Vanished (22 page)

Logan nudged Ben to his knees. "We're going down the
stairs. Got to be perfectly quiet. Stay with me. You run, you'll
catch a bullet. Understand?"

Ben nodded.

Logan tossed a chunk of cardboard at the door. Gunfire
splintered the doorway.

They slid down the stairs, keeping low, Ben squirming to get
free. The kid was a mere wisp, skin and bones and terror. When
they got to the bottom, Logan pushed him under the stairs and
pressed him flat against the wall.

Moving him toward the stone steps leading out of the cellar.

Gunfire thundered throughout the house. Pappas's return
fire was sporadic. He yelled from outside raw obscenities mixed
with an order for the shooter to surrender.

Logan could fire the M16 up through the floor, but he'd
provoke a storm of return gunfire. Even without a direct hit,
they'd be struck with frags ricocheting off the cement floor.

Ten feet to the door. Looked like sixty.

Someone in the kitchen. A box tumbled, more boxes.
Searching.

Opening the door to the cellar.

On the concrete steps, Logan spat on the rusty hinges of
the door. He pressed his shoulder against it. It jammed-thing
probably hadn't been opened in twenty years.

He pulled Ben to him, whispered, "I'm gonna go back, try to
take this guy out. When I shoot, you kick that door open and
get out of here."

Ben nodded, pressing his hands over his own mouth as if he
didn't trust himself not to cry out.

Logan crept back into the main cellar. Through the steps, he
could see a man's shadow, blocking what little light came down
from the kitchen. Logan raised his gun, counting off heartbeats
until it was time to take his best shot.

Something bounced down the stairs. Cop becomes marine,
training becomes instinct-grenade, gotta move, move, move.

He leapt back at Ben, bursting with him through the
door-light exploding-cellar erupting-rocketing them
upward-

-thundering-searing-blinding-

Fire.

IRE RAINED DOWN ON BEN.

Someone picked him up, someone strong. Please
God, an angel lifting me out of this fire because I don't
want to go to hell.

He let himself be carried because he had no will to rebel. A
hard smack against the dirt-please, don't bury me-and then
the angel or devil or hand of God lifted him.

Rolling him, dull pain as his skin and muscles flattened
into his bones. Up again, air to breathe but he still couldn't
see because there was too much light. The angel or devil or
savior whispered in his ear, You're OK, but don't move, and
so Ben didn't.

He held still, someone's heart beating against his back,
fevered breath in his ear, explosions overhead. Somewhere
deep in his heart, his mother's voice-be good and do what
Sergeant Logan tells you.

Fire crackling, wood popping, sparks spitting everywhere,
but still Sergeant Logan would not let him up. Not in hell, then,
close enough, a verdict handed down by Luther who blew up
houses and bike paths and pretty girls.

Logan crouched over Ben, squinting against the smoke, shirt
charred and hanging off his shoulders. Someone groaned on the
far side of the porch roof. It was in the middle of the backyard
because, as Ben dimly realized, the blast had blown it clear off
the house.

"Pappas," Logan said.

"Here," the man named Pappas said, his voice lost in the
snap of flames.

"You OK?"

"Caught a bullet."

"How bad?"

"Left forearm. In and out. Scored my ribs on its way, but
I'll deal."

"OK. Good."

"You?"

"Burned. Hurts like blazes, which is a good sign. Can you
see anything?"

"Negative. What was that?"

"Concussion grenade. You clear?"

"Of the fire. I've got cover behind what's left of the porch."

"I'm coming your way," Logan said. "Ben, be still and don't
run. OK?"

Ben nodded. If he spoke, he'd cry. A baby blubbering while
the men did the work.

Logan helped him up, pressing on the back of his neck to
remind him to keep low. Ben stumbled over one of the metal
doors that had landed nearby. It was a miracle it hadn't taken
their heads off.

How could miracles happen while hell kept exploding
around him?

