He handed her a flashlight, and motioned her to go first. Taking a breath, she ducked inside and crawled in a few feet. She found herself in a ribbed tube of galvanized metal; cold, but surprisingly clean. Jack came in after her, pulling the wall closed behind him. She turned on the flashlight as darkness engulfed them.
"Shine that over here a sec," he said.
He set some sort of latch on the panel section, then wriggled past her. He took the flashlight and began crawling down the tunnel.
"This way."
"Do I have a choice?" she said, wondering where and when this night would end.
16
"We must accomplish this very quickly," Baker heard Muhallal say as they approached the front door.
The Arab kept looking up and down the road, as if searching for signs of life. Nothing but darkness out there.
"Worried about someone calling the cops?" Baker said.
"Yes. Of course. I am not a citizen, and I have no diplomatic immunity. My arrest would cause great embarrassment to… to my organization."
And just what is your organization? Baker wondered. He'd been trying to figure that one out since this whole thing started.
"Not to worry," Baker said. "This won't take long at all."
"And don't forget—"
"I know, I know. Don't hurt the girl."
"That is correct. Do anything you wish to the man, but she must not be harmed."
If he tells me once more… Baker thought.
"You come over here with me," he whispered to Muhallal as he directed his men to spread out on either side of the front door.
Always a good idea to keep the guy paying the bills out of the line of fire.
He gave Briggs the go-ahead. The big guy pushed open the door and leaped inside with his weapon ranging back and forth before him. The others rushed in behind him.
Baker waited half a minute or so with Muhallal, watching the lights go on all through the house, then motioned him to follow him inside.
Was this where the Clayton broad's muscle lived? Place looked like a dump.
"Front bedroom clear," said Briggs, emerging from a hallway.
"Rear bedroom clear," said Toro, following him.
Seconds later Kenny pounded up the stairs from the basement and came through the kitchen. "Cellar's deserted," he said.
"What the fuck?" Baker said, scratching his head. He stepped to the far end of the dining area and pulled up a window. He had a bad moment when he didn't see Barlowe and DeMartini—had they ended up like Mott and Richards?—but then he spotted them.
"Anybody come out the back?" he called.
"Negative," Barlowe said.
Baker turned and looked around. "Shit. We know they were in here. We saw them."
He saw the Arab fucker watching him,, judging him. If he blew this and let them get away…
"Hey, looky here," said Perkowski from the hall. He was pointing the barrel of his weapon at a string hanging from the ceiling.
"Well, well, well," Baker said as he brushed past Muhallal for a closer look. "What have we here? Looks like we got us a pull-down staircase."
"Looks like we got us a wall safe too," said Briggs as he pulled a black velvet painting of a tiger off the living room wall.
"We'll check it later," Baker said. "Right now, I think we've got a certain rat cornered real good."
He wanted this guy… wanted him sooo bad.
He raised his Tec and gave Perkowski the go-ahead to pull the string. "Do it."
Perkowski pulled and the ceiling door swung down.
Baker crouched, ready to fire at the first sound, the first sight of anything threatening. But nothing moved in that rectangle of darkness.
Perkowski unfolded the attached ladder. As it hit the floor, something black started sliding down a track fixed to the upper rungs.
Baker took a second or two to recognize the thing as a little cannon.
"Back!" he shouted.
… And felt foolish when the little cannon reached the end of its track and stopped with a jolt, popping a red flag from its muzzle.
Yellow letters spelled out, "bang!"
Wait till I get you, fucker, Baker thought, glaring up the ladder as Perkowski and Toro laughed. Put the hurt on you… big time.
"Got ourselves a comedian, we do," Perkowski said.
"A real clown," Toro said.
Perkowski started up the ladder, holding his Tec ahead of him. "I hate clowns."
"Be careful, Perk," Toro said. "Remember Mott and Richards."
"Oh, don't worry," Perkowski said. "Richards was a friend of mine. I remember just fine."
