The Plantation paj-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  Dropping to his knees, Jones turned off the main water valve with a few rotations of his wet hands, then lowered the handle on the commode. With a quick flush, the murky liquid exited the tank, filling the white bowl like a wet tornado before dropping out of sight. Jones climbed to his feet, grunting slightly as he did, then removed the plastic rod with a twist.

  Wasting no time, Jones closed the lid on the toilet seat and sat down. After taking a deep breath, he crossed his legs, bringing the anklet as close to his face as possible. Then, with his hands chained, he tried sliding the slender piece into the lock.

  Thankfully, it fit.

  With his limited view of the anklet, Jones couldn’t identify the type of lock he was dealing with. He knew it could be opened with a key, that much was certain, but he wasn’t sure about its internal safeguards. If it was a spring lock, he was confident he could pop it rather quickly. Spring locks have very few safeties, making them a criminal’s dream. They can often be picked with a credit card or another thin object in a matter of seconds. If, however, the lock was tubular, then Jones was out of luck. The multiple pins of the cylinder and the dead-bolt action of the cam would require something more sophisticated than a sharpened piece of plastic.

  Working like a surgeon, Jones jiggled the floater lever back and forth until he got a feel for the internal mechanism of the lock. A smile crept over his face when he realized what he was dealing with. It was a spring lock, just as he had hoped. After wiping his hands on his shirt, he slowly manipulated the lock in a circular fashion until it popped open with a loud click.

  “Damn!” he said to himself. “Why are women never around when I do something cool?”

  After sliding the device off of his leg, Jones was able to study the casing of the anklet in greater detail. The shell was silver in color, shiny and quite reflective, yet possessed an abrasive texture that was rough to the touch. It carried very little weight-one or two pounds at the most-but was durable, holding up to the rigors of his probing. The alloy was unfamiliar to him, possibly a mixture of titanium and a lesser-quality metal, but definitely expensive.

  Too expensive for it to be a hoax.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a bomb.”

  Now that he knew what he was dealing with, he had to decide the best way to use it. Sure, he could strap the explosive to the door and blow the sucker off its hinges, but what would that get him? Probably killed, that’s what. The moment he ran outside, the guards would be all over him.

  No, in order to escape, Jones needed a way to take out the guards and the door at the same time. But how? Jones went to work on the device as he planned a scenario in his head.

  CHAPTER 42

  EVEN

  though Payne was still trapped in the Devil’s Box, he felt good about his situation. His hunger was gone, his thirst had vanished, and he smelled kind of pretty. As soon as Bennie left the hill, Payne went to work on his shackles.

  When his hands were bound to the floor, there was no way for him to remove his handcuffs. The thick bolt had prevented it. But as soon as it was disengaged, he was able to use the maneuver that he’d learned from Slippery Stan, an escape artist whom he befriended while at a magic exhibit. Unlike most magicians, escape artists rarely use optical illusions in their trade. Instead, they learn to manipulate their bodies to escape from straitjackets or multiple layers of chains. And in the case of handcuffs, Payne was taught to turn his hands and wrists at a very precise angle, which allowed him to slide from the restraints like a hand from a glove.

  Of course, the cuffs were only half the battle. The next part of Payne’s escape would be more difficult, and he knew it. In order to get from the box itself, he had to rely on outside help. He wasn’t sure where that was going to come from-perhaps Bennie, or a guard, or even an escaped captive-but he knew he was stuck until someone showed up.

  And it took nearly an hour before someone did.

  The instant Payne heard movement outside he slid his hands under his chains, hoping to maintain the appearance of captivity.

  “Are you still alive?” asked Ndjai with his thick African accent. “I bet you are bored up here all by yourself.” He lowered his face to the grate, smiling with his nasty teeth. “Do not worry. I have some company for you.”

