“THERE’S GROUP one,” Chunk said as he watched the van disappear into the warehouse. The three of them were crouched between two enormous piles, one of which looked like roofing timbers, the other of bags of concrete, halfway between the fence and the open door of the old warehouse. He lowered the small pair of night vision goggles he’d brought with them. They were technically Paragon’s property, but he figured since he hadn’t received his official pink slip yet, he was still able to use them.
“So do we take ’em now?” Zoe asked. “One by one?”
He shook his head. “No. We wait for all the chickens to be in the coop. We go in after them now, we risk having Allegretti and his crew arriving behind us. Or if Gane gets here, he’ll spook.”
“You know I trust your judgment, Charles,” Hermione said, “and what you say makes a certain amount of sense. But if we wait for everyone to arrive, won’t we be outnumbered? As well as outgunned?”
Chunk had the Smith and Wesson Model 60 that he’d carried as a detective slung in a shoulder rig. He understood the young officers (and the department) preferred the flashier Glocks, but he’d always liked the reliability of the revolver. Hermione had her Sig Sauer semi-automatic pistol which she’d field stripped and cleaned with the practiced assurance of a veteran before they’d set out for the warehouse. Zoe had refused to even consider a firearm, but she’d loaded up the Hello Kitty Taser with a fresh cartridge. “Just so we keep the non-lethal option open,” she said.
“We’re not going to win this with firepower,” Chunk said. “If lead starts flying, people are going to die. Like Stephanie.”
“And us,” Zoe added. “Not my plan A.” She looked at Chunk. “Which reminds me. What exactly is our plan A?”
“Improvisation,” Chunk said. “Inspiration.”
Zoe made a face. “Lovely.” As if to confirm her misgivings, a pair of men exited the warehouse, holding long rifles cradled in their arms. “Shit,” she said. “Are those what I think they are?”
Chunk raised the NVGs to his eyes. “Yep. AR-15s.”
“Full auto or semi?”
“Can’t tell.”
“Lemme see.” Zoe reached for the NVGs. Chunk handed them to her. She peered through them. “I wouldn’t swear to it, but going by the build, and the walk, I’d say that those were the guys that took Clarissa.”
“But Stephanie said Branson told her the people with him didn’t have her,” Hermione said.
Zoe lowered the goggles and bit her lip thoughtfully. “I know. It’s puzzling. And I’m not a fan of being puzzled.”
“Heads up,” Hermione said. “Here comes our Mr. Gane.” A white BMW was pulling into the parking lot.
GARETH GANE stopped at the open gate and stared at the warehouse building in dismay. Where was he supposed to go in that huge expanse? The place seemed endless, and he thought he could see sinister figures lurking everywhere in the shadows. As he sat there, he began to tremble. The sardonic voice on the phone had been right. He didn’t have what it took to be a criminal. He’d dreamed of being, if not rich, at least secure and comfortable till the end of his days. Now he just wanted to make sure those days didn’t end tonight.
He reached out and laid a hand on the silver metal side of the Halliburton case in the passenger seat, resisting the urge to say “goodbye” out loud to the future he’d planned. Then he slid his hand beneath the case, to where a chrome .38 caliber revolver nestled between the case and the fabric seat cushion. He’d been shocked by how easy it had been to purchase the weapon. No background check, no waiting period, and no questions asked, especially when he’d pulled out a wad of cash. Gane had had a story ready about home invaders and needing the gun for the security of his wife and children (and of a little schnauzer named Freckles he’d conjured out of thin air for the purposes of the tale) but the clerk had seemed as uninterested as if Gane had been buying paper towels at the grocery store.
He had no experience with guns, so the revolver had seemed the simplest choice. He still wasn’t sure how he intended to use it, but somehow just having it made him feel less defenseless. He recalled the contempt in the voice on the phone. Amateur, the man had called him. His hand curled around the grip of the pistol. The trembling subsided. Well, he might not be a professional thug like these people, but he’d show them he was no pushover.
