by Barry Eisler
He passed a tiny town on the left—Desert Shores. Nothing but a gas station and For Rent signs and graffiti-covered walls. A few small houses that looked ready to give up the ghost, and not a light on in any of them. And then it was gone, and he was back on the moon again.
A few miles farther along, he saw it—the streetlight, and the fading welcome sign by the rusting electrical pole. It looked more like a warning than a welcome if you asked him, but that was for the day-trippers who came to gawk at the ruins when there was sunlight still in the sky. No one ever came here at night.
He cut the headlights and made a left onto a paved road that soon became gravel and sand, his heart rate kicking up a notch. There was a garage he liked to park in, and he headed slowly toward it. Well, garage was probably a strong word, the thing was really just three disintegrating walls at this point, but it served to conceal the vehicle. Whoever of he and Snake got here first always scouted the area, just in case there were any homeless lurking. They were yet to encounter one—there was no one you could panhandle off in this ghost town—but still, you never knew.
He laughed, feeling good. The Salton Sea, he thought. Shunned even by the homeless. But not by us.
44
Livia watched on the screen as the Azrael tracked Boomer’s minivan. The drone was incredibly easy to use, and so far it was working perfectly. It was strangely compelling to imagine that when Boomer stepped out of his car, all she’d have to do was fly in close and press the button.
She wished she could. But that wouldn’t help Sherrie Dobbs.
Little made sure to stay several miles back. The road was desolate, and they didn’t want to take any chance on Boomer seeing them.
“There he goes,” Livia said. “Salton Sea Beach. Like we thought he might.”
Little blew out a breath. “Okay. I know the drone isn’t loud, but you might want to pull back before he gets out of his car. Just in case.”
She appreciated the respectful way he’d suggested it. “Will do.”
“We’re almost at Desert Shores. Stick to the plan?”
“Yeah, make a left when we get to it. We’ll cut the lights and drive in along the beach for a few minutes, then hoof it for the last half mile or so. Can’t take a chance on their hearing or seeing the Jeep.”
“Any sign of Snake?”
It was a little hard to tell. The beach was dotted with abandoned structures, ghostly in the green glow of the drone’s night vision.
“Not yet,” she said after a moment. “Boomer’s pulling into . . . I’m not sure. Some sort of abandoned structure. Give me a second, I want to fly over to see if Snake is already in there . . .”
She could see on the screen that it was just Boomer. The drone was incredibly useful. She’d had no idea.
“It’s just him,” she said. “Okay, I’m going to take the Azrael higher. We’ll get a better view. How have I gotten by without one of these my whole life? I told Kanezaki I’d give it to him when this was done, but now I don’t know.”
Little chuckled. “How are we doing on battery life?”
“Getting low. Following Boomer drained it fast. Down to thirty percent.”
“Well, if this is where they’re meeting, we should be good to go, Azrael or no.”
She nodded. She knew he was right, and she’d been joking about keeping the drone. But still, it was weird how quickly she had grown reliant on it. Being able to see remotely was game changing.
Little turned left and drove through the town, over cracked roads sprouting with weeds. No curbs, no sidewalks. There were telephone poles, but no streetlights. The houses were small and unlit. It was like something from a dystopian movie.
“They could have filmed Mad Max out here,” Little said, reading her mind. “Or the movie version of Dante’s Inferno. And my God, the stench.”
The road ended at the beach. They drove on, the tires crunching and crushing what Livia knew from their research were fish skeletons, not sand. At the water’s edge, they turned right.
Livia watched the screen. “I’ll tell you why they like this place,” she said. “All the deserted structures. I’m seeing garages, burned-out trailers, abandoned houses . . . They have their pick of places to take their victims, and then take their time. Rusted-out vehicles, decaying furniture . . . it’s like a postapocalyptic junkyard. We knew they’d be at the Salton Sea, but even so, if we didn’t have the Azrael, we never would have pinpointed them.”
