“Hook!” he yelled. “Gimme a hook”And then he slid off onto the skid, holding on to the cold, wet aluminum for a second before dropping into the freezing water. -He cringed as he hit, instinctively trying to pull his legs up under him, waiting for the shock of hitting a rock, but thankfully, it was deep water, but god damned cold. It felt like fire this time, painful, every inch of his skin immersed in the icy-hot grasp of the current.
Go. Swim. Move. The helo was coming lower, but there was no hook. He used a hard breaststroke to get over to the bag, then grabbed a strap.
The . lower end of the bag submerged, bobbing beneath the black surface.
He worked his way around to the end where the dog was hanging on and yelled some encouragement to him. He patted the lumpy shape in the bag, thanking God that body bags were waterproof. He thought he felt the lump move again, but there was a steel hook dropping close to the water alongside the bag. Train grabbed it, felt the wallop of a static shock discharging through his elbow into the water, and then the hook was yanked out of his hand as the helo lifted for some reason. Train swore, but then the hook was back as the crewman once again swung out on the skids, now only fifteen feet above the river, and worked the rescue hoist. Train dragged the hook back along the bag and tried to snap the hook onto a strap, but his hands weren’t working. He stared at the dog’s face, its eyes shut, its teeth gleaming white against the glistening black rubber. His own brain numbed by the cold, he tried to figure out what to do next. Then the hook was yanked again and he refocused, and with a huge effort, he pushed the moused hook over the heavy strap. He raised his right hand and gestured to lift. He was tempted to hold on to the bag as the wire tightened, but he didn’t know how strong the cable was or whether he even could hold on. But the dog could. Train grinned lopsidedly as he saw that Gutter, eyes slitted open now, wasn’t going to let go of that god damned bag for anything.
And then he was alone in the river as the helo pilot maneuvered to keep the aircraft stable against the sudden weight on one side. The spotlight moved sideways, and Train relaxed, not so cold now, letting the current just carry him, no longer having to struggle quite so hard. He looked out across the water and realized he was way out in the middle of the river, the black banks on either side’ several hundred feet away. The helo was stationary over the river as they worked the lift, and his view became clearer as he sailed downstream. He watched the bag, now dangling lengthwise, with the unlikely shape of the big dog holding on with its teeth near the hook, lift up to the cabin hatch and then disappear into the cabin. The helo moved even farther away and up as the crewman and the pilot worked to redistribute the load inside, which was when Train felt something, a deep, rumbling vibration behind hi.-n. He made a lazy turn in the water, frustratingly slowly, his coldnumbed senses resisting his efforts to bring them back to life, and looked downstream.
So,-nething wrong with the. river. A near horizon, a line of darkness visible against a curtain of silver spray that seemed to span the main channel, a line that was maybe four hundred yards away, and W preaching.
He tried to think. Why was there a line in the water? He couldn’t understand it. And then he did.
Then the helo was coming back, its roaring rotor noise and blazing spotlight coming in fast, the cable already back down in the water, with the horse collar skipping wildly across the water like a game fish on the hook. The pilot flared the aircraft out right overhead, perfectly positioned, the collar actually batting Train in the head a couple of times before he sluggishly reached for it. But he didn’t put it on.
What was that damned line? He’d just figured it out and now he’d forgotten. He turned around in the water again, looking downstream for the black line. A moment ago, he’d had it, knew what the line was all about. But he couldn’t think, all this god damned noise, that bright fight; he couldn’t see it, but he could feel something in the water, a different feel, a drumming against his hips and legs that seemed to be in perfect sync with the drumming of his helicopter, his own personal helicopter. Not cold anymore, really. This water’s not so bad; it’s just so-what? So wet, that’s what it was, wet, yeah. He laughed, but no sound came out, not with all that damned noise above him. He still held on to the collar. Collar. The drumming feeling was now beginning to overcome the helo noise, and the water was moving faster. He could feel it, a swiftness and a strengthening grip, an embrace as it hurried, hurried-where? Toward the falls.
Yeah, that was it.
The falls. That black line. The collar jerked in his hands.
Put the damn collar on. Why? Hands don’t work. This water’s not so bad, not so cold. The rumbling was shaking him now, the air different, the spray cloud from the helo above him going somewhere else now, the spotlight more intense.
Put the collar on. You’re close. Really goddamned close.
Put the collar on. Might be interesting, see what happens.
Then amazingly, he felt his boots dragging on the bottom.
What the hell? Supposed to be deep out here in the middle.
His upper body was being clutched upright by the rushing current, and then he actually heard the throaty roar of falling water. Shocked finally into action, he thrust his head and arms through the collar just as he felt his feet banging up against the lip of the falls. He nearly popped out of the collar with the shock of lift. His shoulder sockets screamed with pain as the winch locked and the helo rose off the river.
Fold your arms, he remembered, now on the verge of passing out. Fold your arms under the collar. Then he felt his shoulder bang up against the edge of the skid and a strong, grappling arm was reaching under his sweater for his belt, and then he was sprawling across the cabin floor, sliding along the length of a slippery, wet bag and jointly into the arms of Karen Lawrence and a very excited Doberman. See, he tried to tell them as he passed out, that wasn’t so bad.