He pulled the gun out from under the case and looked at it. The shiny chrome seemed to glow in the dim light. He pointed the gun out the front window, imagining drawing a bead on the face of the yet unseen man who’d mocked him on the phone. “Amateur, eh?” he said, modulating his voice down to what he thought was a threatening snarl. He curled his finger around the trigger.
Then he frowned. There was something wrong. Something seemed off somehow, not as he’d expected. He lowered the weapon and looked at it. He had a sudden feeling of dread, like a man who walks out of the house, takes the train to work, then remembers he’s left the coffeepot on. He fumbled for the lever on the side of the revolver, pressed it, and swung the cylinder out.
The empty holes in the cylinder stared back at him like mocking eyes. The gun was empty.
“What…how?” he whispered. He’d known he’d have to buy refills, but he’d assumed a gun would come with at least one cylinder’s worth already loaded and ready to go. What kind of scam was this? “No,” he said out loud. “No…”
Movement ahead of him in the darkness caught his eye. He looked up to see a man walking toward him, illuminated by his headlights The man was carrying a long black rifle held across his chest at port arms. As the man drew nearer, he shifted the weapon to point through the windshield. Gane quickly shoved the useless pistol back beneath the case. He held up his hands. The man approached the car on the driver’s side, still holding the rifle in one hand, and made a gesture with the other for Gane to roll down the window. All of the bravado the firearm had given him had evaporated; he was so terrified, it took him three tries to find the button to comply.
The man pointing the gun was completely bald, with a broad, fleshy face and pale skin. “Lights off,” he said.
“Wh-what?”
The man reached through the windshield. Gane shied away, making a small sound of terror deep in his throat, but the man just found the headlight button and killed his lights. He gestured toward the building with the barrel of the rifle. “That way. Follow the light.”
Gane looked. Another figure was standing by the building. There was a small but intense flashlight in his hand that he waved up and down once, then twice. There was a large opening in the wall next to where the man stood, where a metal access door had been rolled up. That was clearly where he was intended to go.
“Move it,” the man snapped. “But slowly. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t do anything stupid and everything’ll be fine.”
Gane’s knuckles were white and sweaty on the wheel as he steered the car slowly toward the man with the light. He glanced in his rearview to see the rifleman jogging to keep pace behind him. He had a brief impulse to stop the car, throw it in reverse, and smash the man following him into the pavement. But as he drew closer, he saw that the man with the light had a rifle as well, held in the crook of one arm and identical to the one carried by the man behind.
As he arrived at the building, he caught a glimpse of the other man’s features. He stopped, looked behind him, then looked in front again. It wasn’t just the rifles; the two men were identical. The man with the light motioned him in impatiently. As he eased the car into the building Gane wondered, a little hysterically, if the inside of the building held any more of them, maybe an identical clone army. It wouldn’t surprise him. After the shocks he’d experienced the last couple of days, Gareth Gane thought nothing about this situation could surprise him anymore.
He was wrong.
“NOW?” HERMIONE asked.
Chunk was looking through the NVGs as Gane’s car entered the building, followed by the two guards. In a moment, they came back out. They took up their posit
ions again, one by each side of the raised metal door. “Not yet,” he murmured.
“We getting any inspiration, partner?” Zoe asked.
Chunk lowered the goggles. “Not yet. But it’s coming. I can feel it.”
“Well,” Zoe said, “do be sure and let us know when it gets here, will you? I’d like to be here to greet it.”
“THERE’S THE nutless wonders,” Paul Chirelli said. “As expected.”
Mario was driving the lead limo. He pulled to a stop. The two Lowman brothers regarded him without expression. They didn’t make a move toward the vehicle, but they didn’t put down their weapons, either.
“You think they’re changing sides again?” Chirelli asked.
Mario made a decision. “One way to find out.” He opened the door and got out. “Hey,” he heard Chirelli say behind him. He ignored it.
Tommy and Carlo were getting out of the car behind. They were carrying cut-down Mossberg twelve-gauge shotguns, held down by their sides. The guns had come from Bo Wentworth’s private stash in the mansion’s basement, which Wentworth had outfitted as an arsenal.
