Storm Surge

by Rhoades, J. D.

  Mercer nodded. “Double cross.”

  “Exactly. Which is another reason why I’m cheerfully telling you all of this.”

  “Okay,” Mercer said. He stood up and drew his pistol.

  “Been nice knowing you fellows,” Phillips said almost jauntily.

  “Mercer,” Bohler said.

  “He knows the score, Deputy.”

  “No,” Bohler said insistently. He had taken headset off and was holding it out. “Listen.”

  Phillips saw Mercer take the headset and put it on. He touched the earpiece to key the mike. “I’m here.” Then his face went blank with shock. “They’ve got Glory,” he said.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  The water downstairs was knee deep, muddy and slicked with oil. The house had taken on a dank, moldy smell that stuck in the back of Blake’s throat. He was going to be glad to get the hell out of this place. He looked across the room at the terrified girl sitting in the leather upholstered wing chair on the other side of the desk. Moon stood behind her, the barrel of his machine gun pointed at her head.

  “That’s right, Mercer,” Blake said. “Your little friend decided to go outside and admire the view. My colleague practically stumbled over her.”

  There was a pause, then Mercer’s voice came back, tight with rage. “What about the woman?”

  “My colleague,” Blake said, his tone almost jolly, “didn’t know if the woman was armed. So he decided that, if he had the girl, the woman would come to us. And you as well. And Barney Fife, if you haven’t killed him already. He’s a smart fellow, my colleague.” His voice hardened. “And I’d suggest you do just that.”

  “I’ve got a counter offer.” Mercer said.

  “You’re bargaining with the girl’s life?”

  “No. Yours. I’ve got your sparkplugs. I’ve also got your friend from the lighthouse. Which means I hold the lighthouse itself.”

  Blake fought to contain his shock and anger. “You’ve got…” he stopped, got himself under control. “I’m listening.”

  “I trade you your British friend—sorry, colleague-- and the plugs for the girl.”

  “What about the lighthouse?”

  “We let you and what’s left of your team in. Unarmed. When this is over, you take whatever it is you got out of that safe and get off the island just the way you planned. Remember, I’m not in any hurry to contact anyone official. The woman and the girl will keep their mouths shut.”

  “What about Barney Fife? I don’t think he’ll be too anxious to go along with this plan. Unless you’ve already…”

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  Blake chuckled. “You know, Mercer, I kind of like the way you think. It’s too bad things shook out this way. We might have been friends.”

  “Just as well. I’ve seen the way you treat your friends.”

  “You should see what happens to my enemies. There’s two problems with this plan, Mercer. One is that, without the lighthouse, my British friend, as you put it, really isn’t of any use to me. He’s actually more of a liability, to tell you the truth, since he’s apparently told you a large part of our plan.”

  “How about if I offer to take care of him, too? To sweeten the deal?”

  “Frankly, right now, I don’t care.”

  “What’s the other problem?”

  “Well, I have to admit, I feel kind of foolish. In all the brouhaha over the sparkplugs, there was one thing I failed to consider. It took my female colleague, of all people, to explain it to me.”

  “Montrose.”

  “I see Mr. Phillips has been very chatty. Yes. Montrose. She noted that there are a lot of houses on this island. And most of them have generators. And some of those use the same type of plugs as the generator here. And, as luck would have it, the house next door has the same make and model. We’ve got the plugs from that one. So right now, we don’t need Phillips, we don’t need the sparkplugs, we really don’t need much of anything, except the lighthouse.” The lights in the office flickered and came back on. Blake smiled benevolently at Glory. She was visibly trembling, tears running down her face.

  “So here’s the deal,” he said, “Take it or leave it. We keep the girl here with us as insurance against you doing anything stupid. When our work here is complete, you give us the lighthouse, we give you the girl. You take your chances finding shelter elsewhere. But you get a chance to live. More than you gave Worth and Barstow. Oh, and one more thing.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “You take care of Phillips and that idiot cop. Now.”

