A Cold Copper Moon (The Cooper Series Book 3)

by Richard Conrath

  I had to kneel and lean across the doors to reach a padlock located in the center. Lucky for me, the lock was sitting open. I removed it quietly from the hasp, stood back, and eased the doors open. What I faced was blackness. So, I stepped carefully into the opening, descended a short set of concrete steps, feeling my way blindly until I came to another door at the base of the steps that opened into the basement. The hinges let everybody know they needed oiling. I stopped and listened. No one was hurrying across the floor to check. I eased the door shut slowly and was now standing in my old basement, pitch black and smelling of mildew. I tried to remember where the stairway to the upper floors was. Directly ahead? To my right? As my eyes accustomed themselves to the dark, I started to remember. To my left was the coal room, long empty since we converted to gas. And directly in front of me—I could discern its outline now—was the furnace. I knew there was nothing else blocking the way to the set of stairs that led to the main floor of the house. The only problem was I had to feel my way to get there, like playing a game of Blind Man’s Bluff.

  As I tested the bottom stair, I heard someone call Maxie’s name. I hesitated. Nothing more. So I started up, counting each stair as I went, moving slowly and carefully from step to step, pausing at each one, hoping to find solid footing—no squeaks or creaks—remembering that there were what? Fifteen steps in all? Wondering at each step if someone would open the door, turn on the light and see me. I pulled my gun as I moved up. Near the top step I paused and put my ear to the door.

  Someone was coming. So I pulled back, pressing against the wall, holding my gun below my waist so I could raise it and shoot quickly if I needed to. Whoever it was walked lightly and came right toward the cellar door. Then suddenly the noises stopped and I could hear whoever it was breathing. Then I heard a voice call out. It was Henry, and he was only inches from me—separated only by a thin sheet of plywood.

  “Better hurry back, boy.” Then a pause. “Get down here!”

  I heard a stirring upstairs. It must be Maxie.

  “Time’s up!” He shuffled away from the door, then back again, checking the bolt I had installed in the door years ago, sliding it out and then slamming it back into place again. I could have shot him if I knew exactly where he was, if I knew that no one else was in the house with Maxie and Jillie, could have ended it right then. But there was no way to be sure. I waited and held my breath. Then he left. I heard him retreat through the kitchen, through the dining room, and back to the living room where my son and wife were being held hostage.

  After a few moments, I tried the door, even though I had heard the bolt slide into place, a bolt I myself had installed just in case...you know, just in case some bad person tried to gain entrance to our house via the basement, never realizing, of course, that that person would be me.

  “I’m coming up, Maxie!” That voice again, but now from the front of the house. And I heard someone running. Across the second floor.

  Then, “I’m coming,” and I heard someone bang down the stairs. Maxie. Just a room away.

  But...the door was locked.

  Chapter One Hundred Twelve

  Henry

  Henry stared at Maxie as he rounded the foot of the stairs and hurried to his mother who was applying pressure to Charley’s wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. She grabbed Maxie with her free arm, staring nervously at Henry, and pulled him in close to her.

  “You took a long time,” Henry said, watching the two of them, then he turned back to the window and stared into the darkness. Where are you? he wondered, thinking about the Asp. And then he heard a car start—from a distance—and he looked hard into the darkness toward the highway, looked for the origin of the sound, wondering, and then, a flash of light, from where he and Turker (the Asp’s real name) parked earlier in the day. Headlights swept across the highway, did a full turn, and headed east on Highway 40 toward...

  What the hell is he doing? Henry wondered. And just then his cell phone went off.

  Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

  The Other Man

  Disappointed that I couldn’t open the door, I made my way back down the stairs, quietly. And then across the basement to the stone stairs leading up to the cellar doors still partially open. Had I wasted valuable time? I paused once I closed the doors, turned and gazed back at where I had just been—at my house, dark and quiet—and considered if I should I have stayed.

  Then a cell phone rang while I stood there. Deep from inside the house. I could hear the murmur of a distant voice. It must have been Henry’s. I wondered who had called him. Then I slid back down the bank, covered with snow—now wet—and into the ditch that edged up to the highway. I beat the slush off my pants and made my way along the ditch, staying low and out of sight. I crossed the drive at street level and continued until I was well beyond the house and then struggled up the bank and worked my way back to my car where Richie and Louise were waiting.

  “Did either of you call Jillie?” I said, still wondering about the phone call I had just heard.

  They said they hadn’t.

  “Well?” Richie said. “What happened?”

  “The cellar door was locked.”

  “Probably just as well,” said Louise. “What were you going to do, shoot your way in?” She paused. “I called Wong.”

  “You what?” I said. “I thought I told you—“

  “It’s time,” she said. Just like that. Matter-of-fact.

  “Hey. That guy has two hostages in there—and they just happen to be your son and your ex. Don’t give me that,” she continued, now pissed off. “By the way, he’s sending in a bird with a TAU…that’s a Tactical Aviation Unit,” she added, noticing the question in my eyes. “It’s coming from Cleveland.”

