Dead Asleep

by Jamie Freveletti

  It was, though, for Shanaropov. He’d made some improvident loans and the borrowers had defaulted, as predicted, but when they did it became clear that they’d claimed assets far in excess of reality. Shanaropov had been taken in, given the loan, and discovered the truth only after the defaults. On three different occasions the men’s businesses were revealed to be nothing more than Ponzi schemes. Multibillion dollar Ponzi schemes, yes, on a vast scale, certainly, but schemes nonetheless. He had been furious. When he’d found out about the deception he arranged for one to die during his morning swim and another shot after writing his own “suicide” note. Still, the money was gone. While Shanaropov was far from broke, he never missed an opportunity to make more money.

  The windows rattled while the men sat and contemplated the deal. Shanaropov’s phone rang and Carl’s name scrolled across the screen. He moved away from the others and answered it.

  “The Caldridge woman is headed your way. She should be through the manchineel trees by now and roaming somewhere on the grounds.”

  “Does she have a gun?” Shanaropov asked quietly while stepping away from the long window. No need to be shot through it.

  “Hard to say. I chased her part of the way and she didn’t fire, but that may not mean anything.”

  “Find Carrow’s boat and get the minerals she collected. We need those,” Shanaropov said.

  “Fine, but the roads are bad. It’ll be a while before I can get there and then return to the villa.” Shanaropov turned back to the room and looked at the collection of killers in his library.

  “I’ll handle it,” he said.

  Shanaropov crossed to the desk, grabbed the bullets, poured them back into a wooden box and headed to the door.

  “Wait here,” he said to the buyers. He carried the bullets into a separate den, where a two-foot-by-two-foot safe, built into the wall, hung open. He placed the box inside, next to the small gun case that held the pistol fashioned from the minerals, and closed it. The electronic keypad lit, and after the door locked he walked to a far wall, where a glass case held a selection of rifles, ammunition, and several guns. He opened the door and selected three AK-47s, one nine-millimeter pistol, and one rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

  When he returned to the other room, Shanaropov found the buyers in the same seats as before. Cigar smoke hung thick in the air. The African eyed the guns hanging off Shanaropov’s shoulder and shot to his feet.

  “What are you doing with those?” he asked. His hand went to his waistband in what Shanaropov supposed was a purely reflexive act, searching for a gun that wasn’t there, because they’d been frisked and disarmed before docking at Terra Cay.

  “We have company. Emma Caldridge. A sometime agent of the Darkview company. She’s somewhere on the grounds, and it occurred to me that I have four men known for their efficient handling of obstacles. I brought the weapons to assist you in shooting her down.”

  “I hate Darkview,” the Romanian said. “Edward Banner has deployed his mercenaries throughout the shipping industry, and my employer’s pirates are being killed before they can get near a boat. Business is suffering.”

  Shanaropov nodded. “Then you understand why I want his agent dead. I’ve heard that there is another on the island as well. Named Cameron Sumner. I have my own assassin working on killing him, but you should take precautions.”

  Shanaropov handed out the AKs to the Mexican, Romanian, and African. He gave the Chechnyan the nine-millimeter.

  “I want the RPG,” the Chechnyan said.

  Shanaropov shook his head. He’d be damned if he was going to give the Chechnyan the biggest weapon he had. As it was, he took a massive risk, arming these killers. Any one of them could turn on him, shoot him, and spend the rest of the evening attempting to blast open the safe. But it couldn’t be helped. Joseph had already failed to kill the chemist and Sumner was out there somewhere. “I’m going to use it.”

  The Chechnyan frowned. He analyzed the weapon in his hand. “I need another magazine.”

  Shanaropov handed him one.

  “Where is she?” the Mexican said.

  “I don’t know. Somewhere out there,” Shanaropov pointed to the windows that faced the yard. The wind still buffeted the glass and rain poured down.

  The Romanian huffed. “Senseless to go out in that looking for her.”

