The Immortalists (17 page)

Parsi Riju adjusted his earpiece and gazed out the SUV’s window. It was nearly three in the morning, and the neatly tended street was still and dark. A serene mask hiding almost certain disaster.

There had been no time to learn the rhythms of the area— when the newspapers were delivered, when people went to work, possible insomniac dog walkers. A few hours ago, he’d been charging blindly into a Baltimore motel room, and now he was sitting in the middle of suburban America with an assault rifle in his lap.

A voice crackled over the radio. “In position.”

He craned his neck, looking around him again before refocusing on the small home across the street. It was hard to put the architecture together with the former soldier who lived inside. It looked like an old woman’s house. More evidence that it was better to die young.

He stepped out of the vehicle and slipped his weapon beneath his jacket before walking across the street.

“Moving,” he said just loudly enough to be picked up by his throat mic.

His men, all completely invisible in the darkness, acknowledged the start of the operation.

Until now, the requests of the people he worked for—two men he knew only as Oleg and Karl—had been perfectly reasonable. Violent, of course, but meticulously planned and well compensated. But now things had changed. The stench of desperation was getting strong enough to make him wonder if it was time for his team to sever their lucrative relationship with those voices on the phone. It was hard to spend money from inside a prison cell and even harder from inside a coffin.

Riju stepped silently onto the porch, thankful for the thick hedges that threw it into complete blackness. He located the doorknob and pulled his tools from his pocket. Working entirely by feel, it took less than twenty seconds before the lock submitted. There was no deadbolt or alarm. What use would they be in this neighborhood?

“Open,” he said quietly. “Cut power.”

A moment later, the voice of one of the men covering the back came over the radio. “Power cut. We’re ready.”

“Use extreme caution. Seeger’s old, but remember his service record.”

He slipped on a pair of night vision goggles and turned the knob, entering with his rifle held at eye level. Two men appeared and slipped in behind him, one going for the stairs and the other for the kitchen.

They made no sound, but the house wasn’t silent. There was a dull hum that got louder as Riju closed on the entrance to the basement. His finger tightened slightly on the trigger. No power should mean no sound.

The man he sent upstairs was already coming back down, signaling that he’d found no one.

Everything about this felt wrong.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said into his throat mic. “Exit through the—”

The lights suddenly came on, and Riju dove for the floor, ripping his night vision goggle off and crawling behind a floral-print sofa. When he looked over the arm, he saw his men finding similar cover wherever they could.

Nothing moved, and all he could hear was his own breathing over the incessant buzz from the basement. He scanned the room and spotted the light switches on the walls but knew they hadn’t been flipped. The overheads weren’t on—only lamps that could be easily toggled with remotes. It was obvious now that the hum was coming from a backup generator.

And where there were power and remotes…

“Move for the doors,” he said. “Watch for booby traps. I repeat. Watch for traps.”

He crept out from behind the couch, every muscle tense as he waited for the inevitable explosion that would engulf the house. Instead, a quiet whine became audible behind him.

He spun toward the sound, swinging his gun until the sights were fixed on a small, three-wheeled robot struggling across the carpet. A child’s toy.

He kept his finger on the trigger as the robot stopped a few feet away and a camera boom on top tilted to look up at him. A moment later, a voice that he assumed belonged to Burt Seeger came over the tiny speakers.

“If my neighbors weren’t a complete pain in the ass about noise I’d have packed the house with enough C4 to blow you into the next state. This is a gift, son. One soldier to another. But if I ever see you again, you’d better kill me. Because if you don’t, I’ll cut your head off and put it on your mother’s fence post.”

Riju shouldered his weapon and nodded. “Understood.”

Burt Seeger leaned forward in his chair, deeply shaken for what he calculated was only the fifth time in his life.

What he’d said was a lie. If he’d had the time and material to set it up, pieces of his house would still be raining down on his neighbors’ obsessively manicured lawns. He’d had to work with what he had—a backup generator, a bag of switches from Radio Shack, and a Web-controlled robot he’d bought for Susie.

Of course, it had been a given that they would eventually find him based on what he’d done at Chris Graden’s house. But this wasn’t eventually. It was less than twelve hours since he’d taken those shots. And in that time, they’d tracked down and mounted a very smooth operation against a forgotten special ops guy whose wife had been a patient of Richard Draman’s more than a decade ago.

