The Hunt Club (40 page)

“What if…” Hunt looked over at the house. There'd been no activity in or around it since Wu's phone calls. “She's not going to any kind of police, Dev. If she was going that way, they'd already be here. You guys are all the enemy now. Even Shiu. He might moonlight for her, but I've got to believe he's your partner first, a homicide cop investigating a couple of murders which, p.s., it looks an awful lot like she committed.”

“He might just come on for double overtime.”

“Unlikely.”

“And you don't think Ward will call the cops, either?”

Hunt shook his head. “He might want to, but she'll talk him out of it. It's her problem and she's motivated. I hope I've made her realize that giving us Andrea is her only out. That's all we want.”

“Not quite,” Juhle said. “I, for example, want to put cuffs on her.”

“I left that part out. And if you weren't here, that wouldn't be my issue, as I've said all along.”

“You'd let her walk on the murders?” Juhle asked.

Hunt shrugged. “I want Andrea.” He deadpanned his friend. The discussion was over. Picking up his walkie-talkie, he pushed the button. “You guys still good?”

Chiurco's voice crackled back up at him. “
Affirmativo, mon capitaine,
but nothing since the curtains. Except we did see a rattlesnake. Big old sucker.”

“How about you catch it and go set it loose in the house? That'll scare her out.”

Tamara's voice carried out of the speaker. “No way, Wyatt.”

“That was more or less in the order of a joke, Tam.”

“I'm laughing,” she said.

“Good. Call if you get lonely.” Hunt rang off, turned to Juhle. “Really, you don't have to stick around. We can handle it. Besides, it might not happen.”

It was Juhle's turn to take a beat, check out the château, note the time.

“Really,” Hunt said.

“Maybe I'll just hang a few more minutes. Take my chances.”

It was within three weeks of the longest day of the year, but the Coast Range cut off the direct sun in the lower parts of the valley by a little after six. By quarter to seven, the shadow had moved up to the base camp, and Juhle put on the jacket he wore every day in San Francisco.

“Here we go,”
Hunt said.

Juhle came up next to him, squinting into the shadows, as Hunt straightened up off his car's hood, grabbed his walkie-talkie, and buzzed his troops, telling Mickey down on the lower road that people were coming out of the house into the parking area in front. He should hit his ignition and be ready to roll.

“How many we talking about?”

“Hold on.” Hunt put a steadying hand on one leg of the tripod and leaned down into the binoculars. He had his night visions in the trunk of the Cooper, but it wasn't really quite twilight yet, and he hadn't changed over to them. “Some guy in a dark suit with the kid and a woman. I don't know if it's Carol. Can you get her, Craig? Over.”

“No. We're blocked by the house.”

Hunt followed the little procession as they made their way over to one of the SUVs. “Do we know how many people were in the house? The Manions, the kid, the security guy. Anybody else?”

“The kid's got a nanny,” Craig said. “We saw her upstairs through the windows.”

“So five. Five.”

“Sounds right,” Mickey said.

The man in the suit got into the car while the boy and the woman got into the backseat from the far door, now outside of Hunt's vision. In the evening stillness, even from across the distance, Hunt picked up the faint echoes of the car's ignition kicking in. It rolled forward, pulled up, and stopped right at the front door, blocking most of it. Hunt saw the house's door open and close. He had a sense of movement, but that was all it was. “Mick,” he said, “they're coming down. I don't know if everybody got in the car, but you'd better follow and find out.”

“Roger. On it.” Three minutes later, Mick checked in again. “Tinted windows, Wyatt. I can't see in.”

Hunt resisted the urge to swear. “All right. Which way are they headed?”

“North.”

“So not back to the city?”

“Probably not. Maybe food in the valley.”

“Let's hope. Okay, stay with 'em. Call when you know who's with them.”

“Check.”

Twenty minutes later,
Chiurco's voice, albeit quietly, rasped through the speaker. “Wyatt, you got me? The back door just opened.”

“You on night vision?”

“Yeah.”

The sky directly overhead was still blue, but by now the shadows from the Coast Range had engulfed the entire landscape up to the peaks behind Hunt's lookout. True dusk wasn't ten minutes away. Hunt had changed over to his Night Scout binoculars, but they were useless since he had no view of the back of the house.

Hunt didn't need any visual equipment, though, to see the blade of light that swept across the ridge behind the château, then swung back higher in among the oaks and boulders, where Tamara and Craig had been hiding all afternoon. Hunt saw no trace of them in the light's beam, a good sign that nobody else could see them, either.

