Wild Fire

I could see Madox now, standing near my feet, and Carl standing near Kate, pointing the shotgun at her.

  Luther was off to my right side, holding the wand, which he was slapping into his hand, as though it were a billy club that he was thinking about swinging at my head.

  The other security guy, Derek, was someplace I couldn’t see from where I was lying, but I figured he’d repositioned himself behind my head with his M16 pointing down at me.

  The only good news here was that Madox, for some reason, hadn’t just opened fire.

  He seemed to sense what I was thinking and said to me, “If you’re wondering why I’m taking all this time and trouble with you two, the answer is I need some information from you. Also, I don’t want blood on this Persian carpet.”

  Both those reasons sounded good.

  Madox instructed, “Take off your belt.”

  I unbuckled it, pulled it through the loops, and tossed it aside.

  He said to Derek, “Shackle him,” and Derek ordered, “Raise your legs.”

  I raised my legs, and Derek slapped the ankle bracelets on and locked them in place. I was surprised how heavy they were, and I dropped my legs, causing the shackles to rattle.

  Luther pulled the pen out of my shirt pocket, then passed the wand over me. My zipper also set it off, so Luther stuck the wand down my pants and said, “No brass balls, Colonel.”

  Everyone got a little chuckle out of that, except me and Kate.

  It occurred to me that I’d pissed off everyone in this room—maybe including Kate—and that though they’d been mostly professional so far, it could get very personal very quickly. So I thought, for my wife’s sake, I should try to keep my mouth shut.

  I looked over at Kate, who was lying about ten feet from me, also on her back, and also wearing shackles. We made eye contact, and I said to her, “It’s going to be okay when they get here.”

  “I know.”

  Of course, it wasn’t a matter of “when” but a matter of “if.”

  Madox barked, “Shut up. Speak only when spoken to.” He said to Luther, “Frisk him again.”

  Luther did a rough frisk, going so far as to stick his thumb in my testicles, then said, “Clean.”

  Madox moved to the bar and started going through our jackets, credentials, shoes, and belts, then he dumped the contents of Kate’s handbag on the bar and rummaged through the items. He said to us, “I count six fully loaded magazines. Did you think you were going to have a firefight?”

  The other three idiots laughed.

  I couldn’t resist saying, “Fuck you.”

  Madox informed me, “That’s what your friend Harry kept saying. Fuck you. Fuck you. Do you have anything intelligent to say?”

  “Yeah. You’re still under arrest.”

  He thought that was funny and said, “So are you.”

  Madox was still going through our things on the bar, and I saw him take the batteries out of our cell phones, then examine my pen. He still hadn’t found Kate’s BearBanger, so I hoped she still had it.

  Madox said, “Well, here’s Detective Muller’s credential case. John, why do you have that?”

  “To give it to his family.”

  “I see. And who’s going to give your badge to your family after you’re dead?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “You wish it was.”

  He had our notebooks now, and I knew he couldn’t read my notes because no one, myself included, can read my handwriting. But he said to Kate, whose handwriting is very neat, “I see you have a logical mind. Rare for a woman.”

  She replied, of course, “Fuck you.”

  He ignored that as he flipped through her notebook. “Kate, does anyone know you’re here?”

  “Just the FBI and the state police, who are on their way.”

  “If there was anything like that happening at state police headquarters, I’d know about it.”

  That was not what we wanted to hear.

  He asked me, “John, what do they know at 26 Fed?”

  “Everything.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then don’t ask.”

  “You were seen speaking to Harry, Friday afternoon as you both got on the elevator at 26 Fed. What did you speak about?”

  I really didn’t want to hear that Bain Madox had a source inside 26 Federal Plaza.

  “John?”

  “We didn’t talk business.”

  “All right . . . I’m a little pressed for time, John, so we can continue this later.”

  “Later is good.”

  “But I’m not going to be so nice later.”

  “You’re not so nice now, Bain.”

  He laughed and said, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, pal.”

  I advised him, “Go fuck yourself.”