  I knew Wong would do that. It’s why I didn’t want the cops called.

  “Somebody’s gonna get killed,” I said. “Don’t say I didn’t—“

  “The units gonna include a SWAT team and HRT,” she replied, completely ignoring me. That would be a Hostage Rescue Team. They’ll come in like an invasion force. Not what I had hoped for.

  “And he said don’t try anything stupid. That means do not try to gain entrance to the house before they get here.” She paused, for effect. “In case you wanted to go in yourself,” she continued, “like you just did, you being the Lone Ranger, big boy.

  “You find the person who left the house?” I asked, ignoring what she said.

  “Didn’t find no one,” said Richie. “That being if there was someone,” he added.

  I heard a car start on the street. We looked at each other.

  “Only a couple of cars were parked there,” said Louise.

  “Uh-huh. Maybe that’s our man.”

  I stayed in the shadows and headed toward the bank just in time to see the parking lights of a car come on. I watched it make a U-turn and head east, toward Cambridge—its headlights dark.

  Yeah, that’s him, I thought, and wondered where he was going.

  Louise and Richie were right behind me.

  “What’s he doing?” Louise said. “Getting outta Dodge?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “I wonder...” and we stared at the taillights fading into the distance. Then the headlights came on as the car passed Anthony’s Antique Shop that’s right across the road from the entrance to the college. Then they disappeared entirely. And we kept staring in silence for a while.

  “Weird,” said Richie.

  “Wasn’t Henry,” I said. “He was in the house just a few minutes ago. Couldn’t have gotten out there that fast. Besides—“

  Louise interrupted, “Yeah. Besides, he’s not leaving your son and Jillie behind. No, he’s still in there.”

  “Then who in the fuck was that? And where’s he going? I mean, assuming there was somebody else in the house with them guys,” said Richie.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “A neighbor?”

  “Yeah, but what about the headlights? Who drives at night without headlights? Suspici
ous at least.”

  “Yeah. Suspicious.” It was bugging me. If there was somebody in the house with Henry, then maybe he came out with a plan in mind. If a neighbor...then...well, then no big deal. But it probably wasn’t a neighbor. So, either that person took off and won’t be back, or…

  Louise jumped in again. “Thinking what I’m thinking?”

  There’s an alley behind the house that parallels the highway and runs behind the homes that face the road. It gives the houses that were west of mine access to their garages located in their back yards. It dead-ends at my back door.

  “Uh-huh. It’s possible that whoever was in that car might be doubling back. Right?”

  Louise responded, “I’m thinking yeah.”

  “There’s a street at the far end of the college,” I said, pointing east past the Antique Shop. “It runs through the campus to a street that would eventually take him to the alley behind my house.” Funny how I thought of it as my house. It was really college housing built or bought to keep the profs on campus—easier for them to meet up with students.

  It had been about ten minutes or so since the lights of the car disappeared down the highway.

  “Might as well check it out,” I said, and the three of us headed around the garage. It gave us protection from the front window but made progress difficult because—well because of all the crap that’s behind the garage and because it was dark. I tripped over some logs that I remembered stacking there years ago.

  “Jeez,” said Richie, almost tripping over me.

  My shin hurt like hell.

  When we finally rounded the back of the house, I couldn’t believe it but there it was: the black car that had been parked on the street, that looked more like a limo than a car. And the driver had done just what I had thought he could do but didn’t think he would—find his way through the campus, connect with just the right street and find my alley! Two people were getting in from the passenger side, one in the front—a man—and one in the back—a woman. The driver’s door slammed and the tires tore at the cinders in the drive, the car roaring away, throwing a cloud of dust at us. But through it all I could swear I saw a face in the rear window—and it looked like Maxie—at least I guessed it did, because...well because that’s what I saw in my dreams—Maxie pulling himself up to see if I was following. And I wasn’t. That’s the way my dream went. But now I would. This time I would be following.

  Richie took off running to the front of the house to get my car, Louise right behind him. I hurried over to the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fleeing vehicle as it pulled out of the alley and onto US 40. And I did. It was heading east, toward Cambridge, maybe retracing the route they took eight years ago when they kidnapped my son.

  But this time, Maxie would not see an empty road behind him. No. He would see headlights. And those headlights would be mine.

  Part Five

  The Reckoning

  Chapter One Hundred Fourteen

  What Dreams May Come

  My dreams were playing out in front of me—Maxie’s kidnapping. And Henry and whoever was with him were headed south-southeast. Maybe on the same highway. Maybe passing the same farms and the same small towns. And I’m watching the telephone poles, counting them, wondering if Maxie had watched those same poles fly by years ago, wondering if he was watching them now.

  Richie was driving and we were staying well behind them so we could see their taillights, bright red against the darkness, and redder yet if the driver braked for a curve in the road. And they weren’t speeding. So they must not be aware that we were behind them.

  “This is good,” I tell Richie. “Don’t get any closer.”

