Snow Blind

by Jim Heskett

  Interesting. Why wear it tonight?

  Janine noticed him noticing, and she withdrew her hand to run it through her hair, then she resumed her suggestive stare. Or, at least, she tried to, but the fact that they both knew she was married seemed to have affected her.

  “Rumor is they might send in helicopters if the weather doesn’t clear out.”

  “I’ve heard that too,” Layne said, “but I doubt it. Not with the wind as it is, whipping up all that snow. Visibility out there is almost nil. You’d be hard-pressed to find a pilot willing to venture out in a chopper in weather like this. Maybe snowcats, but my guess is that won’t happen either.”

  Her smile faltered. “That’s a depressing thought.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t be stuck here forever. Something will break, one way or another. I’m sure of it.”

  She nodded and traced a finger around the lip of her drink.

  “I’ve got to make a phone call,” he said, preemptively interrupting her. “I’m glad we had a chance to chat, Janine. See you around.”

  She put a hand on his arm as he made to leave. “Do you get service? I haven’t gotten service since yesterday.”

  Layne checked his phone, and he still had one winking bar. “Yep, for now. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Disappointed, she pulled her hand back. “Of course. I’ll see you in stretching class tomorrow unless a hurricane takes us all out.”

  He gave her a polite smile as he walked away, and then he saw Harry crossing the room, returning from the restroom. Layne held up his phone and nodded at it, and Harry returned a small salute.

  As Layne left the room, he turned back, and flirty-but-married Janine was still there, giving him the eye. He tried to put it out of his mind as he initiated a voice call with his ex-wife so he could speak to their daughter.

  His stomach burned with butterflies at the prospect of seeing her beautiful three-year-old face. And also, with the fear someone else might eavesdrop on their conversation.

  20

  Layne gripped the phone and tried to shift it around for better reception. Under the night air and clouds, one bar was about as good as he could get. He leaned against a nearby tree, hoping to use it as an extra antenna.

  As his daughter listed all the items she was eating for breakfast, Layne only caught a few, due to the poor service. Her face froze several times. Frustrating, but he took what he could get.

  Cameron tilted her head. “Yes, mommy.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Mommy says we have to go in two minutes.”

  “Okay, little one, I understand. I’m glad I got to talk to you.”

  Cameron’s tiny brow creased. “Mommy says you’re too busy working to come to the airport on Tuesday. Are you too busy, Daddy?”

  Layne set his jaw. “Mommy said that, huh?”

  Cameron nodded, and the glitchy internet connection caught about half of her movements.

  “I will be there, at the airport, three days from now. I promise. When you come up that escalator, you’re going to see my face by the guardrail.”

  “Okay, Daddy. Mommy says time to go.”

  Before Layne could say his goodbyes, the screen went dark. When Layne slid his phone back into his pocket, he endured that split second of anguish he always did when trying to engage in a long-distance relationship with his daughter. Joint custody with the ex was hard enough.

  He shivered among the trees as snow continued to fall on his head and shoulders. As many had predicted, the snowfall hadn’t stopped. The roads were still impassible, despite Victoria’s claim that the snow equipment would take care of it in short order.

  No one was going anywhere, at least not tonight. Probably not tomorrow, either. He wasn’t yet sure if being shut in with these people would aid or hamper his investigation of them.

  Layne pushed through the snow, sinking deeper with each step. Back home in South Fork, he had snowshoes to help him traverse the muck when it fell in sheets at his cabin. Here, no choice but to wrestle with it. His boots rose past his ankle, but snow still poured inside with every step.

  Layne headed for the edge of campus to get a look at the roads. He shuffled through the buildings, each footfall making his heart beat harder. The altitude was comparable to South Fork, but the humidity in the air added an element of effort to each movement.

  This time, when the attack happened, Layne saw it coming. Only a split second before, but that was enough. His attacker swung the baseball bat from around the edge of a darkened bungalow, and Layne leaned back, out of reach. The bat whiffed through the air, missing his face by an inch. It crashed into the exterior of the building, cracking a patch of ice clinging to the wood.