Mario saw the Lowmans tense at the sight. “Evening, fellas,” he said easily. “You ready to get rich?”
The brother on the right grinned. The one on the left did the same a split second later. It was actually kind of creepy, Mario thought.
“You know it, man,” the one on the left said. “So, the guy from Enigma’s inside, with the jewels. What’s the plan?”
“Well,” Mario said, “first we need those guns of yours.”
The one on the left looked puzzled. The one on the right looked suspicious. “What the hell for?” the one on the left said.
Mario gave them his most ingratiating smile. “We’re looking after you guys,” he said. “You don’t want your partners inside to know you, you know…” He paused as he searched his brain for an acceptable synonym for “fucked them over.”
Fortunately, the one on the left seemed to get it. He nodded and tapped the side of his nose, trying to look wise and failing. The one on the right still looked suspicious, but he followed suit. As Tommy and Carlo approached, they handed their weapons over, followed by the sidearms they’d stuck in their waistbands. Tommy and Carlo took the guns and leaned them against the wall a few feet away.
“Now,” Mario said. “We need to tie you up and gag you.”
“To make it look good?” the Lowman brother on the right said.
“No,” Mario replied, “because we’ve got guns and you don’t, you dumb motherfuckers.” He motioned behind him to Moose Cantone, who walked up holding another prize from Wentworth’s collection: a fully automatic M-249 Squad Automatic Weapon, also known as a SAW, pointed at the Lowmans. “One peep,” Mario spat at the astounded Lowmans, “one word, and my associate here will paint that fucking wall with you.”
“Hey,” the one on the right said, “that ain’t…” Moose swiveled the weapon to bear on him. He shut up.
“Tie ’em up,” Mario said. He didn’t want any shooting yet. He’d cap them on the way out.
AS GANE pulled into the darkness of the abandoned warehouse, he saw the headlights of two vehicles suddenly switch on, pointed directly at him. He braked suddenly and threw up a hand against the sudden glare. Just as abruptly as the lights had come on, they vanished, and Gane was aware of someone standing beside his door. Another light, closer, snapped on, aimed directly into his eyes, and he yelped like a puppy whose tail had just been stepped on.
“Out of the car,” a voice said. It sounded like the man on the telephone. The blinding light came from a headlamp secured onto his forehead. It was so bright, Gane couldn’t see the face behind it. When he hesitated, the man with the light yanked the car door open. “Permit me to assist,” the man said with mock politeness. The hand on his arm was anything but courteous, however, and Gane cried out again as he was roughly pulled out of the car and to his feet. “Stand over there,” the voice said, using the headlamp to indicate a spot nearby, “and don’t try any sort of shenanigans. As you may have surmised, I am not alone, and my partner has you in his sights.”
Gane complied, his knees shaking. He heard the passenger door open and saw the light bob and dip. The silver case gleamed in the lamplight as the man behind the light took it out and placed it on the roof of the car. Then he saw the light hesitate, point down again, and shine back into the interior.
“Well, well,” the man said. “What have we here?” Gane nearly collapsed with fear as he saw the man take the useless gun out of the passenger seat and hold it up in the light. “Now, you wasn’t plannin’ any sort of mischief with this here firearm, was you, Mr. Gane?”
Gane closed his eyes, waiting for the shot out of the dark that would end his life. Then he heard a low chuckle. “Guess not,” the voice said. “It ain’t even loaded.” He heard the tread of booted feet on the concrete floor and opened his eyes. The light shone directly into them from the man standing in front of him. “I just wanted to get one last look at anyone dumb enough to bring a gun without bullets to a meetin’ like this.”
“Please,” Gane said, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks. “Don’t kill me.”
The light was suddenly out of his eyes. “Stay there. I’m gonna go show the contents of this here case to my partner. If we’re both satisfied that the real jewels are in here, you can get back in your little car and leave. If not…” The voice left the “if not” unspoken.
