The Trigger (21 page)

At the most,
she thought. She knew the approximate location, but finding the access or documenting the proof that someone was inside would be the challenge. Dallas checked her gear one more time: flashlight, lock-pick, handgun, water bottle, and camera. Her Sonja phone was in an outside pocket of the backpack, and her lucky cloth was in her front jeans’ pocket. At the last minute, she grabbed her work phone and tucked it into a pocket inside the backpack. She might not have reception out on the hill, but if she found Emma, she had to try to contact her FBI team immediately.

She stepped outside and waited, scanning the area. No movement on the streets of the cul-de-sac. At the end, Spencer’s house lights were on, as were the lights in the data center. She would have to be careful how she accessed the back road. Hurrying down the steps was louder than she would have liked, but now that she was on the move, she wanted to clear the neighborhood quickly.

Dallas jogged toward the brothers’ side-by-side homes, then veered left and headed for the garden behind Randall’s. His house was dark and his vehicle was gone, so she wasn’t worried about him seeing her. Once she hit the soft edge between the grass and the soil, she turned right and jogged along one of the many paths that crisscrossed the property. This one led from the community building to the dirt road behind Spencer’s house. A low sound caught her attention. Was that a car engine? She turned back toward the houses, but the night was dark and the sound was gone.

Senses heightened, Dallas kept her pace casual. She hoped to seem like a restless athlete taking a slow jog before bed. She didn’t want to raise any suspicion from Spencer, should he look out his back window and catch her movement. Her black clothes and small backpack were hard to see in the dark, and she felt relatively safe. Once she hit the dirt road, she relaxed a little, but still didn’t turn on her flashlight. She wouldn’t use it until it was time to leave the main path and begin searching the hilly terrain.

Ten minutes later, she sensed the ground subtly rising under her feet and realized it was time to venture off the road. She stopped and flicked on her flashlight. In the sudden absence of her footsteps, the night was eerily quiet. Except for a hushed sound. Breathing? Dallas spun around. Under a cloudy moonless sky, the landscape was black. Nerves humming, she waited and watched. Nothing moved, except a gentle breeze, carrying cool night air with the scent of fir trees and corn stalks.

Dallas turned back to her task and shone her light at shoulder level. The hill rose off to her right—the same spot Spencer had glanced at when she mentioned an underground bunker. She bet the structure was nestled into the hill and that the brothers had used the sloped terrain to minimize the excavation. The next part of her search would be tedious, checking behind every rock for something that looked like an entry and peeking into every clump of shrubs for a latch of some kind. Dallas got to work.

* * *

Randall heard Sonja’s footsteps pause and nearly stumbled as he tried to stop quickly. He pulled in a breath, squatted down, and held as still as he could. It was no easy task. Adrenaline had been pinging his nerves since he’d left the tavern. When he’d pulled through the Destiny gate at nearly midnight and spotted a slim dark figure running toward his back yard, his heart had thundered like a racehorse. He’d cut his lights and engine, rolled slowly into the driveway, and grabbed his 9mm from under the seat. Leaving his truck door ajar, he’d followed the figure on foot as she set off down the back road.

Where the hell did Sonja think she was going at midnight? Dressed in black and wearing a small backpack? Someone—maybe Spencer—had mentioned she was into astronomy, but the cloud cover was too heavy for stargazing. She was up to something, for sure. He’d suspected she was looking for Grace’s grave, but Sonja had jogged past the turnoff to the generator and didn’t stop until she reached bunker hill, as they privately called it. Now she was searching the ground at the halfway point in the slope.
Shit!
She was only about twenty feet from the opening to where Emma was.

She had to be a federal agent sent here to find his wife!

Randall worried that Sonja could hear his heart pounding in his chest, but she hadn’t looked back since that first stop. He’d been right about her from the beginning. And his brother had called him paranoid. It would be the last time. Could he text Spencer without making any noise? Did he even have his phone, or had he left it on the seat of his truck? Randall patted his pants pockets and didn’t find it. Instead, he slipped his gun into his right hand. The act was physically comforting, giving him the control he needed. Yet psychologically, he’d crossed a line into new territory. He and his brother had made many critical decisions in the last week, but this one might be irreversible.