  The wheels in Payne’s head quickly started to spin. Was it Jones, Ariane, or maybe even Bennie? None of the possibilities pleased Payne, and the grimace on his face proved it. “Who is it?” he croaked, trying to pretend he was dehydrated. “Who’s out there with you?”

  “The question should not be

  who

  . The question should be

  what

  .”

  Payne scrunched his face in confusion. He couldn’t hear Tornado’s panting so he knew it wasn’t him. In fact, he didn’t hear anything except Ndjai’s laughter. “Okay,

  what

  is out there?”

  “A couple of playmates to keep you company.”

  Payne didn’t like the sound of that. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m actually all right. I’ve kind of enjoyed the solitude.”

  “Is that so? You might get bored later, and I would hate for you to think of me as a bad host.” Ndjai lifted a large shoe box above the grate then shook it a few times. An angry squeal emerged from the cardboard structure. The creature, whatever it was, did not like to be jostled. “Hmmm, he sounds mad. I hope you will be able to calm him down.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  Ndjai rested the cardboard container on the top of the box. “Then again, that might be tough for you to do. My little friend tends to get upset around the other playmate that I brought for you.” Ndjai lifted a large duffel bag into the air, then set it down with a loud thump. “You see, this second guy is hungry, and when he is hungry, he has a nasty habit of wanting to eat the first guy, which makes the first guy nervous.”

  “Wait,” Payne mumbled. “Am I the first guy or the second guy? You went so fast I got confused. Please say that again.”

  The African was ready to explain when he realized that Payne was making another joke, a reaction he hadn’t expected. “I must admit, I admire your courage. Too bad it is a weak attempt to mask the fear underneath.”

  “It wasn’t weak,” Payne argued. “I thought it was a pretty good effort on my part.”

  Ndjai ignored the comment, moving to the business at hand. “So, Mr. Payne, I will now give you a choice. Which would you prefer first? The bag or the box?”

  “Well, it’d be a lot easier if you told me what they contained.”

  “But that would take away the mystery.”

  “Who cares? Mysteries are overrated. I prefer comedies.”

  Ndjai laughed. “In that case, let us do something fun. How about both at once?”

  With a gloved hand, Ndjai reached inside the small box and tried to grab the animal.

  Payne listened closely, trying to figure out what Ndjai had in store for him, but all he could hear was the scratching of sharp claws and tiny squeals of anguish from the trapped creature. “I would like to introduce you to the plantation rat, a breed that is indigenous to Louisiana.”

  Holding it by its tail, Ndjai dangled the rodent above the Devil’s Box. Payne, who’d never heard of the species, mar veled at its size. It was sixteen inches in length, not including its tail, and must have weighed close to two pounds. It had a short snout, small ears, and was covered in coarse fur.

  “Is that your son?” Payne asked.

  “No, that is your new roommate.”

  “Then I expect this and next month’s rent in cash, plus I’ll need him to sign a few waivers. Can the squirrel write?”

  Ndjai smiled while lowering the rat to the box’s grate. As he did, the rodent squirmed, trying to free itself from the Ndjai’s grasp. To punish the rat for its escape attempt, Ndjai squeezed its tail quite hard, causing the creature to snap its teeth and brandish its claws in anger.

  “You are going to have fun with him. He is n
ot very happy.”

  Payne shrugged. “That makes two of us.”

  With his free hand, Ndjai reached into his pocket and removed a full set of keys. After choosing the correct one, Ndjai inserted the key into the lock and opened it with a soft click. He removed the padlock with his left hand while dangling the shrieking rat with his right. “Are you ready?” he asked as he threw open the lid of the Devil’s Box.

  “Actually, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  Before Ndjai could react, Payne leapt from his crouched position and struck his captor on the bridge of his nose. The African stumbled backward, dropping the rat into the box as he staggered, but Payne couldn’t have cared less. Before the rodent could attack, Payne pounced from the wooden cage, landing next to Ndjai, who raised his hands in defense but could do little against Payne. With a quick burst, he pummeled Ndjai with several shots to his face, beating him repeatedly until blood gushed from his nose and mouth.

