads. “Goodnight. Sleep tight.”

  “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Hannah said.

  Sue smiled and shut the door.

  Bob looked up as she walked down the massive wooden stairs. The room was one of those great rooms with cathedral ceilings and large wooden beams. She walked across the Aztec-patterned rug.

  “Are they okay?” Bob said.

  She sat in one of the comfy chairs by the fireplace. “I think so.”

  She closed her eyes. She felt so tired. James still hadn’t called. She had no way to reach him. When he’d called he’d told her he was using Skype—talking on the computer. It wasn’t a number she could call back. James…

  When she opened her eyes she found that Bob had put a blanket over her legs. “Did I doze off?”

  “You were beginning to.” He looked at her tenderly.

  “Dad…”

  “Yes?”

  Sue smiled. “Nothing.” She felt so out of sorts. Competing thoughts drifting in her head. She looked around the house. It was even more beautiful inside. During dinner Sue had asked him about it, wondering how he could afford such a place.

  Bob had told her the stock options he’d gotten over the years when he was in management—overseeing rigs out at sea—had allowed him to retire with quite a nest egg. “I never thought those things would ever amount to much. But the oil business had some good years. I wish…”

  He drifted off and Sue had thought he’d lost his train of thought.

  “I wish I could have provided a house for your mother like this.” He’d seemed sad, but his face brightened a moment later. “It’s so good having you here.”

  Sue was surprised at her own feelings. She’d hated her dad for so long that she didn’t think it possible to feel what she was feeling now. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, it felt good to be here. The place was like a pair of well-worn jeans that fit just right. Even the chair she was sitting in felt like it was made for her.

  Granted, the place was definitely a bachelor pad. Not much of a woman’s touch, but it was comfy. Their food had been simple fare. Cold cuts and a warmed can of beans. As hungry as they were, it had tasted good. Sue had loved the kitchen.

  “I love this setup. Do you think I can cook something for us tomorrow?”

  Her dad had smiled when she said those words. She had actually smiled back. It felt more like a dream…

  “Mommy?”

  Sue looked up. Katie had come out of her room and was standing at the top of the stairs. “What is it honey?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Baby, there is nothing to be scared of. We’re safe here.”

  Hannah joined her big sister. It was a touching scene, the two of them standing there.

  Sue got out of her chair. “Do you want me to sing to you again?”

  They nodded and Sue walked back upstairs.

  “Goodnight Grandpop,” said Katie. Hannah gave a shy little wave.

  “Goodnight you two,” said Bob. “Love you.”

  101

  JAMES felt like he was leaving a long tunnel. He’d been so focused putting one foot in front of the other, closing his eyes every time he sensed or felt branches scraping him, that he had entered some type of wake/dream state. It was as if the weariness had sapped the blood from his brain.

  James found a spot to put down Mac. A stone’s throw away was the same van he’d seen at The Vault. Identical to the one he’d taken before it had blown up. The man standing next to it was presumably not alone. Judging from the lights and the shadowy silhouettes he’d glimpsed, the others were inside the house. If it could be called that—the house was more some combination of lean-to and trailer.

  What were those men doing? Looking for him and Mac? Or maybe this was their home? Doubtful, but there was no telling.

  James looked down at Mac. The man was in bad shape. He was still breathing. Still alive.

  James knew this was not a moment for him to be indecisive or afraid. He’d done it once. He could do it again. Now, before those men came out and it was too late.

  “Do you have a gun?” James said. The one he’d had, he’d left in the van. It had fallen to the floor when he’d braked. He hadn’t taken time to find it before he ran from the van. He was regretting that decision now.

  Mac didn’t seem to hear him. James already knew the answer to his question. Still, he lifted the man’s jacket. The man’s holster was empty. James knew he would have felt the gun when Mac was slung on his back.

  And he hadn’t.

  James sucked in a breath. This was going to be tough. And if he didn’t go, this man would most likely die.

  Mac grabbed his arm. He looked at him—didn’t speak. He pointed to his leg.

  “What is it?” James said.

  Mac lifted his pant leg. He was wearing an ankle holster. “Take it.” His voice was hoarse.

  James retrieved the gun. It was a compact piece with a snub barrel. The textured grip was cool to the touch. James examined the pistol in the poor light. It didn’t have much heft and looked to be a .22 caliber. Not that he was sure; it could have been a 9 mm. “I’ll be back. I’m not leaving you.”

  Mac nodded and his eyes closed. James took another breath and started towards the clearing. He didn’t see how he was going to surprise the man. There was no cover to hide behind. The dogs had stopped barking. If they started back up, they might alert the man. James steeled himself.

  He was going to have to be ready to kill this man.