  I called Wong. He answered on the first ring.

  “Cooper! The copter should be over your place in less than an hour,” he yelled before I had a chance to speak, the noise from the copter trying to kill his message.

  “Problem,” I said.

  “Tell me about it,” he replied sharply over the noise.

  “You’re not going to believe this but the damn guy has slipped out of the house with Maxie and Jillie. Right now he’s on Old Route 40 heading east—and we’re right behind him.”

  “Does he know you’re behind him?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. He finds out you’re following, he might run. Better he doesn’t know.” Then, “You check the house? Make sure nobody’s there?”

  “No. I jumped into the car so we wouldn’t lose them,” I confessed, realizing now that one of us should have stayed to check. “Any chance you...?” I started.

  “No problem. I’ll call the locals...” Static. “You still there?” He finally came through again.

  “Where are you?” I said.

  “Somewhere near Columbus. We got an early flight to Cleveland. FBI got us a copter at the airport.

  “We?” I said. “Who’s we?”

  “Me and Huck,” he said and I lost him for good in a storm of static.

  Chapter One Hundred Fifteen

  Maxie

  He watched the two men in the front, Henry driving and the Asp next to him. He felt the tension in his mother’s body as she pulled him against her just like when he was small—to protect him from whatever bad thing was out there. He felt like telling her she didn’t need to do that now. Because he was fifteen—a man.

  He felt for the gun in his belt. It was loaded. He had done that in the bedroom upstairs, with Joey Lewis watching. Maxie felt the coldness of the gun. Then he turned to his mother and whispered, “Everything’s going to be okay.” She nodded and leaned into his ear, whispering that she knew it would. And she patted his hand as she did and tried to smile.

  The Asp, turning and catching Jillie’s smile, smiled back like he was in on the little secret the two of them were sharing. And Maxie felt the comfort of the gun pressing against his ribs.

  Chapter One Hundred Sixteen

  Crisis

  The word, crisis, comes from the Greek word, Krisis, meaning ’decision.’ And it describes the moment I’m in right now. Our two cars, pretty much alone and now on back roads which makes it hard to remain undetected—and maybe we shouldn’t try that anymore, maybe we should get on their tail, hug their bumper and stay there, forcing the issue until... But then again, maybe we have an edge by hanging back, seeing where they go...I didn’t know. See what I mean? Decisions. Crisis.

  So I let Richie alone, keeping our distance—on a highway that I figured mirrored the way they took Maxie eight years ago—running by farm lands that were now just a wildernesses of darkness—at this late hour of the night—and running by small towns with populations of 300 people—or less—or sometimes just a store and a run-down building that used to be a store and no houses at all, anywhere. I wondered where in the hell Wong was—it’s been an hour now—and he should have caught up. I had given him our route: Old Route 40 out of Muskingum and through Cambridge.

  We jumped onto the Interstate (I-70) at Old Washington and stayed on that for a while. The driver was doing exactly the speed limit. Don’t want to get any tickets here gentlemen, you with two hostages in your car. Try explaining that one. Then he got off the Interstate where Old Route 40 picks up again just west of Morristown, Ohio, a small village of 303 (what did I tell you—small) as of the latest census (according to the sign), a town that wouldn’t be looking for hostage-takers and where they could slip through in the darkness—which is where we were now, in Morristown and heading west, and Richie, keeping the right distance where we can see the tail-lights, barely. Nobody else out this time of the morning. And I’m wondering again where the hell Wong is with his rescue helicopter. And I’m wondering how this rescue is supposed to take place. And I’m anxious. And worried. And frustrated. Because I need to get Maxie back in one piece.

  See what I mean? Crisis.

  Then I heard it. The sound of a helicopter beating in the distance. Wong!

  Moments later my cell went off.

  �
�I see two sets of tail lights on the highway,” Wong said, static in the background, again. “You hear me?”

  “Loud and clear!” And about time, I said, under my breath.

  Richie leaned back in his seat and took a large breath. “Got that right,” he said. “It’s about fucking time.”

  Chapter One Hundred Seventeen

  Maxie

  The Man turned to the side so he could still see the road ahead, and asked the Boy, who was now fifteen and no longer a boy really, “How are you doing, son?”

  Now that was shocking, because the Man, who had claimed that his father had asked him to take care of him, had never called him son before. He only called him by his first name and never that. Never son. And he didn’t say it like older people say son to a younger person. No, he said it with a different tone of voice. Like he was referring to Maxie as his son. His mother squeezed his arm when the Man called him that and turned Maxie’s head toward her and whispered, “Ignore him.”

  “I’m not your son,” the Boy who was no longer a boy said. Quietly but firmly.

  But the Man, who Maxie saw kissing his mother, said, “Oh, but yes you are, Maxie. You are.”

  Maxie noticed that the man whom he called the Asp, looked at Henry, puzzled—then he looked back at Maxie, as if he had heard this for the first time. Then he turned to the Man and whispered something—as if he were trying to confirm what he had just heard.