72 Hours (A Thriller) (36 page)

Simeon looked unsure.

“Answer it,” Archer said.

Simeon nodded.
 
Took a deep breath.
 
Pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he said.
 

“Penny Lockwood is looking into the barrel of my loaded gun, right now,” Noella Chu stated.
 
“Whether or not she dies right here and now is completely dependent upon you.
 
Do you understand?”

“Who are you?”

She ignored the question.

“Which one are you?” she asked.

His eyes flicked to Archer.

“I am Simeon.”

“Please say hello to your sister.”

She held the telephone receiver to Penny’s ear and pressed the muzzle of the gun to her forehead.

Penny closed her eyes.
 
Her cheeks sticky with dried tears.

“Simeon,” she said hoarsely.
 
“I’m so sorry.”

Simeon could see his sister’s face in his mind’s eye.

“What does that person want with you?” he said, rage pulsing through his body.

“I don’t know.
 
She won’t say.”

“Has she hurt you?”

“No.
 
I’m fine.”

Noella Chu jerked the phone away but kept the gun pressed against the soft flesh, a white ring forming where the muzzle disrupted circulation.

“Are you listening?” Noella Chu said.

“Yes.”

“Do I have your attention?”

“Of course.”

“We are going to make a trade.”

“What do you want?”

“You are going to give me Lindsay Hammond.
 
And in return I will let your sister live.”

Simeon stared hard at Archer.
 
It seemed pointless to lie because he had already spoken to Lindsay.
 

“Give me your answer,” Noella Chu said.
 
“Your sister for Lindsay Hammond.
 
Yes or no?”

“Let me speak to Penny again!”

“Simeon you have exactly three seconds to decide the value of your sister’s life.”
 
Noella Chu pressed the muzzle of the gun into the soft bedding, held the receiver directly against the barrel, and pulled the trigger, firing a round into the mattress.

Penny jumped.

Simeon jumped.

Noella Chu put the phone back to her ear.

“Simeon, what is your decision?”

“OK,” he said.
 
“OK.”

He again cast his glare toward Archer.

“You have a deal,” he said into the satellite phone.
 
“I will give you Lindsay Hammond.”

CHAPTER 104

Kline closed his eyes.
 
He took a deep breath and turned away from the car.
 
He was now convinced that there was nothing good to be said of the world.
 

He stood with his eyes closed and pushed the breath out.
 
He waited for something resembling peace or stillness to filter in, but it never did.
 
He tasted bile rising like syrup.
 
His eyes turned glassy.
 
The nausea spiked.
 
A crime scene hadn’t affected him like this in many years.
 
He thought he’d gotten beyond it, but this was just too close to home.
 
He wished he hadn’t looked inside the car.
 

Kline opened his eyes and walked slowly through the surreal juggernaut of law enforcement and medical personnel.
 
Light bars flashing from the tops of squad cars.
 
An ambulance stood waiting with its cargo doors open.

Kline could see traffic streaming down the 405 in the distance.
 
He gazed across the lights and pavement of LAX.
 
He put one foot in front of the other and moved forward.
 
The noise and lights and chaos faded to the background of his consciousness as he approached his government car.
 
The passenger door was open.
 
Jason Sperry sat staring through the windshield at nothing but the nightmare that had become his life.
 
A pair of uniformed officers stood in the open door, shielding him from the ghoulish scene beyond.
 
They had taken his weapon, anything he could harm himself with.
 
They had put him on suicide watch.

Kline walked to the front of the car and stood with his hands together on top of the cab.
 
The two uniforms stared at him.
 
His thoughts drifted to his own wife and their grown daughter.
 

Someone had noticed the body in the car and dialed 911.
 
Julie Sperry, another victim of Gaston Dunbar’s twisted game.
 
A casualty of the crazed pursuit of Lindsay Hammond.
 
He glared across the cab at the uniforms.
 
They turned away.
 
Kline lifted the handle and opened the door.
 
Jason Sperry stared through the glass like a zombie.
 
The circuitry of his brain had gone fuzzy.

Headlights blurred along the 405.

“I’m sorry, Jason.”

Sperry blinked once, twice, but didn’t respond.

“Truly sorry,” Kline said.
 
He pressed the palm of one hand to the steering wheel, his eyes flicking out past his window.
 
The asphalt was greasy with the glare of street lamps.
 

“I just wish you’d have said something,” Kline sighed.
 
“This didn’t have to happen.”
 
He glanced over at his partner.

But Sperry had already checked out.
 
He could hear them loading Julie into the ambulance.

*
   
*
   
*

The limousine bumped up the freeway onramp and twisted into the casual flow of traffic.
 
Streetlights streamed over the sleek black exterior, sliding across the tinted windows.
 
Big rigs floated past in the night, the wide freeway a gray ribbon cutting through the Southern California landscape.
 

The limousine exited the freeway at the outskirts of the city.
 
Los Angeles, a twinkling jewel on the horizon.
 
A Santa Ana wind streaked down from the mountains, warm and dry.