  He was standing directly over me now, with those hawk eyes staring down at me like he was in flight and he’d spotted an injured animal on the ground.

  He said to me, “There are two kinds of interrogations. I don’t know about you, John, but I actually prefer the kind without blood and broken bones, and screams for mercy.” He turned from me and said, “Kate? How about you?”

  She didn’t reply.

  He continued on that subject. “Also, there are two ways to go through the wood chipper—dead or alive.” He informed us, “Putyov went through dead because that was just a killing of convenience. But you two piss me off. However, if you cooperate, I’ll give you my word of honor that you’ll have a quick, merciful death by a gunshot to the head before you go through the wood chipper and become bear food. Okay? Deal? John? Kate?”

  I couldn’t quite see what was in that deal for me, but to buy a little time, I said, “Deal.”

  “Good.” Madox said, “All right, you asked to see my ELF transmitter. So, I’ll show it to you.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I’ll just take those lists of your houseguests and staff, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “John, this is not funny.”

  It was Madox speaking, but it could just as well have been Kate.

  I could see and hear all four men moving around the room, then Madox said, “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Corey, you can stand now. Hands on your heads.”

  I began to sit up and grimaced from the pain in my ribs, which was not imaginary anymore. I put my hand behind my back to push up, palmed the BearBanger, and stuck it in the back of my tightie whities, then got to my feet. So far, so good.

  I turned toward Kate, who was standing and looking at me. I said to her, “You’re going to have to bear up later.”

  She nodded.

  Madox reminded me, “Shut up.” He glanced at his watch, then said to Carl, “Let’s move out.”

  Carl ordered, “Follow me. Ten-foot intervals.”

  Carl headed toward the open doors of the card room, and Madox said to us, “Move. Hands on your heads.”

  We followed Carl.

  I had never walked in shackles, and even though there was some slack in the chain, it wasn’t easy to put one foot in front of the other, and I found myself shuffling, like the men on the chain gang. Plus, the metal was already chafing my bare ankles.

  Also, my beltless pants were dropping, and I had to hitch them up a few times, which caused Luther to shout, “Hands on your head!”

  I could see that Kate, ahead of me, was having a lot of difficulty walking, and she almost stumbled. But her tight jeans held up, and she kept her hands on her head.

  I didn’t know who was following, so I glanced over my shoulder and saw Madox about ten feet behind me, his Colt .45 in his hand, swinging at his side.

  Luther was bringing up the rear with his M16 rifle at the ready. Derek, the air horn victim, had stayed back in the bar, and he was collecting everything that was taken from us.

  Madox said to me, “The next time you turn around, you’ll be sprouting a third eye in the middle of your forehead. Understand?”

  I think I understood what he was saying.

  S
o, as it turned out, Mr. Bain Madox was not so charming, well mannered, or even civilized. Goes to show you. Actually, I think I liked him better this way—gloves off, all pretenses dropped, and, more important, he was taking us to the ELF transmitter.

  Carl halted in the middle of the card room, and Madox said, “Stop.”

  Kate and I did as we were told, and I looked around. On one wall was a big dartboard whose target was a full-color photo of Saddam Hussein’s face.

  Madox reminded me, “You asked when the war was going to start. Well, the operational date is March 15—the ides of March—give or take a day or two for glitches. But I’m starting it early. In less than an hour.”

  “Are we getting dinner first?”

  Luther, at least, thought that was funny.

  Madox, who was ahead of me now, seemed a little tense, or maybe preoccupied, and didn’t reply to my question.

  Anyway, Carl had slung his shotgun over his shoulder, and I got a good look at it. It was a Browning automatic shotgun, probably 12-gauge, and it would fire five rounds as quickly as you could pull the trigger and stay on your feet. For Carl, that would be no problem.

  Madox’s Colt .45 automatic held seven rounds in the clip and one in the chamber. The gun was notoriously inaccurate, but if a blunt-nosed .45 slug hit you anyplace, you’d go airborne, and as my ex-military buddies liked to say, “It’s the fall that kills you.”