Perkowski's head and his Tec were swallowed by the dark opening, then he barked a harsh, humorless laugh.
"Oh. Yeah. This guy's a real clown."
"What is it?" Baker said, climbing up behind Perkowski.
Standing on a lower rung, he had to stretch against Perk's back to get his eyes to floor level. A quick look-see showed him half a dozen toy cannons, identical to the one on the ladder, arrayed on either side of the opening. A string ran up to a naked bulb directly overhead.
Baker ducked and dropped back to the floor.
"I don't like the looks of this," he said. "Get down from there."
"Aw, just some more of the clown's funny business," Perkowski said, reaching for the light string. "Let's shed some light on the subject."
"I wouldn't—" Baker started to say, but was drowned out by the deafening roar of half a dozen shotgun shells firing at once.
Perkowski's body—his head and arms a bloody ruin—hurtled from the ladder and landed on Toro.
Fury overtook Baker then. Another of his men down! The son of a bitch!
He raised his Tec-9 and began firing. He stitched all thirty-two rounds into the ceiling that ran along the hall, and was flipping the clip to spray another thirty-two when a hand grabbed his arm.
"The woman!" It was Muhallal, his expression a mixture of anger and fright. "You'll kill the woman!"
Baker was about to tell him to fuck off when howls of pain started from the living room. He wheeled around the corner to find Briggs writhing in agony with his hand in the wall.
"What the fuck?" Baker said.
"The wall safe!" Briggs gasped. "It wasn't locked. I saw some cash inside, but when I reached in, it spiked me!"
Baker saw blood oozing out of the circular opening and dripping down the wall.
"You jerk!"
"You gotta get me outta this thing, man!" Briggs wailed. "I think I'm spiked through. It's killin' me!"
Shit! Baker thought. What else could go wrong?
That was when the beeping started.
Everybody froze. Even Briggs stopped his yelping.
The beeping… it was coming from the beat-up stereo cabinet across the room. Kenny stepped over to it and pulled open the doors.
An LED display was doing a countdown in big red digits, beeping as each new number appeared.
… 58… 57… 56...
Kenny knelt for a closer look, then jumped back.
"Christ, Sam, it's a bomb!"
Baker froze for an instant, then stepped closer. Kenny didn't know bombs; that was his domain.
Baker felt his scalp crawl when he recognized a brick of C-4. He knew the stuff. He'd used it when he wired that lawyer's car. And this brick had a lot of wires running in and out of it.
…45… 44… 43…
"Well, don't just stand there, Sam!" Kenny shouted. "Defuse it!"
"In less than a minute? Afraid not."
… 40… 39…
Behind Baker, Briggs started wailing, calling on God and his mother for help.
"I'm outta here!" Toro said, and headed for the door.
"Hey!" Briggs cried. "Where y'goin'? Hey, guys—don't leave me here with a bomb! Please, guys! Please!" The last was a drawn-out wail.
… 36… 35…
Baker noticed the Arab heading for the door and wasn't surprised. He wanted to follow, wanted v
ery much to be far from that bomb, but…
"Sam?" Kenny said, looking spooked. "Shouldn't we be—?"
"You got your knife?" Baker said, pulling his big Special Forces blade from its sheath.
… 32… 31…
"Sure," Kenny said.
"Then get it out and come over here. Move!"
"Hey, Baker!" Briggs said, wide-eyed as he saw them rushing at him with drawn knives. "What you gonna do?"
"I oughta, cut your arm off for sticking your hand where it doesn't belong," Baker said, stopping on Briggs's right. "And I may have to yet, but let's try something else first. Lean back." He slapped the wall on the other side of Briggs, above and to the left of the level of the safe, and told Kenny, "Cut a hole there. Do it!"
…28… 27…
"We'll never get this safe out of the wall!" Kenny said, his voice a couple of notches higher than usual.
"I know," Baker said.
