Safe and Sound

by J. D. Rhoades

The old man looked at the card on the table distaste-fully, as if Keller had laid a fresh turd there. “You a bail bondsman?” he said. “What’s this feller s’posed to’ve done?”

  Keller read the suspicion and the skepticism in the man’s voice. This was not a place, he realized, where law enforcement, even unofficial law enforcement like himself, had ever been much welcomed.

  “It’s not a bail matter,” Keller said. “This guy tried to kill a friend of mine.”

  The old man’s eyes brightened a little at that. Personal vengeance was something closer to his heart. He picked up the card and stuffed it in a pocket in his creased overalls.

  “Awright,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye peeled.”

  “Thanks,” Keller said. “And let me have a pack of Marlboros.” The old man reached up and pulled a pack down from the plastic rack that hung over the counter.

  “You catch this fella,” he asked casually, “you aim to bring him in to the law?”

  “Guess that depends on him,” Keller said as he handed the money across.

  The man grinned, revealing several missing teeth. “I heard that,” he said. “Good luck, now. And have a nice day.”

  “You, too.” Keller walked out and got in the car. He punched the lighter and tapped a cigarette out of the pack.

  He sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He had ruled out the tourist traps peddling gimcracks like flimsy Taiwan-made “Indian” dolls. Even so, there were dozens of places DeGroot could have stopped for gas or food, assuming he needed to stop at all. It was easy to disappear into these mountains, even for a man traveling the roads. He needed some way to narrow his search.

  The police scanner crackled on the edge of his hearing. He leaned forward and turned it up. The dispatcher spoke in the harsh mountain twang that made a jarring contrast to the familiar cop talk.

  “All units, be on th’ lookout,” the voice said, “fer a 2004 Tiyota four bah four, Tenn’see license MJH 4490, ref’rince stolen vee-hicle, in conjunction with homicide at Folger’s Gap campground on the Parkway. Approach subject with caution.”

  Keller reached up above the visor and pulled out the Parkway map he had bought at one of his roadside stops.

  The Folger’s Gap campground was only a few miles from the overlook where DeGroot had escaped. The radio crackled again. “Dispatch,” a laconic voice said. “10-21 Highway Patrol reference that Toyota. I think they got a 10-78 on ’at one near Banner Elk.”

  Keller started the car.

  ***

  They stood silently looking down at the map. The plan seemed simple enough. “Any questions?” DeGroot asked. There were none. “Tell it back to me, then.” He looked at Patrick. “You.”

  “Markey and I take the front,” Patrick said promptly.

  “If we can get close enough without being seen, we force entry. If not, we suppress.”

  Caldwell spoke up. “DeGroot and I take the thumper out back,” he said, using the slang term for his weapon of choice, the grenade launcher. “If there’s a back door and we can get to it undetected, we force entry. If not, we use the thumper or the LAW.”

  “I ingress first,” Phillips said. “I start by taking out anything in this tower. Then I move to provide overwatch from this tree line.” He ran his finger along the edge of the forested area on the left side of the clearing. “I aid in suppressing fire coming from inside the house, and mop up any strays outside.” He looked at DeGroot. “I’d feel better if there was a bit of higher ground. The way the terrain slopes away from the house, I’m always firing uphill.”

  “I’ll be sure to ring you up a nice hillside,” DeGroot said. “Any other questions?” He looked around. Again there was no answer. “Fixed up, then. Everyone grab a quick graze. There’s a café down the road. We leave right after.”

  ***

  Keller hit pay dirt in a tiny café in one of the valley towns.

  “Sure,” the plump girl behind the counter said. “Big feller. Short hair, talked foreign. I think he was from Germany or someplace.”

  Keller sipped at the wretched coffee and tried not to show his excitement. “He say where he was going?”

  “I don’t think he was goin’ nowhere,” the girl said.

  “He’s stayin’ around here, I think. Came in two or three times to check his e-mail.” She gestured toward the computer room in back.

  “Where’s he staying?” Keller asked. “Do you know?”

  The girl was suddenly suspicious. “Wait a minute,” she asked. “What business you got with this feller? You a policeman or somethin’?”