  Luther’s M16 was another animal altogether. Very accurate at medium distances, and if Luther was carrying the fully automatic version, it could spray twenty steel-jacketed rounds at you in less time than it took to say, “Holy shit, I’m dead.”

  In any case, we’d lost Derek, the air horn guy, who probably had an appointment with an ear doctor, and now Kate and I had to contend with only three guys. But they weren’t your normal run-of-the-mill street scum—like my Hispanic friends who sort of closed their eyes when they fired at me, or the Mideastern gentlemen who, I honestly believe, can’t be trying to hit anyone when they fire their AK-47s.

  Anyway, not only were these three guys paramilitary but Kate and I were shackled, beltless, barefoot, and in a tight spot.

  Bottom line, this was not the time to go BearBanger. And I hoped Kate understood that.

  Also, we needed to get to the ELF transmitter.

  I noticed that Carl was reaching under the big, round card table. Then he stepped back. As I watched, the table began to lift, and I could hear the humming of an electric motor as the table continued to rise along with the round rug beneath it and the circular section of the floor beneath the rug. I could see now the hydraulic piston that was lifting everything, and when the table legs, rug, and floor section were about five feet from floor level, it stopped, leaving a hole in the floor about four feet in diameter.

  Carl sat on the floor with his legs dangling into the hole, then disappeared. Soon, a light came out of the dark space.

  Madox said, “Kate, you first.”

  She hesitated, and he moved quickly toward her, grabbed her arm, and propelled her forward toward the opening in the floor.

  She almost fell because of the shackles, and I said to Madox, “Take it easy, asshole.”

  He looked at me and said, “One more word out of you, and she will be sorry. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  Madox held Kate’s arm and maneuvered her to the edge of the opening, saying, “It’s a spiral staircase. Hold the rails and move quickly.”

  Kate sat on the floor and grabbed a rope handle hanging from the underside of the elevated floor, then descended into the hole.

  Madox motioned me toward the opening. “Let’s go.”

  I felt Luther give me a shove, and I realized that this half-wit was too close for his own safety, and Madox yelled at him, “Get back, you idiot!”

  I said to Madox, “I won’t hurt him.”

  As I started toward the hole, Madox, who was no idiot, moved away from me and aimed his Colt .45. “Stop.”

  I stopped.

  A few seconds later, Carl’s voice called out, “Clear.”

  Madox informed me, “Kate is on the floor, and Carl has his shotgun aimed at her head. Just so you know.” He pointed to the opening. “Go.”

  I sat on the floor and lowered myself, feet and shackles first, into the hole until I felt the first step. I knew that once Kate and I were down in this subterranean area, no one on the ground was going to find us.

  Madox said, “Let’s go, John. I’m on a tight schedule.”

  I descended the spiral staircase, which wrapped around the hydraulic piston. It was not that easy to move in shackles, but my hands were free, so I held both rails and mostly slid down.

  On that subject, if Madox intended to handcuff us at some point, then I’d have to make a move before that happened. I knew Kate also understood that.

  It was about twenty feet to the floor below, the height of a two-story building, and I guessed without too much thinking that this was the fallout shelter.

  At the bottom of the spiral staircase was a round, concrete room, lit with bare fluorescent bulbs.

  Opposite the last step, about ten feet away, was a shiny steel bank-vault door embedded in the concrete wall.

  Behind me, Carl said, “Facedown.”

  I turned and saw Carl at the other end of the round space, pointing his shotgun at Kate, who was lying facedown on the floor.

  This might have been a good time to make a move, but before I could decide, Carl aimed his shotgun close to Kate’s head and shouted, “Three! Two—!”

  I got down on the cold concrete floor, and Carl yelled, “Clear!”

  I heard Madox scrambling down the spiral staircase as though he’d practiced this a few times.

  He said, “John, I think one of you has to go.”

  I didn’t reply.

