Resistant (39 page)

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the foot of the cliff, trying to see through the fog. If the skies opened up, the climb would become next to impossible. Lou’s suggestion on the flight that they get backup had been brusquely dismissed. Not only was a mole in the agency still a possibility, but anyone who could own a place like Red Cliff could own the town nearby as well. There was only one thing left to do.

Climb.

“Maria and I actually used to climb together from time to time,” Vaill said. “God, but she was good at it. Just follow my line and keep your body as close to the wall as possible. If you get tired, reach up and tap me on the leg if you can, and rest. Otherwise, just rest. Got it?”

At that moment, a wicked gust of wind kicked up, followed by a spray of seawater that soaked the rockface and stung Lou’s eyes.

“Got it,” he said with little enthusiasm.

With his hands stretched high above his head, Vaill felt around the loose stones and jagged rocks until he found a suitable purchase. A moment later he hoisted himself two feet off the ground, and soon after his feet were well above Lou’s head. Moments later, he vanished inside the fog.

Now it was Lou’s turn. Keeping his body tight to the cliff, he found a crevice with his fingers, lodged his foot into a V-shaped formation in the slick rock, and lifted himself as Vaill had done.

One push at a time … one pull …

As he hauled himself up another few inches, a final spray spattered up from below, soaking the rocks and his clothing. His hands almost immediately became wet and raw, and he began to shiver.

One more push … one more pull …

Above him, he could just make out Vaill’s shoes. Ignoring the salt sting in his eyes, Lou made several pulls in succession and then risked a glance down. The ocean was gone. Above him was only heavy mist. It was like being in an airliner, taking off through dense clouds. Fortunately, as Vaill had predicted from the photos, the angle of the rock face was not as bad as it might have been. More and more as they spent time together, Lou was coming to admire the man and his abilities. He forced himself to maintain at least some eye contact with his boots, and pushed on, following his line.

Soon though, the tips of Lou’s fingers began to throb and burning needles shot up into his arms. From above, stones were kicked free and pelted against his face. Even well above the ocean, every hold was slick and potentially disastrous. There was no reliable footing here, and no trustworthy holds. But there was also no way to stop.

Keep climbing … just keep climbing.

Ten feet more were negotiated—maybe twenty. There was no way to tell where he was or how far he had traveled, nor was there any way to know if Vaill was looking back for him.

One hand … then the other … steady … steady … It had to end.… All bleeding eventually stops.
The infallible ER maxim.
All bleeding eventually stops.…

Another surprise gust of wind nearly loosened Lou’s handhold, but he clawed at the rock until his fingers sunk into a micro-thin crevice. He was about to make what seemed like it might be his final push when he saw the bottom of Vaill’s boot emerge from the fog just a few inches from him.

Why had he stopped climbing?

Vaill bent at the waist so Lou could see his face through the murk. He held his finger to his lips and then pointed upward. From somewhere above them, Lou heard a sudden burst of radio static. Next came a gravelly voice.

“Collins, here. I’m around the spot now.”

“You see the boat?” The voice on the other end of the radio came through quite clear.

“Forget seeing a boat, I can’t even see the ocean. The fog is really thick up here.”

“Well, climb down and go check it out. I’ve lost it on the screen here.”

“What am I, a fucking mountain goat? There’s no way I’m getting down there.”

Lou held his breath, ignoring the ripping pain in his fingers. His arms began to tremble as he struggled to maintain his hold.

Don’t speak … don’t breathe …

Another minute and the throbbing in his arms became unbearable. As he adjusted his hold, his footing slipped. A stone came free and clattered down the cliff face.

“Hang on a second,” the man above him said. “I just heard something. I’m going to take a closer look.”

The radio crackled again. “If you see anyone,” the voice on the other end said, “find out what he’s doing there, and then if his answer makes sense, kill the fucker. If it doesn’t, put a bullet in his leg and I’ll come out and help you bring him back here. Understood?”

“Yeah, understood.”

