Army of Two, page 10
The man in the poncho paused, as if he’d heard the noise. He gave a cursory glance around the area, then started forward once more. He was heading straight for the helicopter.
Chantal thought she saw movement inside the cockpit. She got as close to the edge of the trees as she dared and used her light again, hoping against hope that Mitch could see the warning. He might not be able to see the man. The green poncho would blend into the pines.
The man in the poncho must have seen the movement in the cockpit, too. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Molitor!” he yelled. “That you?”
The spot where the helicopter rested was the highest point on the rock hilltop. Because of that, Chantal could see beneath it from where she stood. Between the bottom of the fuselage and the landing struts, she watched as Mitch jumped to the ground.
“Since you’re out there, you finish this circuit!” the man shouted. He stopped and did a sudden about-face. “I didn’t sign on for this scut work,” he muttered. His eyes widened. “Hey! Who the hell are you?”
He’d turned so quickly, she hadn’t had a chance to douse her light. He was staring right at her. He wasn’t wearing a ski mask, so she had a clear view of his face. He appeared as shocked as she was, but it didn’t last. He flipped back his poncho and swung his gun in her direction.
Chantal acted without thinking. She hurled her flashlight at him. The cylinder spun through the rain in a blur of chrome and glass. It struck him squarely on his nose.
He slapped one hand to his face as he staggered back a step. Blood oozed between his fingers. “You bitch!” He returned his hand to his gun. More blood spurted from a horizontal gash on his nose. “You’re gonna pay for that! Drop your gun!”
Again, instinct took over. She couldn’t let herself be captured. Her friends needed her. So did Mitch. Instead of surrendering, she grasped her gun by the barrel, stepped forward and swung it at his head.
The move caught him off-guard. He ducked, but he didn’t avoid the blow entirely. The gun stock struck him on the shoulder. She could feel the reverberations all the way up her arms. She was pulling back for another swing when a dark form blurred her peripheral vision.
Mitch seemed to come out of nowhere. He moved behind the man, hooked one elbow around his throat and used his other hand to squeeze the angle of his arm tighter. The man struggled for only a few seconds, then went completely limp. Mitch released his sleeper hold and snatched the man’s gun as he collapsed to the ground. He gave him a tap with the butt end to ensure he wasn’t faking, then looked at Chantal. “Damn, I’m glad you’re on my side.”
She could barely breathe. Forming a coherent response was beyond her. Once again, the speed of Mitch’s actions had shaken her. Yet it was her own actions that had shaken her the most.
“Are you okay?”
She shoved her wet hair out of her face and nodded.
“You were incredible.”
She didn’t feel incredible, she felt sick. She stared at the man who was stretched out on the ground. The poncho hood had fallen back. Rain beat on his closed eyelids and gaunt features. It mixed with the blood to form pink rivulets on the sides of his nose. The end of a ponytail lay along his neck. He looked lifeless, totally flaccid. She thought he was dead until she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest.
“Chantal?”
She returned her gaze to Mitch.
He stood tall and solid, in spite of the wind and pounding rain. His black jacket was gleaming wet, his hair plastered flat to his head. His expression was as hard and forbidding as the rock they were standing on. Yet his mere presence reached through her budding hysteria like a warm hug. It steadied her pulse. It brought her back to herself.
Her lungs finally started to work again. “I couldn’t pull the trigger,” she said.
“Just as well. Even with this rain, someone might have heard the shot.”
“I was signaling you. I tried to warn you.”
“You did great. I got your message.”
“The message,” she said quickly. “Did you send one? Did you contact anyone?”
“I reached someone in Bethel Corners.”
“Sheriff Prentice?”
“No, a deputy named Hennessey.”
“I know Al Hennessey. He’s a good man.”
“I’m not sure he believed me.”
She glanced at the downed guard again. “I’m sorry you didn’t have more time. He turned so fast, I didn’t have a chance to hide.”
“Don’t worry about it. Even if he hadn’t seen you, he would have raised the alarm when he got back and found out it wasn’t his buddy he’d seen at the chopper.” He cupped her shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. “We can’t linger here, Chantal. We need to move.”
Her stomach started to roll as she thought of the danger they were still in and of what might have happened if she hadn’t acted. She tried to concentrate on the moment the way Mitch was. She looked around for the flashlight she’d thrown, then went to pick it up. “I broke the bulb.”
“It doesn’t matter if it works or not. We can’t leave any traces or they’ll know someone else has been here.”
She pointed at the motionless form on the ground. “What about him?”
“We can’t leave him, either,” Mitch said. “He could come in useful.” He engaged the safety on the man’s gun and held it out to her. “I’ll need you to carry this, if it’s not too heavy for you.”
It wasn’t the weight that bothered her, but this was no time to indulge herself in a belated bout of squeamishness. She lifted aside her wet hair and looped the strap over one shoulder, then did the same on the other shoulder with her own weapon.
Meanwhile, Mitch retrieved his cane, grabbed the unconscious man’s arm and in one smooth motion hoisted him across the back of his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
“What are we going to do with him?” Chantal asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said, starting across the hill. “But we’ve made a good team so far. We’re bound to think of something.”
