Cross Hairs (11 page)

“Go, go, go,” Cal said, shoving Kelly underneath the fence.

Cal continued to keep watch as she crawled onto Cloverdale Industries property. Once she was through, Cal began slithering backward under the fence. The gunmen then turned off their bikes but continued to search in other directions.

As Cal began to get up, Kelly delivered a swift kick to his leg. “You forgot my bag!” she whispered.

While Cal preferred to escape with his life first in order to tell the story, he figured no one would believe him if he didn’t have proof. He shimmied about halfway through before using his long arms to reach for Kelly’s camera bag and pull it back with him.

As Cal was pulling the bag underneath the fence, one of the bag’s elastic strings caught on the fence and caused the fence to clang as the string snapped free. The noise didn’t go unnoticed.

“Over there!” one of the gunmen shouted.

“Go, Kelly, go!”

Cloverdale Industries maintained pristine landscaping. For this successful multi-level marketing company, no expense was too great to project the appearance of wealth. After all, that was the lure of drawing people in to sell their products.
Sell enough organic detergent, cleaners and liquid magnesium to your friends and you too can live in the lap of luxury
. That nauseating idea permeated Statenville, but it served Cal and Kelly at the moment.

The southwest corner of the property contained about an acre of densely wooded area thanks to a heavy irrigation effort by Cloverdale. It provided ample cover for Cal and Kelly.

“When we get to the edge of these woods, we’ve got to sprint as fast as we can to the corner of the loading dock,” Cal instructed. This wasn’t his first time on the property. Cal covered Cloverdale Industries on a regular basis and was always making trips to the corporate headquarters to get the latest story.

“Got it,” Kelly said.

They were near the edge of the woods and about 200 yards away from the unoccupied loading docks when Cal heard the chain link fence rattle. The gunmen were now on the property too.

Cal could hear the men furiously combing the area, yelling back and forth to one another. He was still terrified, but maintained a clear head about what he needed to do to keep Kelly safe. It was the only thing he could do. His adrenaline surged.

Cal pointed to Kelly where they were headed, choosing to remain silent. But it didn’t matter.

“There they are!” one of the gunmen yelled, simultaneously taking off on a dead sprint.

Cal and Kelly didn’t hesitate. They reached top speed in about 10 strides and didn’t look back. . . until the shots rang out.

BANG! BANG!

Cal hit the ground.

CHAPTER 31

“WHY CAN’T ANYTHING EVER
run smoothly around here?” Gold barked into the phone. “Call me when you’ve taken care of them.”

“Yes, sir,” responded the caller.

Running the city of Statenville was simple for Gold. He told people what to do and they did it. In a small town with a larger than average budget, it was easy.

Keeping the city’s dark secret hidden was an intricate web of complexity. He continued to suppress his grief. Riley’s death didn’t come as a total shock to the Gold family. Nathan and his wife had known for a couple of months that Riley had begun dabbling in drugs, but they chose to ignore it. They never thought he would end up dead.

But that was the nature of Statenville’s secret. It chose justification to assuage the town’s collective conscience—the few who knew there was a secret to keep. Most people were oblivious to what was happening. Gold and his inner circle decided a long time ago to keep it that way. The fewer people who knew, the less chance a conscientious objector would one day come forward; that and the fact that they were all paid handsomely. Sometimes it meant blood was on their hands, but blood money didn’t seem so bad when there was so much of it, enough to buy oneself a perfect life in Mayberry West.

Gold fingered a picture of Riley and stared out his office window.
Maybe this secret isn’t worth it.
But then he looked around at what he had created, what Statenville was. It was costly, but it was most definitely worth it. Instead of becoming a virtual ghost town with a national failing economy, it was a boomtown. People were employed. They were happy. They were living a real dream. Did they really care where the money came from?

Those
people never had a chance to decide if it was worth it. They never even knew. It was decided for them by Gold. They were but pawns in an elaborate get-rich scheme that was so flush with cash it opted to line the empty pockets of anyone who dared question them. It was much better than murdering them – and it raised less eyebrows than dead bodies. Everyone had a price. Almost everyone. There were always exceptions.

