VIABLE (27 page)

There were a few seconds of silence as the dust settled slowly around the wreckage. Inside the truck the driver took a moment to check he was uninjured before removing his crash helmet and placing it on the seat beside him. The airbag in the steering wheel had gone off and the air in the cab was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of the propellant. He ignored it. He needed to move quickly now.

He released his seat belt, reaching over to unbuckle his passenger’s. His other hand pulled the latch to open his door and he kicked it open with his foot. The airbag hadn’t fully deflated and it made his task difficult, but he moved efficiently. He slid out of the cab, balancing on the fuel tank housing beneath the driver’s door, reaching across his seat to pull the unconscious man across to the driver’s side. When he was in position he leaned over him, fed the seatbelt across his torso, then pushed the catch home. When he was satisfied that the man was in position he allowed him to fall forward, the seatbelt taking his weight. Then he placed his hands on either side of the man’s neck, grabbed his jaw firmly then twisted sharply, hearing the vertebrae snap.

They had found the truck driver asleep in his cab at the Chevron truck stop on US-50 earlier that morning. He had been forced to drink most of a bottle of whisky while they drove his rig to the road that the spotters had identified as the route Fitzpatrick would take from the base that morning. Highway patrol would find the bottle under his seat. When they tested his blood they would discover that he was several times over the limit.

The man jumped off the rig, landing lightly on the ground. He reached up to grab the crash helmet, closing the driver’s door behind him. A quick look into the station wagon told him that there was no chance that the base commander was still alive. He walked around to the passenger’s side of the car to check on the man’s wife. Incredibly the damage here was far less. The woman was unconscious, her head resting against the passenger window. He carefully opened the passenger door, placing three fingers under her chin. Her pulse was weak, but it was there. He quickly assessed her injuries. It was unlikely she would survive but his orders were clear. He placed the crash helmet on the ground and reached into the car, taking her head in his hands as he had the driver of the rig. His fingers covered her nose and mouth. Seconds passed, becoming minutes. When he was certain she was no longer breathing he closed the passenger door of the Volvo and picked up his helmet, taking one last second to survey the scene. Then he turned and walked away.

By the time he had reached the road a black van was pulling up, the door sliding open to let him in.

33

LARS
CHECKED
THE small clock on the nightstand. Almost dawn. He’d let Ellie sleep a few more minutes then he’d get up.

It was the dream that had woken him. In the dream it had been night and they had been coming for him, moving silently through the darkness, just as they had that night in the Laotian jungle. He had finally woken as the trip flares had gone off, pop-popping like fireworks, washing the vegetation in front of him in a sea of blinding white light. In that instant he had seen them clearly, scores of black shapes moving quickly up the trails, the jungle suddenly transformed into a moving wall of enemy assassins.

Now why in hell had he been dreaming about that? He hadn’t had that dream since just after he’d gotten back, almost forty years ago now. Must have been what he’d told Doctor Stone about her father and Jackson, stirring up old memories.

Truth be told he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep all week, not since his conversation with DeWitty. The man had already called several times looking for the information he had promised on Emily Mortimer. He’d told Connie to run interference for him but the last time the FBI agent had called he’d been insistent, threatening to have her job if she didn’t put him through immediately. Which was the last thing you wanted to try with Connie. It didn’t matter if you were the Special Agent in Charge of Utah or the goddamned President of the United States of America, that particular brand of horseshit was unlikely to fly very far with her. Nevertheless he could tell she’d been worried when she’d come into his office afterwards. He’d told her to put DeWitty through the next time the man called.

The FBI agent had been right about one thing though. He was well out of his league, and no mistake. But something had to be done, and soon. Brandt had already spent far too long rotting in that cell, and now he’d gone and put Emily Mortimer at risk as well. He told himself she should be safe for a little while, but he couldn’t wait forever. If he had found her others could. And he still hadn’t heard from Doctor Stone. He’d been trying her cell every hour for the last few days but it was constantly switched off. Something was wrong. He should never have let her convince him that she should meet Gant alone.

But who could he go to with what he knew? If the FBI’s most senior agent in Utah was somehow involved in this then who was there to trust? Hell, who would even believe him? He wasn’t even sure he believed it himself.

Well, lying around in bed sure wasn’t going to solve his problems. He pulled his arm out from underneath his sleeping wife as gently as he could, sitting on the edge of the bed to stretch his leg. Goddamn if his knee wasn’t getting worse each winter. He was just about to stand when he saw the bedroom door opening, the silenced barrel of a semi-automatic appearing behind it as the first of the men made their way into the room.

Lars was on his feet in an instant, his protesting knee forgotten. His service revolver slid easily from the worn holster in the gun belt draped over the chair beside his bed as he moved silently to the wall behind the opening door, out of sight of the men entering the room, flicking the switch on the wall that turned on the light in the bathroom as he passed. He had no idea how many of them there were. Best to let them all in before the fireworks started.

Lars was surprised to realize that he wasn’t afraid. The gun in his hand was old but it worked just fine. Twice a year he brought Jed and Larry out to the desert behind Duke’s place to get some practice in with tin cans. He wasn’t a bad shot. Hell from this distance not even Ellie could miss.

The first man was making for the bed where his wife slept on, unawares. The second had seen the sliver of light under the bathroom door and was heading for it, assuming that was where he was. Good. He waited another second to see if anyone else was coming.

Just two of them for now then. If there were others he’d worry about them later.

When it was over, if he was still standing, he had some calls to make. There was a good chance men had been sent for all of them. He may not be able to get through to Alison but at least he could try and warn Fitzpatrick.

