The Buried (6 page)

By the time he returned and saw Cho’s smashed sedan abandoned in the street, the director was already crossing the Golden Gate Bridge toward Mill Valley.

BELLEVUE, WASHINGTON

T
HE SQUAD ASSEMBLED
at 4:20 a.m. in the parking lot behind St. Luke’s Lutheran Church in the Clyde Hill section of Bellevue, a few blocks away from the target house.

They were eight in number—four each from offices in Los Angeles and San Francisco. The Bay Area team had arrived first, their jet touching down at 3:42. From there, they transferred to a helicopter that flew them to the eighteenth fairway of the Glendale Country Club, where a black Suburban waited for them by the clubhouse.

The L.A. crew landed ten minutes later and followed the same route.

Though the two groups did not share a home base, they had worked together many times and were familiar with each other’s strengths. Stevens, as senior officer, was squad leader.

 He held up the tablet computer that displayed the diagram of the safe house each man had memorized on the trip north. He pointed at the sliding glass back door. “Red one and red two, here.” Red was their team designation, with Stevens as red seven and the man assigned to remain at the vehicles as red eight. Stevens pointed at the garage. “Red three and red four.” And then moved his finger to the front door. “Red five and red six. Questions?”

No one spoke up.

Stevens looked at his watch. “Transit time to site is three minutes. Once everyone’s in position, wait for my mark and then we go. I want this done and us out of there by 4:35 latest.” He paused, then said, “Mic check.”

Comm gear was switched on, and in team order, each man said, “Check, check.” They then piled into the Suburban and headed to the safe house.

According to the info packet Stevens had read on the flight up, the house had been seized years ago in a criminal investigation by some forgotten government agency. Control of the building had eventually shifted to the NSA, who loaned it out to other US intelligence divisions on an as-needed basis. It seemed odd to be raiding one of their own locations—it certainly was a first for him and his team—but orders were orders.

They approached via the backyard of the house directly behind the target.

Upon reaching the rear fence, Stevens raised his night scope and examined the other side. He picked up no heat signatures in the backyard, and also none near the windows, all of which had their shades drawn.

“Go,” he whispered into his mic.

One by one, the team scaled the fence and crept across the open grass, each man to his assigned location. Stevens went last, joining the two men covering the sliding door at the back.

A click over the comm signaled red three and red four were in position. A few seconds later a double click confirmed the same for red five and red six.

Stevens clicked his mic button three times, signaling everyone to move in.

Safe houses were modified to make them difficult to enter—unless you had ties to the agency overseeing it. Master keys had been waiting for them in the Suburban, keys that not only freed the locks but also contained micro-transponders that disabled the home’s security system. After the glass door slid open, everything remained nice and quiet.

Red one entered first, pausing just inside for a quick look around before motioning to Stevens and red two that it was clear. Silently, they made their way through the family room into the kitchen and the dining room. There they linked up with red five and red six, who indicated the front of the house was also clear.

On the other side of the first floor was a hallway that led to a guest room, a bathroom, and the garage. Stevens looked down it as red three and red four emerged from the guest room. They informed him no one was in that part of the house.

So far things were going even better than Stevens had hoped. No one on watch meant the targets were likely sound asleep in the second-floor bedrooms.

He silently instructed red five and red six to remain at the base of the stairs before he headed up with the others.

Another hallway ran the length of the second floor. To the left was the massive master suite, and to the right four more bedrooms, a bathroom, and a linen closet. Leaving red three and red four to hold at the top of the stairs, Stevens went left with the other two.

At the master suite, red one did the honors of opening the door and pushing it inward. When they heard no response from inside, they slipped through the gap, but within seconds all three lowered their weapons.

The bed wasn’t just empty, it had no sheets on it, only two pillows and a folded blanket stacked at the foot of the mattress, waiting for the room’s next occupant.

Stevens directed red one to check the bathroom and red two to check the walk-in closet, but both returned shaking their heads.

