Armstrong looked stunned. He was blindsided by the demand.
“That’s outrageous!”
“Transfer the remainder of the three million into our offshore account. Do it now. I know you have it, I know it’s available, and I want it put into our account. Do it right now or I’ll put a bullet in your head and all the money in the world won’t save you.”
Armstrong was incredulous.
“No! Never! Without Caspian we lose our one hope of finding Al-Islam! This is extortion!”
“Call it what you want.”
“Where is Folston? I’m not going to deal with you. I’ll only deal with Folston.”
“This is between you and me. Right here, right now. Deal with me or I leave you dead here on the floor of your swanky pad. The choice is yours, but I know the type of man you are. You’re a survivor. The kind of man who scratches and claws and finds a way to make sure he is among the living at the end of the day.”
Armstrong stared at the gun.
“Who are you? Where did Folston find you?”
“Focus on the money, Armstrong.”
“Moving funds is complicated.”
“Not for a man like you.”
“Security provisions are in place for circumstances exactly like this.”
“Make it happen.”
“There are papers to sign.”
“Fine. Sign them.”
“Not here. The papers are at the bank. They have to see me,” Armstrong lied.
Smith processed the information. Thunder boomed and a wave of rain sprayed the huge windows. His eyes searched for answers. He saw the helicopter.
“Ok,” he said. “Let’s go to the bank.”
Armstrong followed his eyes.
“Look at this weather,” he said.
Smith was unmoved. “Fire it up.”
100
Coburn cut the motor and raised the prop out of the water as the hull of the flat bottom ran ashore. He jumped out into the knee-deep water and pulled the boat several feet up on the sand where it wouldn’t immediately be blown out to sea.
He held Sabrina’s upper arm as she stepped out. Neither of them had a remaining dry spot on their bodies.
“You good?” he asked.
Sabrina nodded. She was shivering.
Together they headed up the beach at a jog.
• • •
Armstrong didn’t move.
“I said fire it up,” Smith repeated.
Armstrong ignored the order.
Smith waved the gun. “What part of that do you not understand?”
Armstrong pressed his tongue against his lower teeth and whistled.
Smith stared at him. His eyes flashed from the old man to the helicopter outside and back again.
Armstrong paused a beat, then he whistled again. Three short blasts.
Smith heard a sound. It was the sound of claws clicking on marble. He saw movement in his peripheral vision and turned. The Dobermans, Teddy and Monarch, bolted into the room and rushed straight at him. Smith attempted to wheel his arm around and get off a shot before the dogs attacked. The dogs pounced as he pulled the trigger.
• • •
Coburn and Sabrina heard two gunshots. They froze and exchanged a look.
“Came from inside,” Coburn said.
“Smith?”
“As likely as anything else.”
“We don’t even have a gun.”
“Good point.”
“Keep going?”
Coburn nodded.
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Teddy went straight for Smith’s throat. Monarch went for the arm holding the weapon. It was their training. Dogs such as these Dobermans didn’t come cheap. Armstrong had paid a small fortune for them and for their training. Right at this moment, he realized it was perhaps the best money he’d ever spent.
“Get off me!” Smith yelled, feeling the first series of bites. He clubbed at the dogs with his free hand, but they were strong and aggressive. Monarch had the arm with the gun. Smith struggled desperately to free his hand so he could fire a round or two but it was impossible.
The dogs growled, snapping and tearing, hungry for a taste of blood. They overpowered him and brought him to his knees. Smith screamed as their razor sharp teeth sank to the bone.
Armstrong backed away and went for the door, making a run for the chopper.
Another clap of thunder boomed.
Armstrong’s mind was still reeling from the news that Caspian was dead. It was heartbreaking. The dream of avenging his daughter was again slipping away. The realization was a crushing blow. But he was still rich and he had learned a great deal from this experience. There was still time to find Al-Islam. He was confident he could find a way. He ran to the helicopter pad and flung the chopper door open. Climbing in, he flipped the ignition switch and heard the whine of the turbine begin. The rotors slowly began to turn.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he hissed.
He leaned out the open door and saw no sign of Smith. The dogs had got him.
The rotors picked up speed.
“Let’s go, baby…” Then he heard a pop of gunfire. He leaned out into the rain again, his eyes searching the immediate vicinity. There was still no sign of Smith.
He flipped a switch overhead and prepared the chopper for liftoff. The rotors were a blur, and he could hear the deafening whup-whup-whup of them beating the air. He heard a second pop of gunfire. He leaned out and saw Smith emerge from the house. It was now or never. He reached for the door and jerked it shut and pulled back on the controls. He felt the machine begin to move. He felt the skids lift away from the pad. Then there was another pop of gunfire and a bullet rang off the chopper’s cowling. He jerked his head to the left.
Another bullet hit the chopper and cracked the Plexiglas six inches from his head. The chopper lifted off the ground. The nose dipped and the machine began to surge forward.