Cal Murphy had become an exception.

CHAPTER 32

GUY HUNG UP THE
phone. Another grilling from Mr. Mendoza. Another order to tone down the coverage of the three teens’ deaths in Wednesday’s edition of
The Register
. Today, he truly felt like nothing more than a
managing
editor. No real decisions to make, just ensure people did what they were told.

It also explained why he was getting so agitated with Cal. With his assignment changed to a simple management position, Guy’s star reporter was gone and not returning his calls. Guy couldn’t even do the one thing he was being asked to do that day.

Three calls were made to Cal throughout the early afternoon. And three calls went straight to voicemail.

Guy had been tough on Cal before, but he always responded in a positive way. This time though, it wasn’t elderly wisdom being passed down by Guy. It was a direct command, complete with all of Guy’s redirected anger that went against every journalistic instinct Cal had ever cultivated.
Stop working on a story that could expose a deep level of corruption?
Cal had questioned after being told to stand down. And Guy knew it was a tough directive to follow. After all, stories like these were what journalists dreamed about at night while climbing into bed after eating a TV dinner all alone. At least, it was what Guy used to dream about.

Guy knew Cal would never stop pursuing this story. Something in the seasoned newspaperman’s gut told him that Cal wasn’t just concocting a cockamamie conspiracy theory. He only hoped Cal’s pursuit of the truth wouldn’t end in his death.

CHAPTER 33

CAL HEARD THE SHOT
and felt the sting in his right arm almost simultaneously. He had never been shot before, nor had he imagined the searing pain that would accompany a bullet barreling into his tricep. It was such a sharp pain that it sent him sprawling toward the ground as he half tripped and half dove, hoping to avoid any other bullets whizzing his way.

Kelly dove for the ground as well. Lying on her stomach a few feet from Cal, she inched her way toward Cal while remaining on her belly. When she reached him, she frantically tried to get Cal to move. It was only about 15 yards to the dock, which had an open bay at the moment. With a gunfight breaking out, it was unlikely to stay open for long.

“Come on, Cal. We’ve got to move!”

Cal nodded, grimacing at the pain and the sight of blood gushing from his arm, despite pressure from his left hand. He looked more like a butcher than a reporter.

Two more bullets zipped in their direction, both off target.

Cal and Kelly scrambled for the open bay door. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust from the bright Idaho sunlight to the dimly lit warehouse space that was surprisingly less full than Cal anticipated. The back of the warehouse was empty and stretched into darkness for at least 300 yards. It was quickly looking like a dead end when it came to finding a place for cover.

Stacks of empty wooden pallets lined the back wall of the facility, and there was a small janitor’s closet about 30 yards away.

Still no sign of anyone from inside the facility.

Cal recognized his two less-than-desirable choices: make a run for the racks and hide on top of a shelf, or hide in the janitor’s closet. The burning sensation in Cal’s arm along with the close proximity of the janitor’s closet made Cal’s decision easy.

***

Cloverdale security fanned out across the building looking for two suspects. Mel Davis, head of Cloverdale’s security operation, received a phone call from one of the executives about a possible perimeter violation. A man and a woman were headed for their facility and they didn’t have good intentions, at least that’s what Davis was told.

The order was shoot to kill.

While he didn’t mind the healthy paycheck, Mel often questioned why there was such tight security at a mid-level marketing company. Whenever he voiced his concern, he was silenced by the rehearsed chorus of managers telling him that corporate espionage is real—and if you don’t take proactive steps to stop it, it will stop you.

Mel just nodded and did what he was told. This wasn’t the first time he had shoot-to-kill orders, but he doubted he could pull the trigger if ever faced with one of these corporate spies.

***

From within the janitor’s closet, Cal and Kelly heard the footsteps of presumed security guards racing around the building in search of them. They didn’t dare speak, much less breathe.

They heard voices shouting out instructions about how they were going to sweep the facility. Then Cal heard something that lodged a lump in his throat. It was the phrase “shoot to kill.”