  Once the African had submitted, Payne grabbed his legs and dragged him roughly toward the box. “Let’s see how you like this thing. Maybe you can get the rat to calm down.”

  He pulled Ndjai to his feet and bent him over the edge of the box, dangling his upper body inside. The rat, still angry from before, reacted instantly, jumping and nipping at the crimson liquid that dripped from Ndjai’s face.

  “Oh, isn’t that cute! I think he likes you.”

  Payne punctuated his comment by dumping Ndjai upside down next to the appreciative rat and slamming the lid shut. As he reached for the lock, he suddenly noticed Ndjai’s duffel bag out of the corner of his eye.

  “Well, well, well! What other toys did Santa bring for me?”

  Payne tried lifting the bag with one hand but was caught off guard by its weight. “Wow, I can’t even imagine what’s in here. But that’s okay, since you’re such a fan of mysteries.”

  After emptying the bag into the Devil’s Box, Payne closed the lid and broke the key in the lock. Then, as he pocketed Ndjai’s key ring, Payne took a moment to watch the terrified rat as it scurried over Ndjai, both of them trying to avoid the jaws of the angry python.

  CHAPTER 43

  MOVING

  silently in the darkness, Payne glided across the open fields of the Plantation, constantly searching for guards. Since he was unaware of Ariane’s current location, he decided to head straight for Jones, hoping that his friend was in good enough health to assist him. If he wasn’t, Payne realized he would have to handle the Posse by himself. He had faced longer odds in the military, so he knew he was capable of doing it again, but all things considered, he’d love to have his former lieutenant by his side.

  When the cabins finally came into view, rising out of the flat ground like wooden stalagmites, Payne dropped to his belly and scouted for patrol patterns and sniper placements. He watched for several minutes, studying the tree lines and roofs, the bushes and walkways, but he was unable to detect any movement.

  His hazel eyes continued to scan the darkened landscape, probing every crevice and shadow of the compound, but the waning crescent moon and the lack of overhead lights made it difficult to see from his distance. Reluctantly, he moved closer.

  Payne sprang from his stomach and charged forward at top speed, the breath barely escaping his mouth, his feet rarely creating a sound. It was as if he was moving on a cushion of air that silenced each of his strides, softening the impact of his steps as he hustled across the hard turf. After closing the gap to forty feet, Payne found cover behind a large rock, pausing for a moment to feed his hungry lungs. When his breath returned, he carefully peeked over the boulder and searched the immediate area for patrolmen.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he mumbled softly.

  But no one did. The grounds were devoid of Posse members, leaving the front door of the nearest cabin without protection.

  Taking a deep breath, Payne placed his hand in his pocket and removed Ndjai’s keys so they wouldn’t jingle when he ran. Next, after looking around one last time, he sprinted forward, heading straight toward the cabin that was closest to him. Upon reaching it, he crouched near the ground and made himself as small a target as possible while double-checking the terrain. When he was sure that no one was around, he shoved the first key in the lock, but it didn’t work. The same problem occurred with the next key, and the one after that, and the one after that. Finally, on his fifth attempt, with sweat dripping off his forehead from tension and physical exertion, he found the one that did the job.

  With a sigh of relief, Payne opened the door as quietly as he could and slid into the cabin with nary a sound. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkened interior of the room, but when they finally focused, he realized his mission had just become a whole lot easier.

  He had been hoping to find Ariane or Jones.

  Instead, he had hit the mother lode.

  STILL

  in handcuffs, Jones opened the silver shell of the explosive and carefully probed the interior of the bomb for booby traps. He found several. If he had removed the anklet’s casing without care, the device would’ve exploded in his face, triggered in a millionth of a second by a series of trip wires that protected the outer core of the mechanism.

  Thankfully, he noticed them in time.

