I squeezed her hand again but said nothing.
The drive was short, a mile at most from the train station. I was closely paying attention to the streets, the intersections, landmarks.
Luke turned from the main road to a back lane. It was narrow, barely big enough for one car, a ditch on one side and a sharply sloping up hill on the other. We were on it several minutes before the lane led to a massive gate. It had once been beautiful wrought iron but had been ruined by black sheet metal backing it, blocking anyone from looking in. Jack hopped out and hit a button on the intercom.
“We’re back.” There was a burst of static that I couldn’t make out to which he said, “It’s Jack and Luke with the girls, okay? Let us in.” Another squawk of static to which he answered, “The password for today is fuck you for being an asshole. We just fucking left.”
That seemed indeed to be the password, as there was a click and Jack was able to push the gate open.
Once we drove through, he closed the gate and jumped back in.
Interesting that they didn’t seem to have a camera there.
A winding drive with mature trees lining it brought us to the front of the house. Many of the trees were evergreens, welcome color in the bleak winter landscape. The trees and the curves hid the dwelling from the gate. The house had once been a beautiful manor, Georgian style or possibly even original, made with red brick faded in age. It was three stories, a large rambling house. Vines were growing up to the roof, now bare strands of brown. Some of the shingles on the roof needed replacing, and the windows sagged as if the wood was old and tired. The driveway hadn’t been kept up, with ruts and potholes in it.
“That’s the truck over there,” Jack pointed out.
At the far side of the asphalt area in front a large white truck was parked. As Ashley had said, it looked like it might have once been a moving van, about sixteen feet long.
“Where do I drive it?” I asked.
“Got a map,” Jack said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and handed it to me.
I studied it. I was to drive it to the next town up the river, a much larger one than this, to a parking lot at a bank in the center of town. That seemed easy; the burning question was why.
“Here’s the keys,” he said, handing them to me.
“Can I get a bathroom break first?” I asked. I really did need one, and I was curious to see the inside of the house.
He sighed, then said to Luke, “Go show her the powder room.”
I had hoped to get Ashley to take me. I wondered if they were trying to keep us apart.
Having no choice, I followed Luke.
The front door stuck as he opened it and he had to give it a yank.
The inside was like the outside, beautiful, but not kept up. Dust covered the baseboards and several of the lights were out.
I could hear voices, all male, coming from back in the house, but Luke led me to a small half-bath under the main stairway.
I quickly did my business; there was nothing interesting in the bathroom. And what was interesting, where the voices were, wasn’t a place I’d be allowed to go.
When I came back out, Jack was futzing with a combination lock, with Ashley holding a heavy chain.
Lucky for me, my eyesight is still good. I paid close attention as he spun the dial. Especially lucky for me, he had to try several times before he got it open. By the time he was done, I had a fairly good idea of what the combination was. This kind of attention was habit. This was a dangerous situation; I had no idea what might come in handy. They could lock Ashley up with that lock and if I knew the combination, I could free her. Or maybe they would lock a toolshed and it wouldn’t matter. Same thing with the streets and what I could gather of the layout of the house. One scrap of information might be vital. I just didn’t know which.
“Ready to go?” Jack said as he slung the lock and chain over his shoulder.
“Sure,” I answered.
We all, Jack, Ashley, and Luke, walked together to the truck.
Jack looped the chain through the back handle.
“What’s in there?” I asked.
“Some computer stuff, junk like that,” he said, not looking at me as he cinched in the chain and spun the lock.
“What do I do after I get there?” I asked.
Jack looked at me as if he hadn’t thought about that.
“Give me a call,” Ashley said. “When you’re parked, all you need to do is call.” She looked at Jack and he nodded.
“Okay, about how long? Why not have someone follow me?”
“You’ll be much slower in the truck. It’ll save time to just come and get you then,” Jack said.
“It’s taken care of,” Ashley said. “Let’s go.” She walked with me around the truck to the driver’s side.
Mercifully Luke and Jack didn’t follow.
She kissed me quickly, then said very softly, “You are special. You made me feel like I deserved to be taken care of.”
“You do.”
She held her face still, but her eyes were shining as if saying this is dangerous and we might not see each other again.
“We’ll be together soon,” I said.
“Yes, we will,” she said, taking my hand, then letting it go and turning away.
I got in the truck and started the engine.
It was an automatic and I had to remember not to shift gears. This truck had seen better days—the brakes almost sank to the floor before engaging and the engine whined as it tried to pick up speed.
I took my time driving to the gate, getting used to the truck in the safe confines of a private road. I was also checking out the grounds. As far as I could see, a red brick wall about eight feet tall encompassed the large yard. Halfway down one side there was a small pedestrian gate that led to the back lane. The main gate was built into one of the corners, leading to an intersection of the back lane and another small road. Close as this was to the train station, it was still isolated and hidden from view. The grounds, like the house, hadn’t been cared for in a while. Even in bare winter it seemed overgrown, hedges unkempt, tangles of dead vines marking disappearing paths.
