by Tim Tigner
My nose went to work along with my hands, cataloguing blood, sweat, soap and scented shampoo. Not Katya’s!
The shoe at the end of the leg I’d grazed told me the victim was male. No surprise there. But his pants material was unexpected. It wasn’t the thin, tough cotton of surgical scrubs. Therefore, he probably wasn’t one of my fellow prisoners.
How long had I been unconscious? Apparently, long enough for a third party to become involved. Was this a cop? That seemed the most logical conclusion, but my continued probing quickly dissuaded me of that idea. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and he wasn’t alone. He was with a woman.
She had somehow landed with one leg draped over the cable pulley. She also had a badly damaged elbow.
A badly damaged elbow. These weren’t cops or fellow prisoners. They were our captors. The two Oz and I had apprehended.
I went back over their bodies with their pictures in mind and became convinced. I also discovered their cause of death. One suffered severe head trauma, the other a broken neck. I inspected the rest of the elevator roof, expecting to find Oz but coming up blank.
Perhaps he’d fallen all the way down.
I had a decision to make. Which direction to climb? The decision driver was caring for Katya. Not just finding her, but saving her. She was likely in the bunker, but there was nothing down there I could use to help her. My mind’s eye flashed to the stockpile of guns in the garage.
I went up.
I reached the keyhole quickly and found myself facing the same dilemma I’d encountered during the first round. Again I was blind and unarmed and facing an unknown opposing force as I put my palms to the back of the bookcase. At least this time I knew what lay on the opposite side—if not who.
Taking it slow and steady, I inched the concealing wall away. As I moved toward the corner I passed the hidden closet. With what little light filtered through I could see that it was now stuffed with kitchen trash bags. Most likely the ones that had been laid out on card tables.
Curious, but unwilling to delay my incursion now that the bookcase was noticeably out of place, I continued on and peered into the study.
It looked abandoned.
I crept quietly around the corner and pushed the bookcase back into place. The element of surprise appeared to be on my side. I walked directly to the garage and peered inside.
The rolling door was open, the black Dodge Charger gone. The stack of weapons remained intact except for two H&K MP7s. The ones I’d discovered to be loaded with blanks. Both were missing.
I filled two twenty-round magazines with some very serious 4.6 x 30 mm ammunition. I slapped one into a remaining MP7 and slid the spare into my back pocket. Then I loaded a Glock 19 with 115 grain FMJ 9mm Parabellums. It went into a shoulder holster which I strapped into place. I wasn’t planning a Lara Croft-style twin-handgun firefight. The G19 was for Katya.
Feeling infinitely more confident than I had seconds earlier, I stepped back into the cabin. I took my time clearing it, room by room. Someone had somehow surprised me the last time, and I wasn’t about to let that happen again. But the further I got, the clearer the obvious conclusion became.
The circus had left town.
I considered calling the police, but it occurred to me that the earlier call might have been the mistake that put me back in the dark. Either due to corrupt cops or someone powerful intercepting the police band. A dirty FBI agent or local sheriff perhaps.
I returned to the garage in search of rope—lots of rope. I didn’t find any. Not so much as a clothesline. But I did find an acceptable substitute. One hundred feet of garden hose, coiled around a wheeling caddy. I took the hose, but left the caddy. I also pulled a drill off the rack along with a 1.5-inch wood-boring bit, and grabbed a weapon sling.
I used the bit to drill a hole near the bottom of the back of the bookcase directly opposite the big elevator. Then I ran the hose nozzle through, knotted it off, and tossed the coil into the shaft. Last but not least, I pulled the big metal pin from the ground, freeing the manual lift. Rather than simply toss the bar aside, I stashed it behind a row of books. An ounce of prevention.
Noting that my makeshift drop key had been left in the elevator lock, I retrieved and pocketed it. Just in case.
Satisfied with my prep work, I walked to the laundry room, opened the breaker box, and flipped the big unlabeled switch.
48
Thin Air
Western Nevada
MY HEART was in my mouth as I descended the hose. Given all the curve balls I’d encountered in the past few days, I was far from clear on what to expect. All I knew for certain was that I wouldn’t stop until Katya was safe at my side.
Within seconds, I reached the bottom of the shaft.
I put my ear to the door, but heard nothing. Given the armor plating and hermetic seal, that wasn’t too surprising. I released the latch, opened it a crack, and peered inside. With one exception, everyone visible appeared to be sleeping. The man closest to the elevator doors was clearly dead. It was Webster. He had a massive hematoma on the left side of his head and a deadeye stare. The bruise told his tragic tale. It was shaped like the side of a dumbbell. Good girl!
Among the unconscious, the interesting one was Kai. He was seated in an armchair that he’d moved to face the manual elevator. He held a Glock 19 in his limp hand.
The stillness of the scene perplexed and frightened me until I remembered that I’d just turned on the power. That recognition sparked the revelation that explained the rest of the scene and moved the panic deep into my bones. They’d been in the dark long enough to suck all the oxygen from the still air.
How long was the gap between unconsciousness and death when the heart was pumping useless gas to the brain? It probably wasn’t more than a few minutes, and no doubt depended on the individual’s health.