Lewis glanced at his watch, walked to the office door and peered down the hall. “Where the hell is Bamford?”
Taddeo was leaning against the wall and using his knife to pick at something under one of his fingernails. “Last I saw him, he was going outside.”
“When?”
“Must have been an hour ago. He was bitchin’ like crazy about having to do Benny’s shift.”
“He’s not responding to his walkie-talkie.”
“I bet he’s off having a smoke someplace out of the rain.”
Lewis agreed. The men’s attitude toward discipline was sorely lacking. He had to remind himself they had other valuable attributes, starting with their viciousness.
“You want me to go look for him?” Taddeo asked.
Lewis considered the offer for only a moment. It wasn’t like any of these men to volunteer for extra duties. Taddeo must be hoping for a chance to take a break himself. With Brown still out of commission, sending an extra man to chase down the AWOL Bamford would leave them even more shorthanded.
He dismissed the suggestion with a flick of his hand. The computer link with the Petherick head office was up and working. Bamford was no longer essential to the plan, so they could do without him for now. Lewis would deal with him when he showed up. “Bring me Petherick and Whitby,” he ordered.
Taddeo stored his knife in his belt and pulled his ski mask back on. It wasn’t long before the two executives were herded into the room. Like the rest of the hostages, they still wore what they’d had on when they’d been rounded up the day before. Graham Petherick didn’t look like the head of a billion-dollar company. With his feet bare and his rumpled pajamas stretched over his potbelly, he looked like a helpless old man. In a gesture of solidarity, he’d given his robe to Jim Whitby to cover his underwear, but the garment hung like a hand-me-down on the much-smaller frame of the company comptroller. The overall effect of the pair of them was comical.
That suited Lewis just fine. A demoralized hostage was less likely to cause trouble. His own ski mask firmly in place, he pointed to the computer. “Time to confirm the shipping orders, Petherick.”
He sat in the chair, but didn’t lift his hands to the keyboard immediately. “I want a guarantee that you’ll keep your word,” he said.
“You’re in no position to make demands.”
“Then as a gesture of goodwill, let the women and the boy go. I’ve done what you’ve asked. You don’t need them.”
“Let them go where?” Lewis asked. “For a stroll down the road? Have you forgotten where we are?”
“I’ll call in my pilot. He’ll do what I tell him, no questions asked.”
“You’re a businessman, Petherick. You should know better than to insult the intelligence of someone you’re doing business with. The women would talk the instant they were released, and then what would happen to our deal?”
Petherick spoke quickly. “I can make you a better deal. How much are you being offered for that shipment? I’ll top it. We don’t need to take this any further.”
Lewis pulled his pistol from the holster at his waist. Rather than aim it at Petherick, he pressed the muzzle to Whitby’s temple. “You’re the company comptroller, correct?” he snapped.
Whitby’s first reaction was indignant surprise. When Lewis didn’t remove the gun, his face paled. “P-please. I’ve been cooperating. Don’t hurt me.”
Yes, he’d been cooperating more than Petherick knew, but it wouldn’t hurt to remind them both who was in charge. “You know the balance sheet better than your boss. How much cash can he produce within forty-eight hours?”
“I have a wife and three children. My youngest is sick. They depend on me.”
Lewis cut off the man’s whining with a warning glare. “Answer the question.”
“It’s difficult to place a dollar value on our assets. Our financing is a fluid entity. In order to raise a significant amount of funds—”
“Meaning you don’t have a lot of cash.”
Whitby looked at Petherick. “I’m sorry, Graham. I’m not risking my life to say what you want. I have to tell the truth.”
“There’s my answer,” Lewis said, withdrawing the gun. “The merchandise will be sold to the highest bidder. That’s not going to be your boss.”
Petherick’s jaw twitched. “Please. I’m begging you to reconsider. You’re an American. Think of the tragedy our country has already been through. You know what could happen if those weapons fall into the wrong hands.”
Appealing to Lewis’s patriotism was the wrong strategy. He’d given his best years to his country, and it had turned its back on him. He’d worked hard coordinating their shipments of supplies, and he’d deserved more than they’d paid him. No one would have missed those few crates of goods that he’d sold, yet the army had called it theft and had thrown him out with a dishonorable discharge. To add to the insult, the psych profile the army quacks had done on him had dogged him even after he’d left. He had a right to collect everything he was owed.
“I know exactly what will happen,” Lewis said. “The profits will end up in my pockets instead of yours. That’s the American way. Now, I’ll only say this one more time. I want confirmation that the shipment is being diverted to the destination I specified. Otherwise, I’ll send Mr. Taddeo back to the lobby to choose a hostage who’s more expendable than either one of you.”
Taddeo pulled out his knife and caressed the blade with his thumb. “Let me bring the kid.”
Ordinarily Lewis wouldn’t have tolerated one of his men interrupting him, but it had the desired effect.
Without another word, Petherick set his fingers on the keyboard and started typing.
Chapter 9
“Knox made me help him. I didn’t want to. You don’t know that guy. He’s crazy.”
“You’re not a good liar, Bamford,” Mitch remarked. “I know you were promised a share of the take.”