  Layne had avoided the initial swing, but leaning back put him off balance, and he tumbled into a snowdrift. A cloud of white enveloped him as the attacker leaped forward, filling Layne’s vision. In the snowy night air, the sky gray with pregnant clouds, Layne could see everything. The attacker was wearing a hoodie, but his face was clearly visible. Just as Layne had suspected, it was the man who Layne had nearly burned with coals from the sauna a few days ago. The same man he’d tailed across the campus yesterday, only to lose him when Victoria made a sudden appearance.

  Why make no effort to hide his face now?

  And, since Rudy was dead, why was this guy still after Layne? A misguided sense of justice, if he assumed Layne had killed Rudy?

  Or, maybe he wasn’t working for Rudy at all. Maybe he was Victoria’s pawn. What possible message could Victoria intend by having a masked man rough him up?

  That answer could wait a few seconds.

  As the man hovering above him raised the bat, Layne tried to scoot out of the way, but the softness of the snow made it too hard to move. The bat sailed toward his face. Layne did manage to shift a few inches, and the blow landed on his collarbone. Only grazed it though. Layne didn’t immediately assume it was broken.

  For a big guy, this attacker was lithe. Layne would have to switch from a speed strategy to something more brute force. First of all, he had to deal with the bat.

  Layne drove his knee straight up, into the guy’s crotch. He staggered back, and Layne pressed against the snow beneath him to gain leverage. He rolled over onto his stomach and then pushed himself up.

  The man readied the bat again, holding it up like a Major Leaguer poised to strike. He swung wide, and Layne was able to twist away from the blow, grab onto the bat, and push the man off balance. As the attacker stumbled, Layne popped him in the nose. Instantly bloodied. The guy didn’t let go of the bat, however, and after taking a few steps, he righted himself. As he spread his feet, Layne spun to face him.

  “I saw you, asshole,” the man said as he swiped blood from his nose with his free hand.

  “Saw me what?”

  “With her, just now, at the goddamn cocktail party. You’ve been scheming on her all week long. I’ve seen all of it.”

  Like a smack to the face, Layne put everything together. Janine, the flirty woman from the party. She’d been virtually rubbing up against Layne for days. Wearing a wedding ring tonight, for the first time Layne had seen so far.

  This man had to be her husband.

  Not related to Rudy Costello at all. Not related to any sinister plan from Victoria. Just a jealous husband, taking things way too far.

  Layne let out a little chuckle, small and under his breath, but the guy’s face twisted up in rage, anyway.

  “What the hell is your problem? You think this is a damn joke?”

  Layne raised his fists. “It’s not what you think it is. I’m not chasing your wife, and I’ve got no interest in stepping in the middle of some marital squabble.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Put the bat down, man, and walk away. I get why you’re angry, but you’ve got the wrong idea. Let go of the bat before you make a big mistake. You didn’t get to soften me up with a hit to the head this time, so I’m not an easy target tonight.”

  �
�I could still take you.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll do what I have to do if you don’t stop.”

  “Doesn't matter to me how big you are, Lenny. I’ve taken down shitheads a lot tougher than you.”

  The man raised the bat again, and Layne could see he wasn’t going to talk this bruiser down from the ledge. Layne sprung into action. He went straight for the guy, using the element of surprise. With one hand, he jabbed his palm at the guy’s chin. He stole the bat away with the other, a split second after the punch connected. The whole assault lasted only a fraction of a second.

  Now without a weapon, the man staggered. Bewildered that Layne had disarmed him. Layne used the brief pause to step back and steady himself on his feet. He held the bat across his body, mainly to use defensively in case the guy came after him again.

  “That’s enough,” Layne said. “Seriously. You caught me off guard last time, but you will not walk away from this if you keep pressing me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Son of a bitch!” the guy yelled, and he charged at Layne. Layne raised the bat, holding it out from his body. He pivoted to his right, guiding his attacker along a path to make him twist. He readied himself to jab the handle of the bat into the guy’s stomach, but then, he heard crunching in the nearby snow.