Seeger glanced back at the computer screen, looking at the frozen face of the man who had been in his living room. He was a pro—Seeger could smell them a mile away. If he and Susie had been there, they’d be dead. Neither one of them would have even known what happened.

He leaned back and stared at the dark ocean through the windows of his friend’s beach house. His good old friend. How long until they sent someone here? An hour? Five? Sure as hell not ten.

He walked to the room where Susie was sleeping, her wrinkled face peeking out from beneath the comforter. Every day she seemed a little more tired. An old body slowly smothering a young soul.

He knelt next to her and tugged gently on the blanket. “Hey, Susie. Wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered and finally opened. “Uncle Burt?”

“I’ve been thinking. It’s too cold to be at the beach. We should go somewhere else.”

“But all we do is move around. I want to stay here. I’m sleepy.”

“I know you are, honey. I am too.”

Richard Draman scooped a few more leaves on the pile and settled into it again. He’d spent twenty-nine hours in that spot, and it was starting to feel depressingly like home. The ground beneath him was leveled and the rocks removed, a water bottle and a walkie-talkie hung from a branch above him, and Seeger’s .22 rifle rested on a clean towel at his feet. Despite its low caliber, it looked like it meant business with a camouflage stock, homemade silencer, and deep black barrel.

Richard leaned forward and peered at the four-way stop through the foliage. Nothing.

The heavily wooded lots in the neighborhood were at least ten acres apiece, each hiding an opulent home sequestering an equally opulent family. It made for a sparse population base that translated into an average of twenty-four cars, three dog walkers, and seven joggers per day—each bringing a brief moment of panic followed by a long stretch of boredom.

Seeger had called that morning, and the more Richard tried not to dwell on the conversation, the more it consumed him. After men armed with assault rifles had infiltrated his home, Seeger had concluded that there was nowhere he could go that he and Susie would be safe. His only option was to buy a used RV and drive randomly around the country, staying on back roads and stopping in obscure campgrounds only long enough to sleep.

Not exactly the life Richard had pictured for his daughter, and one that would quickly prove too much for her.

The breeze that had been with him most of the day died, leaving him in silence. He’d never understood the cliché before, but it really was too quiet. Too much time to think about everything that could go wrong. About how desperation was rarely the foundation of good decisions.

Carly’s static-ridden voice startled him out of a half doze. “He’s coming! Do you read me? He’s coming!”

Richard jumped to his feet and grabbed the walkie-talkie, feeling a jolt of adrenaline that Seeger had warned him would throw off his aim. “I read you.”

“Don’t miss, OK?”

He frowned and picked up the rifle, resting the barrel on a branch that he’d stripped of leaves. At military school, he’d wondered about the wisdom of teaching a bunch of juvenile misfits to use firearms, but it had been one of the few fun activities available, and he’d gotten pretty good. Of course, that was decades ago, and the targets had been meaningless and stationary.

Richard squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. What had Seeger said? Live in the moment during these kinds of things. Everything that had happened before didn’t matter, and there probably wouldn’t be a later.

Comforting.

After a few moments, the vehicle appeared—a black stretch limousine with heavily tinted windows. He allowed for the fact that it wouldn’t come to a full stop at the sign and followed the leading edge of the rear tire in his scope, holding his breath and waiting until his heart was between beats.

There was the muffled crack of the gun, but beyond that, nothing changed. The limo accelerated through the crossing and disappeared from view just like all the cars before it.

Richard dropped the gun and ran through the trees, ducking branches as he zigzagged along a faint trail. His breathing got heavier and his speed slowed as he moved into less familiar territory, looking left to the road whenever the foliage thinned.

He was almost convinced that he’d missed when he spotted the limo riding its rim onto the gravel shoulder.

Burt Seeger eased the RV through a deep rut, glancing behind him at Susie who had lost interest in the miniature stove and was now playing with a mechanical arm holding the television.

“Sit down, honey. You’re going to fall.”

“No I’m not. I have perfect balance,” she said, opening a drawer and going through the drinking glasses cleverly secured in it. “That’s what Mrs. Klein, my gym teacher, says. Perfect.”

