Of course, this was all just a series of calculated assumptions. For all Martin knew, Dr. Kasim and the other men had used a secret exit to slip out of the compound and the slaves were already dead. But Martin didn’t believe that. An explosion devastating enough to destroy an entire gold mine would be nearly impossible to miss in the serenity of the wilderness. During the breakneck drive back, he had seen no rising dust plumes and had heard nothing louder than the roar of the Land Rover’s engine.
There was also another reason Martin believed that the slaves were still alive.
He had put far too much on the line for this to be a lost cause. It was true that the object he left behind on the old highway might save Anna’s life, but Martin knew such an outcome was unlikely. Leaving the object was more for his sake than for Anna’s; it meant that Martin did not abandon his wife completely to fate; it meant she still had a chance. Only with that knowledge could Martin make a U-turn and speed back through the woods toward the greater good.
Yes, Martin was certain that the slaves were still alive. Because if they weren’t, the sacrifice of Anna’s life would be for nothing.
As if the universe wanted to prove Martin right, at that instant he saw a black Land Rover cruise out of the main gate. Martin’s heart began to race and he felt a heady nervousness.
It was them.
Oscar drove and Dr. Kasim, dressed in a drab white robe, rode in the passenger seat. Kwame and Solomon were in the next row of seats, and Tobias and Carver in the very rear.
Martin watched the Land Rover speed away along the wooded dirt path. He had little doubt that they were headed to the landing strip. But then where would they go? Did they truly believe that they could get away? Considering the heinousness of their crimes, despite their great wealth, Martin had serious doubts that they would get very far, unless . . . No, the thought was so awful that Martin pushed it out of his mind.
He had work to do.
Martin waited a moment longer to make certain that Dr. Kasim’s Rover was truly the last one. All clear. He sprang out from behind the tree and bolted toward the left-open gate.
* * *
“Stop the truck,” Carver yelled just moments after they had passed through the gate and left Forty Acres behind. “Quick, quick.”
Oscar stomped the brakes, bringing the black Land Rover to a skidding halt.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” Carver said as he jumped out of the truck and stared back down the dirt path at the compound’s main gate.
Everyone except Dr. Kasim climbed out and joined Carver at the rear of the vehicle, puzzled stares all around.
“Well, what is it, son?” Solomon said to Carver. “What did you see?”
Carver noticed all the confused faces. “Come on. Nobody saw that?”
The group glanced back down the road. There was nothing to see but two hundred yards of deep tire ruts leading back through the woods to the compound.
“As you know, we’re a little pressed for time,” Oscar said with an impatient edge in his voice. “Exactly what did you see?”
“I saw someone running into the compound.”
Oscar frowned. “An animal most likely.”
“No,” Carver said. “It wasn’t an animal.” He glanced at each of them to drive home his next words. “It looked like Grey.”
Tobias scowled. “You can’t be serious.”
Solomon shook his head in disbelief. “Son, you have any idea what’s going on here? We don’t have time for this nonsense.”
“I’m telling you it was Grey,” Carver said. “At least, it looked like Grey.”
“You’re wrong,” Oscar said. “The last time I saw Martin Grey he was speeding west. The man was running for his life. No way he’d come back here.”
“Let’s just go back really quick,” Carver said. “Do a quick check.”
Oscar stared at Carver like he was nuts. “You know damn well we can’t go back in there.”
Carver glanced at his watch. “There’s still time. Just a quick look.”
“Impossible,” Dr. Kasim barked. The men turned and saw the doctor behind them, leaning on his carved walking staff. “All of you, back in the truck. Now.”
Everyone did as they were told, except Carver. He shook his head. “I know what I saw, Doctor.”
Dr. Kasim laid a supportive hand on the younger man’s arm. “Your feelings toward that traitor have been clear from the start. And now with all that’s happened—sometimes hatred plays tricks on the mind. That’s what you saw.”
“But—”
“Do you trust me?”
Carver nodded. “With my life.”
“Do you love me?”
Carver bowed his head before his mentor. “You know I do.”
Dr. Kasim smiled. “Show me. Help an old man back to the truck.”
Carver peered back down the road at the compound gate, eyes determined. Riveted.
“Did you hear me?” Dr. Kasim said. “We must go. Carver? Carver!”
CHAPTER 87
Martin ran.
He ran as fast as he could, legs and arms pumping, a flat-out full sprint toward the main house. He felt incredibly exposed running up the wide, oak-shaded main driveway, but there was no time for stealth. No time for ducking from tree to tree or sticking to the shadows. Martin was confident about his half-hour estimate, but there was a lot to do, and there was a very real possibility that thirty minutes might not be enough.
First and foremost Martin had to find the panel or box or whatever it was that controlled the explosives. Then he had to figure out how to shut the damn thing off. He considered running directly to the mine and trying to rush the slaves out in time, but that was too risky. Just reaching the mine would eat up the clock, and if the entrance was sealed, there’d be no way that he’d be able to get past that huge steel door in time.
Martin felt sure that the most likely means to save the slaves would be found inside the main house. When he’d toured the mine with Damon, Roy mentioned that the explosives could be activated from two locations. One was the security shack on the mine’s upper level, and the other location loomed directly ahead.
