J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) (66 page)

“Go ahead, take your readings.”

Tom frowned at them, looking annoyed, and then took off his hard hat and ran his fingers through his hair. While doing so, he palmed the three small vials that were taped inside the hat band.

Then he took the meter back and began to point it around the sidewalk. He eventually moved up to the front doors of the hotel and hit the button on the handle, making the needle jump.

“Uh-oh. It’s a leak alright. Can you open the door?”

“We still don’t have internal confirmation,” one agent said to another.

Tom snapped a vial in his fingers, softly breaking it and releasing the liquid. A rotten egg smell drifted up from his hands.

“Can’t you smell that?”

The smell was mercaptan. It was the primary ingredient in stink bombs, a novelty shop classic. It was also the chemical used by gas companies to add scent to otherwise odorless natural gas. Harmless, but nauseating. Tom glanced at the agents and could tell they noticed the smell. One even fanned the air with his hand.

“You better let me take a reading inside.”

They had a brief talk among themselves, and then allowed him in, accompanied by two escorts. The lobby was full; more cops and Secret Service, and several hotel employees. Tom broke another vial and hit the switch on the sensor to make it beep.

“The levels are high. You’d better get these people out of here.”

“Which people?”

“The whole damn building. The whole damn block. Do you see these levels?” Tom pointed to his meter needle, which he held in the red. “You’ve got to clear this place out, shut off the main. I don’t even want to be standing here.”

The guy turned away, speaking into his microphone. Tom looked at his watch. It was already 4:11. They were badly behind schedule. Where was Joan?

• • •

At that same moment, hundreds of miles away in Washington DC, Bert frantically searched the crowd for Abe. He finally spotted his stovepipe hat on the other side of the gallery. Bert wiped his palms on his jeans and swallowed hard. The moment of truth had come.

“Friends, Senators, citizens!” Abe’s voice bellowed, matching the volume of the droning Senator who was on the house sound system. “I came here today because it is the historic anniversary of the Gettysburg Address.”

The gallery focused on Abe. Bert stared down into the chambers and noted that many of them, too, were staring up. Some were chuckling. The Senator who had the floor had stopped speaking. Bert had no idea if it really was the anniversary or not—he guessed not. But like everybody else he was momentarily spellbound by Abe, his words, his presence.

Abe didn’t hesitate. He launched right into it.

“Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. No matter how they were, uh, created…”

Bert stared as two of the Capitol Police had begun to move on Abe. He turned his attention to the Senate floor and saw that the Vice President appeared amused.

“There, in the box.” Roy nudged him. “That guy with the camera. I think it’s Attila.”

“Now we are engaged in a great civil war, conceived and enduring, consecrating great brave men who greatly and bravely braved great things with, um, bravery.”

Bert watched the man, whose camera was aimed at the VP while every other eye in the place was on Abe. Warning bells went off in Bert’s head. That little poison dart they’d found on Jack…

“We need to do this. Now.”

Roy reached into his jacket pocket and removed an unwrapped pack of Black Cat firecrackers. A string of fifty.

The police grabbed Abe, and he threw his hands up in the air dramatically, tossing out dozens of sale fliers for Honest Abe’s Used Car Emporium. They cascaded down into the Senate chambers.

“We are met on the great battlefield of that war!” Abe continued, even as a third policeman jumped on him. “This is America! I have a right to free speech! You can’t silence me! I won the war, dammit! I freed the slaves! I probably did a whole bunch of other important stuff!”

Bert screened Roy from view as he lit the match. He kept his eye on Attila and held his breath.

The firecrackers began to go off while still in the air. They fell onto Chambers with the rapport of machine gun fire, causing instant panic on the floor. Senators ducked under desks, covered their heads, screamed out loud. The Secret Service man dove on the VP, pulling him to the floor. Bert turned to look at Attila. He was making his way through the crowd, heading for the exit. But had he gotten his shot off?

Roy tried to pull Bert to the ground, to imitate what everyone else was doing. But Bert had to see, had to know if they’d completed their mission. Finally, after almost a minute of waiting, a swarm of agents and police had surrounded the Vice President and were taking him out of Chambers. The VP appeared shaken up but alive.

Bert let out a breath, unaware he’d been holding it.

“We did it. We saved him.”

He turned to look for Abe. The cops were pulling him roughly out of the gallery, the cuffs already on. As he passed Bert he grinned and gave him a wink.

“I assure you gentlemen I had nothing to do with that outburst. I just wanted to sell some cars…”

They hauled him off. The room became a hubbub of commotion, everyone talking at once, everyone unsure as to what had just happened. Bert checked his watch. Seventeen minutes after four. They had done their job.

But how about Joan and Tom?

• • •

At 4:12 in Montreal, Tom had almost succumbed to panic. The authorities weren’t evacuating the building, and there was no sign of Joan.

Then, like an angel sent from heaven, Joan stepped into the hotel lobby, more Secret Service agents around her. She had an official-looking clip board at her side and Tom’s cell phone in her hand.

“Oh my God. Can you smell that? What are the levels, Tom?”

“Three percent.” Tom broke the last vial, almost gagging at the stench.