Little drove on. About a half mile north of where Boomer had parked, Livia said, “We better stop. I don’t know how sound carries here.”
Little did as she asked. They got out. The air was dry and hot and stank so strongly it made her eyes water, as though someone had opened an oven with a burned animal carcass still smoking inside it. It was impossible to imagine anything ever having thrived here—the ground itself seemed to exude nothing but desolation and death and despair. Livia thought of the painting Saturn Devouring His Son, and wondered if Goya had known a place like this one.
They’d already turned off the interior lights, and they left the doors open to keep noise to a minimum. They started walking, keeping close to the water because the pulverized fish bones were damp there and more tightly packed, and made for quieter footfalls. Little had his gun out. Livia couldn’t yet because she was still operating the drone. She kept circling it. And—
“There he is,” she said in a low voice. “Snake. I don’t see his car. He’s walking north by the water.”
“Maybe he left the car in one of the structures with a roof?”
She circled the drone wider. “Maybe. Come on, Sherrie, where are you?”
“She can’t be far,” Little whispered. “And worst case, if we can’t find her directly, Snake and Boomer will lead us to her.”
She hoped he was right. But she was getting a bad feeling. The battery was at ten percent now.
“There’s Boomer,” she said. “Walking east toward Snake. Yeah, this is their place. They know exactly where they’re going to meet.”
“We could take them out,” Little said. “And search for Sherrie Dobbs after.”
“And if we don’t find her?”
Little didn’t have an answer for that.
She thought of how much she regretted not having killed Snake in Kanab, when she had the chance, and hoped she was making the right call now. “Remember, it’s not just Sherrie,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “It’s all the girls they’ve disappeared. If we kill them now—”
“I get it. Let’s keep going.”
She looked at the battery readout. “Shit,” she said. “Five percent. I need to bring it back.”
Less than a minute later, the drone descended in front of them, not much louder than a big fan at a high setting, and landed at her feet like a pet bird. She picked it up, shut it down, put it in the case, and drew the Glock.
They were close enough to see Boomer and Snake now, about fifty yards away, walking toward each other in the faint moonlight. The two men reached each other and embraced. Livia and Little crept closer and paused at the edge of a rusting trailer. Furnishings that had once been inside littered the ground like viscera. Concealment, but not much cover—Livia doubted those rusting walls would stop a rock, let alone a bullet.
Boomer and Snake stood talking for a few minutes, close enough for their laughter to be audible, though Livia couldn’t quite make out their words. Snake had a bottle, which they started passing back and forth.
Livia set down the drone case. This was their chance. She leaned close and said in Little’s ear, “We take them here, okay?”
He nodded. “If we have to drop one . . .”
“Make it Boomer. Without Snake, we might not be able to find Sherrie Dobbs.”
“Got it.”
After a few minutes, Boomer and Snake started walking toward the trailer. If they had guns, and Livia assumed they did, they were holstered. They were laughing, excited, distracted. She and Little were going to be able to
take them totally unawares.
Just twenty yards away now. Livia’s heart was pounding. She breathed slowly, noiselessly, through her mouth.
Ten yards. Snake and Boomer came to a pile of junk—broken chairs, tractor tires, a wheelbarrow dissolving like something from a Salvador Dali painting. And just as they passed it—
Some of the shapes moved, seeming to unfurl. Livia thought, What the fuck?
Men. Three of them, in ghillie suits. She could make out the shape of night-vision goggles, the silhouettes of suppressed machine pistols.
“Holy shit,” Little breathed.
Boomer and Snake sensed the men, or heard them, but too late. One of the three, farthest to the left and taller than the others, said, “Freeze or you’re dead right there.”
Boomer and Snake froze. The tall man and the one farthest to the right immediately fanned out, their machine pistols up and planted firmly against their shoulders, their heads close behind their gun sights. The practiced confidence and coordination of their movements looked military—and not regular military, either. “Hands high,” the tall one said. “These are suppressed MP7s. We have night vision. We’re not going to miss.”