Once I got to the main gate, I had to get out of the truck, reach around to the intercom, and ask to be let out. No static greeted me, only the buzz of the gate lock. I swung the iron gate into the road, drove though, then had to get out and close it again.
Not a great system, I thought as I got back into the truck. It made me wonder if this was a secondary location. Maybe Ashley was right, this would be over soon. The traffickers were on the run, having to make do with backup locations because the main ones were too hot. An operation this big and sophisticated should have much better security.
I started down the back lane when my phone rang. I looked at the screen.
Ashley. “Where are you?” she asked.
“Just outside the gate. Takes a bit to open and close it.” I pulled to the side of the road, which was mostly the middle of the road considering how small it was, but no other traffic was around.
“Okay, good. About how long until you get there?”
I looked down at the map next to me in the seat. “Maybe half an hour? Depends on traffic and the roads, this truck is not a speed demon.”
“Okay, keep me posted, let me know when you’re close.”
I took a chance. “You can’t talk, can you?”
“Not really. I’ll call you in a bit.” She hung up.
Before rolling again, I pulled up a map on my phone and had it give me a time estimate. It said about thirty-eight minutes and gave me a more direct route, one that bypassed the main drag through the town. I didn’t know if the truck was a signal, so I would stick with their directions. Perhaps a beat-up white panel truck passing Road X would be the sign for the Feds to move in.
I started driving again. There was no traffic back here, a sparse area of big houses with extensive lawns. It was slow going on this small lane. I needed to be careful not to get m
y tires caught in the ditch. My half an hour was turning into closer to forty-five minutes.
I turned on another road that led to an intersection with an actual stop sign. Hard to believe I was only an hour out of New York City. Just past the intersection, there was an out-of-business fabric store.
It was close to four o’clock and would be dark in an hour.
Curious, I pulled into the parking lot. It would be an extra two minutes, but I wanted to know what was in the truck, now, while there was still light. I also wanted to know if I was unwittingly carting something illegal.
I fumbled with the lock in the cold. Once, twice, a third guess. It didn’t open. One more try, then I would give up. I spun the dial.
The lock clicked open. I shoved open the truck gate.
And stared at the monster in the truck.
Chapter Twenty-four
It was loaded with explosives. I’m not an expert, but I know enough to recognize a pile of pressure cookers, big plastic garbage bags, and timers. At a guess, it wasn’t a sophisticated bomb, instead something thrown together in a hurry.
I was to drive this to the center of a town, the largest one in the area.
I very carefully closed the truck gate. I didn’t bother with the lock and chain.
A school bus drove by. Few kids were on it.
I broke into a cold sweat at the thought of what this could do.
What game are we playing, Ashley? I silently screamed. Did she know? Could she?
I recalled the haunted look on her face as we said good-bye. Was it for me?
The Feds needed to swoop in right about now.
The school bus was gone, no one else on the road. I’d seen no one, not even a supposedly innocent repair van on my way out.
I called Ashley.
“Where are you?” she asked. “Are you there yet?”
She had me on speakerphone. They were listening in. “No, it’s slower going than I’d hoped. This truck barely makes it out of third gear.”
“Okay, just let me know when you’re close.”
The line was dead.
I walked down the road away from the truck. What was a safe distance?
What did I really know about Ashley West?
I scrolled through previous calls until I found the number for Frank Mullen.
He answered. Relief. There was no time for voice mail.
“Hi, this is Michele Knight, the private investigator from New Orleans. Can I ask you a few more questions?”
“Sure. Not likely I’ll have the answers.”
“For these you might. You said you worked with Ashley West’s father.”
“Yep, sure did.”
“How would you describe her?”
“Huh. She looks a lot like those tennis players. Can’t think of their names.”
“Current ones? Retired ones?”
“The sisters.”
“Serena and Venus Williams?” My heart sank.
“Yes, that’s them.”
My heart bottomed out. “She pretty tall and played basketball?”
“Yes, that’s her,” he said. “Is that all you wanted to know?”
“That answers a lot of questions,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “One more question. Do you remember a suicide in your area? A young man who jumped off a bridge onto ice? Supposedly his father wasn’t happy that he wasn’t the butchest of men.”
“That’s a question from out in left field. But, yeah, we had something like that happen here a while back. Sad case. His father owned the adult stores in the area. We got called out to them on occasion. He was, pardon, my language, a bastard. Angry at everyone and everything.”
“Do you know if he had a daughter?”
“He had three daughters. Two of them ended up pregnant before they graduated high school, always in petty trouble until the kids kept them at home.”
“What about the third one?”
“She was more trouble than the other two, brought her in several times myself, but as much as her father was mean, she was smooth, could talk her way out of everything. She was pretty enough and could always say the right thing. The judges always took pity on her and let her off with things like community service.”
“Would she be in her thirties now? Reddish-brown hair? About five-five? Green eyes?”