  A few seconds went by, and I heard Luther’s boots on the stairs, then the hissing sound of the hydraulic piston, and finally the table and floor dropping into place.

  Luther was down the spiral stairs, and Madox said to him, “Open the door.”

  I heard the vault wheel click, then a small squeak as the heavy door swung open.

  Madox told me, “John, no matter what move you make, or try to make, Kate is the first to get shot.” He said to Carl and Luther, “You got that? If Corey makes a move, you shoot Kate. I’ll take care of Mr. Corey.”

  Carl and Luther both replied, “Yes, sir.”

  Then, Madox warned, “You’re trying my patience, and I’m running almost ten minutes behind schedule. So, you either behave and do what you’re told, quickly, or I shoot one of you so we can get back on schedule. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. You’re never a hero to your wife, anyway, so don’t even try.”

  “Good advice.”

  The next thing I heard was Madox saying, “Kate. Stand. Hands on head.”

  She stood, and Madox instructed, “Follow Carl.” Then to me, “John. Stand. Hands on head. Follow at twenty feet.”

  I stood, put my hands on my head, and noticed now a big canvas bag on the floor. It was partly unzipped, and I could see the sleeve of my leather jacket peeking out. Apparently, Derek had given Luther all our things, and the last trace of our being at Custer Hill—except for Rudy’s van, which they’d get rid of—was now gone.

  Madox saw what I was looking at and said to me, “They won’t even find your DNA in the bear shit.” He motioned toward the door. “Go.”

  I went through the vault door, which was embedded in about three feet of concrete.

  Madox, behind me, said, “Welcome to my fallout shelter.”

  Luther brought up the rear, and I could hear the vault door closing and locking.

  I had the sense that we were under the back terrace, deep in the bedrock, and not connected to the basement of the house. I also had the sense that there wasn’t anyone on the surface who could ever find us.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  We were now in a wide corridor whos
e concrete walls were painted a light green that changed into sky blue about a third of the way up the ten-foot height. The ceiling was covered with frosted glass panels, behind which were bright violet lights that, I guessed, were grow lights, though I didn’t see any vegetation, unless you counted the horrid 1980s Astroturf on the floor.

  I suppose someone was trying to create the illusion that you were outdoors in a sunlit meadow that happened to look like an underground concrete corridor.

  Madox said, unnecessarily, “You’re supposed to think you’re aboveground.”

  I asked, “Aren’t we?”

  He didn’t answer my question. “My idiot ex-wife’s idea.” He added, “She had an irrational fear of atomic war.”

  “Silly woman.”

  He seemed in a better mood, and he motioned to an open door to the right, which I could see was a children’s playroom. “The children were young then, and she thought they’d thrive down here.”

  I commented, “The grow lights might help, but their playdates might be somewhat limited.”

  He wasn’t paying any attention to me, and he actually seemed to be talking to himself. “She saw On the Beach and Dr. Strangelove about twenty times, and I don’t think she realized one was a serious film, and the other was gallows humor.” He added, “Nuclear Armageddon movies sent her to her therapist for months.”

  I had the impression that Bain Madox had some issues with his ex-wife’s obsession with nuclear holocaust, and maybe what he was trying to do now was work through that by starting a nuclear war of his own. I was sure that Mrs. Madox would be one of the first people he called after it was over.

  Anyway, Kate and I moved slowly down the passage in our shackles, and every time I hitched up my pants, Luther yelled, “Hands on your head,” and I replied, “Fuck you.”

  I could hear the vents blowing, but the air smelled damp and slightly unpleasant.

  On either side of the passage were open doors that revealed furnished rooms—bedrooms, a sitting room, a kitchen, and a long dining room with paneled walls, heavy drapes, a coffered ceiling, and plush carpets. Behind one closed door, I distinctly heard talking, then I realized it was a radio or television—so maybe someone else was down here.

  Madox, again talking to himself, said, “She spent a fortune decorating this place. She wanted to sit out the half-life of radioactive fallout in the style to which she’d become accustomed.”