He looked at Kelly, and, even in the darkness of a compact janitor’s closet, he could see the terror in her eyes.

Cal had been careful not to bleed on the warehouse floor in order to prevent establishing an identifiable trail of blood. Kelly had added her left hand for additional pressure—and it seemed to be working at the moment.

Cal was itching to get something on his arm to clean out the wound and bandage it up. It didn’t feel life threatening and he wasn’t worried about it killing him. But he
was
worried about the untold number of armed security guards hunting them.

Most of the audible footsteps grew more distant. The search had apparently moved toward the other end of the facility. Cal and Kelly were almost feeling confident to breathe in a deep breath when slow-paced footsteps appeared to be headed straight for the janitor’s closet.

Just then, Cal’s iPhone buzzed. He scrambled to stop it. And then he and Kelly held their breaths. The footsteps had stopped. Right outside the closet door. Someone was blocking what little light had been seeping under the door. It was the only light Cal and Kelly had to faintly see anything in the closet. Sheer darkness matched sheer terror.

There was nothing. No movement. No sound. Just a pair of boots stationed outside the door and two occupants on the other side, holding their breath

Cal imagined the guard pressing his ear against the door and listening for any type of movement within. The pause at the door seemed to last an hour.

Then the guard jiggled the doorknob. Cal was glad he locked the door behind him but he knew this was probably the end. He cringed and prepared for the worst.

CHAPTER 34

“IT’S LOCKED,” SHOUTED THE
guard. “I don’t hear anything. I don’t see any blood either. And I don’t feel like walking all the way back to our office just to get a key to double-check what I already know. Let’s call this section of the warehouse clear and move on.”

“I’m with you. Let’s go,” came the response.

The footsteps went from threatening to faint to gone. Cal and Kelly both felt it was safe to whisper but remained still.

“I thought we were done,” Kelly said.

“And that was the first time you thought that today?” Cal’s sarcasm attempted to lighten the gravity of the situation. It didn’t work.

“No, but if we don’t get you bandaged up and get out of here, someone
is
going to find us and turn us in.”

It was five o’clock and Cal knew Guy would be looking for them. Maybe that was a good thing. Otherwise, who would be looking for them? As upset as Guy could get, his rage could cause him to send out a search party. As long as it wasn’t the police, it would be OK.

Cal’s phone vibrated. He had three missed calls and one text message. Guy hated text messaging, so Cal figured the calls were from his boss. He went to the text message. It was from Josh. In all the excitement over the past 48 hours, Cal nearly forgot Josh was coming to visit on Friday.

Looking fwd 2 seeing u & ragging u 4 starting Matt Garza on fantasy team. U r loyal 2 a fault. C u Thur

Checking his starting pitchers for his fantasy league team was the last thing on Cal’s mind while stuck in a janitor’s closet inside a building crawling with armed guards who were instructed to shoot him. But the text did cause Cal to smile and provided a momentary diversion from the fear beginning to take over his mind.

Cal then stood up and used the light from his iPhone to search for some strips of cloth to bandage his wound. By the dim light, Cal could tell that the wound wasn’t nearly as deep as he initially thought. His arm still throbbed with sharp pain.

Kelly joined him, volunteering to shine the phone’s light around the closet so Cal could thoroughly search the shelves for something to bandage him up. Cal found a first aid kit with some alcohol wipes to sterilize the wound along with some gauze and tape to dress it. Kelly took the items from Cal’s hand. She began cleaning Cal’s bloody arm and patching it up without the slightest communication from Cal. But she needed to talk.

“So how are we going to get out of here, Cal?”

Kelly’s nerves were near their frazzled ends.

“Good question. I say we wait until it’s dark and there’s hardly anyone here. Then we try to hide in a delivery truck.”

“A delivery truck? Are you out of your mind?”

Just then the sound of footsteps halted the hushed conversation. Four, maybe five people. Cal couldn’t tell for sure. But they were within a few yards of the janitor’s closet before they began talking. Cal and Kelly carefully returned to a sitting position.