  More silence.

  “I need to hear your agreement, Mercer.” Blake snapped. “If I don’t, life’s going to start being very difficult for this little girl.”

  Another long pause. Then: “Okay. Done.”

  “Very good. I expect to see you here, at the house, very soon.” He heard a noise outside. “And you’d better hurry,” he said. “The wind’s picking up. I think the eye’s almost past.”

  There was no answer.

  Blake took the headset off.

  “You think he’ll do it?” Moon asked.

  “I don’t know,” Blake said. “I think he’ll take out the deputy and Phillips, for his own reasons. There’s no point in him leaving them alive, and I imagine the cop wants to take him in.”

  “He hasn’t killed the cop yet?”

  “No,” Blake said, “He didn’t say ‘I already took care of it.”

  “Kind of odd,” Moon said.

  Montrose came in, looked around at the lights, and smiled. Blake gave her thumbs up. She walked over and started adjusting the plasma cutter. “In any case,” Blake said, “We’ve got work to do in the meantime.” Blake stood up and walked around to stand beside Glory. He patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t look at the light, honey,” he said, his tone that of a fond uncle. Glory managed to avert her eyes as the plasma cutter lit up the room again.

  “I’ll take her in the other room,” Blake said. He used his grip on Glory’s shoulder to pull her to her feet. “So Montrose can work. Moon, you go outside and wait for Mr. Mercer.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Glory said defiantly. “He’ll come for me, and he’ll kill you. Just like the others.”

  No one answered.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  “What did he say?” Bohler asked.

  “I’m supposed to kill you and Phillips,” Mercer said. “And they’ll give me the girl.”

  Phillips grimaced. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  Bohler was looking steadily at Mercer. “So?”

  “So what?”

  Bohler raised his weapon slightly. “Are you going to…”

  “Don’t be an asshole, Bohler,” Mercer said. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have told you beforehand. And besides, I made a promise.”

  “To who?”

  “I promised Sharon.”

  Bohler looked dumbfounded. “You did?”

  Mercer nodded. “She said you didn’t need killing. You going to make me regret the promise?”

  “Depends. What are you going to do?”

  “Well,” Mercer said, “I’m going to go get the girl. And In the process, I’m going to kill the motherfuckers who took her.”

  Bohler nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even the killing part?”

  “I don’t have any problem with killing these animals, Mercer. But as a law enforcement officer, I’m supposed to use it as a last resort.”

  “That’s your problem. You keep assuming that the law applies here. The law went out to sea when that storm hit.”

  Bohler shook his head. “I can’t believe that. I won’t live like that.”

  “If you don’t start living like that, those animals, as you put it, will kill you.”

  “I’m afraid he’s right,” Phillips spoke up. “They’re mot the sort who’ll take gracefully to being arrested.”

  �
��You did,” Bohler said.

  “Except that if he gets a chance, or even half of one, he’ll try to kill both of us and escape,” Mercer said. “Right?”

  Phillips smiled. “I must decline to answer that one,” he said, “on the grounds that the answer might tend to incriminate me. Or get me killed.”

  “Exactly,” Mercer said. “Which is why you stay here with him, Bohler.”

  “Wait a minute…”

  “I’m not leaving him at my back, unguarded,” Mercer said. “You want to come with me, I have to kill him now.”

  “I can’t say I prefer that option,” Phillips said.

  “You don’t get a vote. How about it, Bohler?”

  Bohler looked at him without speaking. Frustration clouded his face. Outside, they could hear the wind. It was rising again. Soon it would be back to full force.

  “Come on,” Phillips said. “We’ll have a fine time. Are you a reader, by any chance?”

  “Shut up,” Bohler said.

  There was a banging on the door downstairs, then the door slammed open. “MERCER!” Sharon’s voice came from below. She sounded panicked.

  “Up here,” Mercer called back.

  They heard her pounding up the steps, then she was in the watch room.

