The Empty Chair

  The shot from Culbeau's powerful rifle poked a hole in the front of Ned's chest and the impact flung him several feet onto his back. Trey stared at Harris Tomel, only ten feet away. Each man looked about as shocked as the other and neither moved for a moment.

  Then there was a whoop like a hyena's cry from Sean O'Sarian, who lifted his soldier gun and shot Trey three times in the back. Cackling with laughter, he vanished into the field.

  "No!" Lucy screamed and lifted her pistol toward Culbeau, but by the time she fired, the men had gone for cover in the tall grass surrounding the cabin.

  ... chapter thirty-seven

  Rhyme felt the instinctive urge to drop to the ground but, of course, remained upright in the Storm Arrow wheelchair. More bullets slammed into the van where Sachs and Lucy, now face down on the grass, had been standing a moment before. Thom was on his knees, trying to work the heavy wheelchair out of the depression of soft earth where it was lodged.

  "Lincoln!" Sachs cried.

  "I'm okay. Move! Get to the other side of the van. Under cover."

  Lucy said, "But Garrett can target us from there."

  Sachs snapped back, "But he's not the one who's goddamn shooting!"

  Another shotgun blast missed them by a foot and the pellets rattled along the porch. Thom put the wheelchair in neutral and muscled it toward the cabin side of the van. "Stay low," Rhyme said to the aide, who ignored a shot that zipped past them and shattered a side window of the vehicle.

  Lucy and Sachs followed the two men to the shadowy area between the cabin and the van.

  "Why the hell're they doing this?" Lucy cried. She fired several shots, sending O'Sarian and Tomel scrabbling for cover. Rhyme couldn't see Culbeau but knew that the big man was directly in front of them somewhere. The rifle that he'd been carrying was high powered and fitted with a large telescopic sight.

  "Take the cuffs off and give me the gun," Sachs shouted.

  "Give it to her," Rhyme said. "She's a better shot than you."

  "No goddamn way!" The deputy shook her head, her expression one of astonishment at this suggestion. More bullets slapped the metal of the van, dug out chunks of wood from the porch.

  "They've got fucking rifles!" Sachs raged. "You're no match for them. Give me the gun!"

  Lucy rested her head against the side of the van and stared in shock at the slain deputies lying in the grass. "What's going on?" she muttered, crying. "What's happening?"

  Their cover--the van--wasn't going to last much longer. It protected them from Culbeau and his rifle but the other two were flanking them. In a few minutes they'd set up a cross fire.

  Lucy fired twice more--into the grass where a shotgun blast had erupted a moment before.

  "Don't waste your ammunition," Sachs ordered. "Wait till you have a clear shot. Otherwise--"

  "Shut the hell up," Lucy raged. She patted her pockets. "Lost the goddamn phone."

  "Lincoln," Thom said, "I'm taking you out of the chair. You're too much of a target."

  Rhyme nodded. The aide undid the harness, got his arms around Rhyme's chest and pulled him out, laid him on the ground. Rhyme tried to lift his head to see what was going on but a contracture--a merciless cramp--gripped his neck muscles and he had to lower his head to the grass until the pain passed. He'd never felt as stabbed by his helplessness as at this moment.

  More shots. Closer. And more insane laughter from O'Sarian. "Hey, knife lady, where are you?"

  Lucy muttered, "They're almost in position."

  "Ammo?" Sachs asked.

  "I've got three left in the chamber, one Speedloader."

  "Loaded six?"

  "Yeah."

  A shot slammed into the back of the Storm Arrow and knocked it on its side. A cloud of dust rose up around it.

  Lucy fired at O'Sarian but his giggling and the staccato response from the Colt told them that she'd missed.

  The rifle fire also told them that in only a minute or two they'd be completely flanked.

  They'd die here, shot to death, trapped in this dim valley between the shattered van and the cabin. Rhyme wondered what he would feel when the bullets tore into his body. No pain, of course, not even any pressure in his numb flesh. He glanced at Sachs, who was looking at him with a hopeless expression on her face.

  You and me, Sachs....

  Then he glanced at the front of the cabin.

  "Look," he called.

  Lucy and Sachs followed his eyes.

  Garrett had opened the front door.

  Sachs said, "Let's get inside."

  "Are you crazy?" Lucy called. "Garrett's with them. They're all together."