Fighting the urge to rush inside, I widened the gap and slipped through the doors. With my MP7 ready, I crept to Kai and plucked the Glock from his hand. After wedging it beside its twin beneath my shoulder holster, I felt for his carotid pulse—and found it! Strong and steady. The bunker’s owner stirred at my touch but didn’t waken.
Katya wasn’t in the main room, but then neither were most people. Had they escaped? Or spread out in search of air?
I glanced into both downstairs bedrooms and saw that most beds were occupied. The explanation was obvious. Growing weak and wanting to conserve both oxygen and energy, they’d lain down.
Katya was not among them.
She wasn’t in the gym or restroom either.
The pantry had a few occupants, as did both the garden and the utility room. All were flat on their back in what yogis would call shavasana position. As I watched, a few started stirring.
Katya wasn’t among them.
It occurred to me that I also hadn’t spotted Sabrina or Oz.
Sebastian was on a couch in the main room, not far from his fallen fellow spy. I found a second Glock wedged between his sofa cushions.
He awoke while I was wresting it free.
I jammed the barrel of my MP7 into his mouth.
As his eyes went wide, I raised his Glock to my lips in the hush sign. “Roll over. I want you kissing cushion,” I whispered. “If I see your eyes, I’ll shut them with a bullet. If I hear your voice, I’ll silence it with a bullet.”
Sebastian rolled over without a sound.
Carrying three Glocks in addition to my MP7 was overly awkward, so I popped the magazines and ejected the chambered rounds from the two I’d just seized.
That noise garnered a few reactions around the room. More people were waking up.
I squeezed the magazines into elastic slots on my holster. Then I quietly slid the neutered Glocks under the couch, and hurried upstairs. It took me less than a minute to check all four rooms. By the end, my heart felt like it was full of rocks. Katya was not in the bunker.
49
Blank Stare
Western Nevada
SINCE KATYA WAS
N’T IN THE BUNKER, it was painful for me to be there. I knew that pain wouldn’t stop until I found her safe and sound. In the meantime, the only thing I could do to assuage my anguish was to constantly keep moving in her direction.
Wherever that was.
But first, I had to see forty-five other souls to safety. And one to jail.
I ran around checking the pulse of anyone not stirring. Thankfully, mercifully, Webster was the only casualty. I wondered if anyone else knew who had killed him, given that Katya had done the deed in the dark.
The fact that I was armed drew mixed reactions. Some people shrank back, others asked questions. I ignored them all. This was a triage situation with no time for distraction. If CPR was required, seconds mattered.
Satisfied that no lives were in immediate danger, I returned to the main room. Despite all that had transpired, I figured I’d emerged from the shaft less than five minutes earlier.
I walked behind the couch on which Sebastian was obediently kissing cushion and turned toward the rapidly gathering crowd. Some were shouting questions at me, others were reacting to the sight of Webster’s dead body. I snugged the muzzle of the MP7 into the back of Sebastian’s neck. While the crowd cowered, I asked him, “How many of you are there?”
“Four,” he said, his face buried in fright, his voice muffled.
“In addition to you and Webster?”
“Including us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Knowing that good interrogation technique involves shaking things up to keep the subject off-balance, I bent close enough to whisper menacingly in his ear. “Willing to bet your life on it?”
“Yes. Just us four. I swear.”
I believed him, but I kept the menace in my tone and the muzzle pressed tight. He and his colleagues had threatened Katya’s life and tried to steal our home. “Describe the other two.”
“A man and a woman, both fifty years old.” Sebastian went on to characterize the couple Oz and I had attacked upstairs. The couple I was all but certain were now dead in the elevator shaft.
“You received no outside assistance?”
“None.”
I pressed the muzzle further into his flesh. “Employed no consultants, informants or snitches?”
“No.”
I had what I needed for now. It was time to address the crowd. They had all backed away and many had sought partial cover behind walls. “It’s safe to leave. The electric elevator isn’t working, but with the hand-cranked lift we can evacuate one person at a time.”
Expressions immediately softened. One of the CEOs ran to the manual lift and tried to open the door while a dozen others hurled questions at me. Kai’s was the most commanding. He was standing next to Governor Rickman. “Where did you get the submachine gun?”
“You have to crank the lift down to the bottom before the door will open,” I called to the CEO. “Be careful getting in; I had to dismantle the floor.”
Turning towards Kai and the governor, I said. “I got it from your garage after climbing the elevator shaft.”
“How did you get into the elevator shaft? The doors are locked and bulletproof.”
“I fabricated a drop key from a coat hanger.” I pulled the crude instrument from my back pocket and tossed it to Kai.
“Who’s upstairs?” the CEO asked, pausing in the doorway.
“Nobody. One of our kidnappers is here on the couch. One is there.” I used the H&K to gesture toward Webster’s body. As I did so, Sebastian popped his head up, spotted his colleague and cried out in anguish.
I pushed him down into the couch and turned back to Kai. “The other two are in the elevator shaft, also dead. Whoever does the cranking is the next to go up.”
Sebastian’s cry turned into a wail and he began writhing on the couch.