Reaching the circular driveway, Martin cut a direct path across the curving gravel road and trampled through the front garden, headed straight for the mansion’s front door. From the moment he arrived at Forty Acres, there always seemed to be workers busy in the flower beds or performing various chores around the house’s exterior. Now there were only overturned buckets, dropped tools, an abandoned pair of threadbare gloves, and a single ragged shoe. Seeing the grounds so eerily deserted and lifeless caused Martin to run even faster.
Martin charged through the unlocked front door and into the main foyer. Panting, he glanced around at the downstairs area. An overturned armchair, a broken porcelain knickknack, and a fallen painting were the only immediate signs of an evacuation. In that instant a question occurred to him. Why hadn’t they burned down the house? The answer came just as quickly. It was the same reason that the mine hadn’t been destroyed yet. A raging fire in the middle of the woods would draw quick attention, not an ideal scenario when you’re trying to make a clean escape.
Martin had no idea where to begin his search. He didn’t even know for certain what he was looking for, but he knew that there had to be some sort of security room. It just made sense that there would be a central location where every surveillance camera could be monitored. Since the Primacord was, in a sense, a security measure, such a room seemed like the perfect place to keep its triggering mechanism.
Confident that it wouldn’t be difficult to locate a room full of electronic gear, even in such a large house, Martin began the search with a jolt of enthusiasm. He moved systematically from the ground floor to the second floor, then to the third. On each level he snatched open door after door, and each time he found nothing but bedrooms and closets.
After fifteen minutes of yanking doorknobs, Martin found himself in the third-floor hallway, staring up at a sma
ll hatch door that led up to the attic. Martin knew that it made no sense to put a security room in a space so difficult to reach, but he was desperate. He had already searched every inch of the house and time was running out. As unlikely as it seemed, the attic was the only place left to look.
A short knotted rope hung from the hatch door. Martin jumped and was able to catch it. As he pulled the hatch down, a cushion of musty air wafted over him. The stale odor instantly took him back to his building in Brooklyn, back to his childhood when he and his friends would play cops and robbers in the—
“Of course.” Suddenly Martin knew exactly where the security room would be.
He bolted down the hall and hurtled down the stairs.
CHAPTER 88
The Handyman crept to a stop across the street from Martin Grey’s house, just in time to see Anna Grey exit her Prius and cross the lawn to the front door. He killed the engine as he watched her unlock the door and disappear inside.
The Grey woman was alone. Perfect.
The Handyman checked his watch and scanned the immediate area. There were a few neighbors about, a couple of kids walking home from school, a UPS guy making a delivery, just what you would expect to see in a middle-class Queens neighborhood at a quarter after three in the afternoon. The conditions weren’t perfect, but he would make do. Ideally, he would have preferred to postpone the hit for a few hours. That way he could go home, catch a quick nap to refresh his mind and reflexes, then return after nightfall as the friendly neighborhood Cable Com guy. The Handyman had plenty of other disguises in his repertoire, but the cable guy was his favorite for one simple reason. A cable guy was one of the few strangers that people routinely allowed into their homes. Unfortunately, because the Grey woman was an ASAP job, he didn’t have time for absolute stealth. To get to her quickly, he’d have to use a more brazen method.
The Handyman retrieved a small duffel bag from the backseat. From the bag he removed a pair of black Vibram toe shoes. The trendy rubber-soled shoes that resembled gloves for your feet might look odd, but they were perfect for creeping through a house without alerting the mark. He swapped the shoes on his feet for the toe shoes, then removed two more items from the bag, a .45-caliber Colt SOCOM handgun, and a four-inch-long sound suppressor. The suppressor had been machined by the Handyman himself from completely untraceable parts.
After tucking the gun and the suppressor into separate jacket pockets, the Handyman was ready. He peered back across the street at the Grey house. He saw the upstairs bedroom light switch on and caught glimpses of the Grey woman’s shadow moving behind the curtained window.
The Handyman glanced at his watch. A little more than thirty minutes had elapsed since he received the kill order. He still had plenty of time to fulfill the contract as expected, so he decided to wait. People tended to move around a lot when they first arrived home. He’d wait ten more minutes to let the Grey woman get herself settled in, then it would be time to pay her a visit.
CHAPTER 89
A dingy bare bulb flickered to life to reveal a low-beamed underground space.
Martin made his way down a creaking flight of stairs and found himself in a cellar.
Metal shelves loaded with boxed supplies lined the brick walls. There were also a few racks of wine and several pieces of stacked furniture. The stagnant air had the dank, musty odor of a basement.
It didn’t take Martin long to spot the unmarked steel door tucked between two shelves. He hurried across the cellar and gripped the knob.
“Please,” he whispered.
He yanked the door open and found himself staring into a room filled with glowing surveillance monitors and computer screens.
Martin flung himself into the security room. The first thing that seized his attention was an image on one of the monitors. It was a grainy black-and-white video of a large group of people. They were crowded into a large room. Some were lying on the ground, others were leaning against the walls, others were pacing, and still others were holding each other.