  "No," Rhyme said. "He's had a chance to shoot from the window. He didn't."

  Two more shots, very close. The bushes rustled nearby. Lucy lifted the pistol.

  "Don't waste it!" Sachs called. But Lucy rose and fired two fast shots at the sound. The rock one of the men had thrown to shake the bushes and trick her into presenting a target rolled into view. Lucy jumped aside just as Tomel's shotgun blast, meant for her back, streaked past, puncturing the side of the van.

  "Shit," the deputy cried. Ejecting the empty cartridges and reloading with the Speedloader.

  "Inside," Rhyme said. "Now."

  Lucy nodded. "Okay."

  Rhyme said, "Fireman's carry." This was a bad position to carry a quad in--it put stress on parts of the body that weren't used to stress, but it was faster and would expose Thom to the gunshots for the least amount of time. Rhyme was also thinking that his own body would protect Thom's.

  "No," Thom said.

  "Do it, Thom. No argument."

  Lucy said, "I'll cover you. The three of you go together. Ready?"

  Sachs nodded. Thom lifted Rhyme, cradling him like a child in his strong arms.

  "Thom--" Rhyme protested.

  "Quiet, Lincoln," the aide snapped. "We're doing this my way." "Go," Lucy called.

  Rhyme's hearing was stunned by several loud gunshots. Everything blurred as they ran up the few stairs into the cabin.

  Another several bullets cracked into the wood of the cabin as they pushed inside. A moment later Lucy rolled into the room after them and slammed the door shut. Thom set Rhyme gently on a couch.

  Rhyme had a glimpse of a terrified young woman sitting in a chair, staring at him. Mary Beth McConnell.

  Garrett Hanlon, with his red, blotched face, eyes wide with fear, sat manically clicking the fingernails of one hand and holding a pistol awkwardly in the other, as Lucy aimed the gun right in his face.

  "Give me the weapon!" she cried. "Now, now!"

  He blinked and immediately handed the gun to her. She put it in her belt and called out something. Rhyme didn't hear what; he was staring at the boy's bewildered and frightened eyes, a child's eyes. And he thought: I understand why you had to do it, Sachs. Why you believed him. Why you had to save him.

  I understand....

  He said, "Everybody okay?"

  "Fine," Sachs said.

  Lucy nodded.

  "Actually," Thom said, almost apologetically. "Not really."

  He lifted his hand away from his trim belly, revealing the bloody exit wound. Then the aide went down on his knees, hard, ripping the slacks that he'd ironed with such care just that morning.

  ... chapter thirty-eight

  Search the wound for severe hemorrhage, stop the bleeding. If possible, check the patient for shock.

  Amelia Sachs, trained in the basic NYPD first-aid course for patrol officers, bent over Thom, examining the wound.

  The aide lay on his back, conscious but pale, sweating fiercely. She clamped one hand over the wound.

  "Get these cuffs off me!" she cried. "I can't take care of him this way."

  "No," Lucy said.

  "Jesus," Sachs muttered and examined Thom's stomach as best she could with the restraints on.

  "How are you, Thom?" Rhyme blurted. "Talk to us."

  "It feels numb.... It's feeling ... It's funny ..." His eyes rolled back
under the lids and he passed out.

  A crash above their heads. A bullet tore through the wall. Followed by a thud of a shotgun blast hitting the door. Garrett handed Sachs a wad of napkins. She pressed them against the rip in Thom's belly. She slapped him gently on the face. He gave no response.

  "Is he alive?" Rhyme asked hopelessly.

  "He's breathing. Shallow. But he's breathing. Exit wound isn't too bad but I don't know what kind of damage there is inside,"

  Lucy looked out the window fast, ducked. "Why're they doing this?"

  Rhyme said, "Jim said they were into moonshine. Maybe they had their eye on this place and didn't want it found. Or maybe there's a drug lab nearby."

  "There were two men earlier--they tried to break in," Mary Beth told them. "They said they were killing marijuana fields but I guess they were growing it. They might all be working together."

  "Where's Bell?" Lucy asked. "And Mason?"

  "He'll be here in a half hour," Rhyme said.

  Lucy shook her head in dismay at this information. Then looked again out the window. She stiffened as, it seemed, she sighted a target. She lifted the pistol, aimed quickly.

  Too quickly.

  "No, let me!" Sachs cried.