It was after eleven when the docs were finished with him and Mcnair was allowed into the hospital room. The Park Police helo had flown them both to the Bethesda Naval Medical Center up on Wisconsin Avenue after finding out they were Navy. Train had tried to talk to Karen before she was whisked off to another room in the ER, but he really hadn’t been operating all that well himself. Mcnair’s face was a surprisingly welcome sight.
“Well, G-man,” Mcnair said, pulling up a chair. “They say you’re going to live. Feet like talking?”
“Why do I think I’m gonna have to listen first?” Train replied carefully. The skin on his face felt rubbery. His voice was a hoarse croak. He could feel some vestiges of intense cold still lurking in the marrow of his long bones.
“What, you expect me to chew your ass?”
Yup.
“Consider it chewed. Actually, putting aside the fact that you invaded a crime scene and otherwise messed around with an ongoing police investigation, you did pretty good.
We should have left somebody there.”
Train shrugged, then regretted it immediately. His shoulders were very sore.
“The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,” Train said, ling to make his lips work. “Where did that blessed come from?”
“Park Police. They own the river, and they have the helicopters and the crews who know how to do water rescue.
You two were lucky enough to have a Park Police helicopter already up and operating a possible drowning down at Little Falls dam.”
“Man, lucky is the word. I need to thank that guy. Is Karen okay? I forgot everything I learned about cold water out there tonight.”
“Well, not everything. Yeah, she’s gonna be okay. Not harmed physically.
Scared shitless, mentally. That was a bad ride she took.”
In a body bag. This guy is a serious whacko.”
Mcnair eased his notebook out of his pocket. “Speaking of whackos,” he said. “How many were there? Commander Lawrence says she thinks two, but she never saw them.”
“Two,” Train said. “I think. It was dark out there, but I’m pretty sure I saw two
figures in that boat. They went upriver, by the way.”
“Actually, they went across the river.”
“Huh?”
“To the Maryland side, where they apparently hauled their little bitty boat up to the C&O canal and then shagged ass down the canal, locks and all, back toward Washington.
A Washington co’p car responded to an intrusion alarm at the Washington Canoe Club and got there in time to see a boat shooting out into the middle of the river under Key Bridge.”
“They follow ‘em?”
“Hell no. The D.C. harbor police boat was broke-dick at the pier. Busted like everything in the District is these days.
So whoever they were got clean-ass away. Commander Lawrence told us something interesting, though, about the initial grab.”
“Where did it happen?”
, Down at the barn, like you figured. But she said that she was going into one of the rooms in the barn, and this black glove appeared in front of her face and then a very intense, very bright purple-red flash.
Next thing she knew, she was trussed up in that bag. She thinks they took her upstairs to the haystack and carved out a burial chamber in the hay.
Anyway, about that light: Any ideas, G-man?”
Train sat back against the pillows for a moment and closed his eyes. “So she was there all the time.”
“Apparently. Now about that bright purple-red flash?”
Train hesitated. “That sounds like a retinal disrupter.”
Mcnair’s eyes had a speculative look in them. “Come again, Spock?”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard of them. It’s an optical weapon-like an electronic flash-bang grenade, minus the bang. It emits a blast of light centered on the color frequency of a particular group of rods and cones in the human eye. Puts the brain in stimulus-overload condition. Total disorientation for about a minute.
Plenty of time to disable a guy. Or wrap somebody and stuff him in a car, or a bag.”
Mcnair was making notes. “And which government organization carries these nasties?”
“Silly question, Detective.”
“I knew that,” Mcnair said. “Okay. Docs say they’ll probably let you out after morning rounds. Your dog’s down at the Maryland Staties’ K-9 unit kennels. That’s a barracks out on the Bladensburg Road, and one of my people retrieved your Suburban. It’s out front.”
“Thanks. Where’s Karen?’ “Down the hall, actually. They admitted her.
Gave her a sedative, and they’ve got a shrink laid on for the A.m. Like I said, they didn’t hurt her, physically. She must be one selfcontrolled lady. I’d a gone snakeshit, mummied up like that.”
Train shook his head. “Assuming this was Galantz, I’ve conjured up a theory about why he snatched her.”
Mcnair closed his notebook and raised his eyebrows.
“This guy is after Sherman,” Train said. “She’s been with Sherman, and he probably thinks they’re an item.
Maybe he thinks she’s Elizabeth Walsh’s replacement. Grab , then lure Sherman to some dark and lonely place. Have some fun with both of them.”
Mcnair grinned at him. “And?”
“And what? What’s funny?”
Mcnair tapped his notebook once with his fingertips and stood up, stretching. “And,” he said. “Optical weapons.
Telephone bugs with built-in transceivers. Like you said, those are federal toys.” He paused. “We found the place up in the haystack where they hid her. Probably hid themselves there, too, all day-the whole time we were there looking. Your theory doesn’t read, G-man. This is a steelyeyed motherfucker. He could have had Sherman’s ass anytime he wanted to. You wouldn’t be holding back on me by any chance?”
“Moi?”