  After neutralizing the safeguards, Jones dug deeper, examining the high-tech circuitry that filled the unit. “I’ll be damned,” he said, impressed. He had never seen a portable explosive filled with so much modern technology: data microprocessors, external pressure sensors, satellite uplink antennae-which he broke off-and digital detonation switches. The kind of stuff that couldn’t be bought at Radio Shack. “This is some serious shit!”

  Using the sharpened lever from the toilet, Jones continued to explore, searching under the electronic hardware for the actual explosive. In order to take out the door, Jones needed to understand how much force the device was capable of producing. He assumed that the component was filled with a relatively stable explosive, something that could handle sudden movements and exposure to body heat or static electricity, but he wasn’t sure what. C-4, a commonly used plastic explosive, was a possibility, so were RDX, TNT, and pentolite. Because of the high-tech craftsmanship of the anklet, Jones figured that the manufacturer would use something newer, sexier. Perhaps a synthetic hybrid.

  When Jones finally discovered what he was dealing with, he gaped in fascination. The device was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Two vials, three inches in length, sat tucked underneath the circuitry. Each plastic cylinder was filled with a liquid-one red, the other clear. They were connected to a third vial, which was twice as wide as the others, through a series of slender plastic tubes. Each one was color-coded and approximately the width of a pencil.

  The cylinders, the liquids, the tubes. All of them were new to Jones.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

  As the words left his mouth, his problems actually worsened because he heard the distinct sound of keys rattling directly outside. Someone was about to enter the cabin.

  Jones hastily looked around for a hiding place but found nowhere to stash the equipment. The mattress was probably his best possibility, but Jones knew if he was forced to sit on the bed, there was a chance that his weight could detonate the device, and the thought of shrapnel being launched up his ass was a bit unsettling.

  Finally, with no other options in mind, Jones scooped up as many parts as he could and ran toward his bed. After setting the explosive on the floor, he turned his mattress on its side and angled it across the back corner of the room like a child’s fort. He figured, if he timed things just right, he could throw the explosive at the guard the moment he entered the room, then duck behind the bed for protection.

  The knob twisted with a squeak.

  Jones knew the plan wasn’t perfect, but he also realized that this could be his only chance to escape. That was why he was willing to risk everything on this plan. His entire life on one moment.


  The door swung open.

  Making things tougher, Jones had to throw the explosive with his hands bound together, forcing him to use an overhead soccer toss. And on top of that, his ribs still ached from the beating that Greene had given him earlier.

  A man wearing black fatigues entered the cabin.

  Jones had no choice. This had to be done.

  In one swift motion, he launched the explosive at the dark figure and dropped to the floor behind his protective foam shield. In anticipation of a powerful blast, he covered his face and ears, curling into the fetal position against the back corner of the room. He was lucky he did. The cylinders ruptured on contact, creating a bright ball of flame that tore across the cabin in a tidal wave of heat and light. Thunder ripped through the enclosed space with the ferocity of a jackhammer, stinging Jones’s ears despite the presence of his hands. Shards of metal sliced through the mattress, narrowly avoiding the exposed flesh of his back.

  Slightly dazed from the jolt, Jones peeked over the tattered barrier to see how much damage had been done. Large streaks of red and orange danced from the far wall toward the unprotected surface of the beamed ceiling. Billowy puffs of smoke filled the enclosed space, making it tough for him to breathe. The door, shaken free from the concussion of the blast, sat unhinged and heavily dented, covered in debris and awash in flames. And the guard was . . .

  Wait, where was the guard?

  Jones knew he’d hit him-he

  had

  to have hit him, didn’t he?-so, despite the crackling flames that raged throughout the cabin, he climbed over the mattress and searched for a body. It didn’t matter that the fire was quickly becoming an inferno, shooting tiny embers into the air like bottle rockets. He

  needed

  to find the guard. He had to get the man’s gun and take his keys. He had to question the bastard about Payne and Ariane before it was too late.