He hoped. “Lay low,” he whispered.

The beam of light disappeared altogether, only to return in about twenty seconds from the same spot and following the same trajectory. Chiurco's voice, barely audible now: “Trying to flush us.”

“Got you. Hang back. Can you tell who it was?”

“An older woman, I'd say. It must be Carol, huh? Now she's back inside.”

Glued to his binoculars now, Hunt realized that he'd made a tactical error. With Mickey now gone with his walkie-talkie, he could not leave his own vantage point at the base camp and keep the front door under surveillance at the same time. There would have to be a gap. When they started driving down to the house, they would not know whether Carol was driving or walking to some location on her property. Everything depended on their ability to follow wherever she might lead them, and while she was out of their sight, they might lose her. He pointed this out to Juhle.

“So what do we do? You want me to go down first?”

“Same problem. No communication,” Hunt said. But then suddenly the point became moot. “Damn. Here she is.” He spoke into his walkie-talkie. “She's out the front door, Craig. Can you get her in vision?”

“Not fast. We're starting down. Coming around your right side.”

“Got it. Be quick if you can. But she's got her flashlight, and looks like something in the other hand. Maybe a gun, Craig. Watch out.”

“We're watching.”

Next to Hunt, Juhle whispered. “Where's she going? If she gets near her car, we've got to haul ass!”

“We've got to wait, Dev. We've got to wait. If she doesn't get in a car, we've got her.”

They could see the flashlight crossing behind the fountain. “Come on, Carol,” Hunt said. “Don't get in the car. Don't get in the car!”

“We've got to get down there.” Juhle, caught up in the urgency, opened the passenger door to the Cooper. “We've got to move, Wyatt. Now! We're going to lose her!”

As the flashlight's beam now crossed in front of the other SUV down in the château's parking area, Hunt realized that she wasn't going to be driving anywhere. He grabbed his tripod, threw it into his backseat, and picked up his one pair of Vipers, his night-vision goggles. Running around to the driver's door, he handed the goggles to Juhle as he slid in behind the wheel. “Don't drop those,” he said. He started the car, threw it into gear, swung a U-turn, and peeled out in a hail of dust and gravel.

From the time
Hunt hit the gas on the downhill, it took the Cooper seventy-eight seconds to get to the driveway turnoff up to Manion Cellars. After the right turn, Hunt doused his headlights, took his Vipers from Juhle, and pulled them down over his eyes into place. Getting his bearings with the night-vision lenses, he drove slowly and hoped quietly up toward the gate that crossed the driveway.

He whispered into his walkie-talkie. “Craig? You got her?”

“No. But there's an old barn down to my right, where there might have been a light when I first got here. But it's gone now.”

“Where are you?”

“Pretty far up, still. I didn't want her to hear our chatter. I'm by the road that runs around the back of the hill, where the caves are.”

Juhle said to make sure whether he was above or below the barn, and Craig said he was still above.

Hunt turned in his seat. “Where's this barn?” he asked Juhle. “You know it?”

“Yeah. If you go up in front of the new caves, it's in a little hollow on the right. Lots of junk laying on the ground all around it.”

Back into his walkie-talkie. “Craig. Where's Tam?”

“Up above with the binoculars. How about you?”

“Me and Dev are just at the gate.”

“You guys ought to split up.”

“That's the call. I'm going to send Dev around up the trail you're on.” Hunt had seen this clearly enough from the base camp. The unpaved road wound around behind the base of the promontory and continued up until it disappeared behind the château. “You start coming down slow. He'll be coming up. Meet up in back of the barn and wait there. If she comes out, don't let her see you, and don't stop her. Let her do whatever she's doing.”

“What about you?”

“I'm going past the caves in the front.”

“So she's in the barn?”

“I guess that's the working theory. Now we've got to shut down the chatter.”

“Okay,” Craig whispered. “I'm out.”

Hunt clicked off his walkie-talkie and dropped it on the floor beneath his feet. Shading the light with his hand, he flicked on and off his small, industrial-strength flashlight, and put it in his jacket pocket. Both men in the car reached for their door handles, but Hunt grabbed Juhle by the sleeve, stopping him. “Dead quiet, Dev. Easy open, no close. Let it happen. And if this goes south, take off immediately. You were never here.”