Gane saw the light with the dark figure behind it move off toward the vehicles in the darkness. He saw a white van and what looked like a midsize sedan parked side by side. He caught a glimpse of two people in the front seat of the sedan. The man with the light swung the silver Halliburton case up onto the hood and popped it open. The light played over the contents and Gane could dimly see the man’s face in the reflected glitter. The face was plump and unshaven, but there was an undeniable look of satisfaction on it. The man reached into the case and brought out an object. He held it up and shone the light on it. It was a ruby the size of a dime. The facets threw off a red glow. He reached in and pulled out another gem, a diamond that gleamed in the light like white fire.
“Yes, indeed,” the man said. “This will do nicely.” The light swiveled, shone again into Gane’s eyes. “All right, Mr. Gane,” the voice said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. You can go.”
“No,” another voice said out of the darkness. “You can’t.”
“WELL,” ZOE said as she looked through the night vision goggles, “that’s interesting.” She was watching the two guys who’d pulled up behind Allegretti bind and gag the two who’d been standing guard while Moose Cantone stood by menacing them with an ugly-looking machine gun.
“Double cross?” Chunk wondered.
“Maybe triple,” Zoe said. “The twins looked all friendly with Allegretti’s goons, then suddenly it all changed.”
“Let me see,” Chunk said. She passed him back the NVGs. He looked and saw Chirelli getting out of the car. He realized his grip was tightening dangerously on the NVGs at the sight of the man and his muscles were tensing. He began taking slow, deep breaths to steady himself. Chirelli and Mario entered the building, followed by Moose, still carrying the machine gun. The other two goons stayed outside with the vehicles. The twins, hands and ankles bound and duct tape around their mouths, sat on the ground, backs leaned up against the wall, shoulders slumped.
“Inspiration time?” Zoe said.
Chunk rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Not yet. We still don’t know where Clarissa is. Or Stephanie.”
“Bet those guys know.” She nodded toward the building. “And we’re no closer to finding anything out if we stay out here.”
Still, Chunk hesitated. Zoe sighed. “You’re worrying about us again, aren’t you? About me and Hermione.”
“It’s sweet, Charles,” Hermione said, “but stupid. And I say that as someone who respects you.”
“I had an idea,” Chunk admitted, “
but it means…” He stopped.
“Means putting one or both of us in the line of fire,” Zoe finished.
He just nodded, a lump in his throat.
“Why don’t you tell us what it is,” Hermione said, “and let us decide?”
“Like, you know, adults,” Zoe said.
Chunk blew out his breath. “Okay,” he said, “here’s what we do…”
BRANSON SAT behind the wheel of the van, the driver’s side window rolled down. From time to time he stole a look at Stephanie, who was seated, still bound, in the passenger seat of the sedan next to him. She sat looking straight ahead. He turned back in time to see his uncle take the case from Gane and carry it to the sedan, the beam of light on his headband bobbing as he came. From his slightly higher vantage point, he could see down into the case as Rafe opened it to show the jewels to L.B. The stones sparkled in the light like some mythical dragon’s hoard. When he heard Rafe tell Gane he could leave, Bran let out a sigh of relief. It was almost over. But as he reached for the ignition, he heard the voice come out of the darkness.
Rafe’s headlamp swiveled toward the sound. Branson saw three men, two holding pistols and one holding a large machine gun. His hand froze on the key as his heart started pounding so hard he was sure everyone in the warehouse could hear it. A sudden wild thought came to him, to turn the key, start the van, and bowl the three interlopers over. But that would mean leaving Stephanie behind. As he hesitated, the man with the machine gun swung it to point directly at the windshield of Gane’s car.
“You there,” the man in the middle, an older man with graying hair, said to Gane. “Turn your headlights on. Then get out and go stand over there. Hands up.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then the vehicle’s lights came on, casting a cone of illumination onto the area. “Now you,” the gray-haired man called out. “In the vehicles. Get out and stand in the light.” No one moved at first. “DO IT!” the man shouted. Bran heard the sound of the car’s door opening. He opened the van door and stepped out onto the pavement.
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