“I don’t remember the eye color, but the rest sounds about right. Why are you asking me this?”
“Because she claims her name is Ashley West and she’s an ICE agent.”
“Oh, wow. Sad thing is I’m not surprised.”
“Do you remember what her real name is?”
“Yeah, Martha Fleming. She came back here now and then to help her dad with the business. She didn’t blink an eye at the things going on in those stores.”
“Thanks, that’s been very helpful.”
“Okay. She need to be arrested?”
“Probably, but I think the Feds are hot on her tail.”
And I was about to be. I thanked Frank Mullen and hung up, then went into my phone and turned the GPS off. Just in case they were tracking me, I didn’t want them to know I wasn’t following their route.
I got back in the truck and carefully turned it around. Ashley, or Martha, had used what she knew, leaning on her past and background. She wanted to pretend to be a federal agent, so she took a name she knew would check out. Few people would know Ashley West was really a black woman, as pictures would be hard to find for someone like me. She probably had a different ruse for anyone with the authority to look up her credentials.
Traffic was still light, so I broke the law and used my phone to look up current events in the town I was ostensibly headed for. Today was the founder’s day parade and festival. Right in the center of town. I would be driving by school bands and cheerleaders, moms and pops out with their kids.
What if a massive task force is breathing down your tail, about to arrest everyone all the way to the top?
Distract them with a terrorist bombing. Every person vaguely involved in law enforcement would be diverted.
“You are not going to get away with this,” I muttered. I pushed the truck, making the engine strain.
Ashley or whatever her name was had lied to me. I was expendable. Had been at the warehouse. I had been smart enough to get away then. I might not get away this time, but I would bring her down and her scum-sucking fuckwads with her. Rape and torture women to make money. Blow up a town to get away. Human beings don’t come more evil than that.
Why had she slept with me? Just another kinky thrill? Fuck the sacrificial goat?
Was there possibly still a piece of the young girl who had to take care of herself hidden in the hardened woman? Maybe that young girl had actually cared for me?
Or perhaps I didn’t want to think I had been so utterly fooled by her.
My phone rang.
Ashley.
“Are you close yet?”
“Getting there. This truck goes down to about ten miles per hour on hills and there are a lot of them around. Plus the school zones. It wouldn’t do to get a ticket. I’ll be about another twenty minutes.”
“No, don’t get a ticket. Can you describe where you are?”
“Yes, I…gotta go, a cop. Can’t talk on the phone.” I hung up on her. “Bitch.”
I again had to be careful on the narrow back lane. I didn’t want to strand the truck anyplace likely to get innocent bystanders.
The ugly iron gate loomed in front of me. It was the only exit, at least for vehicles, out of the compound.
“Should have installed a video camera,” I said as I pulled beside it. I backed the truck so it was across the gate, completely blocking it. Even if the explosion went off, the wreck of the truck and the twisted metal of the gate would bar the way.
I got out of the truck and threw the key as far away into the underbrush as I could. I grabbed my overnight bag—I wasn’t going to give up my good pair of jeans unless I had to. I also took the lock and chain. I had a use
for them. I trotted down the lane along the brick wall, finally hiding them behind a bush.
My phone rang. Ashley.
“That was close,” I said on answering it. “Cop almost saw me talking on the phone.”
“We don’t need to talk long. Just tell me where you are.”
I pulled the map they had given me out of my jacket pocket. “I’m coming down Short Hill Road, about two blocks from the turn onto Main St. Then the ten blocks through town to the bank parking lot. Almost there. Fifteen at most.”
“Good, good to hear. Call me as soon as you’re parked.”
“Are you going to come get me?”
Her voice hesitated. “Yes, yes, of course. We’ll be together soon.”
“Okay, talk to you in a bit.”
I went back to the truck and very carefully edged open the back lift gate.
And just as carefully took two of the timing devices. They were both attached to what looked like smaller explosives, ones that would start the conflagration. I counted another four timers still in the truck. They were going to make sure it was a big explosion. I didn’t bother closing the back of the truck.
I carefully strode down the lane to the small gate.
It was open, the lock rusted through. Another security mistake. They probably never used it and never checked to see what time and wear did to the lock.
I could be at the house in about a minute, easily hidden by the overgrowth.
As I slid through the gate, a rational voice in my head told me this was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. I should be hightailing it out of there and calling Emily Harris to give her the address.
Hell hath no fury like a woman betrayed. This was personal. I wasn’t going to walk away to be left to hear what happened on secondhand newscasts or let the Feds forget to bring something like a boat and mess things up.
I kept to the edge of the trees lining the driveway, still carefully balancing the bombs. The late-afternoon sun was low on the horizon, sliding into twilight. The dim light would help.
As I got close to the driveway I heard voices.
I put down the bombs long enough to switch my phone to vibrate. Leaving the devices on the ground, I crept closer to the voices.
The Shoal of Time Page 29