The porch roof had blown off in a single piece and landed
against the maple tree. Taking cover behind it was a narrowfaced man with cold eyes. The sling on his left arm was
bloodied but he seemed not to notice, so intent he was on
scanning the yard.

Somehow Ben knew that his mother had put that sling on
this Pappas guy. That brought him comfort.

"Ben, this is Agent Pappas. Secret Service," Logan whispered.
"Stay here with him while I check things out."

"I've got your back, man." Pappas raised his rifle. An Uzi
or something like that. Ben couldn't remember, though he
should be able to. Cannon would know in an instant-but
where was Cannon now?

Logan crept away, burns on his shoulders, neck, and upper
arms. Burn in the singular-all the skin above his bulletproof
vest was one big red welt.

Pappas crouched next to him, eyes everywhere at once. Gun
in his good hand, blood oozing down his side. "Did you see
Luther-in the house or anywhere else?"

"No. I think he's seen me a couple times, but I've never
seen him, at least that I know of. I only heard what he might
look like."

"You carried a bomb for a guy you never saw?"

"We didn't know. My friend Cannon-Elvin Sheffieldhooked up this girl for a quick courier job. Jasmine Ramirez.
She asked me to go along."

Pappas frowned. "I don't make you for the bodyguard
type, Ben."

Eyes like a wolf, Ben thought. Good if he's on your side.
"As insurance. She thought she was transporting pot or something. I've never been arrested, so if something came down, she
thought I'd take the hit."

"Must be some chick to get you to roll for her."

Ben bit his lip. "She died in the explosion."

"Oh. Sorry, man. We didn't find..." Pappas's voice trailed
off. He must know why they didn't find her body.

Ben tried to wipe his tears with his shirt, ended up with
soot in his eyes.

Pappas cleared his throat. "You warned people away. She
didn't listen?"

"She saw Luther and panicked. Ran toward the Circle
instead of away."

"But you didn't see him?"

Annoyance now, quickly turning into suspicion. Pappas
looked like a cop, and probably all these questions were normal.
But the guy just rubbed him wrong. No way would Ben spill his
gut to anyone but Logan.

Pappas probed him with an icy stare. "I'm talking to you,
young

"No, sir, I don't have much to tell you. Sorry." Ben resisted
the urge to look away. Instead, he pretended to be Cannon, the
tough guy who could maneuver any circumstance. His neck
twitched, wanting him to shrink away from the guy's knifelike
gaze. He searched for a greater strength, found the image of his
mother on her knees.

Pappas blinked, turned back to watching the house.

Flames poked out of the windows. The smoke barreled into
the mist overhead, darkening the veil that hid the afternoon sky.

Afternoon. Time ticked on a desperate task that Ben had
almost forgotten. He jumped up. "Sergeant Logan!"

"Get back here!" Pappas shouted, but didn't have a free hand
to yank him back.

Logan met him partway, pushed him toward the neighbor's
yard.

"The other bomb," Ben said.

"I know. We need to know where," Logan said.

But Pappas had followed them, and Ben wouldn't trust
anyone he didn't know. The roof came down, a whoosh that
dampened the fire. Ben flinched at the shower of sparks, but
Logan didn't move. Just kept staring down on him.

"I'll take you there," he whispered into Logan's ear. "But
only you."

"We're wasting time," Pappas said. "We've got to get that
backpack."

One of the bike cops rode up and skidded to a stop. "Sarge!
What the heck is going on?"

"Long story," Logan said. "What're you doing here, Wells?
You're supposed to be helping Jamie."

"Long story short, Ms. de los Santos sent me. Is this him?
Her kid?"

Why was his mother involved with the cops? "Is she OK?"

"Yeah, dude. She's rockin'." Wells took a long look at the fire.
"That their house?"

"Was" Blisters bubbled on Logan's forearms.

He had taken the fire meant for Ben. And Agent Pappas had
taken his bullet.

Why had anyone even bothered?