Apparently the targets didn’t feel the need to use the best room in the house. That made a certain amount of sense given that Stevens had been told one of the targets was a hostage. Her captors must have felt it necessary to stay in the same room as she. It’s what Stevens would have done.

They moved back into the hall and headed to the other end, taking red three and red four with them.

The first bedroom was exactly like the master—stacked blankets and pillows, no sheets.

The same was true of bedroom two.

And three.

The bathroom was also clear.

Stevens felt both confused and irritated as they approached the door to the final bedroom. As red one moved to open it, Stevens tapped him on the shoulder and signaled that he would do it. He turned the knob and pushed the door inward.

The room was empty.

Cursing, he pulled out his phone.

CHAPTER
8

TACOMA

T
HE ALARM ON
Quinn’s cell went off exactly four hours after he’d laid his head down. He tapped the screen, killing the noise, and swung his legs off the bed.

Caffeine would be nice, he thought as he stood up. Two or three gallons’ worth should do the trick.

Nate was already in the kitchen when Quinn entered.

“I see you slept like a baby, too,” his partner said.

Quinn grunted as he set his phone on the counter and poured himself a mug of coffee from the pot Nate had brewed.

“I take it Helen didn’t call with new instructions,” Nate said.

Quinn shook his head. With the exception of his alarm, his phone had remained silent since their arrival at the safe house.

He took a sip and began to feel a bit more alive. After another, he asked, “Any noise from our guest?”

“Not a peep.”

Quinn cocked his head. “Please tell me she’s not gone.”

“I took a look in before coming down. She’s still there.”

Sipping from their cups, they shared a long silence.

“Did you check the news?” Quinn asked.

Nate looked at him, not quite understanding, then his eyes widened. “Oh, right.”

He disappeared into the living room, where the only television in the house was located. Quinn refilled his cup and followed, arriving just as Nate tuned in to a local morning news show.

On the screen was a helicopter shot looking down on a neighborhood, the focus on a familiar house.

“Looks like they sent someone to check out your call,” Nate said.

Dozens of police officers roamed the yards surrounding Samuel Edmondson’s home, their cars jamming the street. Even at this early hour, a crowd of looky-loos had gathered, but could only get as close as a barricade two houses away.

At the bottom of the screen, a graphic read:

2 ALIVE/2 DEAD IN COLUMBIA CITY HOME

“Turn it up,” Quinn said.

As Nate increased the volume, an anchor was saying, “…found on the premises. Let’s bring back in Tom Markewicz, who’s on the scene. Tom, what’s the latest?”

The image switched to a ground-level shot of a reporter standing just inside the barricade. The camera was angled to capture Edmondson’s front door in the distance.

“Carol, while the police have not yet released any names, neighbors say the home is owned by a man named Samuel Edmondson. One woman told me Mr. Edmondson seemed friendly but tended to keep to himself.” He went on for a while longer, sharing no real information.

The screen then split into graphic boxes, with the female anchor in the left box. “Any word yet if Mr. Edmondson was one of those discovered inside?”

“Not yet. All we know at this point is that one of the deceased is a woman and one a man. I’ll report back as soon as I have more.”

“Thanks, Tom.” The shot of the anchor then took over the whole screen. “Rita Meyers is standing by at Swedish Medical Center with an update on the two people found alive inside the house.

Another switch, this time to a reporter with the hospital in the background. “Just a few minutes ago a hospital spokesman told us that the two women are in fair condition. From what I understand, neither woman is—”

Nate turned it off. “It’s kind of weird seeing our handiwork on TV.”

Weird wasn’t strong enough a word as far as Quinn was concerned. Though he was relieved to have confirmation that the women were no longer in their cells, he had an intense desire to quickly get as far away from the area as possible.

As he took another sip of coffee, a thump on the floorboards overhead signaled that their guest had woken. This was followed a moment later by the doorknob rattling and a fist slamming against the door.