  “Freeze!”

  The attacker halted. Layne turned to see two security guards standing twenty feet away, swathed in gigantic furry jackets. Holding stun batons.

  INTERLUDE 2

  London | Six years ago

  Layne stands outside the door to the warehouse, the wet London ocean air kissing the exposed flesh of his arms. Oleg hovers next to him, and Alicia kneels, unzipping a backpack on the ground. She withdraws a smaller pouch from inside the pack. Layne catches only a glimpse of the items as she removes and inventories each one. Wires, plastic explosives, detonators. She works quickly and cleanly, part of what makes her so damned effective at her job.

  She notices him noticing, and flashes a broad smile at him. The pure joy on her face makes him feel a stab of guilt. Daphne will fire her after this operation. Maybe as soon as later on tonight. Of course, Alicia is talented and ruthless and ambitious. Another agency will snap her up in a heartbeat. But still, he feels guilty knowing her future since she has no idea. Part of him knows what will happen to her is not right.

  Also, that she won’t be happy about being cut from the team. She might lash out.

  He’s seen her ugly side before.

  “If this goes well,” she whispers, “you’re going to buy me two beers for jilting me yesterday at Salty Wench.”

  “I can do that.”

  Oleg flashes his eyes at them and drags a finger across his throat. Alicia offers an apologetic shrug and finishes removing the items she needs from the pack. She gives the two men present a small salute and then disappears into the night. As she dashes around the side of the warehouse, Layne watches her go. Her job is to provide demolitions at the other end of the building. The main distraction, and the most dangerous role on the team.

  A full minute passes with nothing but radio silence. Layne listens to the sounds of the city. The vehicle traffic, the pedestrians, the general buzz, the echoing sound of music drifting across the water, from a far-off pub somewhere. Maybe playing on a covered patio to Londoners in boots and rain slickers.

  Oleg slowly zips up his jacket and nods at the door lock. "Any second now," he whispers.

  Something isn’t right about this. The hairs on the back of Layne's neck stand tall, and it isn’t because of the damp air. Something bad is going to happen on the other side of those warehouse walls.

  Oleg’s walkie-talkie chirps twice, and then he lifts his fingers in the air, signaling time to go. Somewhere on the other end of the warehouse, an explosion rumbles. A brief light brightens up the darkness.

  "Now," Oleg says, lowering his AR-15.

  Layne kicks in the warehouse door and sprints inside. Bullets whizz past his ears, but the smoke from the exterior explosion has filled the interior of the room. Harry's heat map analysis suggested all the bad guys will be at the northern side of the warehouse, so Layne isn’t too worried about getting shot. Maybe they heard the door and can pinpoint him, but more likely, they’re flying blind.

  He lays down ground fire while Oleg skirts around the edge of the warehouse. Layne’s AR spits bullets for a full three seconds until the magazine clicks empty.

  According to the plan, Alicia should've waited until Layne finished setting suppressing fire before entering. Hopefully, he didn't just cut her down, too. He doesn’t think he has. The three of them have rehearsed this invasion scenario dozens of times, and they’ve conducted live-fire variations in the field in almost as many iterations.

  A second later, Layne notes a headlamp streaming through the smoke. Alicia. She fires off a few rounds from her direction, as more of a directional calling card than an actual attempt to kill the hostiles.

  Layne pops in a fresh magazine while he edges closer to her. They’ve also practiced this crossfire maneuver dozens, or maybe hundreds of times. It’s all second nature, and Layne doesn’t even have to think about it.

  But something feels wrong tonight.

  Layne can’t shake the feeling. His next burst of gunfire returns some shouts and howls, so Layne knows he’s hitting his targets. Still not sure where they are or how many he’s facing, the fact that he hasn’t been sliced in two by a hail of bullets is a good sign their numbers are low.