I paid him no heed.
“How do I use this?” Kai asked, holding up the drop key.
I told him.
Everyone but the guy cranking the manual lift watched Kai work the lock. It took a few tries, but he got it. “Well, I’ll be.”
He pulled the doors aside. “I don’t see any bodies. What’s with the hose?”
“The bodies are higher up. I couldn’t find rope.”
“Why can’t we use the electric elevator?” Governor Rickman asked.
I flashed on the image of two corpses getting tangled and mangled by pulleys and cables. Perhaps even leaking on the riders. “They ripped out the panel upstairs as well.”
“I’m an electrical engineer,” a member of the crowd volunteered. “I might be able to repair it one way or another.”
“Great. You head up next.”
I pulled a Glock from beneath the couch and turned to my favorite banker. It was best to keep the troublemakers busy at times like these. “Trey, I need your help keeping Sebastian covered. He should be the last to come up.” I extended the gun, butt first.
Trey didn’t take it. He chose to give me a defiant look instead. “Which means I’ll be next-to-last?”
“Think of it as women and children first.”
“Why don’t you stay?”
“Because Katya is missing and I need to find her.”
“It’s not just Katya that’s missing. Your Muslim friends are gone too. Why is that?” Trey asked, as his cabal gathered around.
“I don’t know. That’s what I plan to investigate.”
“The women were called upstairs by the kidnappers. Why was that?” Trey pressed.
I didn’t like where this was going. Nor did I care to defend myself to a jackass I was trying to help. “That was Oz. He was using the kidnapper’s microphone. We wanted to get the women out of the reach of the real spies.”
“The women, but not the rest of us?”
“Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m freeing you right now.”
“You, but not Oz. How did he get upstairs? Is he a climber too? Is he up there with a gun right now? Picking people off, one at a time, while you distract me by offering a gun with no ammunition?”
50
Double Jeopardy
Western Nevada
I DIDN’T HAVE THE STOMACH for more from Trey, and Katya didn’t have the time. “I’m leaving. I suggest someone keep an eye on Sebastian.”
Trey crossed his arms and nodded knowingly. Kai and Rickman didn’t look particularly pleased either.
I took a quick detour into the bedroom to change into my own clothes. They were nothing special, but Katya’s ring was in the pocket of my jeans. No way would I lose that again.
Kai and Rickman intercepted me a minute later on the way to the elevator shaft. Kai spoke softly. “I’ll take the Glock.”
I pressed the gun into his outstretched hand, then slipped him a loaded magazine.
“Thanks.”
Climbing the garden hose proved to be a breeze. It was actually quite grippy. I had to time my move around the electric elevator to avoid being hit by the hand-cranked lift, which was running nonstop, but that was no big deal.
With the doors open below and the bookshelf swung wide above, I had enough light to visually confirm that it was the corpses of our captors atop the electric elevator. I was about to move on when it struck me that they might prevent the lift from docking up above—assuming the electrical engineer could get it working.
The fix was obvious but gruesome. Drop them into the pit.
I did the math. With forty people to go and the manual lift requiring two-plus minutes per person, it would take an hour and a half to get everyone out. Not long in the grand scheme of things, but given my own experience disembarking planes after long flights, I knew it would be tremendously frustrating. Deciding that the living had to take precedence over the dead, I did the deed.
Crunch, crunch.
The first thing I saw up top was the electrical engineer working the elevator panel. That helped allay the uneasy feeling over what I’d just done.
The next thing I saw was people searching
the pile of kitchen bags for their belongings while others talked on their repossessed phones. That gave me an idea.
I dragged all the remaining bags out into the study where I could systematically inspect them. It didn’t take long to find the bag with my phone, wallet and Katya’s purse. While it felt good to slide my belongings back into my pockets, they weren’t my end goal. I was looking for the little leather café au lait purse with a gold buckle and chain that matched Sabrina’s dress.
I didn’t find it.
I made a second pass of the kitchen bags, this time inspecting the IDs in purses and wallets. No Sabrina, no Oz. Three people were gone, but only two sets of identification were missing.
Chewing on that, I returned to the hidden closet. It also contained the computer equipment which, like the kitchen bags, had been in the study when Oz and I stormed in. The big monitor was there, as was the bone-mic console and the video intercom. Notably missing were the laptop computer and the red flash drive. The one with the cryptocurrency, including the four million dollars I’d borrowed.
Combining all that with the other facts yielded a virtually inescapable conclusion. A sad and scary conclusion. Oz had hijacked the robbery.
He’d seen the opportunity to co-opt the perfect crime and had seized upon it. That disappointed me on many levels, despite being understandable. It was, after all, ninety-two million dollars. Many if not most men would at least be tempted.
But why take Katya? Why not stuff her in the lift with me? An answer came quickly. She’d have put it overweight, making it impossible to strand me in the suspended coffin. Although sufficient, that explanation felt slim. Especially since he’d shoved the kidnappers to their deaths and left the rest of us to suffocate. So why take her?
No other explanation leapt to mind, but a practical consideration did. I looked around and found another item missing. The duct tape.