  “Better to wait for her to come to us,” Shanaropov said. “I have no doubt that she will.”

  “Why is that?” The African puffed on his cigar.

  “Because she wants to stop the sale and take the bullets.”

  “So they’re that valuable?” The Mexican had a gleam in his eye. Of the three, Shanaropov thought that the Mexican would be the highest bidder. His hatred for the Mexican president was legendary.

  Shanaropov nodded. “They are. She’ll come. You’ll see.”

  The African ground out the cigar stub in the crystal ashtray on the desk.

  “So where do you want us? We’re not going to simply sit here until she decides to appear.”

  “In the adjoining rooms. To the left and right of the hall. I’ll leave this light on. She’ll follow it, like an insect to a bulb. When she shows, fire on her.”

  The men filed out of the library. Shanaropov waited until they were positioned in each room before he returned to the entrance and lowered himself to the floor. From that position he could see into the library, but at the first sign of trouble he would be able to withdraw into the hallway. He propped the RPG against the wall, removed a pistol from his pocket, and settled in to wait.

  Chapter 52

  Emma rooted around in the shed, looking for work gloves. She found some in a basket near the garden supplies and handed a set to Carrow, keeping another pair for herself. On a far shelf she saw a row of cans and boxes containing herbicides, fertilizers, charcoal lighter fluid, and paint thinner. She grabbed the lighter fluid and doused the burlap-bag-covered bundles with it. Each bundle, secured with a rope, contained about four pieces of wood. When she was finished she looked for a wheelbarrow and found one in a corner.

  “Should we load them up in that and haul them to the house?” she said. “That way we’ll be able to make one trip rather than many and reduce the chances of someone spotting us.”

  Carrow shook his head. “The wheel will get bogged down in the mud. We should just carry as much as possible.”

  Emma saw his point. “Okay, but be very careful. One touch and you’ll regret it.” She was already regretting exposing her arms to the acid. Both of them burned from the elbow down. Every movement of her arms brought them in contact with the sleeves of the coat, which only increased the agony. “And here.” She handed him a hatchet from the tools hanging on a pegboard. “Cut them into smaller sections. It will make them easier to carry.”

  Carrow took the hatchet and started hacking away at the first bundle, dodging bits of wood as he did. He sliced through the first section and sap started oozing from the cut.

  “Don’t touch that. It’s pure acid,” Emma said. She grabbed a bucket and dumped the cut pieces into it. “This way we can collect it in one place.”

  Carrow nodded and continued hacking. While he did, she peered out of the door at the villa.

  The rain had reduced the lawn to large puddles of standing water, and lightning still cracked overhead. The palm trees bent with the force of the wind. From the right she saw the lumbering form of the deliveryman. Emma watched him slog through the muddy lawn and enter through a side door. Through it all the lights of the library glowed.

  “We need to lure them outside. I don’t want to confront them in the house,” she said. Carrow stopped hacking at the wood.

  “Perhaps it’s just safer to notify the authorities off island.”

  Emma nodded. “I thought that’s what I’d do, but I hate the idea of them getting away. His boat is right there. Once this storm lessens they’ll all be long gone.”

  “I hate that idea, too. They should all have to ride in a trunk wit
h a dead body, just like I did.”

  Emma glanced at Carrow. His mouth was set and he frowned at the bundle of wood that he’d been attacking with the ax. His face was grim. She couldn’t help thinking that he’d be forever altered by the events of these past few days. The happy-go-lucky rock star was gone, replaced with a man bent on revenge, or perhaps justice, though the two seemed the same at the moment. She looked at the house and plotted.

  “We need to smoke them out,” she said.

  Carrow stopped hacking at a bundle, looked up and smiled.

  “Perfect.”

  “Molotov cocktails,” Emma said. “Acid-drenched Molotov cocktails.”

  Carrow held up a small brick of wood. “Like this.”

  Emma nodded and returned her attention to the house.