  Keller pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it, then back up at him with a shocked expression. “This guy some sorta criminal?”

  “Yeah,” Keller said. “I need to catch up with him.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Wow,” she said. “That’s wild.”

  “So where’d he be staying around here?”

  She popped her gum. “The Mountain View’s closest,” she said. “Right up the street.” She nodded decisively, her mind made up. “Yep, that’s gotta be it. He din’t park out front, so he musta walked.”

  Keller stood up. “Thanks,” he said. “You’ve been a big help.” A thought occurred to him. “You remember which computer he used?”

  She shook her head. “Ain’t but three, though. Why?”

  “You mind if I have a look? It might give me some information.”

  She looked dubious. “It’s five bucks for…” Keller already had his wallet out. She took the bill and gestured toward the back room. “Knock yourself out, hon.”

  Keller walked to the back. All three computers were on. The name of the café scrolled slowly across the screens. He sat down at the first one and moved the mouse. The screen saver disappeared, to be replaced by the computer desktop.

  He clicked the icon for the Web browser. When the home page came up, he checked the browser history. EPSN.com.

  CNN.com. Stocks.com. He moved to the next one and repeated the procedure. The history was blank. Someone had cleared it.

  He heard someone come in the front of the café. He got up and looked out into the front room. Three men were standing there, scanning the menu. The first thing Keller noticed was the similarity in their haircuts: all short, all cut above the ears. He had worn his hair like that for years, even after the military. He glanced down. The boots all looked the same. All military or military surplus. An alarm began to sound, quiet but insistent, in the back of Keller’s mind. He walked toward the front door, not looking at the three men. They moved slightly to let him pass, their eyes glancing over him, then away with the dismissive disinterest of the professional who’s assessed a situation and sees no threat.

  “Bye, hon,” the girl called out to him. He didn’t look back or answer as he headed out the door.

  On the sidewalk, he looked around. He saw the sign for the Mountain View Motel up the street. He got into his car and started it. He glanced back inside the café. The three were still ordering. They didn’t look outside. Keller reached into the back seat and pulled the shotgun out from beneath the blanket he had used to cover it. He propped the shotgun in the rack beside the seat and pulled out of the parking area.

  In a few moments, he was pulling into the parking lot of the motel. He parked next to a large brown truck with the UPS logo. Keller surveyed the line of doors. Which one would DeGroot be behind? He glanced over at the office. They’d know. As he got out of the car, a door opened about halfway between Keller and the office. A familiar figure stepped out. Keller reached into the car and yanked the shotgun from the rack. “DeGroot!” he yelled. “Freeze, motherfucker!”

  DeGroot stopped dead in his tracks, looking stunned.

  “On the ground!” Keller bellowed. “Now!” DeGroot hesitated. Keller racked the slide on the shotgun. Slowly, DeGroot sank to his knees. Keller advanced on him, the shotgun held at the ready. “Give me a fucking excuse,” he snarled. “Any excuse at all.”


  “Easy now, boet,” DeGroot said soothingly. “We can do business, you and me.”

  “On your belly,” Keller said. “Hands behind you.” He stopped just out of DeGroot’s reach. “Now!” As DeGroot began to comply, Keller heard a door open, just to his left.

  He began to turn, prepared to order whoever it was back into the room. He felt an object pressed against his side. He felt a burning sensation, then he couldn’t breathe. His muscles wouldn’t answer him. His arms and legs began to jerk uncontrollably. Then the pain came as he collapsed to the pavement.

  Good work, Danny,” DeGroot said. They stood over Keller’s twitching body. Patrick still held the stun gun loosely by his side. He leaned over and gave the helpless man another jolt. He was grinning as Keller went into a fresh set of convulsions.

  DeGroot looked over at the office. The manager was standing there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s.

  “Danny,” DeGroot said in a low voice. “Go see if you can dissuade that kaffir from calling the police.” Patrick moved off toward the office. The panicked manager tried to run back inside, but Patrick was on him before he could get the door shut. DeGroot bent down and frisked Keller quickly and professionally. He pulled a set of nylon flex cuffs from Keller’s back pocket. “Handy,” he observed. By the time Keller was regaining some control, his hands were securely fastened behind his back.