The car drifted through dark streets, past empty, weedy lots, abandoned buildings and dirty rail yards crowded with old empty rail cars.
 
The buildings stood silhouetted against the smog-smudged night sky.
 
Buildings that had fallen into disrepair decades ago.
 
Big, ugly, abandoned structures that had at one time or another in the history of the country been busy with industry.

The car passed through long, shapeless shadows, past street signs disfigured by spray cans and faded by the sun.
 
It turned down an alley between warehouses and rolled patiently over cracked asphalt where weeds sprouted up.
 
The occasional stray cat or fat, healthy rat would turn their red eyes toward the approaching headlights then dart for cover into shadowy corners.
 
A big warehouse door opened and the car parked inside.
 

The driver got out and pulled open one of the back doors.
 
Leonard Monroe stepped out into the stark overhead light.
 
The diamonds on his chunky Rolex sparkled in the light.
 
He stepped away from the car and followed an open-sided metal staircase up to a catwalk that overlooked the open floor of the warehouse.
 

Monroe was joined by a stocky man wearing a fishing cap, work boots, and a camouflaged shooter’s vest.
 
The man’s name was Rydel.
 

They stood at the railing of the catwalk and watched the loud activity going on down on the warehouse floor.
 
Below were a half-dozen big rig trucks parked in a row, spaced at twenty-foot intervals.
 
Big Kenworths.
 
There were teams of men working on each truck.
 
Bright plumes of orange welding sparks rained to the floor and danced across the concrete as massive iron pipes were welded to the front grill of each truck.
 
The windshields and windows of each were being replaced with bulletproof Plexiglas.

The noise level in the warehouse was deafening.
 
Saws buzzing.
 
Air compressors howling.

“The work is right on schedule,” Rydel said.

Monroe stood with his arms crossed over his chest.
 
He stared down at the men laboring below.

“Most of the remaining modifications will be completed by sunup,” Rydel said.

“Good,” Monroe said.

“I will have everyone in place by noon.”

“You’d better.”

Rydel glanced at the lawyer.
 

“Timing is everything,” Monroe said.
 
“There is no room for error.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Shut up and just get the work done.
 
Be ready by noon.
 
No excuses.
 
Then wait for my call.”

Rydel nodded.

Monroe followed the catwalk back to the open staircase and returned to the car.
 
He stood with his hand on the open door, listening to the shriek of saws and the sizzle of sparks spilling down from the trucks.
 
Workers heaved bulky crates off a flatbed truck at one end of the warehouse and opened them with crowbars.
 
The crates were labeled with military jargon in spray painted stenciled lettering and numerals.
 
Big, heavy crates, loaded with deadly toys.
 
Monroe didn’t have to see inside them to be aware of the contents.
 
He had paid for them.

The limousine backed out into the night, the lights and sounds from the warehouse fading as the car twisted back through the labyrinth of narrow streets toward the city.
     

*
   
*
   
*

Noella Chu spread the map out across the table.
 
She flattened it with the palms of her hands and studied it in the light of the cheap fixture hanging above the small round table.
 
She traced her finger across the intersecting grid of highways and secondary roads.
 

When she found the town on the map, she held her finger on the spot and circled it with a ballpoint.
 

“Get up,” she told Penny Lockwood.

Penny was lying on her back, staring up at the stained plaster ceiling.
 
She flicked her eyes toward the small Asian woman standing across the room.

Noella Chu folded the map and retrieved her gun from the table.
 
She unlocked the deadbolt, unhooked the chain on the door and stepped outside.
 
She opened the passenger door of the Kia and pushed the Nevada map up onto the dash.

She glanced around the parking lot.
 
As still as a graveyard.
 
She glanced up the sidewalk that ran the length of the motel.
 
Not a soul in sight.
 
Glanced out at the lonely highway.
 
An occasional flicker of headlights swishing past in the rain.

Noella Chu returned to the room and cut Penny loose from the bed.
 
“Get up,” she said again.
 
Penny rocked forward onto her feet.
 
Noella Chu shoved her out the door and into the van.
 
She shut the door, started the engine, and glanced at the spot marked on the map as she turned the van onto the highway.
 
It was 2:30 AM, Saturday morning.

CHAPTER 105

Archer pulled out his Beretta and snicked the safety off.
 
He held the big flashlight in one hand, the Beretta in the other.
 
Eased the panel door open with the toe of his shoe.
 
He could hear coughing and gagging in the space below.

He raised the panel door enough to see inside.
 
Tango was facedown.
 
He’d clawed his way into the chute but had then run out of steam.
 
He glanced up toward Archer silhouetted by the dim light of the library.

“Sucks to be you right now, doesn’t it?” Archer said.

Tango rested his head on the ground.
 
He knew it was over.

Then Archer aimed the gun into the darkness and blasted Tango in the head.

*
   
*
   
*

They sealed off the west tunnel that led into the mountains.
 
Shut and locked the containment door, a slab of gray steel thick enough it would take more than a hand grenade to punch through.
 
Then they sealed off the tunnels running north and south.