Martin realized that he was looking at a live video feed from the slave quarters deep inside the mine. The sight caused his chest to swell with emotion. “They’re alive,” he gasped. He reached out and laid his hand on the screen. He’d always believed in his heart, he truly had, but now he knew for sure.
That’s when Martin noticed an odd flashing beneath his outstretched palm. Slowly, he peeled his hand away from the monitor. In the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, three green numerical digits rapidly cycled away seconds.
4:43.
4:42.
4:41.
Martin knew immediately what he was seeing—the life of every single person on that monitor, ticking away.
Martin shoved two rolling chairs out of his way and turned his attention to the control console beneath the monitors. There were countless dials, switches, and buttons blinking for attention. Fortunately, many of them were labeled. Upstairs Hall, Kitchen, Dining Room, Driveway, etc. There were also several rows of electrical breaker switches, each coded with a number. In fact, Martin quickly noticed, on the entire panel, there was only one unmarked switch. It was located near the center of the console. A simple rotary switch with two indicator lights, one red and one green. The knob was pointed toward the green light, which was illuminated. This switch had one other feature that distinguished it from all its neighbors. It was the only switch that required a key.
Please let it be here.
Martin scanned the room. A small key cabinet was mounted on the opposite wall. He pulled at the door but it was locked.
Martin grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher and hammered the cabinet’s lock. Two more hard strikes and the battered cabinet door clattered to the floor.
Inside, there were two rows of silver keys. Each key had a labeled white tag. Storage, Electrical, Plumbing, Garage, and a dozen more. Only one key was different. There was no tag and the key’s head was wrapped with bright red tape. The exact same color as the red Primacord cable that Martin had seen snaking through the mine.
That has to be the one.
Martin grabbed the key and slid it into the silver keyhole beside the rotary switch.
A perfect fit. He snatched back his hand, suddenly afraid to twist it. If the key didn’t work, what would he do?
It has to work.
Please turn. Please.
Martin took a deep breath and reached for the key.
“Don’t you move another fucking inch.” The voice came from the door.
Martin froze. Slowly, he turned his head.
Carver Lewis stood in the doorway pointing a gun. He waved the weapon at Martin. “Get away from that panel.”
Martin didn’t budge. He knew that if he obeyed Carver’s order, he would never get within arm’s reach of that key again. “Listen to me,” Martin said. “It’s over. All of this is over.” He pointed to the monitor. “Those people don’t have to die.”
Carver took a menacing step forward and aimed right between Martin’s eyes. “I’m not going to tell you again,” he said. “Get away from that fucking panel.”
The gun barrel looked huge to Martin, as if he were gazing down a black abyss. The instinct to survive was strong, but something stronger in his heart held him to that spot. Martin peered past the gun, stared straight into Carver’s burning eyes, and said, “No, I can’t do that.” Then Martin lunged for the red key. He heard a sharp explosion followed by an impact to his shoulder that flung him backward into the wall.
Martin crumbled to the floor, blood seeping from a bullet wound in his shoulder. Drunk with pain, he watched helplessly as Carver approached the console and did the unthinkable. Carver swung the butt of his gun at the protruding key, breaking it off in the lock. The top half of the key clattered to the floor near Martin.
Vision beginning to blur, Martin lost sight of the broken red key among the drops of his blood that speckled the floor.
CHAPTER 90
While the bathtub filled up behind her, Anna, d
ressed only in a terry-cloth robe, stood at the bathroom mirror pinning up her hair.
That’s when she heard the strange sound.
The resonant churning of bathwater made it impossible for Anna to discern exactly what the sound was, but she definitely heard something. A knock but not a knock, sharper than that, and she was pretty sure it came from downstairs.
Unable to let it go, Anna jabbed the last pin into her hair, then opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the upstairs hallway. The instant she shut the door behind her, the watery racket from the bathtub was reduced to a low hush.
Anna listened. She heard the sound of a car passing outside, the distant roar of a jet approaching JFK, and the faintest chatter of a nearby conversation, but that was all.
It was strange, standing there in that quiet house; Anna felt an urge to call out Martin’s name, as if he were just in the other room and could answer back. The feeling that she wasn’t alone was so powerful that Anna was tempted to run downstairs and check to see if Martin was plopped down in front of the television snacking on potato chips and beer. Of course he wasn’t, but God, how she wished he was.
Anna listened one last time for any repeat of that strange sound; hearing nothing but an empty house, she frowned and stepped back into the bathroom.
* * *
Once the Handyman heard the bathroom door shut upstairs, he padded softly from the Greys’ kitchen into the living room.
Usually he could bump-key a door with a single strike. Perhaps because of a faulty lock, it took three strikes to open the Greys’ back door. Apparently the Grey woman had exceptional hearing. If she had come downstairs to investigate, it would have made his job a bit more difficult. A mark who’s alert and keyed up for trouble is unpredictable. Preferable by far is a mark who’s preoccupied, a mark who never knows what’s coming. One minute they’re taking a relaxing bubble bath, the next they’re bleeding out into the tub.
Forty Acres: A Thriller Page 33