  Caldwell and Holley came jogging up, Phillips trailing behind. “Whoa, dude,” Holley said. “What the fuck?”

  “Old friend,” DeGroot said, gesturing at the bound man on the ground. Keller looked up at him with pure hatred in his eyes. He started to turn to get his legs beneath him. With casual cruelty, DeGroot kicked him in the solar plexus, doubling him over with pain.

  “Shit,” Caldwell said. “This is bad. If he trailed us, who else might have?”

  “He’s not a problem,” DeGroot said. “In fact,” he said, looking at Keller’s car, “he might just give us certain advantages.”

  “I’m not telling you shit,” Keller growled up at him.

  DeGroot laughed and bent down. “You don’t have to,” he whispered. “I know where they are.” He straightened up. “Change in plans,” he announced. He gestured down at Keller. “Get him in the trunk of his car,” he ordered. “The targets will recognize it. It’ll help us get closer.”

  After a couple of hours on the hardtop road, Keller felt the vehicle slow, then stop. The doors thunked open, then Keller was blinking in the light as the trunk lid was wrenched up. DeGroot stood looking down at him.

  He was holding a scalpel in his right hand.

  “A word of advice,” he said. “You tell a man you’re going to put his eye out, you bladdie well do it, hey? Then you kill him. Because if you leave him alive, this is what could happen. He could come back and take both of yours.” He bent down, placed the scalpel at the corner of Keller’s right eye. “I’ll leave you one,” he said, “For the moment. Because I want you to watch me with the boy. Then the woman. But you won’t need both your eyes for that.” He moved the tip of the blade slightly. Keller could feel a coldness, then a burning sensation, then a trickle of moisture as the blade drew blood. “You pick,” he said softly. “The one that winks first is the one you lose first.”

  Keller tried to control his breathing, fought down the urge to buck and squirm and try to get away. It would be useless. The blade would find him anyway. He glared up at DeGroot. He tried to keep his eye from blinking, held them open by force of will until they burned. Then he realized that was part of DeGroot’s game, to force him to try something useless to avoid the agony, then laugh at his pitiful efforts as he hurt him anyway. Slowly, deliberately, he winked his right eye. Do it, the gesture said, get it over with.

  DeGroot laughed in delighted surprise. “Very good,” he breathed. “You’ve got balls, I’ll grant you that. Maybe I’ll take those last.” Then the blade moved in a quick slashing movement. Keller screamed against the gag as he tried not to flinch away and failed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Holley and Patrick exchanged worried glances as DeGroot slammed the trunk on the still-screaming man and walked to the front of the car.

  Caldwell strode up to where they stood. “What the fuck?” he asked.

  “Yeah, man,” Holley said to DeGroot, “what the fuck?”

  “Shut up,” DeGroot said. He opened the passenger side door and got in. As the door slammed, Caldwell turned to the other two.

  “Guys,” he said, “I don’t think we’re being told everything we need to know.”

  “Are we ever?” Holley said.

  Patrick walked to the driver’s side, opened the door. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Keller was curled in the darkness, shaking and sweating. He felt the blood trickling down into his right eye from where DeGroot had opened a gash just below the line of the eyebrow. He wondered for a moment why the man hadn’t taken his eye as promised. Then it dawned on him. Keller had called his bluff. He had dared DeGroot to take the eye. But DeGroot wanted to show he was still in control. Keller had no doubt that when the time came, it would be the other eye that he took, before he started working on Ben and Marie. He would undoubtedly play the same games with them. The thought choked him with despair. No, he thought, his teeth clenched. This is not over. This is not. Fucking. Over. He began feeling as best he could with his fingers looking for any sharp edge, anything he could use to try to get these cuffs off. He shifted and squirmed, searching with his fingers, which were rapidly becoming numb. He felt the coldness of a piece of metal. It was the jack. He ran his fingers over the serrated edge of the upright. Better than nothing. He pressed the nylon cuffs against the jack and began sawing back and forth.

