Safe and Sound (31 page)

“You’re not in much a position to deal, bru,” DeGroot called. He sounded amused.

“Oh yeah?” Powell said. “How about I run into one of the rooms and hide the key? Think you can find it after the house burns down around it? Or it’ll be any good to you then?”

There was a pause. “All right,” DeGroot said. “Throw the weapons out. Yours and the woman’s. Then they come out, hands up.”

“You let them go,” Powell yelled. “When I see they’re leaving, I come out. Anything happens to them, I toss the key into the fire.”

“Agreed. Now the weapons.”

Powell picked up his rifle by the barrel and shoved it, stock first, out the window. Marie hesitated, then followed suit.

“I don’t want to go out there,” Ben whimpered. “That mean guy is out there. That’s the guy that shot Dad. The guy that hurt me up on that mountain.” He started to cry. “Mommy, please. I don’t want to. Please. Please.”

Tears were running down Marie’s face. “We don’t have a choice, Ben. The house is on fire. We have to get out.” As if to confirm her words, there was a crash as a section of ceiling fell in the main room. She bent down and gave Ben a short, fierce hug. “It’ll be all right, baby,” she whispered. “I promise.” She took a deep breath, then turned to stand in the window. Nothing happened. She crawled out, dropping to the rocky ground behind the cabin, before turning and holding out her arms. Ben was already on the windowsill. Powell helped hand him into her arms.

“Hands up,” DeGroot ordered. “Above your heads. Now.”

They turned slowly. DeGroot and a man Marie didn’t recognize were lying prone in the grass, about forty feet away. She could see the barrels of their weapons. They looked as big as the mouths of caves.

“March,” DeGroot said. “Toward me.”

“You said you’d let us go,” Marie said.

“And I will,” DeGroot said. “In good time. Now walk to me, or I cut you both down where you stand.”

“Mom?” Ben said, his voice quivering.

“Do what he says, baby,” Marie whispered. They began to walk together.

You son of a bitch,” Caldwell hissed viciously.

“What are you on about?” DeGroot whispered back. He had laid his rifle down beside him. He reached down and drew his sidearm.

“You didn’t say anything about any kids,” Caldwell said.

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t kill children,” Caldwell said.

“Is that so?” DeGroot said. “You’ve been lucky up to now, then.”

“I mean it,” Caldwell insisted. “I don’t kill children, DeGroot.”

The woman and the boy were only few feet away. “That’s no problem,” DeGroot said. “Because I don’t mind it.” He leaped to his feet. He took one quick step to where Marie and Ben had come to a surprised halt. He grabbed Ben and pulled the boy to him. Ben cried out. DeGroot held the barrel of the gun against Ben’s head.

“No,” Marie cried out.

“I think I like this deal better,” DeGroot called. “With that Keller fellow running around the woods somewhere, I think I’ll need a little more insurance.” Holding Ben so tightly by the shoulder that he cried out in pain, he lowered the gun so it was pressed against the middle of the boy’s back.

“Now,” he called. “Come on out, Bobby. And bring the key with you. Any more tricks and I blow the boy’s spine in two.” There was no answer. “You want that, Bobby?” DeGroot asked. “You want him to be a cripple, if he lives at all? You know I’ll do it, Bobby. You know what I’ll do. He’ll live in a chair and shit in a bag for the rest of his life.”

“Okay,” Caldwell said as he stood up. “That is fucking enough.” He dropped the grenade launcher and reached for his own sidearm. Before he could draw it, DeGroot raised his own gun and shot Caldwell in the face.

Caldwell was knocked off his feet by the impact of the bullet. Marie and Ben screamed at once. Caldwell made no sound. His body twitched and spasmed. DeGroot returned his weapon to Ben. He raised his voice again. “I’m counting to three, Bobby. One…”

“I’ll kill you,” Marie said, her voice choked with tears. “So help me God, I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”

“No,” DeGroot said. “No, you won’t. Two…”

Powell appeared at the window. He slowly climbed out.

“The key, Bobby,” DeGroot said. “Let me see the key.”