A bright light with a narrow beam clicked on, and the dark figure moved forward, scanning back and forth. How did she even know the bunker was in this area? Had Spencer stupidly told her? Had lust and loneliness rotted his brother’s brain? Even though the Emma situation was his own fault, Randall resented Spencer for making it worse. What the hell were they supposed to do with Sonja? If that was even her name.

Should he confront her? Then what? Kick her out of the community and hope for the best? She would be back with a search warrant in twenty-four hours, and he would be in jail shortly after.
Could he kill her and be done with it?
Only if it was necessary to save the mission. But even if he eliminated her, other federal agents would come looking when she didn’t check in. One option seemed prudent and palatable. Put her in the bunker with Emma and wait for the meltdown. When they finally released her, the world as she knew it would be gone, and she might decide to stay and make the most of her situation. They certainly needed more babymakers. She might run, but by then, it wouldn’t matter. What was left of law enforcement would have their hands full keeping government offices protected. They wouldn’t have time to worry about a harmless, isolated community.

Randall moved toward her slowly, watched her search for the entry, and plotted his attack. Sneaking up on her might be impossible. He could approach her in a friendly manner, then pull the gun. What if she was armed? Did undercover agents carry weapons? Fear snaked through his bowels. She was probably a trained fighter, and he hadn’t been in a physical confrontation since fifth grade. This would not go well. Should he just shoot her in the back? Randall brought up his weapon. His hands shook, his chest itched, and he thought he might be sick.

Her light stopped moving, and Sonja dropped to her knees next to a big boulder. She’d found the entry. Was this the right time to rush her? No. He wanted her inside the bunker. He might as well let Sonja go down the stairs on her own, then knock her out and drag her inside.

* * *

In the dark, the black U-shaped latch was nearly impossible to pick out against the green grass, but Dallas expected it to be there and didn’t give up. She had spotted a fresh footprint in the dirt about ten yards back, and behind the giant boulder seemed like an obvious place to put the entry. Even in broad daylight, you could lift the trap door without being seen from the curve in the road. She pulled the decaying tree limb out of the way and squatted a foot or so from the handle. After a hard tug, the trap door lifted on its own.

Musty cool air rose from the opening. Dallas leaned over the hole, listening for sounds of activity, but heard nothing. It was midnight, so Emma and her baby could be sleeping.
If
they were down there. Her gut told her they were. Randall didn’t act like a man who might never see his family again. Dallas scanned the narrow cavity with her flashlight and spotted an interior door. If she could just make contact, she could call in backup, and maybe a Redding police SWAT team could come out and force the entry. She slipped the flashlight into her pocket and moved into position over the ladder.

Hanging onto an interior strap, Dallas planted a foot on the second rung, then grabbed the edge of the ladder with her free hand. It was an awkward transition, and she wondered how they’d carried Emma down. She had to have been unconscious. Maybe Spencer, being the bigger one, had strapped Emma to his back. Dallas climbed down the ladder, hating the feeling of being underground. So unnatural. If a meltdown ever did happen, she would rather die than live underground for any length of time.

At the bottom, she used her flashlight to examine the door. Made of steel with a keypad entry. Dallas pushed the handle, then pounded on the door. “Emma, are you in there?”

For a moment, there was no response. Dallas started to bang again, but a female voice called back. “Who are you?”

“FBI. I’m here to help.” Dallas slipped off her backpack to dig out her cell phone. She probably couldn’t get service, but she had to try. First she reached for her weapon.

Suddenly, a massive weight landed on her back, knocking her to the ground. Her head smashed against the door, and for a moment she blacked out. When her brain was functioning again, she tried to push off the ground, but her arms were weak, her lungs burned, and a funny noise dribbled out her mouth. She’d had the wind knocked out of her.

A faint clicking sound caught her attention, and the door next to her swung open, slamming into her. Dallas rolled on her side and struggled to reach her weapon, which she’d dropped when she hit the floor. Weak and winded, she felt as if she were underwater. Someone grabbed her hair and dragged her through the opening. She kicked at his legs just as her hand found the Kel-Tec. She swung the gun up, but Randall knocked it away before she could pull the trigger.
Fuck!