He went to work on the wall directly above the safe, punching a hole in the plasterboard with the butt of his knife. Once he had the hole, he reversed the blade and used the saw-toothed edge to cut over to a stud, then angle down.
…24… 23…
He tried to keep looking cool, couldn't let Kenny think he was scared, but his heart was going like a jackhammer and he could feel sweat breaking out all over his body.
As soon as Baker's blade reached the top of the safe, he hauled back and punched the plasterboard, popping the cut piece into the wall space.
Baker glanced over and saw his nephew hacking furiously at his spot on the wall. His face was waxy-white, making his red hair look like fire, but he was getting the job done. "Do it, Kenny!"
… 20… 19…
"I don't want to die because Briggs is stupid, Sam," Kenny said as Baker went to work on the section above and to the right of the top of the safe.
"Neither do I, kid. But you don't leave one of your guys behind if you can help it. Even if he's an asshole."
That had been one of the rules in SOG. A man went down behind the lines, you risked almost everything to extract him.
…16… 15…
He heard Kenny punch through, and then he was through with his second opening. He stood on tiptoe and peered into the hole. He needed more light.
"Kenny, get that lamp over here."
"Sam…"
Damn, his nephew was practically whining.
I know how you feel kid, but you gotta hang in here with me. Don't let me down.
"Do it!"
…12… 11…
Kenny picked up the lamp and held it high with shaky hands.
Now Baker could see, and he spotted the powerful spring that had powered the spike into Briggs's arm.
"There's the sucker," he said.
…08… 07…
He reached in and inserted the point of his blade under the bottom of the spring. His own hand was beginning to shake, and the point slipped off the spring.
"Come on! Come on!"
He positioned the point again, then grunted as he threw all his strength into levering that spike out of the safe. It moved, and he heard air hiss through Briggs's teeth as the spike slowly withdrew from his flesh.
… 04 … 03…
With a piercing cry, Briggs yanked his bloody arm from the safe and began a headlong dash toward the front door.
Kenny was right behind him. Baker brought up the rear, leaping off the front steps and pushing Kenny to the ground.
"Hit the deck!" he shouted.
17
"Where are we?" Alicia said as Jack helped her up the ladder from the tunnel. "Take a look." Alicia turned in a slow circle to get her bearings. They'd emerged in the center of a clump of bushes bordering a potato field. Fifty feet to her right, she saw the white rented car, parked where they had left it. Beyond the car lay Jack's ranch house, with every window lit.
"We're across the street," she said.
"Right."
"Are we going to—?"
Alicia jumped as a booming retort echoed from the house, followed by a burst of machine-gun fire.
"My God, what happened?"
"Somebody just became cannon fodder, I imagine," Jack said.
"You mean dead?"
He nodded. "Most likely. I told you, it's my decoy place. Booby-trapped to within an inch of its life."
She looked at Jack. She'd grown to like him, even trust him during the short time she'd known him—unusual for her, because her list of trusted people was a short one—but there was so much she didn't know about him. And here was something she hadn't realized—maybe she'd guessed it, but hadn't wanted to confront it: beneath that unprepossessing, low-key, regular-guy surface was someone willing and able to kill when necessary.
And he was standing only a foot away. Her mouth went dry. She took a step back.
"You… killed one of them?" She tried to make out his expression in the dark.
"I like to think he killed himself—by being someplace he had no right being, doing something he had no right doing."
Alicia felt weak and shaky inside. She took another step back. "This is—very scary."
"You worried about them?" he said.
"I'm not a killer."
"But they are," he said softly, his eyes on the house, not her. "They killed your PI, they burned Benny the Torch alive, and they blew up your lawyer. What was his name again?"
"Weinstein… Leo Weinstein."
God, she'd almost forgotten about poor Leo.
"Okay. They blew him to pieces. And for what? For doing his job. You think Mrs. Weinstein would object to her husband's killers getting a dose of what Leo got? I don't think so."