  “They’ve got Glory,” she panted.

  “I know,” Mercer said. “I’m going after her.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  “No. No way.”

  “It’s not open for discussion, Mercer. She’s my daughter.”

  “I know. But these people are professionals. You’re not.”

  “I don’t care. She’s my daughter, Kyle.”

  “That doesn’t make you any faster with a gun. Or better with a knife. You freaked out at what I did to the guy who had you tied up. The guy who was going to rape and kill you both. You think you could do that? You think you’ve got what it takes to do something like that?”

  “To save my daughter’s life? You bet your sweet ass I do, Mercer.” She stood facing him, hands on her hips, her eyes ablaze.

  “Never let them give you to the women,” Phillips murmured, as if to himself.

  She turned to face him. “Who the hell are you?” A look of recognition crossed her face. “You’re one of them.”

  He bowed slightly, as much as he could from a sitting position. “My name is Phillips,” he began, but she was across the room before he could get any more words out. She kicked him in the stomach, hard. He barely had time to brace for the blow, but it doubled him over anyway. He writhed in agony, gasping for air.

  “How does it feel, you son of a bitch?” she hissed. “How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to be afraid?” Her voice cracked on the last word. Bohler had grabbed her shoulder from behind, but she shook him off. “How does it feel!?” she screamed.

  “Not…wonderful,” Phillips gasped.

  “You want to see if I can kill someone, Kyle?” she said. “Give me a gun and I’ll do this asshole right now.”

  Mercer reached behind, pulled the pistol out from the small of his back, and handed it to her without speaking.

  “Mercer,” Bohler said. “Ms. Brennan.” His voice was desperate.

  She had the gun pointed down at Phillips. “Get up,” she whispered savagely.

  He struggled to a sitting position. “Well,” he said, “I can’t say I ever imagined it’d end this way.” He was trying to maintain his accustomed jaunty air, but his voice shook slightly. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to point out that I never touched your daughter.”

  “No,” she said. “It won’t.”

  “Ms. Brennan,” Bohler said firmly. He raised his weapon to point at her. “Put the gun down.”

  “Bohler,” Mercer said. “You put yours down.” He had his own machine gun pointed at Bohler. “Let her do what she has to do.”

  “Mercer,” Bohler said. “You gave your word.”

  “I gave my word I wouldn’t kill him,” he said. “My word doesn’t bind her. She’s got a better argument than me anyway.”

  “Argument?” Phillips said.

  “That you need killing. Put the gun down, Bohler.”

  Bohler made a disgusted sound and lowered the machine gun to his side. “This is murder,” he said, “And you’re an accessory to it.”

  Phillips’ bravado was rapidly evaporating. “I didn’t do anything to her. Or to you,” he said to Sharon.

  “You didn’t do anything to stop it,” Sharon said.

  “What the bloody hell was I supposed to do?” Phillips snapped. “The man was an idiot. But he was…oh, bugger it,” he said, his voice suddenly weary. He straightened up. “Go ahead. Do what you want. I never should have come along on this bloody farce.”

  “No,” Sharon said, “You shouldn’t have.” She pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  She pulled the trigger again.

  Still nothing.

  Mercer came over and took the gun gently from her hand. She was trembling visibly.

  “You have to take the safety off,” he said. “Otherwise the gun won’t fire.”

  “You knew,” Bohler said.

  “Yeah,” Mercer said. “I knew the gun wouldn’t fire. I didn’t know if she’d pull the trigger, through.” He looked over at Phillips. The man had gone completely white. Mercer looked back at Sharon, who was staring down at her empty hand. “So,” he said, “how did it feel?”

  She looked up at him, a stricken look on her face. “What?”

  “How did it feel to pull the trigger, thinking it was going to blow someone away?”

  She shook her head, like a drunk trying to clear the cobwebs from the brain. “I don’t know. I never…”

  “You know,” Mercer insisted.