  But Lucy fired twice. Her grimace told them she had missed. She squinted. "Sean's just found a can. A red can. What is that, Garrett? Gas?" The boy huddled on the floor, frozen in panic. "Garrett! Talk to me!"

  He turned toward her.

  "The red can? What's in it?"

  "It's, like, kerosene. For the boat."

  Lucy muttered, "Hell, they're going to burn us out."

  "Shit," Garrett cried. He rolled to his knees, staring at Lucy, eyes frantic.

  Sachs, alone among them, it seemed, knew what was coming. "No, Garrett, don't--"

  The boy ignored her and flung the door open and, half running, half crawling, skittered along the porch. Bullets cracked into the wood, following him. Sachs had no idea if he'd been hit.

  Then there was silence. The men moved closer to the cabin with the kerosene.

  Sachs looked around the room, filled with dust from the impact of the bullets. She saw:

  Mary Beth, hugging herself, crying.

  Lucy, her eyes filled with the devil's own hatred, checking her pistol.

  Thom, slowly bleeding to death.

  Lincoln Rhyme, on his back, breathing hard.

  You and me ...

  In a steady voice Sachs said to Lucy, "We've got to go out there. We've got to stop them. The two of us."

  "There're three of them, they've got rifles."

  "They're going to set fire to the place. And either burn us alive or shoot us when we run outside. We don't have any choice. Take the cuffs off." Sachs held out her wrists. "You have to."

  "How can I trust you?" Lucy whispered. "You ambushed us at the river."

  Sachs asked, "Ambushed? What're you talking about?"

  Lucy scowled. "What am I talking about? You used that boat as a lure and shot at Ned when he went out to get it."

  "Bullshit! You thought we were under the boat and shot at us."

  "Only after you ..." Then Lucy's voice faded, and she nodded knowingly.

  Sachs said to the deputy, "It was them. Culbeau and the others. One of them shot first. To scare you and slow you up probably."

  "And we thought it was you."

  Sachs held her wrists out. "We don't have any choice."

  The deputy looked at Sachs carefully then slowly reached into her pocket and found her cuff key. She undid the chrome bracelets. Sachs rubbed her wrists. "What's the ammunition situation?"

  "I've got four left."

  "I've got five in mine," Sachs said, taking her long-barreled Smith & Wesson from Lucy and checking the cylinder.

  Sachs looked down at Thom. Mary Beth stepped forward. "I'll take care of him."

  "One thing," Sachs said. "He's gay. He's been tested but..."

  "Doesn't matter," the girl responded. "I'll be careful. Go on."

  "Sachs," Rhyme said. "I..."

  "Later, Rhyme. No time for that now." Sachs eased to the door, looked out quickly, eyes taking in the topography of the field, what would make good cover and shooting positions. Her hands free again, gripping a hefty gun in her palm, she felt confident once more. This was her world: guns and speed. She couldn't think about Lincoln Rhyme and his operation, about Jesse Corn's death, about Garrett Hanlon's betrayal, about what awaited her if they got out of this terrible situation.

  When you move they can't getcha ...

  She said to Lucy, "We go out the door. You go left behind the van but don't stop, no matter what. Keep moving till you get to the grass. I'm going right--for that tree over there. We get into the tall grass and stay down, move forward, toward the forest, flank them."

  "They'll see us go out the door."

  "They're supposed to see us. We want them to know there're two of us out there somewhere in the grass. It'll keep 'em edgy and looking over their shoulders. Don't shoot unless you have a clear, no-miss target. Got that?... Do you?"

  "I've got it."

  Sachs gripped the doorknob with her left hand. Her eyes met Lucy's. One of them--O'Sarian, with Tomel beside him--was lugging the kerosene can toward the cabin, not paying attention to the front door. So that when the two women charged outside, splitting up and sprinting for cover, neither of them got his weapon up in time for a clear shot.

  Culbeau--back a ways so he could cover the front and sides of the cabin--must not have been expecting anybody to run either because by the time his deer rifle boomed, both Sachs and Lucy were rolling into the tall grass surrounding the cabin.

  O'Sarian and Tomel disappeared into the grass too and Culbeau shouted, "You let 'em get out. What the fuck you doing?" He fired one more shot toward Sachs--she hugged the earth--and when she looked again Culbeau too had dropped into the grass.