  ***

  They stopped at the turnoff and got out of the vehicles. DeGroot gathered them at the rear of the UPS van.

  “Time to kit up,” he said. Caldwell opened the latch on the van and pulled. The cargo door rattled as it slid up in its tracks. “Help me get this stuff out.”

  In a few minutes, they had removed the boxes and laid them out on the ground. A few moments of knife work and the boxes gaped open, revealing the deadly cargo within. A few more moments and all four men were dressed in heavy armored vests and black “Fritz” helmets. Each sported a commo headset with a microphone poised before his lips. Holley gripped an AK-47 in his hands. “AK-47,” he quoted, “when you absolutely, positively got to kill every motherfucker in the room!” He cackled. “Accept no substitutes.”

  “Spare us,” DeGroot snapped. He looked the men over, then nodded his satisfaction. “Right,” he said.

  “We’ll approach in the car. Patrick, you drive. Caldwell, you and Phillips follow behind in the truck. When we get close, we’ll dismount and approach on foot. He put his foot on the bumper of the Crown Victoria and rocked it. “We’ll march this bastard out ahead of us.” The men nodded. “If need be,” DeGroot went on, “we’ll unload some of the other surprises Caldwell brought us. Now let’s go.”

  ***

  Riggio heard the sound of an engine, coming toward him up the road. He picked up the sniper rifle and stood, resting the heavy weapon on the metal wall of the tower. He saw the nose of the Crown Victoria coming around the bend. His brow furrowed. What’s Keller doing back here? he thought. And without calling first? He settled the butt against his shoulder and peered through the scope. He waited for the car to stop and signal.

  ***

  As the car came around the bend, Patrick saw the tower looming ahead, with the cabin beneath. He slowed down. “Shit,” he muttered. “I think I made one turn too many.”

  “Back up,” DeGroot hissed. “This is too far!”

  “DeGroot,” Patrick said, “you see anybody in that…”

  He saw a metallic glint flash from the top of the tower, sunlight reflecting off something metal, something like…

  Patrick rammed the car into reverse and stomped on the gas. “Gun!” he hollered. “Everybody down!”<
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  ***

  Riggio saw the car slow down, then stop. He waited for Keller to flash the headlights as they’d instructed him. Suddenly, the car’s big engine roared. The tires spun in the gravel as it tried to back up. Reflex took over as he squeezed gently, felt the trigger give, heard the roar as the huge rifle fired.

  ***

  The sudden movement of the car had put the vehicle at a slight angle to the tower. Had it hit them straight on, the high-powered round would have blown a hole in Patrick, then gone straight through to kill Holley in the backseat and, most likely, Keller in the trunk. As it was, the enormous projectile blasted Danny Patrick’s head into bloody mist before blowing out the back passenger window.

  Blood spouted from the stump of Patrick’s neck and sprayed all over the inside of the car. His body bowed backward, then slumped forward onto the wheel. The horn began to blow. Patrick’s body slumped to the side, carrying the wheel with it part of the way. The car continued to roll backward, swerving hard, until it ran off the road and slammed trunk-first into a large oak by the roadside.

  Fuck!” Holley screamed as he was suddenly covered in blood and pellets of safety glass. He yanked the door open and bailed out just before the car hit the tree. He hit and rolled, then he scrambled to his feet. The car had ended up at a ninety-degree angle to the road, between Holley and the tower. He dropped to his belly and looked beneath. He could see DeGroot’s feet pumping as he bolted for the trees. A geyser of dirt erupted beside him as the sniper in the tower fired and missed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Holley muttered. In his panic he’d left his AK propped in the backseat. But he was damned if he was going to expose himself to what ever terrible weapon had just turned Danny Patrick into bloody meat. He heard a sharp, familiar report as the weapon fired again. The car rocked and the blowing horn was silenced. Barrett sniper rifle, his brain registered. Fifty cal. Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ, we are fuuuuuucked.

  “DeGroot, you shithead!” he yelled over to the invisible figure in the tree line. “You didn’t tell us they’d have anything heavy!”

  “Calm down, boet,” DeGroot called back. “And use your damned headset.”