Hunt crossed around
his car and, crouching, followed Juhle for the first fifty feet or so, until he came to the trail on his left that led up to the new caves from the tasting room below. As soon as he left the pavement of the road, he became aware of the gravel crunching under his feet, each footfall magnified in the stillness of the night.

He had to slow to a near crawl, each step now an eternity. Clearing the first rise, he came out into the relative openness of the entrance to the cave area. The staff had closed the huge doors of the caves for the night, but Hunt double-checked each one and found them all to be solid and immovable. When he cleared the entrance to the fourth cave, he recrossed the path to get a better angle on the hollow that enclosed the barn.

Juhle was right. The foreground was littered with tools and equipment. Without the night-vision goggles, Hunt stood no chance at all of getting to the barn, much less inside it, without making a racket. Even with them, though, he would be picking over the ground by inches.

In the eerie green glow, he took a step and then another, trying to keep one eye on the obstacles ahead and the other on the barn, for any sign of light from within. Between each step, he would stop and wait, listening. He heard no sound.

It was a large, two-story, three-sided structure, built into the westernmost wall of the promontory. He'd made it through the no-man's-land out front, and now directly in front of him, the door to the barn hung halfway open. If she were behind it, waiting for him…

He could not let himself think about that.

He listened. He listened.

He drew his gun.

Stepping through the opening into the barn, he ducked and whirled around. Something moved in the periphery of his vision, and he jerked back to see a large green-glowing rat scurrying into a pile of straw and out of sight. Taking a shaken breath, he turned again, all the way around now. Six stalls lined the side wall, a partially open tack room stood in the corner off the back door.

And then he saw it.

In the promontory wall, another door to apparently another cave. Of course, he thought. How had it never occurred to him before? If there were new caves, then it stood to reason there must have been old caves.

Or at least one old cave, now abandoned, unvisited, locked up.

He crossed to the door, which was in fact not locked up like the others, but stood a few inches ajar. A faint cold breeze emanated from within, and Hunt pulled the massive door—it was at least four inches thick—a few more inches toward him.

He stepped inside.

Even with the night-vision goggles, it was difficult to see—the glasses didn't shed any light of their own, only magnified the ambient light that was present, and here in the cave there wasn't much to magnify. He put his hand to the wall and took another tentative, silent step, and another. After about thirty steps, the cave bent to the left slightly, then sharply back to the right. He had to negotiate several old wine barrels that lay on their sides against the walls of the cave. Hunt continued pushing himself forward until he could go no farther.

The night goggles were useless this far in. There was no light left to magnify. Hunt lifted the goggles and turned on his flashlight, surprised to encounter another door completely blocking his way, seemingly built into the stone walls of the cave. Behind him, in the vast echoing darkness, an unmistakable creak resounded in the confines of the cave. He barely had time to begin to turn when the creak was followed by a muted and terrifying percussion.

It could have been nothing other than what it was—the door to the cave slamming shut.

Though it wasn't loud,
it was the first sound Andrea Parisi had heard since the solid door had closed behind her however many days ago. She was lying on her back on the stone just inside the door—in fact her side was pressed up against the door. She was nearly paralyzed by hunger and thirst, and at first, she imagined that she'd dreamed the sound in her present altered state. Most of what was left of her mind had come to believe that she was not really there anymore. None of this was real, and even if it was, it could not go on for much longer. Perhaps she was already dead.

But there had been a definite sound. Close enough for her to hear it.

She tried to turn herself to the side, to face the door and call out, but her muscles wouldn't obey her to let her move at all, and her throat was so dry, it couldn't be coaxed into sound.

But if there had been a sound, that meant that someone might be out there. She might still be saved, still have a life before her.

She had to try again.

She tried to concentrate, fought to draw air into her dry and empty chest.

This time the sound, when it came from her, had no form. No words. An inchoate moan that dissipated almost as it sounded in her chill grave and left her exhausted, her throat burning.

And yet she gathered the last bit of reserve she could muster and threw it out again into the darkness that had become her world and her hell.

And there it was again! Without question, another sound through the door, and someone knocking on it. And her name!

Andrea.

From the bottom of a deep well, someone was calling her name.

Hunt had no time
to give in to the terror that threatened to consume him. After all, he told himself, Craig, Juhle, and Tamara were close by, just outside on the property. But they all were waiting for his instructions and would be unlikely to move in after he had specifically instructed them to let Carol alone and let her lead them to Andrea.