Again, Boomer and Snake complied. “Do you know who I am?” Boomer said, his voice slightly slurred.
“We do,” the tall guy said. “It’s why we’re here.”
The third guy came in smoothly from behind, and quickly extracted a pistol from the small of Snake’s back, and knives from both Snake and Boomer.
Little looked at Livia and mouthed, What the fuck?
She shook her head, stuck for an answer. She had no idea what this was. All she could think was Where is Sherrie Dobbs?
A voice came from behind them. “Drop your weapons. Same drill. Same MP7s pointed at your backs.”
Livia felt a huge adrenaline surge. She wasn’t going to give up her gun. For anything. She took a breath—
There was an explosion of light behind her eyes. For a moment, the world disappeared. Then she was on her knees, dizzy and shaking. The Glock was gone. She felt hands probing her pockets, and groped for the Vaari. But her coordination was off. She felt the knife being yanked from its sheath.
“Jesus,” came a voice from behind her. “I’ll be keeping this.”
Her head was throbbing. She felt something trickling down the back of her neck. They’d cracked her in the head. The trickle was blood.
“It’s not personal,” another voice behind her said. “The word was to not take chances with you.”
She tried to stand and was hit with a wave of nausea. “You’re all right,” one of the voices said. “Just a little love tap. Let’s walk.”
She managed to get to her feet. Little was beside her, his hands up, empty. He looked at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.
They walked. Once she started moving, the nausea abated. But she made sure to keep the unsteadiness in her gait. She didn’t know what else to do but try to make them underestimate her. It was hard to believe it would make a difference, but knowing that she was working even the smallest angle kept the fear at bay. She thought of Sherrie Dobbs, and that helped, too.
They stopped a few feet from Boomer and Snake. The two men were on their knees, facing the first three ghillie-suit men, who were standing with their machine pistols at low ready. The sight of it took her back to the cargo ship of her childhood, and Skull Face and Square Head and Dirty Beard, and what they had made her do.
She worked to force it all away. She wasn’t that helpless girl anymore. She never would be. No matter what.
Little was trembling, staring at the two kneeling men. She knew what he was thinking: if he could just get his hands around one of their throats—
“Don’t,” she said. “Not yet. Sherrie Dobbs.”
Little groaned with the effort of not launching himself. He stared at Snake and Boomer and said, “You took everything that beautiful child was ever going to have. If I don’t kill you here, I swear to God I will find you in hell.”
Boomer and Snake didn’t answer. The two men behind Little and Livia walked over to their three comrades. One of them was carrying the drone case. He set it down. “The drone,” he said. “Gonna be a nice bonus.”
A car drove past along the dead-fish beach. No headlights. It stopped. The driver got out. He was wearing a ghillie suit and night vision, like the others. He opened the trunk. Livia heard a muffled whimper.
Sherrie Dobbs.
45
“She’s here,” the driver said, moving around and joining the others so that the six of them faced Boomer, Snake, Little, and Livia from a few yards away. “In the trunk. We’re good.”
The tall man gestured to Little and Livia. “On your knees.”
Livia looked at him. “Fuck you.”
The man laughed. “Yeah, we were told you were a hellion. You want to get smacked again?”
They hadn’t underestimated her. The opposite. They were keeping their distance. But maybe she could goad them. It wasn’t as though she had anything to lose. Compared to getting on her knees, she didn’t care if they killed her.
“Try it,” she said.
The man laughed again. “Whatever. You want to make a run at me, go ahead. Congressman Kane, you’re free to go back to your vehicle. The rest of you need to stay.”
Boomer said, “What?”
Snake said, “What the fuck is this?”
Boomer said, “My father sent you, didn’t he?”
The tall man nodded. “That’s right.”
Boomer laughed. “I should have known. Well, tell him to go fuck himself.”