"I wouldn't know about Mrs.—"
But Jack wasn't listening. He kept talking, his voice getting lower and colder.
"But I'm not doing this for Mrs. Weinstein, or your PI, or even for Benny the Torch, who I knew in a small way. I'm doing this for me and, whether you like it or not, you."
"Not for me," Alicia said. "I never wanted—"
"Because they're killers. And once you get on the wrong side of killers—and trust me, we're both on their wrong side—the only way to deal with them is to get them before they get you. If you don't, I guarantee you'll regret it. Because someday they'll find you—maybe by accident, maybe on purpose, but someday your paths could cross and then they'll snuff you out without hesitation. Or at least they'll try to."
Jack's casual, matter-of-fact tone chilled her.
What have I got myself into?
"Here they come," he said.
Alicia looked and saw two figures charging out the front door. She recoiled when he grabbed her arm, but he held her firmly.
"This way," Jack said. "And stay low."
In a crouch, he guided her to the car and carefully opened the driver side door. The courtesy lights stayed off—now she understood why he'd jammed the button with a toothpick. He motioned her in ahead of him.
"Crawl across and keep your head down," he whispered.
He got in beside her and eased the door shut. He inserted the key in the ignition but didn't turn it. Instead he leaned close to her and stared at the house.
"Now… watch. Won't be long."
18
Fighting panic, Kemel crouched by the flat rear tire of the rusting truck in the front yard and watched the house. The mercenary he'd followed here huddled beside him.
How could so many things go wrong in one evening? How was it possible?
Earlier he had been upset, especially after learning that two of the guards had been killed. Two corpses could lead the police directly to Kemel, and thus to Iswid Nahr. He would be humiliated before Khalid Nazer. Baker had said he would make the corpses "disappear," but how much of that was bravado?
Perhaps none. Kemel had to admit that he had been quite impressed with the way Baker handled his men. They seemed well trained and responded with military precision to his commands. And he'd had the foresight to plant a tracer on the Clayton woman.
&
nbsp; Baker was rising in his estimation. If only he weren't so headstrong…
But then the situation had rapidly deteriorated. One dead, another pinned in the house like an animal in a trap, and the house ready to explode in a few seconds.
And where was Baker now? Why was he still in the house? Was he trying to defuse the bomb?
Suddenly the mercenary who had been trapped, the one they called Briggs, burst through the front doorway closely followed by Baker and a redheaded mercenary.
Briggs ran toward the pickup while Baker and the other flattened themselves in the grass. Kemel ducked and held his ears.
A second later he faintly heard a retort—sharp, quick, like a shot.
After waiting a few more heartbeats and hearing no explosion, Kemel cautiously raised his head enough to see over the pickup's rear cargo bed. He saw Briggs standing on the far side, holding his bloody arm.
"You sons of bitches!" Briggs shouted. "You lousy fucking bastards! You left me in there to be blown to hell and the only thing that exploded was a firecracker!"
"What?" said the mercenary beside Kemel as he rose to his feet.
"That's right, Toro!" Briggs screamed as he staggered toward them. "A fucking M-80! And look at you assholes hiding behind that truck like the yellow-bellied rats you are!"
One of the mercenaries who had been guarding the rear of the house ran up to the truck.
"What the hell's going on?" He stared at Briggs's bloody arm. "What happened to you?"
"You want to know?" Briggs said. "Toro, tell DeMartini how you—"
"Run!"
Kemel glanced toward the house and saw Baker on his feet, backpedaling and pulling the redheaded mercenary around to the side of the house.
"Get away from the truck!"
The other three mercenaries weren't paying attention, but Kemel decided if Baker was running, so would he—as fast as he could.
"Yeah!" Briggs shouted behind him as Kemel turned and sprinted away. "Run! You yellow-bellied Arab rat! Run before I—"
The explosion caught Kemel by surprise. One moment he was running, the next he was flying, as if a giant hand had slammed against his back and hurled him through the air. The night was full of sound and light and flying metal.