As he closed the bedroom door with his foot it occurred to Lars that he was supposed to give the men a warning.

He decided the same warning they were about to give Ellie should just about cover it.

34

HE
WASN
’
T
SURE how long he’d been out.

He’d come to in what looked like a room in a hospital, an IV hooked up to a cannula in his arm, various monitors on either side measuring his heart rate, blood pressure, respiration. There was a small camera high on the wall, pointed at where he lay. From the feeling in his stomach and the speed at which his heart was racing he assumed the drip contained an epinephrine solution.

Which meant Alison had told them everything.

That was to be expected; they had her mother. He had seen the look on her face when they had dragged him out of the motel room, had known then that she would do anything to prevent them harming her. But now she would no longer be of use to them. He still didn’t know who these people were, but he had no doubt that they would want to dispose of her, and Fitzpatrick, and the sheriff, and else anyone they might suspect of knowing something about his secret. And they would want to do it as quickly as possible. They were all in grave danger and it was because of him, because he hadn’t done what he should have and simply left. He needed to get out of here quickly, find Alison and get word to Fitzpatrick and Henrikssen.

That would be easier said than done however. Thick velcro straps across his chest pinned his arms to his sides, more across his legs. He tested the restraints, straining the muscles in his arms and legs. They wouldn’t budge.

A moment later the door opened and a middle-aged man in a white lab coat entered. The man checked the monitors, ignoring his questions, then seemed to reach a decision. He disconnected the drip from the cannula. From a cabinet mounted on the wall he removed a couple of foil pouches, tearing open the first and removing a small clear bag with a plastic tube attached. Cody recognized the bags. Disposable PVC single blood bags, most likely prepped with anticoagulant, similar to the ones he carried in his CSAR medikit bag. The man removed the protective cap from the tube and connected it to the cannula in his arm. Immediately the bag began to fill, the bright red liquid flowing smoothly down the sides of the plastic, causing the bag to swell as it pooled at the bottom. After watching for a few moments the man hung the bag on the side of the table, out of sight, and then turned to close the cabinet. It took only a few minutes for the bag to fill and then he disconnected it, sealing the full bag before tearing the foil pouch and connecting a second.

It was unusual that they were taking a second unit immediately. There was a moderate risk of a person going into shock if they lost more than two pints of blood over a short period of time. Cody wasn’t particularly concerned. He had donated more on occasion when it had been needed. His blood type meant that anyone could accept a transfusion from him without fear of rejection, and more often than not a single unit just wasn’t enough. He would just feel light-headed for a little while.

When the second bag was full the man disconnected it. Then he picked up both bags and left the room.

Cody closed his eyes, analyzing the encounter to see whether he could learn anything about the people who were holding him. The man hadn’t spoken, refusing to respond to any of his questions. But the speed with which he had entered the room once he had come around told him that they were watching him carefully. They wanted his blood, enough to take a greater amount than would normally be advisable. But he also knew they had gone to extraordinary lengths, taken incredible risks, to bring him here alive. They wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, at least not yet.

Perhaps he could find a way to use that to his advantage.

35

DE
SOUZA
QUICKLY packed the few things he had brought, stuffing them into the canvas bag. His employer had explained that he no longer required his services and now he was anxious to be gone. They had paid him in cash just as he had requested. The tightly packed bundles of new notes filled the bag, leaving little room for the small number of personal items he had brought. It didn’t matter. They would fly him back to San Diego and then he would disappear for a long while.

He had heard many secrets during his career, information that could destroy the careers of powerful men, information that could make him rich. But nothing he had come across had been as valuable, or as dangerous, as this. If what the young doctor had spoken of were true this man Gant would be truly priceless. He needed to get as far away from here as possible.

There was a knock on the door and he jumped. It was the large blonde man with the German accent who had brought him here, telling him the helicopter was on its way and that they were ready to take him back. De Souza nodded, picking up the canvas bag containing his cash, declining the man’s offer of assistance. He followed him down the corridor, clutching the bag to his chest. As they approached the entrance to the facility he started to feel a little better. If they had wanted to kill him they would surely have done it by now. In a few short hours he would be gone. His services were always in demand, he lived a comfortable life. But with what he had earned over the last few days he would never again need to worry about money.

The German held the door open and he hurried through, gripping the bag tightly. It was the first time he had been outside, the first time he had even seen the sun, since he had arrived at the facility a week before. He looked around, squinting. So they were in the desert. He had been blindfolded when they had brought him here. Whoever his employer was he had certainly gone to considerable lengths to make sure the place didn’t attract any attention. The small single story structure appeared derelict. The few windows were boarded up, the walls brown from the desert dust, the paint on the shutters faded and flaking. From the outside no-one could tell that there were further levels underground, that the facility housed a surgical theatre and an intensive care unit, as well as accommodation for those who worked there.

There was no sign of the helicopter. And something was nagging at him. Why had they not bothered to blindfold him this time? Behind him he heard a soft
snick-snick
, answering his silent question. De Souza froze. He had heard that sound a thousand times before. The sound of the slide being pulled back on a handgun, chambering the first round.

They had never intended to let him leave.

He started to turn to face the German, his mind racing to marshal his thoughts, to present the most compelling argument in the few seconds he had left. There was no reason to kill him. He had served their employer well and might be of use again at some point in the future. They didn’t need to worry that he would be indiscreet. He had spent his whole life keeping secrets. He would never disclose what he had learned here.