  “We’ll run along the tree line to the center of the villa. There are at least ten windows. Two large bays on either end of the crescent, three French doors with sidelights on either end, and five windows interspersed between. I think the second window on the far side, just before the bay, is at the end of a hallway. We’re going to head there, break down the glass, light the wood and throw it in. Then I’m going to keep a couple of bricks for the far bay.”

  Carrow was busy arranging the pieces of wood in stacks in order to make it easier to carry. He had laid a large plastic lawn and leaf garbage bag down first.

  “What’s in the far bay?” he asked.

  “The library. He’s in there.” She watched Carrow wrap the garbage bag around the bricks. “That’s a good idea.”

  She did the same with her bundle and put as many pieces into the bucket. When they were done she opened the side door, shoved her gun back in her pocket, and looked at Carrow. He’d taken another plastic bag, ripped a hole in the top, put the entire thing over him and was working on ripping two holes in front for his arms. She did the same, but didn’t bother with armholes. Instead she simply shoved the plastic over her coat to the shoulders but no lower. She wanted room to maneuver her gun out of her pocket. While Carrow suited up she rooted around in a toolbox for a hammer. She found a ball-peen with a point at one end and slipped it in her free pocket.

  “Remember, after we throw the wood, head to the manchineel stand. Run straight through it. There’s a path on the other side that goes up the mountain to your villa. Ready?”

  He nodded with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Emma marveled again at his apparent lack of fear.

  “Don’t get overconfident,” she warned. “Carl is there and we’ll need to cross the lawn quickly. If you see any movement just drop the sack and run. A retreat alive is better than an advance and dead.”

  She lifted the bucket with the bricks and slid out the door. The storm still raged, but she felt it less. Or perhaps she was just so wound up that it only appeared that way. She broke out of the shed and began jogging toward the villa across the great expanse of lawn. Water poured down her face and lightning cracked overhead. A bolt snaked to the ground three hundred yards to her right, and she gasped when she felt the air hum with static, as if electrified. She sprinted, feeling the burn in her thighs as the ground sucked at her shoes and once again she struggled to pull each foot out of the muck. Carrow stayed behind her but she could hear him huffing and puffing with the effort of slogging through the mud.

  She stepped within ten feet of the first window, breathing heavily. Her pulse raced with the exertion and adrenaline. Somewhere inside the house Carl and a group of arms dealers lurked, along with a cache of weapons.

  She removed the hammer from her pocket, swung the ball-peen end and smashed the pane. An earsplitting alarm started and floodlights on high poles placed in various locations on the lawn sprang to life.

  “Glass break sensors!” Emma had to yell to be heard over the noise of the storm. She worked at the window, opening a large hole. She threw wood through it, followed it with a second and stepped back. Carrow reached in and flicked on a lighter, touching it to the bricks. They ignited with a whooshing sound.

  “Watch out for the smoke,” Emma said to Carrow. She glanced up into the room and saw a large black man, ten feet away, holding an automatic weapon.

  She didn’t think, only reacted, grabbing at Carrow’s tee shirt and hauling him to the side, out of the line of sight through the window. She heard the rattle of the weapon as it fired and saw quick flicks of movement as the bullets whizzed by. Pieces of the window frame exploded, with chips flying outward. When the firing stopped she heard spastic retching from the man inside. The smoke was doing its work.

  She picked up the bucket of bricks and ran, Carrow next to her, to the next bay. This time she pressed herself against the wall, taking care not to frame herself in the window in case another attacker was lurking. She straightened her arm, swung the hammer, broke the glass, but instead of placing the brick first before lighting it, she held it out to Carrow. He lit it and the wood ignited with a satisfying whoosh. Emma could feel the heat of the fire penetrate her work glove as she tossed the brick through the broken window.