Powell raised one hand. The silver cylinder gleamed briefly in the sunlight.

“Good,” DeGroot said. “Now walk to the point halfway between me and the house. Slowly.” Moving like a sleepwalker, Powell complied.

“Put the key on the ground.” Powell bent over slowly. As he straightened up, his face lost its blank expression and twisted in a snarl of rage. He sprang at DeGroot, his arms in front of him. DeGroot raised the gun and fired. The bullet took Powell in the throat. A fine pink mist blew out of the back of his neck. His charge became a stumble, then a limp collapse, facedown.

“Good,” DeGroot said with satisfaction. “I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to try. I would have been disappointed if he hadn’t tried.”

Marie was beyond screaming. Ben, likewise, was catatonic with fear and shock.

“Please,” Marie said, “Don’t hurt my son. I’ll…I’ll do anything you want.”

“Here’s the thing, cherry,” DeGroot said. “When I get done with you, you’ll do anything I want whether I hurt him or not. But I want your friend Keller to join the party. He’s tuned me a bit of grief, and I owe him.” He reached up and switched on his headset microphone. “Mr. Keller,” he said into the mike. “I’m sure you’ve got poor Markey’s headset. You know what’s happening. And what’s going to happen. So if you’d like to…”

“You don’t need that,” Keller spoke. “I’m right here.”

DeGroot turned, Ben still clutched in front of him. Keller was standing a few feet away, the AK-47 at his shoulder pointed at DeGroot.

DeGroot used his grip on Ben’s shoulder to shake him like a dog with a toy. “I’ll shoot,” he said. “I’ll kill the boy.” To emphasize the point, he pressed the gun into Ben’s back until the boy cried out.

“And then I’ll kill you,” Keller said. “I know you don’t want to die. You value your own skin, I know that.”

“True enough,” DeGroot said genially. “It’s a matter of who values what the most, hey?”

“We don’t have to play chicken to figure that out,”

Keller said. “I know what you really want. Marie,” he said, “go get the key.”

She walked on shaky legs to where the silver computer device lay gleaming in the grass. Her path took her between the bodies of Caldwell and Powell. She didn’t look at either body as she bent down to pick it up.

“Your choice, DeGroot,” Keller said. “The boy for the key. Everybody walks away. No one else has to die.”

“You’ve forgotten one thing,” DeGroot said. He smiled. “The remaining player on the board. Are you in firing position?” he said.

Keller realized he was speaking into his headset mike.

The whispered voice that replied in Keller’s own headset had a trace of British accent. “Roger that.”

“Take the shot, then.”

***

Phillips had begun to move his firing position as soon as he saw the flames engulfing the front of the house. Nothing was coming out that way, and it sounded like the action was moving to the rear anyway.

He was in the vee of a huge oak, sighted in on the group below. A tree wasn’t the ideal firing position, but he had elevation and a clear line of sight. Keller had his back to Phillips, with DeGroot slightly to his left, holding the boy. Phillips adjusted his aim slightly for the range, the slight drop of the bullet, and the light wind and prepared to shoot.

Thunder split the sky open.

All four of the people on the ground reflexively looked up at the blast of noise that filled the air, drowning out even the crackle of the flames. An enormous double-rotored helicopter roared overhead. A huge bag hung from cables suspended beneath the chopper. The aircraft made a slow turn directly above the burning building. They saw a logo printed on the side, a stylized fir tree inside a badge-shaped outline. A cable moved, the bag seemed to tip slightly, and an avalanche of water poured down like an airborne Niagara. The deluge hit the burning building
dead center. Some flashed into steam that leapt toward the sky. The falling water blew out the remaining windows and rolled out of the house in all directions like a tsunami. It rolled over them, knocking all three of them from their feet like ten-pins. When the flood passed, Keller was the first one on his feet. He had lost the AK-47, so he launched himself at DeGroot bare-handed.