  He said a prayer as he moved forward. He reminded himself that these men had shot and tried to kill him earlier. They were criminals. Killers. They would show him no mercy. He needed to do the same if he was to survive.

  The light coming from the house spilled into the yard. James stayed low, keeping in the fingers of the shadows. It had been over twenty years since he’d held or shot a gun, with the exception of earlier back at The Vault.

  He had very little experience shooting pistols. The shooting he’d done was mostly shotguns and rifles, and he’d never been exceptionally good at it. He could appreciate guns and admire old shotguns, but handguns he didn’t particularly like. They scared him. It was as if he could feel the death in the metal.

  Like now. Cold. James could almost feel the black tendrils wrapping around him.

  Lord forgive me.

  James approached f
rom behind the van. The van partially screened him. The dogs were still silent.

  The man took another drag on his cigarette. His face was briefly profiled in the light. His face, neck and shoulders—all one mass—cut a hulking profile. James recognized him.

  It was the same man he’d taken out at The Vault.

  The one he’d done his fireman’s carry on. James eyed the man’s bulk. The man was considerably larger than him. James remembered seeing the man close up.

  This guy was a beast.

  James felt a cold sweat come over him. His hand was sweating. The pistol was unsure in his grip.

  Easy.

  James was fifteen yards away. He moved to the right so that the van fully screened him. He moved closer. He was just an arm’s length from the back of the van when his feet disturbed the gravel.

  Shit!

  James stopped. Had the man heard? James readied himself. He listened intently.

  “Grolsch?”

  James bit his lip. Darn it.

  He stepped from behind the van and pointed his gun. “Don’t move. I don’t want to shoot, but I will.”

  The man was framed by the light behind him. James couldn’t read the man’s facial features. He was just a mass of black.

  The man dropped his cigarette. For a split second, James’s eyes went to the movement. The man took advantage of the moment. He moved forward, covering the five feet in a rush.

  James pulled the trigger.

  Nothing.

  Fuck. The trigger was stuck. Oh my God, he’d left the safety on.

  102

  “LINE three, señor.”

  Javier stood stiffly, waiting. “Shall I say you are unavailable?”

  Rex Portino waved his hand. “No.” He picked up the phone.

  The annoying drawl of his boss filled the other end. “Rexie baby. Man, am I glad I gotcha.”

  It was Scooter, CEO of ComTek.

  Scooter. The name was fitting. “It’s a little late, Scooter.”

  “Is it? Hell. It’s only five o’clock here.”

  “You’re out of the country?”

  “Last minute thing. Woulda told you, if I knew the damn world was going to hell in a handbasket. Jesus. You believe this? Just got the news a few minutes ago. What the hell’s happening out there?”

  “You just got the news?”

  “Out of pocket… you know. Doing wheeling and dealing—trying to get our stock up.”

  Portino smiled, snidely. He was well informed regarding Scooter’s itinerary. Including the fact right now the man was out of the country on a pleasure trip with his mistress.

  “But hell, man. Tell me you got this?”

  “Have what Scooter?”

  “Have what! Dammit man, you been watching the news?”

  “At the moment… no. But we are dealing with the crisis, if that is the question.”

  “Shooo. That’s what I wanted to hear. You scared me for a second, buddy. Don’t do that. Tell me how you got it?”

  “We’re working on several concurrent issues. I have our best men making sure we root down the infiltration points, reset systems, ensure database integrity…”

  “’Nough. That’s all I wanted to hear. You got this. That’s my boy. You need me back? Or are we good?”

  “In an hour or so, we hope to have everything…”

  “Shit. Tell it to me straight. Are we good?”

  “In an hour… yes.”

  “Alright then. That’s the reason I hired you. Don’t let the house fall down while I’m gone.” Scooter gave a nervous laugh. Portino could hear what sounded like a woman’s voice chittering in the background. “Listen Rexie, I gotta go. You pull through on this, and you just earned yourself a big bonus. I’ll make sure the board knows what you did. Got that?”

  “Completely.”

  “Alright, buddy. I’ll see you back on the home front soon.”

  103

  THIS was not proving to be easy. Enrique was out of his league.

  Savic had left him two of his men. Each knew how to rig explosives, but they didn’t have enough of what they needed to get the job done. They hadn’t come prepared for this, they told Enrique in their faltering English, cursing and pointing fingers at each other. The van, which James had stolen, had the punch to do the trick. But the little C4 they had was barely enough to blow up a car, let alone a facility the size of The Vault.

  Even by shaping the charges and using the propellant in the fuel tanks they were going to come up short with the sort of blast they needed to bring the house down. Enrique was going to have to use other options. None of which could be done in the time frame he was being given.