“Yeah, okay, but I’m not like the rest of his goons. I wouldn’t have hurt her, I swear. I wasn’t hired for muscle. All I do is work the computer.”
“You know how to work an AK47, too.”
Chantal waited by the door as Mitch led their prisoner across the main room. They had decided to bring Bamford—that was what he claimed was his name—to another one of the derelict cabins, specifically the one farthest from the Aerie. The location put them well out of hearing distance and past the range of Knox’s patrols. It had been a long walk and Mitch’s limp had become more pronounced the farther they’d gone. But at least Bamford had regained consciousness so he’d been able to walk part of the way on his own.
In fact, he’d been only too eager to cooperate once it was clear he was at their mercy. Apparently, Knox’s men had no loyalty to their leader.
She shivered. Though the rain had stopped shortly after they’d left the crest of the hill, her clothes were still saturated. It wasn’t only the soaked denim against her legs and the wet hair on her cheeks that chilled her. It was what Bamford had told Mitch on the way over here.
Knox wasn’t trying to extort money from Graham’s company, as she and Mitch had speculated earlier. He was after the weapons that the company manufactured. Not rifles or machine guns. No, Knox hadn’t gone to all the trouble of seizing the Aerie in order to obtain a few crates of small arms. He was forcing Graham to divert an entire shipment of recently developed, ultra accurate surface-to-air missiles that the Petherick Corporation had designed for the U.S. military.
Far more than the lives of the thirteen hostages were at risk if Knox wasn’t stopped. Hundreds, possibly thousands of innocent people could be killed if those missiles fell into the hands of terrorists.
Just when she had thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. Again.
Chantal hugged her arms over her chest, striving for calm. There were another two days left. Somehow, they had to find a way to stop Knox and his obscene plan.
Her gaze moved around the cabin. It hadn’t fared as well during the years of neglect as the one she and Mitch were using for themselves. Water dripped from the ceiling in one corner onto a darkening stain of rotten floorboards. There was a rectangular wooden table with two benches instead of chairs. The wood stove was a rusted-out hulk that appeared to be held together mainly by cobwebs. Dusk was falling early. Little light came through the boarded-up front window, although years’ worth of forest debris had managed to find its way inside through the cracks.
Overall, the place was bleak and filthy.
But it made an excellent jail.
She found it hard to believe that they’d actually taken a prisoner. An enemy captive. It seemed bizarre, like something out of a game that kids would play. Cops and robbers. Cowboys and Indians. The captured prey brought back to the secret hideout.
Yet this was no game. It was a fight for survival in which the stakes had just been raised.
“What the hell is this place?” Bamford demanded.
“Your new home.” Mitch used his gun to point to the doorway of the windowless room at the back. It would have been the bedroom, but there was no bed, only a pile of drifted leaves.
“Come on, man. I’ve been cooperating, haven’t I? I’ve told you everything I know. We had a deal. You said you’d help me.”
“I only agreed to protect you from Knox.”
“You can’t just leave me.”
“I’ll check on you in the morning.”
“I’ve got rights,” Bamford said. “You’re supposed to get me a lawyer.”
“You’re confusing me with a cop. I’m a soldier.”
“I’ve still got rights.”
“You and Knox conspired in a potential attack on the United States, so this is a matter of national security. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an enemy combatant and you have no rights.”
“I can’t stay here!”
“Would you prefer that I shoot you?” Mitch asked calmly.
Some of Bamford’s bravado faded. He looked at the gun, then at Mitch’s face.
Mitch’s expression was pure granite. Chantal could see now that his ability to hide his emotions was a tool to him, as effective for establishing control as the weapon he held. To someone who didn’t know him, he would appear devoid of feeling, fully capable of doing whatever was necessary to achieve his goal.
Bamford must have reached the same conclusion. “Hell,” he muttered. “You’re as bad as Knox is.” Without further protest, he went into the bedroom that would serve as his cell.
Mitch swung the door closed, dragged over the table and tipped it on end to wedge against the door. He used one of the benches as a brace to hold it in position. Once it was secured to his satisfaction, Chantal helped him drag the other bench outside. Together, they braced the front door so it couldn’t be opened from the inside as added insurance that their prisoner wouldn’t escape.
Part of her was uncomfortable with the idea of penning up a human being, but she understood there had been little choice. For their own safety, they couldn’t have let him go free. If Knox knew for certain they were still alive, he might try to hunt them down. In spite of Mitch’s threat, she didn’t believe he would have shot an unarmed man in cold blood. The only other choice would have been to bring their prisoner with them. If they’d done that, they would have needed to tie him up and gag him or watch him constantly—probably both. That would have drained their strength and diverted their attention from their priority, which was still to find help for the hostages before time was up.
Her mind turned to what her friends and Graham’s people were facing. The image of the helpless hostages was a familiar one, because it had been haunting her for a day and a half. Added to that was an image of the destruction one of the stolen surface-to-air missiles could bring. She’d seen the aftermath of plane crashes on the news. The idea that anyone would deliberately cause such a thing was unthinkable, yet that’s what could result from Knox’s plan. The Aerie, a place of peace, was being tainted by his evil.