Which she had done.

Even Juhle, he realized, would be reluctant to move at this point. Juhle did not know that Andrea was locked behind the second door in this cave—only Hunt knew that—and without knowing about Andrea, Juhle had no more cause to arrest Carol Manion than he'd had earlier in the day. To say nothing of the fact that Juhle had moved himself completely out of bounds by coming onto her property. He was, in fact, trespassing. If anyone connected him to any of the more unorthodox if not to say illegal elements of Hunt's plan, it would cost him not just this case, but his precious job.

Hunt had made his way back to the door at the cave's opening inside the barn to verify that the noise was what it had sounded like. Yes, that door to the outside was closed now. Locked, solid, immovable.

But then he'd returned to where he'd been, and through that second door had heard Andrea's strangled cry. Pounding at the unyielding door, he called out to answer her, but the sound seemed to be swallowed up by its own echo.

And after the one response, nothing.

He shone his flashlight again over the wood of the door. The faintness of the sound from the inside could only mean that the door was extremely thick. It was also framed with heavy beams, which in turn were set into seamless concrete, built into the cave walls.

Hunt sank to the floor and pounded over and over at the door, but the sound didn't carry at all. It was as if the door itself were made of solid rock. “Andrea!” he called again. “Andrea, can you hear me?”

Deafening silence.

“We're getting you out of here,” he whispered.

The words themselves seemed to galvanize him. Getting to his feet, he held a hand up over his head, feeling for movement in the air. When he'd been standing out in the barn at the cave's entrance, he'd felt a distinct breeze coming from within the cavern. This could only mean that air was getting into the cave from the outside, from another way in.

Again he tried the door to the very inner chamber where Andrea was locked in, and again he couldn't budge it. Shining his light around the edges, he realized that the seal was at least nearly, or perhaps perfectly, hermetic. No air, or very little air—certainly not enough to cause a breeze—was coming through. This was not bad news. It meant that the moving air he'd felt at the mouth of the cave originated somewhere within his own chamber and not behind that door.

Hunt began walking back toward the front of the cave, shining his light on the walls and the roof, making sure he covered every inch of surface. With the door in the barn closed, there was no breeze blowing in the cave now, either. He tried to remember if he'd felt the source of the breeze as he'd made his way in while the front door had still been open, but he'd been concentrating on what might have been in front of him, on where he placed his feet, on who might have been waiting there in ambush.

The source of the breeze had never entered his consciousness.

Where the cave turned sharply left going back toward the entrance, he noticed a fissure high in the rock as it began to curve to form the roof. No more than eighteen inches at its widest point, and perhaps five feet from tapered end to tapered end, it disappeared into blackness. Standing directly under it, Hunt reached his hand up and strained to get some sense of fresh air coming in through it.

But he felt nothing.

From where Hunt stood below it, even standing across the cave by the opposite wall, he couldn't make out how far back the hole went. It might go all the way to the outside, it might gradually narrow to nothing, it might stop after three feet. There was no way to tell. And at first it wasn't clear why it would matter, anyway. Even if it did mark a possible opening to the outside, he estimated that the fissure itself was at least four feet above his extended reach.

It was impossible.

He kept on looking along the cave's walls, past the barrels, making it all the way to the front door again. That door, too, had been cleanly carved into the limestone. The narrow fissure, ten feet off the ground back where the cave hooked left, was the only possibility. There was no sign of any other outlet. He let himself down to the floor, his back against the door to the barn. Turning off his flashlight, he collected himself in the blackness and tried to concentrate.

And thought of the barrels.

Midway back again, and laying his flashlight on the ground, he dislodged one of the heavy empty barrels from its wooden rack and rolled it back to the spot underneath the fissure.

It wasn't going to be enough.

Hoisting himself up to stand on the barrel, he still could not reach the bottom edge of the crack in the limestone. He was short of it by a foot or more.

Getting down off the barrel, he retrieved his light, and shone it again into the opening, trying to get a better idea of how far it extended. He still couldn't see back into it more than a few feet. Changing his focus, he scanned the beam over the lower edge of the hole. Jagged, sharp-edged, and clearly defined, the ledge appeared to be a natural fault in the solid rock, but he knew that if he tried to jump and grab a handhold and it gave under his weight, or simply crumbled, he would be looking at, best case, a bad fall. Perhaps a broken bone or worse.