Lou looked above him for guidance, but it was nearly impossible to see the agent’s face through the thick haze. Then it registered that Vaill was motioning for him to go around him and continue the climb. At first, Lou hesitated, but his arms were killing him and he needed to move, so he elected to trust his partner and work his way to the right so he could pass. He was within a foot of the top when the barrel of a gun materialized, pointed at the center of his forehead.

What in the hell was going on? Vaill had to have forgotten the man was up there.

“Come up nice and slow,” Collins ordered.

Lou hauled himself over the top of the cliff, grunting with every movement. Once on the edge, he stole a glance behind him. He could see for just a short ways. Beyond that was only white. No sign of Vaill.

“I … I’m hurt,” Lou pleaded, improvising.

“Get up. Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here?”

With painful slowness, Lou rose from his crouch. The killer, a hard-looking, acne-scarred man with the long, blond hair of a Greek god, and a build to match, continued holding his gun at Lou. Searching as inconspicuously as he could for any sign of Vaill, Lou stumbled, at the same time inching back toward the edge of the precipice.

“I asked what you are doing here,” Collins demanded. “Are you here with anybody?”

Lou laid his performance on thicker, his voice quavering.

“I’m here alone. I’m just a hiker. Please put that gun away. Don’t hurt me.”

Collins cocked a half smile.

“I’m not going to hurt you, buddy, but I am going to kill you unless I get some answers. One last time: Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here?”

Collins raised his gun, but before he could pull the trigger, a hand shot up through the fog and caught him hard behind the knee. A powerful yank and the knee buckled, sending the man down. In almost the same movement, the hand grabbed his jacket, and pulled him over the edge. Two seconds—that’s all it took. Maybe less. His arms and legs slicing through the mist, the killer bellowed as he fell. The screams ceased abruptly with the sound of shattering bones. Lou had no trouble picturing the man exploding on the rocks below—blood and brain splashed everywhere. It was then he heard Vaill cry out.

“Lou, help, I’m losing my grip!”

Panicked, Lou scrambled forward, leaning as far over the cliff’s edge as he dared. His arm became an oar, sent out searching for a drowning man.

“Lou, Jesus, I’m falling!”

“Vaill, grab my hand, dammit! Grab my hand.”

Lou could see enough now through the fog to know that he was inches short of Vaill’s outstretched hand.

“Lou!”

Lou pushed himself ahead another half foot, no longer aware if he was at or over his balancing point. It didn’t matter. At what seemed the last possible moment before they both followed Collins down, Vaill grabbed hold of Lou’s right wrist. Clawing into the damp, stony earth with the fingers of his left hand, Lou twisted his right arm around until he was able to grab hold of Vaill’s wrist.

“Hang on, brother!” he shouted, certain that any moment, he was going over.

Don’t let go … for God’s sake, just don’t let him fall.…

Not this one,
he vowed.
Not this one.

With all his strength, forcing his stiff, chilled fingers even deeper into the pebbles and dirt, Lou pulled, driving his knees into the muddy earth, searching for leverage. Through the mist, Vaill’s eyes were Cap’s, pleading with him for strength.

Driven by that image, Lou clenched his jaws and drove back even harder, the muscles in his back and arm burning.

One inch … another …

Not this time
 … Lou pulled to the rhythm of his words
. Not … this … time.

Below him, Vaill’s grip remained fast, but Lou’s own was weakening.

Not this time
 …

Then, with a ferocious, warrior’s cry, Lou gave one last yank as he rolled backward. Vaill came shooting up out of the fog like a missile and landed in a heap beside him, both men gasping for air. Vaill regained his breath first.

“Come on, you lightweight,” he said, rolling to his knees. “Someone’s sure to be calling splatterboy back and wondering why he doesn’t answer.”

He was upright by the time Lou could even turn over.

“Lightweight, huh,” he said. “Well, take it from me, no one could ever accuse you of being that.”

He made it to his feet. The two of them exchanged fist bumps.

“I owe you big-time for that one,” Vaill said. “Thanks, my friend.”

“Nonsense. I just felt we had fed the seagulls enough for one day.”

CHAPTER 50

           It is illogical to believe that bloated spending on parasitic entitlement programs exists within a vacuum, for these will put a drain on other worthy causes, such as our defense force, which our Constitution obligates us to maintain.