Armstrong saw flashes of light as Smith ran beneath the chopper and pulled the trigger as fast as he could. A bullet penetrated the cowling and hit Armstrong in the shoulder. He cried out and jerked the controls. The chopper went into a slow spin. The next shot caught him in the head, just beneath the ear. He shrieked, struggling to control the chopper.
The chopper was sixty feet above the ground now, spinning in slow circles. Smith took his time, aiming for the fuel tank. He pulled the trigger without considering the full consequences of what he was doing.
The 9mm bullet pierced the metal, entered the fuel tank, and threw off the spark that ignited the fuel. The helicopter exploded.
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Coburn and Sabrina saw the chopper and watched it lurch up from the pad. They also saw Smith emerge from indoors and start shooting. Coburn put out his arm to shield her.
When Smith fired the last bullet, the chopper erupted into a ball of flames. The rotors were still turning and Armstrong was clearly fighting to keep the machine in the air. The chopper turned and started toward the house, flames swirling through the cockpit. The pilot’s door swung open and they saw Armstrong struggle to escape the fireball.
“It’s going to crash,” Coburn yelled.
The chopper was heading straight toward them. They ran for the mansion to take shelter, found a door, and hustled inside. Smith saw them and recognized Coburn. For a moment, he watched the chopper and then he headed for the door through which Coburn and the woman had disappeared.
The chopper wheeled sharply and changed direction. The mansion was suddenly in its direct path.
Smith reached the door just as the chopper slammed through the front glass of the mansion. He dove for cover. There was a second explosion and fire ripped through the upper level of the house.
Coburn shoved Sabrina ahead of him. The force of the explosion knocked them to the ground. Smoke began to fill the air. He spotted the elevator and together they crawled inside and punched a button at random.
“Smith saw us,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”
The
door closed. After a moment, the elevator opened on the bottom level. The air was cool. They stepped out and glanced around. There was nothing but empty passageways leading off in a number of directions.
“What is this place?” Sabrina asked.
“I have no idea, but if we don’t find a way out we’re screwed.”
Coburn turned left and spotted the gun range. He saw the paper target pummeled by expert headshots. He saw the table with boxes of ammo and a gun case with a Glock set into foam. The elevator door closed and they knew it had been called back up.
“We’ve got a minute, maybe two,” he said.
Coburn grabbed the Glock and loaded it with a clip from the table. He chambered a round. “Pick a door. Any door,” he said.
They checked the passageways one at a time, and all but one seemed to be sealed.
Coburn heaved open the thick metal door and ushered her through, and then shut the door behind them. The clang of metal on metal echoed loudly down the narrow concrete passage. The tunnel was pitch black. They heard an explosion somewhere above them reverberating through layers of bedrock and concrete.
“The chopper,” Coburn said. “We should have stayed outside. This whole place is going to burn down. If this thing doesn’t lead anywhere, we’ll be trapped.” He took her by the arm and headed deeper into the darkness.
103
Fire was overtaking the upper level of the house. Smith was suffocating in the heat. The elevator opened and he lunged inside. He felt it begin to move. He knew that Coburn and the woman had gone to the basement level. He could still feel the heat on his skin.
The elevator opened.
Smith held the gun out in front of him. He moved out slowly. There was no sign of either of them. He saw the gun range and the empty case and hoped Coburn wasn’t armed. He checked the doors and found that only one would open. He heaved open the heavy door open and squinted into the blackness.
“Coburn!” he called.
His voice echoed back to him.
104
The ground beneath them rumbled. Coburn put his hand against the wall and felt the vibration.
“I’m concerned these walls won’t hold. I think we are under the water now.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means the explosions above are causing vibrations that might weaken these walls and cause them to collapse under the weight of the ocean.”
He saw panic fill her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s bad,” he said
“Where does this lead?”
“No clue. But I’m hoping it leads to the mainland.”
“That’s like a mile!”
“We’ve got to hurry.”
They heard Smith’s voice echo down from the opening of the tunnel.
“That’s him,” Coburn whispered.
Suddenly there was a flash of light and a bullet whistled through the tunnel.
“Go!” Coburn said.
They ran blindly, stumbling and tripping. There were two more flashes from behind them, and then the deafening roar of gunfire filled the tunnel. They felt the floor rumble again. This time the rumble didn’t fade. It only increased.
“Just run!” Coburn yelled.
The walls began to spring leaks. Water began bursting through weak spots in the brittle concrete.
“Run!” Coburn yelled again.
• • •
Smith ran at a full sprint, ignoring the water coming through the walls. He raised his gun and fired, the muzzle flash brightly lighting up the tunnel ahead of him. He could see their shadows in the distance. They were running, but he was closing the gap.
105
All at once the ceiling collapsed without warning. It simply gave way and the concrete exploded under a tidal force of water.
Sabrina screamed. Coburn clutched her arm. They lost their footing as the torrent of water hit them. Together they were washed along by the force of the flood. The tunnel in front of them remained enveloped by darkness as it was filled by the deluge. It was like being sucked through a tube.