  As the smoke dies down, Layne can view along the warehouse interior stacks of pallets, some cages, and a cluster of armed men all hiding behind a forklift in the southeast corner. They’ve chosen to band together instead of fanning out. Interesting. Layne’s not sure if this is preferable or a bad sign. Depends on what they do next.

  “There!” Layne says, flicking his fingers in that direction.

  Oleg maneuvers around a pallet, putting it between himself and the hostiles. It might absorb bullets, it might not.

  "I've got this," Alicia says, strafing in the opposite direction.

  Layne charges directly ahead, keeping his body low, squeezing the AR’s trigger often enough to keep them pinned behind that forklift. He has one other spare mag, and it’s in his back pocket. Better to conserve the current one and not have to reach for it.

  After a few seconds, he and his teammates all pause shooting to get a handle on the situation. Silence spreads as the gunfire dies down.

  And then, breaking the silence, Layne hears it. The telltale snick of a grenade’s pin being removed. Judging from the way the sound echoed, he figures he’s closer to the forklift than he originally thought.

  “Fire in the hole," shouts Layne as he backpedals to put some distance between his current position and where he thinks they’ll toss it.

  But the grenade doesn’t soar through the air as he expected. For a brief moment, nothing happens. Time seems frozen. And then, the forklift erupts, a burst of fire enveloping it. Layne flies backward from the force of the explosion. His limbs twist, and he lands awkwardly, the nose of his AR jabbing into his stomach when it hits the cement floor.

  He needs a second to process what happened. They blew themselves up? Or did they try to throw it and miss?

  "Team, report," Oleg shouts.

  "Here!" says Alicia.

  Layne, on his stomach, manages to turn over. He checks himself for injuries. Nothing feels broken, and he doesn’t sense any major blood loss, but he can feel scrapes and cuts all over his body. His stomach aches from nearly being impaled on his rifle.

  “Here," Layne says, rising to his feet. He spots Oleg and Alicia, both of them in a similarly disheveled and confused state. Then, when he sees the flames, his eyes whip around to locate a fire extinguisher. There’s one on the nearby wall, and he rushes to grab it. He unleashes a torrent of white foam toward the forklift, and the flames dissipate within a few seconds.

  Once it's spent, he drops the extinguisher and joins his teammates.
He inspects them for injuries. Nothing too serious, some cuts, mostly. A chunk of metal the size of a business card is sticking out of Alicia’s right arm, but she barely even winces.

  “You need medical,” Layne says.

  She shrugs him off. “Later. I’ll manage for now.”

  Oleg points at the cages, a half dozen of them in one corner of the warehouse. Layne and the team knew they would be empty. Otherwise they wouldn’t have entered with guns blazing.

  But, they’re not totally empty. What they do find inside those cages is much worse than the Russian captives they’re seeking.

  Layne crouches next to one cage. Inside are dozens of bones. The burnt and charred remains of a five or six bodies, maybe more. Some are in a worse state than others. The disparity suggests they weren’t all burned here. Some were killed in another location, maybe burned there as well, and then brought here.

  “Holy shit,” Alicia says, skulking around the cages. “This is… what the hell is this?”

  Why they bothered to keep the bones of dead people in cages makes no sense. Layne doesn’t even know how to respond to Alicia’s question.

  “Control,” Oleg says into his walkie. “We need Harry to get the forensics team in here. It’s a massacre.”

  Something catches Layne’s eye. One bone—a leg bone—sitting at the edge of one cage has a strange marking imprinted along an edge. Like a circle.

  He snakes a hand in between the bars of the cage and retrieves the bone. Next to it sits a tiny, rusted screw, likely the tool the captive used to make the carving.

  “What’s that?” Alicia says.

  “Not sure.” Layne turns it over, and he discovers the circle isn’t a circle, but a small symbol. A carving shaped like a circle on the bottom half, and the top half pointy. A cartoonish version of a circle on fire.