A foot smashed into her head, and shocking pain waves clouded her thoughts. She tried to reach her backpack, but Randall stomped on her hand, snatched the pack and gun, and ran from the dark room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
The slam of the door sent a wave of panic through her body. Dallas sat up. She wanted to rub her head, but her right hand hurt too.

“Who are you?” The captive woman had stood there silently while Randall assaulted her.

“Sonja Barnes.” Dallas instinctively stuck with her alias. “Are you Emma Clayton?”

“Yes. I’m sorry Randall kicked you. Are you all right?”

“Mostly.” Dallas looked around, but the room was lit only by a small lantern in Emma’s hand. Dallas guessed the size to be about forty-by-twenty. “Where’s your baby?”

“Tate has a fever, so Spencer took him to the hospital.”

Dallas tried to work out the logistics, then shut down the thought. The baby didn’t matter right now. She had to get out of this underground prison. Head throbbing, she pushed off the concrete and examined the door. Also made of metal, the handle was locked in place. A keypad to the left was the only means of exit.

She turned to Emma. “Any idea what the code might be?” A pointless question.

“No. Randall keeps changing it.”

“Have you tried to get out?”

“I’ve tried a few codes, but the door is locked and I’m underground. What else could I do?”

So Emma wasn’t the self-reliant type. Dallas tried to remember what she’d seen of the mechanism on the outside before she was attacked. Another keypad, also to the left. The door locked every time it closed. They clearly hadn’t wanted just anyone to come and go freely from the bunker. But why was Emma here? Dallas had to know. “What happened? Why is your husband imprisoning you?”

The pretty woman turned on another lamp. Dallas guessed it was battery powered.

“I was leaving to go stay with my mother.” She bit down on her lower lip. “But I think they have something planned. Something that might have prevented me from getting back.”

A jolt shot up Dallas’ neck. “Tell me everything you know.”

Emma chewed her lip, struggling with what she should say.

Dallas wanted to slap her. “If you’re working with Randall and Spencer to commit crimes, I’ll leave you here when I go.”

“No!” Emma looked alert for the first time. “I didn’t know anything about their plans until after they kidnapped me.”

“What are they up to? I need specifics.”

“I don’t know details. I just know that Spencer is trying to trigger a financial collapse, and Randall…” She hesitated for a long moment. “I think his followers might blow up some internet buildings.”

“Good fucking god.” Rage and frustration made her head hurt worse. “Why? What do they have to gain?”

“Nothing personally.” Emma sounded defensive. “They want to stop global warming before it wipes out humanity.”

Dallas tried to process their egomaniacal thinking. “So they trigger a metaphorical flood, and Destiny gets to be Noah’s ark? The sole survivors that repopulate the earth?”

“Something like that.” Now Emma looked ashamed.

Too stunned to respond, Dallas tried to form a plan. The concrete walls were impossible to get through. She had to find a weakness in the door. She glanced at Emma. “Are there tools down here? A screwdriver maybe?”

“Of course. We’re preppers.”

“Get ’em.”

Emma walked toward a freestanding cabinet on wheels. “They’re in here.” She dragged the unit toward Dallas.

The walls started to close in, and her thumping heart grew loud in her ears. How had Emma stayed so calm down here? Was she medicated? Dallas didn’t ask. She had to get the hell out, access one of her spare phones, and let her team know what the crazies had planned. She yanked open the top drawer and found everything a do-it-yourselfer could want. A giant screwdriver caught her eye. She grabbed it and headed for the door.

Oh shit.
It swung outward, so the hinges were on the other side. Removing the door wasn’t an option. Rage welled, and Dallas fought the urge to smash the screwdriver into the keypad. She would try a few codes first.

Emma stood behind her, and Dallas asked, “What is Randall’s birthday?”

“August first, 1972. But it’s not that.”

A Leo, and ten years older than his wife.
Dallas keyed in the numbers. No luck, but she had to start with the obvious. People tended to make passwords easy to remember. “Keep giving me dates. Your birthday, your anniversary, your son’s birthday.”