"Some serious stuff goin' down here, huh?" Wells said. "Hey,
I made a deal with his mother. She said she'd go over to Spire
and bring back the wounded, and I was supposed to come find
him. She wants me to bring him back to her."

"You promised I could go with you." Ben grabbed for Logan's
shoulder, made him cry out. The guy's shirt was burned off his
back. "I'm sorry, sorry-"

Logan doubled over, took a few deep breaths, then said, "Ben
will stay with me. Wells, you take Agent Pappas up to Grace so
Kaya can sew up that arm."

"No way. I'm coming with you, Logan," Pappas said.

"Time out," Wells said. "Where are you all going? Maybe you
need me. I'm the only guy not walking wounded. What do you
need, Sarge?"

"What I need is for someone to do what I say!"

"I was just sayin', Sarge. You don't need to bite my head off."

Ben felt like some interloper listening to these guys work out
how to clean up his mess. He thought he was going to help by
getting information on Luther, but now he'd gotten Sergeant
Logan burned and Agent Pappas shot.

No wonder Gus Murdoch thought he was a major-league
loser.

"OK, let's work this through for a moment," Logan said.
"Pappas, you're little use to me with those wounds."

"I got a good right hand. You'll need me, Logan."

"Not if you're passing out from blood loss."

"Grace Church is almost a mile away. Too far."

"The clinic," Ben said. "It's not even halfway there, and my
mother has some supplies still out in case of emergencies. Like
that baby that came in today."

"Baby?" Wells said. "Were you there when-"

Logan waved the guy quiet. "Wells, take Agent Pappas over
to the clinic. Try to bind him up best you can. And while you're
there, clean up what was left on the sidewalk."

What was left on the sidewalk? These guys were talking in
some sort of code, but Ben was just not getting it. "Are you
lying to me? Did something happen to my mother?"

Logan's smile didn't begin to mask his pain. "She is fine and
at Grace. You have my word on that. She's doing heroic work,
son." He turned back to Pappas. "Once you're fixed up, you can
head back to help."

"Be glad to if I knew where I was supposed to go," Pappas
said. "Young man, you have got to tell us where the second
bomb is."

"There's a second bomb?" Wells said.

Ben inched backwards. Wells was known in the Flats as a
braggart and a bully. "I only want to talk to you, Sergeant."

"Enough of this garbage!" Pappas pressed his rifle to Ben's
head. "Talk."

Ben froze. "Tapley School."

"Put the gun away, Pappas," Logan said.

"We don't have time for this kid's games. We need everything he knows."

"Do it!"

Pappas glared but lowered the gun. "Did you see a detonator?
A timer?"

Ben didn't answer. Couldn't answer with his heart in his
throat, was barely able to shake his head.

"This is how we play it," Logan said. "Wells, you take Pappas
over to the clinic. Pappas, if your bleeding can't be controlled,
you have got to get up to Kaya so she can stitch you."

"It won't come to that."

"Hopefully not. If you're up to it, you can head back this way
on University. Take the right on Connor Street, then a left on
Townsend. That'll bring you to Tapley. If you're going up to
Grace instead, then send Officer Wells back to me. Got it? One
of you needs to be up at the church to help out there, and the
other can come back to me."

"What about the meeting?" Wells said. "What should we tell
people up at the church?"

Sergeant Logan rubbed his face. "We'll hope that help has
arrived before that. The response team can't be much longer."

Ben was doomed if they did, doomed if they didn't. When
the authorities finally showed up, he'd be carted off to some
jail where that hungry wolf Pappas would interrogate him.
And if they didn't come soon, eventually Luther would get
him. Maybe he should run for it. Take a bullet in his back and
be done with it.

Sergeant Logan put his hand on his shoulder. "We'll be OK,
son. We do this together, and we'll all be OK."

"Let's go," Ben said. "I'll show you where it is."

T WASN'T MUCH OF A PLAN, BUT IT WAS THE BEST JON
could come up with.