“Hey!” Danielle yelled. “Let me out! I need to go to the bathroom!”

Nate held out his fist. “Rock paper scissors?”

Frowning, Quinn said, “I’ll do it.” He handed his cup to Nate and headed upstairs.

“You guys
are
just like Mr. Black!” Danielle yelled as she continued to hit the door. “New room, different prison!”

Raising his voice to be heard above the racket, Quinn said, “Hold on, I’m coming.”

He might as well have kept his mouth shut because she continued pounding on the door until he unlocked it.

“Stand back,” he ordered. His gun was in his room, but he knew he could handle her without it.

He waited until he heard her move away from the door before he pushed it open. As soon as it was wide enough, though, she sprinted at him, her hand restraints surprisingly missing.

Quinn pivoted, intending to knock her arms away, but before he could do so, she whipped them down and brought them up again between his arms and shoved him in the chest.

He staggered backward a few steps. Danielle was far stronger than the woman who’d been in cell one. But Quinn was not one to be fooled twice. As she attempted to hit him again, he moved with her and wrapped an arm around her.

“Stop it!” he ordered.

From downstairs he heard his phone ring.

At the same moment that Nate yelled, “I’ll get it,” Danielle kicked backward.

Quinn detected the move at the last second, and was able to twist enough to reduce the speed of her foot as it traveled up between his legs, but he couldn’t stop it.

It was a miracle he didn’t let her go as pain rocketed out from his groin. When she kicked again, he lunged sideways so that she hit only thigh.

“Quinn!” Nate called. “Get down here!”

Before she could take another shot, Quinn wrestled her to the ground and pinned her arms and legs to the carpet.

“Let me go!” she yelled as she tried to wiggle out from under him.

“Calm down,” he ordered.

“Let me
go
!”

Quinn heard Nate heading up the stairs. “Quinn! Did you hear—oh. Um, hold on.”

A moment later, Nate was beside Quinn, zip ties in hand.

“Behind her back this time,” Quinn said.

“No!” Danielle screamed as they rolled her over.

Nate double tied her wrists. “Ankles?”

Quinn turned the woman back over. “Are you going to be good? Or do we need to restrain your feet, too?”

She huffed several times as if she could breathe fire, her gaze darting back and forth between the two men.

“Well?” Quinn asked.

She spat at him, her saliva hitting him below the eye.

He nodded to Nate. “Ankles, too.”

“I’ve still gotta pee,” she said before Nate could tie up her feet.

“Hold on,” Quinn told his partner. He looked at Danielle. “If you try anything, we won’t just bind your ankles, we’ll tie you to the bed, too. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up.”

They helped her into the bathroom, where she stood next to the toilet, looking at them expectantly.

“What?” Nate asked.

“I can’t very well pull my pants down like this, can I?”

“You’re going to have to figure out a way,” Quinn told her.

“Come on. What does it matter? You’ve both seen me naked.”

Reluctantly, Quinn undid her pants and pulled them and her underwear down while Nate held her shoulders to prevent her from getting any ideas.

After she sat, she looked at them again.

“What now?” Quinn asked.

“It creeps me out a little to have you watch me pee.”

Nate said, “It’s okay for us to take your clothes off, but you don’t want—”

“Nate,” Quinn said, quieting him.

They turned enough to give Danielle some privacy while still being able to watch for any sudden movements.

“What were you yelling at me about?” Quinn whispered to his partner.

“Oh, um…someone needs to talk to you.” He formed the letter O with his mouth.

“God, I feel like I’m in high school,” Danielle said. “Just say what you’re going to say. What am I going to do about it? I can’t even pee without your help.”

Despite her request, they remained silent. When she finished, Quinn helped her get her pants back up and they returned her to the bedroom.

Nate pulled out some ties to strap her ankles but Quinn signaled for him to wait.

“If you promise to cooperate,” Quinn said to Danielle, “we’ll leave your feet free.”

She studied him for a moment before saying, “Sure. I can be a good little girl.”