“Because turning the car into a supernova isn’t hot enough already?”
“Because things can always go wrong. Detonators fail, he might change plans. I don’t have a team of observers along the route, I don’t have time to experiment, I don’t have an expert to help me set it up. Just little old me. If the IEDs are placed at the wrong distance, the molten copper in the plasma jet will solidify into a slug that will punch a hole in the car but can’t be counted on to disable it, and certainly not turn it into the inferno I need to make this work.”
“And this will happen where? Not on the LIE, I should hope.”
Jack shook his head. “Much closer to his home. In fact, home will be in sight when I hit him.”
He waggled his pudgy fingers in a “gimme” move. “Run it for me.”
“I got up extra early this morning and checked out the road leading to the mansion.”
“Sandy?”
“I wish. They’re too damn civilized out there. Too damn rich to want to get their tires dirty. Would’ve loved sand. Then I could dig a hole and set the charges to blast straight up through the floor of his car as it passed over.”
Abe was nodding. “But…?”
“But it’s paved with asphalt-cracked and buckled, yeah, but still too tough to break through without a jackhammer. So I’ve got to make do with roadside-two big mean, opposing charges flanking the road just east of the mansion.”
“And it has to be tonight? Isn’t that pushing?”
Maybe it was, but Jack didn’t see that he had a choice.
“It’s too good to pass up. I know he’s being picked up at six. I know it will take him about two hours to get there. The neighborhood’s deserted. And I need to hit him before he gets into that house.”
“Why?”
“Because once he’s in there, who knows when he’ll leave again? When will I get another chance to know his schedule in advance? It’s got to be tonight.”
“What about this strange baby? You want him, right?”
“Not for myself. No way. But Dawn does. And she’s another reason I need to strike sooner than later: I don’t know how long I can hold her in check.”
“You shouldn’t have involved her maybe?”
“No choice. She found the place. I can’t very well ship her out. But here’s the scenario: Georges leaves around four o’clock to head for JFK. After he’s gone, I set up my roadside IEDs about fifty yards east of the mansion. At six o’clock Georges picks up his boss and heads back. Around seven, Weezy, Dawn, and I invade the mansion. We tie up Gilda and relieve her of the baby. Weezy and Dawn head back to Manhattan with the kid. I wait in the bushes with my remote detonator. When Rasalom’s Mercedes passes between the charges, I set them off and he becomes a piece of the Colonel’s Extra Crispy recipe. Then I get in my Vic and ease on down the road to the city.”
“And that’s it? Humanity will be saved?”
Jack shrugged. “Saved from the Change, not from itself.”
“Well, that would be too much to ask anyone.”
“That’s the plan, anyway. But just in case… just in case he somehow gets out of the car and is staggering around in flames, I’ll finish him with a Stinger. I’m assuming you were able to get them.”
“You doubt? Delivered yesterday.”
“Excellent. And the MM-1?”
Abe heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. “Haven’t found one yet.”
Jack couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Abe…”
“Such short notice you give me.” He waved his hands in the air. “You think they grow on trees? These are not the low-hanging fruit of the arms world. How many do you think are around already? And finding someone who has one and wants to part with it-you should be so lucky. They’re all maybe fans of-what’s his name again?”
“Christopher Walken?”
“That’s it. They’re Christopher Walken fans, maybe, and want to snuggle it close to their bosoms. Who knows? If I had a little more time…” He gave one of his shrugs.
“Tonight’s the night.”
“Well, I did track down a modified thumper.”
“An M-79?”
“Shoots the same grenade or a forty-millimeter round.”
“But it’s single shot. And it’s break action. I might need to get off a few shots real quick like.”
“Hit close with one of those HE rounds and there won’t be a pupik’s worth of him left.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Nu? Needing a second shouldn’t be a concern.” He held up a finger. “But not to worry, because your uncle Abe has solved the problem. He has found you an M-79 with the China Lake modification.”
“The what?” That was a new one.
“A naval research station designed a four-round pump-action version of the M-79 for SEAL use. Only thirty were made. Unless I should rob a museum, those are impossible to find. But a fellow I know in South Dakota makes working replicas, mostly for collectors and gun pornists, and they’re lighter and more reliable than the China Lakes. He shipped me one.”
“Four shots?”
Abe nodded.
Well… not the twelve rounds the MM-1 offered but… He drummed his fingers on the counter.
“All right, I’ll take it. I’m already stocked up on the grenades and ammo, so I might as well.” He looked around. “And the Stingers are…?”
Abe pointed behind Jack. “Right there.”
He turned and saw a golf bag with half a dozen clubs jutting from it. Two carpet-wrapped bundles lay on the floor next to it.
“Really?”
“The golf bag is home for the M-79. Like a glove it fits.”
Jack had to smile. “You knew I’d go for it.”
“Like you said, the ammo you’ve got, why waste it? The clubs I added for authenticity. No charge.”
“But I hate golf.”
“This is the Isher Sports Shop, bubbela. I should send you out the door carrying a grenade launcher? And each of those rugs holds an FIM-92 Stinger-no case, just the rocket and launcher.”