  The trembling was worse now. “It felt…it felt good,” she said. A tear ran down her face. “It felt good.”

  Mercer nodded, as if he’d expected the answer. “Yeah,” he said. “You have to get past that. A lot of people don’t.” He stuck the gun in his waistband. “Take a few minutes to get yourself together,” he said. “We need to go.”

  She looked up at him. “We?”

  “Yeah. Next time, you’ll have the safety off.”

  “So what,” she said, “this was some kind of test?”

  “Yeah,” Mercer said. “But, you know, you offered to take it.”

  “Pretty shitty thing to do, Mercer,” Bohler said. “To someone you seem to care about.”

  “Not as shitty as taking her along and getting both of us killed because she froze up.”

  “Jesus,” Phillips said, his voice a dry croak. “You are a cold bastard, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Mercer said. “I am.” He turned to Sharon. “You’re probably going to hate me after this,” he said. “If we live through it.”

  “Probably,” Sharon whispered.

  “Go on downstairs,” Mercer said, his voice still gentle. “Wait for me there.”

  Slowly, as if she was sleepwalking, she went to the stairs. She paused at the top and looked at Mercer. Then she went down.

  “She has every right to hate you,” Bohler said. “You’ve turned her into a killer.”

  “No,” Mercer said. “I think our Mr. Phillips and his friends did that when they threatened her daughter. I just showed her what she could be.” He looked at Phillips. “Given the right conditions.”

  The wind reached full force, shrieking and howling around the nooks and crannies of the lighthouse. The storm was back.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  “You know,” Blake said, “I have a daughter. She’d be a little older than you. I haven’t seen her much. You know…” he smiled, “Business.”

  “I bet she hates you,” Glory said, her voice low and deadly. “I bet she wishes you were dead.”

  Blake’s smile faded. “You’ve got quite a mean mouth on you, little girl.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Blake got up and stood over
her. She was taped securely to an expensive chair with duct tape wound around her wrists and ankles. She looked up at him. He drew back a hand as if to strike her.

  “Right,” she sneered. “Big man. Tough guy. Likes to hit little girls while they’re tied up.”

  He got himself under control, picked up the roll of duct tape. “I wanted to avoid having to tape your mouth shut,” he said, “but…” From the next room, the bright jittery light of the plasma cutter sputtered and died. Blake turned his head. “Montrose?” he called out.

  There was a brief pause, then her voice came back. “We’re in.”

  “Wait for me,” Blake ordered. He looked down at the girl. “We’ll deal with you later.”

  “After Kyle gets through with you,” she said, “you won’t be dealing with anything. Asshole.”

  Blake just smiled. “We’ll see.”

  ***

  After the quiet and the clear air, the return of the banshee wind and the driving rain made Sharon want to weep. She fought down the urge. Her daughter needed her. She trudged after Mercer through the wind and the rain. Once again. Except this time, they weren’t running from the danger. They were headed into it.

  She looked down at the pistol in her hand, the ugly hunk of metal feeling strangely natural in her grasp. She remembered the rage that had come on her when she recognized the prisoner as one of the men who were responsible for all this agony, the man who had simply walked off and left her with the animal Mercer had killed. She remembered the look the Englishman had given her as he left, one of total indifference. When Kyle had put the gun in her hand, she recalled the feeling of power, of…the only word was righteousness. She felt righteous, an avatar of vengeance, as she’d pulled the trigger. Mercer’s words, his mantra, came back to her.

  He needed killing.

  The Englishman had needed killing. And yet, Mercer hadn’t let her do it. She couldn’t figure why. Then she felt a brief flush of shame at the way she had kicked the helpless man, and an even deeper one at the way she had enjoyed it, and she knew. He may have needed killing. It may have been a righteous act. But there was nothing right or needful about killing a helpless man. She shook her head. She was navigating in a more complex moral universe than she could have ever imagined. It could be so easy to lose one’s way, to become like the men who had taken her and Glory, who lived by no rules, and no code.