“You can tell him yourself,” the tall man said. “Maybe I wasn’t clear when I said you were free to go back to your vehicle. What I meant was, go back to your vehicle. And drive out of here.”
“Fine,” Boomer said. “Snake comes with me.”
The tall man shook his head. “Everyone else stays. You go. That’s the deal. And believe me, that’s how it’s going to happen. One way or the other.”
Boomer said, “Okay, fuck you too, then.” He started laughing.
The men looked at each other, plainly at a loss. Boomer laughed harder. He threw back his head and shook with hilarity.
The men were distracted, she could feel it. If she launched herself at the closest, Little would see his opening, too. So might Boomer and Snake. It could turn into a melee. Far from ideal, but at this point chaos would be a lot better than order.
She braced to make her move. But then a strange thing happened. The tall man’s head snapped back, as though someone had punched him. For a weird second, he remained upright. Then his arms relaxed, his weapon fell, and he collapsed, his knees folding up beneath him.
Livia blinked. And in that instant, the head of the man to the left of the tall man also jerked, and then he went down, too.
Carl. Kanezaki must have—
“Sni—” a third man started to shout, and then his head snapped back and he collapsed like the others.
For a surreal instant, everyone and everything seemed frozen. And then it all exploded:
Boomer leaping to his feet—
The three remaining ghillie-suit men scrambling in different directions, scanning, trying to locate the direction of fire—
Little, who had played football at Florida State, flying forward and blasting into Boomer with a berserker roar—
Snake jumping up and running to the driver side of his car—
Livia bolted after Snake. One of the ghillie-suit men heard her coming and started to turn, his machine pistol coming around—
Livia grabbed the suppressor with both hands and twisted hard. A staccato burst of rounds stitched across the fish-bone beach. She kept twisting. The man screamed as his finger broke inside the trigger guard. Livia spun, popped in her hips, and threw him with ogoshi, a basic judo throw, ripping the gun loose as he flew past her. He hit the ground and she stepped back, aimed at his face, and pressed the trigger. There was a long
burst of fire and the man’s head exploded.
She checked her flanks. Little was on top of Boomer, bellowing with rage. Boomer was shrieking. She didn’t see the remaining two ghillie-suit men.
She brought around the MP7 just as Snake’s car disappeared behind a building, the trunk still open. She screamed in frustration and dashed away from the water, trying to get a better angle. She saw the car again. Aimed for a tire. Fired. The rounds landed short—she was being too cautious, unfamiliar with the weapon and afraid of hitting Sherrie Dobbs—and then the trigger clicked back, inert. She was out of bullets.
She screamed in rage, dropped the gun, and ran back to where they’d been standing. There—the drone case. She grabbed it. She heard the machine pistols. She couldn’t tell if they were firing at her or engaging Carl. She ran for the wall of a collapsed shack, dropped to her knees, and opened the case. She took out the Azrael, powered it up, and set it on the ground.
More suppressed fire. A scream. It sounded like Carl had hit one of them. The Azrael whirred to life and lifted off. She worked the toggle and watched the screen. She got it twenty feet in the air and punched it. The battery was at three percent.
Please, she thought. Please.
She watched the screen. The beach raced by. Two percent. She saw Snake’s car, slaloming along, beach detritus shooting up behind the spinning tires. The engine, she thought. It was far enough from the trunk. She hoped. One percent. She brought the drone around in front of him and flew it full-speed directly at the grille of the car, afraid the anticollision sensors would override her. The battery indicator went to zero. She flipped up the plastic and pressed the button—
The screen went black. She heard an explosion a hundred yards away. She dropped the case and charged down the beach.
She saw the car, stopped against the side of another abandoned structure, smoke pouring from under the hood. The door opened. She kept running. Snake got out. He coughed and wiped his face. He looked up and saw her.
“You want me?” he snarled. He held his arms out, palms up, the fingers rippling inward in a Come on gesture. “Well, here I am, bitch. Come and get it.”