“We’ve got to clear these people out of here now!” Joan dialed a number on the phone and pretended to talk to their home base. Sirens could be heard in the distance, getting closer. Before showing up, Joan had called all six of the local fire departments and told them about the gas leak. In a few minutes it would be pandemonium.

Tom checked his watch. It would be close. Were these lunkheads going to get the President out of there or what? Finally, six agents went running off down the hallway. Bravely rushing to save their leader, Tom hoped.

“There’s a gas leak!” Tom shouted to everyone in the lobby. “Nobody panic!”

They panicked. Tom flowed out of the lobby with the rest of the people, just as several fire engines arrived. He met up with Joan and they melded into the crowd and watched. The Secret Service allowed the firemen in, and shortly began to assist in evacuating the building. When Tom saw people coming out wearing tuxedos, he guessed the Presidential dinner had been evacuated as well.

“Looks like we did it.”

Tom nodded. “They probably ushered the President out a side door.” He checked his watch and noted it was 4:17. If the assassination had happened, the Secret Service would be corralling people for questioning rather than letting them leave. The relief he felt was like a drug, purging everything bad from his body.

Joan made a face. “For just saving the world, that was kind of anticlimactic.”

“You think so? I was fighting the whole time not to throw up. Let’s get out of here, find out how the others did in DC.”

Tom made his way through the crowd, having to push and shove because it was so densely packed. When he got to the car he took off his hat and turned around to talk to Joan.

She was gone.

T
he guy to Joan’s left uttered a small gasp, and then dropped dead on the asphalt.

Before she could even react to what was happening, someone had grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

“Poison dart. Move, or you’re next.”

The man had a beard and mustache, and he was wearing glasses. He had a large, odd-looking nose, too big for his face. But the eyes—those deep green eyes—were instantly recognizable.

Vlad.

He was pressing a camera up against her. Joan guessed it was just a housing for his weapon—that’s how he’d planned to kill the President.

“I said move, or you’ll die where you stand.”

She looked for Tom, but he’d vanished into the crowd. Then she turned to Vlad. His face was red, his lips pursed. He was seriously angry, and Joan had no illusions that he would kill her if she didn’t move. But would it be better to die here, quick and easy, or go with the psycho someplace private, where he could take his time?

Her feet began to move of their own volition and he led her away. Joan could guess the horrors in store for her, but she didn’t want to die. Even if she’d regret it later. They made their way to the other end of the street, Vlad with his arm locked around hers, the camera pressed to her side. He cut through an alley, taking her away from the commotion, the people, Tom. Every muscle in Joan’s body was coiled. She kept waiting for something, anything, that would give her an opportunity to get away. The further they walked, the less likely it seemed she would get one.

“How do you think Stang will react when he hears you failed?”

Vlad’s rage was instantaneous. In one motion he released Joan’s arm and backhanded her across the face. She hadn’t been prepared for such a sudden blow, and found herself falling backward, landing on the tarmac. Her hard hat had flown off, bouncing against a Dumpster. Bright motes swam in her vision. She brought a hand up to her face. It came away red. Nosebleed.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” He reached up and pulled at his own nose, removing the fake latex one, exposing the swollen, discolored one underneath. “Put this on to hide the bruise.”

The rubber nose bounced off of her chest. Joan blinked back tears of pain and tried to quell the ringing in her head. The camera was at his side, no longer pointed at her. Now was the time to escape.

She didn’t have the chance. Quick and savage, Vlad kicked her in the right side. Joan managed to shift so he mostly hit her arm, but the blow sent her rolling. She’d taken kicks before, by shoeless opponents of equal size. None hurt like this. Her entire arm began to go numb, and the motes she saw became blurry.

Vlad came again, grinning lasciviously. Joan tried to bat away his hand as he reached for her, but he managed a good grip on her hair. He yanked, forcing her head back.

“I’m not going to beat you to death in the alley. It won’t be that easy. I have a place nearby. Someplace private. All my tools are there. We’re going to have hours of fun.”

Joan flailed out her leg, kicking at the camera. He kept it out of reach.

“What’s going on?”

A man was standing at the mouth of the alley. Young, short hair, muscular build. He took a step towards them.

“Don’t…” Joan started to say.

Too late. Vlad pointed the camera and a second later the guy was doubling over, blood foaming from his mouth.

“Now there’s a Kodak moment.”

Joan ground her teeth together and made her decision. If she was going to die, she would die trying to get away, not cowering in a corner. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the mouth of the alley. At any moment, she expected to feel a dart penetrate her skin. It looked painful, but quick. Better than being dragged back to his place.

But the dart didn’t come. Instead, something hit her in the back of the head. Joan lost all motor function. Her world began to spin and she fell onto all fours. Vlad kicked again, his foot burying itself in her stomach and sending her rolling into a brick wall.

“Get up.”

Joan coughed, spit some blood. She sat up. “No.”

Vlad began to shake, and then went from zero to psychotic is less than a second, kicking and punching and swearing at her. Joan tried to keep her head, blocking some blows, letting others land where they didn’t do much harm, until he made the biggest mistake of his entire life.

He swung at her with the camera.

Joan met the swing with a flat palm, knocking the weapon from his hand, sending it spinning through the air and cracking against the ground. Now they were evenly matched.