  The best Enrique could hope to accomplish was to stagger a series of charges, combined with downloading a cyber cocktail, equivalent to antifreeze, into the system. The problem with that, as well, was he needed time. And time was not being kind to him. He’d spent the last hour just trying to get back into the system.

  It had taken forever to figure out what James had done with the security interface. And when he did, it was not what he’d expected. Enrique had no idea how James had pulled off this sophisticated blend of subterfuge and sabotage in the compressed time frame he would have had.

  The guy, he hated to admit it, was brilliant.

  Enrique navigated the NAS Gateway. Finally, he was going to be able to see the full extent of what James had been up to. Around him The Vault was humming. It was like the engine was revving at 8,000 RPM. Something was happening. With a few more clicks, Enrique discovered exactly what James had done. What he had set into motion.

  His jaw dropped. Enrique stared at the screen. This was not happening. He shook his head.

  “No! No, no, no!”

  Enrique screamed, ripped out the monitor and threw it against the wall behind him.

  104

  JAMES didn’t have time to react. He was suddenly airborne. He landed hard, in the dirt and gravel. The pistol flew from his hand.

  The man wasn’t done. He came at him, picking up James like he was a sack of potatoes. The man was huge. And powerful! Holding him one armed, the man wound back to take James’s head off.

  James moved, but it wasn’t fast enough. He saw sparks.

  Bright white!

  James squirmed, as the man landed another shot. It wasn’t full on, but still rung his bell. James staggered backwards. The man had let him go. The dogs were barking.

  “Bljad!”

  The man advanced with a snarl. Fists raised.

  “Zatknís!”

  James’s head was still ringing. He was disoriented, feeling his knees going weak, all blood rushing from his head, things getting fuzzy.

  This was not good. Not good…

  The man was coming at him. Smiling cruelly now… “I piss on your grave. You got lucky last time, this time you’re mine.”

  He jabbed, hitting James on the jaw. It snapped James’s head back. He was having fun with him now.

  Futilely, James brought his hands up. The man swung again. James barely avoided the blow. The man had left himself open. James feinted with his left and connected with his right. The man stepped back.

  “Ha! So you box, do you?”

  The cobwebs were clearing; James was still standing. The man stepped forward to finish him off. This was it, James realized. He would not get another opportunity; if he took another hit he wouldn’t have the legs. As the man swung, James went in and closed the distance; he felt the rush of air as the man’s punch just missed him. He kept going, grabbed the man around the middle and drove forward with everything he had.

  The man was surprised; he hadn’t expected such a move. He tottered, and James had the momentum; he kept driving, his lower center of gravity working in his favor. He shoved the man into the side of the van. The metal bow flexed inward.

  “What?!” The man cursed and cuffed James, but didn’t have a good angle. The punch just grazed James’s shoulder. James dug his head into the man’s body, protecting
it as best he could.

  The man punched him again, landing a shot on the side of James’s head. James let go, and the man sensed that James was crumpling, but that wasn’t it. James changed his tactic and grabbed the man’s wrist. With a solid hold on it, he turned, all in one fluid motion, like a running back doing a spin move around a defender, he got behind the man. It was a Greco-Roman wrestling technique. Use the man’s own body against himself. He still had hold of the man’s wrist; the arm was torqued and bent. The man yelped, as James pushed the man’s elbow past its pressure point.

  This was where James would have stopped, back when he’d been on the mat. It was a submission hold; the point where one’s opponent had no choice but to yield. But this wasn’t playing by rules; this was a fight for survival; a fight to live. If he let go, the man would kill him for sure; all the wrestling skills in the world wouldn’t save James from that grim end.

  James didn’t hesitate, but drove with everything he had. He had the leverage. He’d never pushed to this extent, but he knew what the result would bring. The man’s arm was essentially a fulcrum. Tissue and cartilage… it wasn’t going to be pretty. With a sickening sound, the man’s shoulder popped out of its socket like a chicken wing being twisted. The man screamed. A door slammed. The dogs were in full howl.

  “Yuri!”

  Men emptied from the house.

  James let go of the man and pushed him away. He yanked open the van’s door. The interior light came on. James went for the ignition, but the keys weren’t there.

  He looked again, blinking. The keys were definitely not there!

  Through the windshield, James saw men running down the steps. He got out of the van. He looked on the ground for the gun he’d dropped.

  He didn’t see it. His peripheral vision saw something and he instinctively ducked. Yuri lurched past him, swinging with his one good arm. His dislocated shoulder made his other arm look obscenely positioned. James saw the gun he’d dropped. It was a few feet in front of Yuri; closer to James. Yuri saw it too.

  James went for the gun. Yuri tried to pull his own from his shoulder holster, but his holster was rigged for his other arm. The man fumbled.