“Nice. I can squeeze those into the Vic’s trunk along with the golf bag.”
“It’s big enough?”
“Will be after I evict the immigrant family that’s renting it now.” He turned back to Abe and leaned on the counter. “So, what do you think of the plan?”
Abe pouted, furrowed his brow, then said, “It’s simple, direct, and to the point. It should work like a charm, but…”
Jack didn’t want to hear a but.
“Meaning?”
“Something is bound to go wrong.”
His own gut had been telling him the same.
“Exactly what I’m thinking.”
3
“Let me spell you,” Dawn said.
Weezy rubbed her eyes. Focusing and refocusing between the Compendium on her lap and the house across the street had given her a headache.
“Gladly.” She took one last glance at the mansion as she began to rise. “Nothing doing over there any-” The front door flew open and a man dressed in a yellow nor’easter and jeans stepped out. “Hang on a sec.”
He started across the yard toward the detached garage.
“That’s Georges!” Dawn said, pressing against Weezy’s back for a better view. “Has he got the baby with him?”
From the way his arms swung at his sides, Weezy knew he couldn’t, but she raised the glasses anyway.
“Nope. Empty-handed.”
She bit her lip as she watched him enter the garage by the side door. Was he going somewhere simple and mundane-like the grocery store? Or had plans changed and Rasalom was coming in early? No way she could know. She was going to have to call Jack.
But then Georges emerged carrying a pair of fishing poles.
“Going fishing,” Dawn said. “He must do that every day.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shortly after I got here yesterday I saw him pull the boat into the dock and get out with a bunch o
f flat fish.”
“What did they look like?”
Weezy didn’t really care, just something to talk about as they watched him board the boat and set the rods in holders near the stern.
“One side was white and the other was medium brown with dark splotches.”
Weezy nodded. “Winter flounder. Good eating.”
“You fish?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I just… know.”
It’s what I do.
“Nice cozy little life they’ve got out here,” Dawn said, her tone bitter. “Big house, beautiful view, fresh fish daily… and my baby.”
“Not for long, Dawn. Not for long.”
Weezy kept the glasses trained on him as he opened the engine hatch-to release fumes, maybe?-then started the engine. He fussed with the rods while the engine warmed.
She said, “He must really love fishing if he’s going out in this weather.”
The bay teemed with whitecaps, but the water here was relatively sheltered. She wondered what the surf looked like on the ocean side of the South Fork. The Atlantic had to be pretty wild right now.
Dawn said, “Maybe Gilda’s planning a welcome-home fish fry for Mr. Osala.”
Weezy glanced at her, sensing fuming sulfuric acid when she said “Gilda.”
They watched Georges cast off the lines and head out into the bay until the boat disappeared behind the house.
“Take a break,” Dawn said. “My turn.”
Weezy rose from the chair and handed her the Leica.
“I’ll make some fresh coffee.”
“No more for me, thanks. I’ve had more than enough.”
More than enough coffee? Weezy found that an alien concept.
“This from the girl who likes ‘black-hole’ coffee?”
“I’m wound up enough as it is.”
Yeah, she probably was.
“Hang in there. This should all be over by tonight.”
Down in the kitchen, as Weezy filled the carafe with water for the O’Donnells’ Mr. Coffee, she glanced out the back door and saw flashing lights. Not good. When you’d invaded someone’s home, flashing lights were not good. At least they weren’t blue-and-red police lights. These were orange. Still…
She put the carafe down and stepped to the door for a better look. Yes, flashing orange lights visible between the houses on the next street, down by the highway…
… where she’d parked the Jeep.
“Oh, Christ!”
She dashed back into the front room, grabbed the keys and her coat, then called upstairs.
“Gotta go down to the Jeep! Be right back!”
She didn’t wait for a reply as she dashed out the back door. Only a hundred yards or so. She’d make it in no time.
She ran across the O’Donnells’ backyard into the scrub that buffered their property from the houses behind. She cut through a neighbor’s yard-again, nobody home-and onto Bayberry Drive, the street parallel to Dune.
No doubt about it. Those lights belonged to a tow truck. Aw, no. She’d parked the SUV on a sandy path within the trees. It wasn’t bothering anybody there, and it hadn’t been visible from the road. How-?
She angled onto Nuckateague Road and raced down toward the highway. She reached it just in time to see a flatbed truck pull out with a Jeep Cherokee on its bed- her Cherokee. Or rather Jack’s.
She increased her speed, shouting and waving her arms as she chased it. Whoever was driving either didn’t look back or ignored her.
What on Earth?
She’d caught a glimpse of the writing on the driver’s door. She stuttered to a stop and called up the image: Neumeister’s Towing and Auto Body… with an Amagansett address and phone number below.
She reached into her coat pocket. She’d call those sons of Where was her phone? She searched through all her pockets. Damn! Back at the O’Donnell place, charging.
Puffing from the unaccustomed exertion, she turned in a small circle, stamping her feet in frustration.
So now what? Walk back to the O’Donnell place just to tell Dawn she’d be delayed, and then walk back here and beyond to get to Amagansett?