“Yeah, you, G-man. Like, for starters, who was the second guy?”
Train let out a breath and frowned. He kept underestimating Mcnair. But he was also very reluctant to tell him anything about Jack.Sherman.
Besides, after what Galantz had done to Karen, Train personally wanted a shot at him.
“I’m not holding back, Mcnair,” he replied. “But my bosses might be.
Didn’t you tell me you scrubbed Admiral Sherman’s personal scene?”
“Yeah. Clean, just like he said. Except that he’s now considerably richer than he was. Although it’s interesting that two hundred fifty large came and went already.”
“The money’s gone?”
“Yeah. Says he gave it to some Catholic charity.”
Train nodded, thinking about that locked investigation report. “I’m going to pull the same string, but inside Navy channels. I’ll share anything I find. Promise.” He put a sincere expression on his face, hoping the lie was plausible.
But Mcnair was shaking his head from side to side in mock wonder. “Sure you will,” he said. “Tomorrow’s Thursday. How’s about we meet, say Friday? Pull it all together.
“We can try,” Train said. “My mind has all these earnest plans, but my aging body is probably going to disappoint both of us.”
Mcnair laughed. Then he got up, went to the door, and looked both ways up and down the corridor. He came back over to the bed and pulled Train’s Glock and knife out from under his jacket. “Here,” he said. “The ER turned these over to us.” He gave Train a steady look, one bespeaking years of experience as a cop. He held the gun in his right hand, pointed down toward the floor. Train felt a spike of fear as he looked into Mcnair’s eyes. For just an instant, the friendly detective had been replaced with someone else.
“Keep the Glock handy, G-man,” Mcnair was saying.
“Me, personally? I think you’re in over your head.” He reversed the gun, handed it and the knife to Train, then turned and left the room.
Train lay back on the bed after Mcnair had gone, the Glock lying cold between his thighs under the covers. Nurse brings a bedpan, he mused, it’s gonna be a contest to see who pees first. This thing tonight had been close. If that Park Police helo hadn’t been airborne, he would have gone sailing over that dam fight behind Karen and spent the next few months rolling around in the rotor at the foot of the diversion dam, along with the six other people who had drowned there in the past year.
He wondered how well Karen was bearing up. Let’s go find out, he thought.
He opened his eyes and looked around the semiprivate room. The other bed was not in use; the dividing curtain was pulled back against the wall.
He wasn’t hooked up to anything. He found his clothes, still damp, hanging in the bathroom, but he opted for a dry Johnny from the closet.
He tucked the Glock and the knife between two towels on the closet shelf and went to find some coffee and then, hopefully, Karen.
Karen lay on her back and listened carefully. A moment ago, there had been a scratching sound on the door to her darkened room, as if something or someone wanted in. A scratching sound, she was sure of it.
Her body was tense, almost rigid, but she was very warm, sweaty. She wanted to push her damp hair out of her face, but her arms were leaden.
She worried about that sound. She could see a rim of subdued light framing the door to her room, especially at the bottom. She focused on the bottom, watching that line of light. There, a shadow. Then it was gone. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. Everywhere she looked, there was a curious red-purple halo. She had seen that before, but she couldn’t remember where. She wanted to close her eyes again, but she was scared she would miss something, whatever had scratched on the door. She stared at the line of light until her eyes hurt, then remembered to breathe.
She should be safe. No more bags. Her skin crawled at just the thought of the word bag. Her last memories of the bag were of ice-cold water -leaking in from the partially opened zipper when they had thrown her in the river. That utterly helpless feeling of being carried away, down the surging Potomac, toward the cataracts. Wondering if the ominous cold around her lower extremities was water, and if the bag would fill before she got t
o the falls. In her panic, she had actually managed to rip the tape around her legs, but her hands, her hands had remained stuck. She had rolled and rolled in the water, her face alternately submerged and then free, all for nothing.
There, scratching.
She forced herself to look back down at the line of light along the bottom of the door. And she stopped breathing.
There were two black shadows obstructing the line of light.
Someone was out there, waiting. Waiting to see if she was awake. Then there was a purple corona of light from the corridor growing all around the door, and someone was pushing it open-a man, dressed in dark clothing, maybe in black. She couldn’t quite see his face-all that light from the doorway put him in silhouette-but he was familiar.
And he was holding something, something long and shiny, over his left arm, like a big cape. Something familiar. Fabric of some kind. Shiny.
She knew what it was but couldn’t form the word. Couldn’t move as the man came closer, saying something, indistinct at first, but then louder.
Whispering it. Raising a black-gloved fist and whispering.
She yelled and woke up, to find that she was sitting on the edge of her bed, bare feet swung out over the cold floor, her body trembling, her hands clutching the sheets along the edge of the bed in a death grip that was hurting her fingers.
The room looked as if it would start spinning if she moved another inch.
A dream, she told herself. Just a dream. She looked around carefully. A hospital room. Must be the Naval Hospital in Bethesda. She sank back against the pillows. She felt drugged and dirty. Her face hurt where the tape had been taken off, there was a bump on the side of her head, and there were some sore spots along her left side.
Sweepers Page 29