        
—LANCASTER R. HILL,
100 Neighbors
, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 88

Lou led the charge through the fog-shrouded woods toward the south side of the castle. Cliff-climbing might have been Vaill’s forte, but trail running was squarely in his domain. He was in his element, moving by instinct and feel. The mist made it difficult to anticipate problems, but Lou could still spot precarious roots and rocks faster than most. Vaill ran just far enough behind him to make adjustments. Here, the forest floor was uneven, but the trees were dense, and were clearly helping to conceal their approach.

There was no debating whether to walk or run. Lost time could be the difference between Humphrey living and Cap losing his leg or quite possibly his life. The mist transformed the woods into the setting for a fairy tale. Knowing what awaited them beyond the forest’s edge made the scene even eerier. Lou’s eyes darted from his feet to what little he could see ahead and Vaill labored some, but still had little trouble keeping pace.

Soon, Lou saw diffused light in the distance. The trees began to thin. Slowing to a trot, he hid behind a tall pine. Vaill came up alongside him. He was breathing heavily and rubbing at the rainbow scar.

“Does running hurt that?” Lou whispered.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

End of discussion.

Continuing to move from tree to tree, Lou led the way toward the light. To his right, he could hear the pounding of surf mixed with the cries of seagulls. He imagined the birds swooping through the fog, perhaps diving for morsels of the man who had just tried to kill him. The guard’s disappearance had to have been alerted inside the castle, and whatever men were still about, possibly Burke included, would come looking for him. Jogging now, Lou continued to use the trees for concealment. His exhaustion was gone. From behind, he could hear Vaill breathing heavily, but keeping up.

Tough guy.

Another few minutes, and the woods gave way to closely trimmed spring grass. Thirty yards or so ahead of them, looming up as though being borne by the mist, was the brooding, imposing south façade of Red Cliff. Having studied the castle’s layout, Lou knew it was surrounded on three sides—south, west, and north—by a moat that featured two drawbridges, and on the east by the ocean. But no map could do the imposing structure justice. Set behind a stone outer wall were tall turrets with crenelated roofs. It wasn’t hard to imagine defenders of the huge keep pouring boiling oil down on the heads of an attacking army.

Well,
he warned silently,
better get ready. Here comes a marauding hoard of two
.

“Jesus,” Vaill whispered, “will you look at that place? Wonder what their real estate taxes are.”

The drawbridge on this side was up, and the moat—twelve or so feet across—shone like black opal. Beyond the drawbridge, an imposing portcullis made of heavy timber and iron fortified the southern entrance. Glimmering in the stone somberness of the place were dozens of tall windows, every one of which seemed to be lit.

According to the plans they had reviewed, there were far more windows on the south side than on the north. Lou could actually see movement inside the first-floor room closest to where they were standing. The space, a study or library, was at the base of a mammoth turret, and was semicircular, with a row of elongated, mullioned windows curving around it like sentinels. Spectacular.

Keeping low, Lou pointed to the room, and then to his eyes. Vaill nodded. Counting down from three on his fingers, Lou broke from the trees and raced toward the castle with his partner right behind. When they reached the moat’s edge, they dropped to their knees. There was absolutely no cover, only carefully manicured lawn. But from what they could see, the area was deserted.

They peered into the elegant room, albeit at an upward angle. What they observed ran quite contrary to the ancient stone construction. Just to the right of the entrance a highly sophisticated videoconference was set up. The huge screen was divided into multiple sections—at least seven of them, several of which appeared to have active images. A man was walking toward them, but judging by his portly build, it wasn’t Burke. In addition, he looked to be walking with a limp, and probably was using a cane.

Lou was engrossed in searching for a means to cross the moat, and was considering ways they might get in through one of the many windows, when Vaill nudged him and pointed to their left. A figure had appeared on the lawn, no more than fifty or seventy-five feet away—a dark silhouette, at least as large as Collins. Even through the heavy air they could hear the man’s radio crackle to life, followed by the sound of his voice.