  Three deadly snakes out there in front of them. And no clue where they might be.

  Culbeau called, "Go right."

  One of the others responded, "Where?" She thought it was Tomel.

  "I think ... wait."

  Then silence.

  Sachs crawled toward where she'd seen Tomel and O'Sarian a moment ago. She could just make out a bit of red and she steered in that direction. The hot breeze pushed the grass aside and she saw it was the kerosene can. She moved a few feet closer and, when the wind cooperated again, aimed low and fired a bullet squarely into the bottom of the can. It shivered under the impact and bled clear liquid.

  "Shit," one of the men called and she heard a rustle of grass as, she supposed, he fled from the can, though it didn't ignite.

  More rustling, footsteps.

  But coming from where?

  Then Sachs saw a flash of light about fifty feet into the field. It was near where Culbeau had been and she realized it would be the 'scope or the receiver of his big gun. She lifted her head cautiously and caught Lucy's eye, pointed to herself and then toward the flash. The deputy nodded then gestured around to the flank. Sachs nodded.

  But as Lucy started through the grass on the left side of the cabin, running in a crouch, O'Sarian rose and, laughing again madly, began firing with his Colt. Sharp cracks filled the field. Lucy was, momentarily, a clear target and it was only because O'Sarian was an impatient marksman that he missed. The deputy dove prone, as the dirt kicked up around her, then rose and fired one shot at him, a near hit, and the small man dropped to cover, giving a whoop and calling, "Nice try, baby!"

  Sachs started forward again, toward Culbeau's sniper's nest. She heard several other shots. The pops of a revolver, then the staccato cracks of the soldier rifle, then the stunning detonation of the shotgun.

  She was worried that they'd hit Lucy but a moment later she heard the woman's voice call, "Amelia, he's coming at you."

  The pounding of feet in the grass. A pause. Rustling.

  Who? And where was he? She felt panicked, looking around dizzily.

  Then silence. A
man's voice calling something indistinct.

  The footsteps receded.

  The wind parted the grass again and Sachs saw the glint of Culbeau's telescopic sight. He was nearly in front of her, fifty feet away, on a slight rise--a good spot for him to shoot from. He could pop up out of the grass with his big gun and cover the entire field. She crawled faster, convinced that he was sighting through the powerful 'scope at Lucy--or into the cabin and targeting Rhyme or Mary Beth through the window.

  Faster, faster!

  She climbed to her feet and started to run in a crouch. Culbeau was still thirty-five feet away.

  But Sean O'Sarian, it turned out, was much closer than that--as Sachs found out when she sprinted into the clearing and tripped over him. He gasped as she rolled past him and fell onto her back. She smelled liquor and sweat.

  His eyes were manic; he looked as disconnected as a schizophrenic.

  There was an immeasurable beat and Sachs lifted her pistol as he swung the Colt toward her. She kicked backward into the grass and they fired simultaneously. She felt the muzzle blast of the three shots as he emptied the clip, all the long rounds missing. Her single shot missed too; when she rolled prone and looked for a target he was leaping through the grass, howling.

  Don't miss the opportunity, she told herself. And risked a shot from Culbeau as she rose from the grass and aimed at O'Sarian. But before she could fire, Lucy Kerr stood and shot him once as he ran directly toward her. The man's head lifted and he touched his chest. Another laugh. Then he spiraled down into the grass.

  The look on Lucy's face was shock and Sachs wondered if this had been her first kill in the line of duty. Then the deputy dropped into the grass. A moment later several shotgun blasts chewed up the vegetation where she'd been standing.

  Sachs continued on toward Culbeau, moving very fast now; it was likely that he knew Lucy's position and when she stood again he'd have a clear shot at her.

  Twenty feet, ten.

  The glint from the 'scope flashed more brightly and Sachs ducked. Cringing, waiting for his shot. But apparently the big man hadn't seen her. There was no shot and she continued on her belly, easing around to the right to flank him. Sweating, the arthritis pinching her joints hard.

  Five feet.

  Ready.

  It was a bad shooting situation. Because he was on a hill, in order to acquire a clear target she'd have to roll into the clearing on Culbeau's right, and stand. There'd be no cover. If she didn't cap his ass immediately he'd have a clear shot at her. And even if she did hit him, Tomel would have several long seconds to hit her with the scattergun.