Didn’t make sense. And she couldn’t have Dawn drive her to town in the Volvo. That would mean leaving the mansion unwatched. Besides, Dawn’s car had to stay hidden. Best to just head into Amagansett and call her from there.
Wouldn’t take long to hitch into town, pay whatever fine was due for whatever ordinance they’d broken, then return.
She began heading west along Route 27-labeled the Montauk Highway out here. She walked backward, ready to stick out her thumb when a car approached.
Something wet hit her face. Then another. White flakes began to swirl from above.
Snow.
She shook her head with chagrin. Could it get any worse?
4
Dawn noticed the flurries and leaned back from the window to check the Weather Channel. Yep, the Doppler map showed the first green bands of the storm hitting Long Island’s South Fork.
She wondered about getting snowed in. Wouldn’t that mess up Jack’s plans? She’d worry about that when the time came. Nobody seemed totally sure of how much was going to fall anyway.
As she turned back to the window, she thought she saw movement near the house. She grabbed the binoculars and scanned the property through the scattered flakes.
There-in the yard, on the bay side, a gray-haired woman in a coat was crouched by the bulkhead. Dawn adjusted the focus to sharpen her features and confirm what she’d already guessed. She knew that hatchet face, totally recognized that toadlike body.
Gilda.
Her hands tightened on the binoculars. Gilda… how happy she must be. She hated Dawn, and taking charge of Dawn’s stolen child must have given her incalculable pleasure.
But what was she doing?
Dawn focused on her hands as they pulled bits of greenery from the stones in the yard.
Weeding?
But why would she be out weeding? And in the blustery snow? Had she totally lost her mind? She had a two-week-old baby inside.
An awful thought struck like a blow: What if she didn’t? What if they didn’t have the baby over there? What if there was no baby? What if he’d died, just as Dr. Landsman had said?
The what-ifs filled her head, reverberating across her brain until Wait-wait-wait. Dr. Heinze… only one reason a pediatrician would visit that house: a child.
But then why, if she had a baby inside under her care, was Gilda out in the yard, pulling weeds in the snow?
Something totally wrong here.
And if Dawn and Weezy and Jack were all wrong, and there was no baby in that house, they were all wasting their time.
She focused again on Gilda, still crouched, still weeding. She tracked over to the dock. Empty. Back to Gilda: weeding. Then to the front door: The glass-paned storm door was closed but the paneled inner door stood open. Georges hadn’t closed it on his way out.
She fought a terrible urge to go over there and check it out.
Call Weezy.
She grabbed her phone and called Weezy from her contact list. She heard a strange ring tone coming from downstairs. She hurried down and found a phone charging on the kitchen counter. Its display read Dawn.
That did it.
Dawn ended her call and hurried for the front door. She didn’t stop to find her coat, simply pushed out and trotted across the street through the wind and cold and swirling flakes toward the mansion.
She wasn’t going to do anything stupid like take the baby. That would upset all of Jack’s plans. He’d made it clear that if Dawn was ever going to be able to keep her baby in peace, Mr. Osala had to be stopped-she hadn’t asked for clarification on exactly what he’d meant by “stopped.” She hadn’t really wanted to know.
Jack had totally wanted her out of sight for fear she’d be recognized. But Georges was out fishing on the bay and Gilda was out in the yard on the far si
de of the house. Nobody around to recognize her.
No… nothing so stupid as taking the baby, but she wanted-needed-to make sure the baby was there. Once she established that, she’d totally run back to the O’Donnell place and let Jack work his plan.
She was almost to the front door when the possibility of a third adult in the house slowed her. But even if it were true, what were the odds of him or her recognizing Dawn? Only Gilda and Georges knew her.
She picked up speed again and bounded up the two steps to the front door. She cupped her hands around her face as she leaned close and peered through the storm glass. The central hall ran directly into the great room Jack had mentioned. Looking straight ahead she could see all the way to the window wall and the churning bay beyond.
She was about to rap gently on the glass to see if anyone responded when she heard a piercing shriek from within. It jolted her. She’d never heard anything like it-high-pitched and thin, like it came from a little throat.
The baby?
Another shriek.
It had to be the baby. Was it in pain? Had that bitch been mistreating him because he was Dawn’s? She had to know.
Steeling herself, she tested the latch. It moved.
Okay, she had to do this. Just a look-just one look. She pulled open the door, slipped inside, and eased it closed behind her. She stood there listening. Somewhere a television was playing. She tiptoed forward toward the great room and peeked in.
Empty.
She looked through the window wall and saw Gilda, still outside, still pulling weeds.
Yes!
Now where-?
The screech startled her, almost buckled her knees. So loud!
It came from behind her and to the left. She backed up and found a door ajar. She pushed it open…
… and froze, staring, not sure of what she was seeing.
A crib with a child… a small child wearing a dark blue, sleeveless onesy… very small… only two feet tall, if that… but standing in the crib. Standing. Should a child that small be able to stand?
And yet there he stood, gripping the bars, staring at her with his black eyes. He had wild black hair shooting straight out from his scalp, a flat nose and nearly lipless mouth.
Those eyes… she recognized those eyes.
The Dark at the End rj-15 Page 16