The twenty-five-foot vehicle was older than she was and smelled vaguely of mold, but she didn’t seem to notice. There had been a little concern on her part when he’d sold his SUV to a used car dealer, but it had completely disappeared when their cab pulled into the driveway of the man selling the old camper. Not only was she certain it was the coolest thing ever, but it was also apparently totally rad.

He, on the other hand, saw it more as a necessary evil. Picking up pension checks was definitely out, so money was limited. And after what had happened at his home and the motel, staying in one place would be suicide.

The isolated dirt track narrowed, and Seeger rolled to a stop. They were ten hard miles from the nearest paved road and had turned off everything that could send an electronic signal. He’d feel more comfortable when there was a little more distance between them and Hagerstown, but they’d be safe for long enough to do what needed to be done.

“End of the line,” he said, walking to the back of the RV.

Susie opened the door and watched him drag a large box toward it. After kicking the rusty stairs into position, he got out and bounced the crate down them with Susie trying her best to help.

“Step back, honey. You could get hurt.”

“It’s too heavy for you, and I’m not a baby.”

“You’re right,” he said, keeping a close eye on her as he dropped the box the rest of the way to the ground and she lowered herself down the steps after it.

“Uh, Burt? Are we lost?”

“Of course not,” he said, trying to stretch the kink out of his back.

“Where are we, then?”

“The woods.”

“I know
that
,” she said emphatically. “What woods?”

“You know. The one with trees and grass in it.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“Evasive? Good word.”

“Mom says it to dad sometimes.”

“Well, what’s
really
important is in the box.”

“What is it?”

He held out a knife. “A little project. Why don’t you open it?”

She took the knife and ran the blade over the tape.

“Be careful. It’s sharp.”

“I can open a box. I’ve done it lots of times before.”

She seemed to have it well in hand, so he retreated, examining the dents and rust spots on the dingy white RV. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed or obscured.

“It’s paper and tape,” she said, pulling out a roll of each.

“That’s not all. Dig a little deeper.”

She rummaged around and came up with a can of paint. “There must be fifty of these things in here! No wonder it’s so heavy.”

“And they’re all blue. That’s your favorite color isn’t it?”

Her ancient face crinkled up for a moment, and she looked back at the RV. “No way! We’re going to paint it?”

“We are indeed.”

“Are you serious? We get to spray paint the whole thing blue?”

“You said you like blue, so we can’t be driving around in a white one, can we?”

She yanked the top off the can and started for the vehicle with a mischievous look in her eye, but he caught her by the collar.

“Hold on there, young lady. Boring stuff first. We have to tape up all the chrome and glass. You want it to look good, don’t you?”

She didn’t seem completely certain, but dutifully grabbed some tape and padded toward the rear bumper. “I’ll do the low stuff. You do the windows. But let’s go fast. It’s gonna get dark, and I don’t want to do this my whole life. I want to paint!”

He watched her for a few moments, frowning when she crouched near the rear wheels. The pain caused by that simple act was visible on her face, and it scared him. He’d known some hard men in his life, but in many ways, this little girl was tougher than any of them. The fact that she was losing her ability to hide her fatigue and suffering meant that it was getting worse. Probably a lot worse.

“Hey, sweetie? You know what? I hate painting. I’ll end up getting more on me than on the camper. Let’s make a deal. If you let me tape, I’ll let you paint.”

The sun hit her fully in the face when she looked up at him, fading her skin to an ashy gray that he hadn’t seen before. “Really?”

“Yeah. Otherwise I’ll be blue for a week. Now why don’t you go in and rest up for a while.”

Watching her struggle up the stairs, he realized how dead he’d felt over the past few years. He’d become trapped in a house he’d always hated, unable to let go of the last part of a woman who would have been horrified at what he’d become. And now that he knew he could never go back, he found he didn’t care. It had been long past time to let go of things that were gone.

Unfortunately, his newfound life was starting to look like it might not last all that long. The people coming after them would never stop—not of their own volition anyway. And being prey had a distinct disadvantage. A predator could make mistake after mistake. But the game was less forgiving for the hunted.

Richard’s plan to level the playing field was an interesting one, and hopefully it would work. But in the extremely likely event that it didn’t, he’d protect Susie until someone put a bullet in him. He owed her at least that much for rescuing him.