DeGroot had lost his grip on Ben, but he had managed to hold on to the pistol. He tried to bring it to bear on Keller, but Keller was inside his reach in an instant. He locked DeGroot’s elbow with his left arm and brought the heel of his right hand up under the man’s chin as hard as he could. The force of the blow snapped DeGroot’s head back. He sagged. Keller’s armlock kept him from falling. Keller drove his fist up under DeGroot’s sternum as hard as he could. DeGroot grunted and his body tried to double over, tried to curl around the pain. Keller prevented that by slamming his hand up under the chin again. Only when he heard the thud of the pistol landing on the ground did he release his hold. DeGroot sagged to his knees, retching. Keller stood over him, guarding against any further attempt the man might make to stand. He was dimly aware of the sound of the helicopter receding.

“He’ll be back,” Keller said. “This late in summer, dry weather…” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder at the house, which was now a smoldering wreck. “That much smoke’s going to bring every firefighter and smoke jumper in three states. That tanker was just the beginning. This place’ll be crawling with them any minute. It’s over.”

“Not yet,” he heard Marie say.

Keller turned. Marie stood there, holding a pistol. It was pointed at DeGroot. “Step away, Jack.”

“What are you doing?” Keller asked.

She glanced at him, then back at DeGroot. “Do you remember something he said back at the overlook, Jack? He said he wanted the FBI guy to talk to someone. He had this…this smug look on his face when he said it.” She raised the gun a little higher. “This fucker’s got some kind of connection. Some kind of get-out-of-jail-free card. And I’m not going to let that happen.”

DeGroot wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not armed,” he said.

“Bad luck for you,” Marie said.

“You’re a police officer,” he said. “You won’t shoot a man in cold blood.”

“You fucking bastard,” she said, her voice rising. “You tried to kill my son.” Keller could see her knuckles whiten around the grip.

“Mom?” Ben’s voice said. He was standing behind her, his eyes wide with fear.

“Get back, baby,” she said. Her eyes were hard as flint. “Mommy has some business to take care of.”

DeGroot’s eyes went to Ben. He smiled nastily. “So you think you can kill a helpless man in cold blood? In front of your son? I don’t think you’ll do it.”

“No,” Keller said. “But I will.” He held out his hand. “Give me the gun, Marie.”

She didn’t move. “No way, Jack,” she said. “He doesn’t walk out of here. Not when there’s a chance he’ll ever get free. Not when there’s a chance he’ll ever threaten Ben or my family again.”

“He won’t walk, Marie,” Keller said. “I promise. He dies today. But he’s right. You can’t kill him. Not in front of Ben.”

She still didn’t move. She stood there, as pitiless as a Fury. Keller tried one last gambit.

“You’ve saved me twice,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.”

She looked at him. She glanced back at Ben, who was still staring at her as if she’d grown horns. Slowly, she walked over to Keller, the gun still held on DeGroot.

Keller took it from her and took aim. “Go to Ben,” he said. “Don’t let him look.”

DeGroot looked up at him, a sickly smile on his face. “Bladdie idiot,” he spat. He looked off toward the tree line. “Shoot him,” he called.

There was no response.

DeGroot’s face went blank with shock. “Shoot!” he screamed.

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Keller said. He looked over. Marie had knelt on the ground and was clutching Ben to her. He turned back to DeGroot.

“A word of advice,” he said. “You tell a man you’re going to put his eye out, you do it. Then you kill him. Because if you leave him alive, this is what could happen.”

He fired. DeGroot went over backward. Keller stepped over to him and straddled his twitching body. He fired again. And again. The killing rage was on him. He let go of it, gave it free reign. It flared through him like a forest fire. His lips drew back from his teeth in a feral grin. He fired again.

“That should be sufficient,” a voice said.

Keller looked up. A man in camouflage uniform was standing a few feet away. He held a long rifle pointed at Keller. His face was obscured by a mask in the same camouflage design as his clothing.

“Drop the gun, please,” he said in a clipped British accent.

The rage was still howling through Keller, screaming at him to fire again, to draw blood again, to kill again. But with the rifle pointed at him, it would have been suicide. Keller dropped the pistol by DeGroot’s body. He was shaking like a man in the throes of a fever.