Suddenly they hit something solid. There was another wall in the passage - a blockage placed midway down the tunnel. The water rushed around them and began to rise, impeded by the barrier.
“We’re going to drown!” Sabrina screamed.
The water level rose to their necks. The pressure was tremendous. It was next to impossible to catch a breath. Coburn held her up so that her face was in the shrinking gap between the water and the ceiling. Sabrina gasped, desperate for oxygen. There were only a few seconds left before it enveloped them.
“Take a deep breath,” Coburn said. “The deepest breath you can. You’re going to have to hold it for as long as you can.”
They both inhaled deeply just before the water rushed in over their heads. Thirty seconds passed.
The force of the water burst through the blockage and pushed them onward through the tunnel. As the barrier crumbled, the water leveled out. For a moment they could breathe again. They took big gulps of air. Then the water took them and pushed them ahead even faster now. Coburn wrapped his arm tighter around her and closed his eyes. He fully expected the situation to get worse before it got better.
Coburn was tossed hard against the wall by the rush of water and he lost his grip on his gun. He fumbled for it with both hands, but it was lost in the strong black current. Sabrina was screaming now, gasping for air. Coburn struggled to keep a grip on her arm. The muscles in his shoulders burned under the strain.
There was another gunshot. The tunnel lit up for less than a second. Coburn instinctively ducked his head under the water. Another section of wall gave way and the volume of water rushing through the tunnel increased exponentially.
Suddenly, Coburn felt Smith crash into him. Smith had been hurled forward by the deluge. Coburn tried to push him away, but they became a tangle of arms and legs. Smith raised his gun and punched Coburn in the throat. Coburn gagged and coughed as he inadvertently swallowed water. He was still holding tight to Sabrina and it was difficult to fight with only one free hand. The three of them toppled end over end through the churning, relentless current. Coburn couldn’t see Smith, but he could still feel him as they sailed headlong through the wet blackness.
Smith pulled the trigger several more times. The water muffled the sound of gunfire and the muzzle flash produced only a quick eerie black glow. Suddenly, the two men realized they were face to face. For a moment, Smith had a hand around Coburn’s throat, but the force of the current was too swift and powerful as they were sucked deeper into the cold blackness of the seemingly endless tunnel.
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Coburn awoke and opened his eyes. He was alive and lying on his back in mud. The sun was directly above him, but shrouded in gloom. It was still raining. He raised his head and saw the tunnel. A metal door was standing open and water was still spilling out. The tunnel had finished with him and spit him out. The force of the water had blasted open the door. More than anything he found it shocking to have survived the wild ride in the darkness. He felt something move under his hand and turned his head. Sabrina lay in the mud beside him. She was breathing. He checked her pulse and made sure she hadn’t swallowed a bunch of water. Then she coughed and slowly came to. He still had hold of her arm. He pulled himself up out of the muck and settled them both on dry ground.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Apparently we’ve avoided Heaven or Hell, at least for the moment.”
She pushed her hair out of her face.
“Where is Smith?”
“I don’t know,” Coburn said, looking around. “I’ll check.”
Coburn walked up the shoreline a few hundred feet. He didn’t see anything. When he came back, Sabrina was gone. He followed her tracks up into the edge of the trees. She saw him and looked away. She had the Glock, and Smith was lying face down in pine needles. He appeared to be breathing but both eyes were closed. His arms were covered in mud up to the elbows from clawing his way up from the wa
ter’s edge.
“He’s alive,” she said.
Coburn nodded. “Ok,” he said.
“This is how I found him.” Her arm was shaking and so was the gun. She had tears in her eyes.
“What are you going to do?” he asked her.
“This is for my sister,” she said.
His mind flashed to Courtney, first in the bar with Smith, and then in the bag in the basement of the police precinct. She had been a beautiful woman with a sister who loved her, and she hadn’t deserved to be murdered.
“I know,” he said.
He looked at Sabrina for a long moment. The gun was aimed down at Smith’s head. Then he stared at Smith for a brief moment before turning and easing back down toward the water. He heard five rapid pops from the Glock. The silence returned.
He knew it was over.
107
One Week Later
Coburn had never loved cities and he felt he’d been in too many lately. So he took the Cessna to Maine as he had originally intended and he spent long lonely days doing nothing and speaking to no one and loving every second of it.
The state of Maine was beautiful and serene. He would highly recommend it to anyone who was searching for peace and solitude. He took a pack with a little food and a little water and he got lost in the wilderness for a few days. He napped under gnarled trees and awoke fresh, stretching in the crisp air. He talked to birds and fish and wandered aimlessly along a stream that seemed to wind through the pines for infinity.
Finally, a sense of peace settled in and he felt ready to take on life again in whatever manner it demanded of him.
Then he found his way back to the plane and slept under the stars and thought about his father and Brian Ripley, his ex-wife and child, and Sabrina. Then he cleared his mind and tried to think about nothing. In the most part, he was successful, but some things shook loose and other things just seemed to stick.
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