  Noise was everywhere. The villa’s alarm shrieked and the wail managed to eclipse even the cacophony from the storm. She heard a man, screaming in pain, though what he was saying was unintelligible. She took a deep breath and ran past the window. In her peripheral vision she had the impression of a man, bent and stumbling as he held his hands to his eyes, but she didn’t stay to watch.

  Reaching the final bay, she pressed herself against the wall before peering inside. The library was empty.

  Not good. After encountering a man in each room so far, she was suspect of this empty space, where a deal was being negotiated just minutes before. She pulled out her weapon and turned to Carrow.

  “Stay back,” she said. “I’m going to switch it up this time. Fire into the room first. Then we’ll light the brick and toss it.” She swung the hammer in a wide arc. This window smashed and she reached out, aimed her gun inside, and squeezed the trigger. Smoke curled out of the glass and immediately her eyes started burning. “Light it!” Emma said. She heard the brick whoosh to life as Carrow followed her instructions. He stepped past her and lobbed it into the room. Emma stepped into the opening, looking for the bullets that she’d seen resting on the desk. Instead she saw the thin man, aiming a weapon at her. Smoke from an adjacent hallway poured into the room and the man’s eyes were streaming with tears.

  He began to cough, and the mere act of opening his mouth sent him into a fit as the smoke hit his mucous membranes. He bent forward, hacking and retching and stumbled backward.

  Emma didn’t stay to watch. She dodged right and began running to the manchineel trees, with Carrow next to her. They were halfway there when another man stumbled outside followed by the two that Emma had encountered. She could hear them moaning in pain from the smoke.

  “I’m blind! I’m blind!” one man yelled. Emma didn’t look back. From her right she saw Carl holding a gun in one hand and the leashes of two large German shepherds in the other. He raised his weapon and Emma raised hers. She fired and he spun around. He got off a shot that grazed Carrow in the fleshy part of his hand. He grunted but kept running. Emma fired again, and hit Carl in the upper chest. He dropped to his knees and let go of the leashes.

  The dogs sprinted toward Emma and Carrow at an angle that would allow them to intersect them before they would be safely within the manchineel forest. Emma ran faster, and Carrow did as well. He raced along beside her, his arms flying. The rain hit Emma’s face and she instinctively turned her head. When they were twenty feet from the tree line she saw Carrow pull the garbage bag poncho higher to cover his entire head. Emma did the same with her makeshift poncho, pulling it over her head to her eyebrows.

  They were ten feet from the trees when the spray from the rain hit them full in the face. Emma felt the water sluicing down the plastic bag. The first dog’s howls turned to shrieks of pain. The second dog dug in and refused to go any closer to the trees.

  To Emma it seemed as though her entire wor
ld consisted of making it to the poisoned tree line. She plunged into it and kept going. Carrow remained close. She looked back after bursting into the manchineel stand and saw that Carrow was lagging. A bright flash illuminated the sky and she thought it was lightning but saw with horror that it wasn’t.

  The Russian was standing on the back lawn aiming a rocket-propelled grenade thrower at them. It was as Sumner had predicted. They’d come fully prepared with conventional weapons. The devil wasn’t ready to give up his bullets, Emma thought.

  Chapter 53

  The grenade whizzed into the manchineel trees, slicing off branches and sending sprays of bark everywhere before it exploded in the center. Despite being dampened from the rain, two of the trees began to smolder.

  “Keep running,” Emma said to Carrow. “That smoke hits us and we’ll be blinded.”

  Carrow, though, was flagging. He moved but had slowed to a jog and seemed to be going slower every few steps. Emma ran back, wrapped her hand around his bicep and dragged him forward. The wind blew in crazy directions and the smoke wafted toward them. Emma’s eyes began to burn and she felt the membranes of her throat begin to swell.

  They hit the edge of the stand and she kept hauling him upward on the trail. They passed Rory’s body on the side, but Emma barely noticed and thought that Carrow didn’t see her at all. They’d reached the poison garden when she heard the second grenade explosion.

  “What are they shooting at us?” Carrow asked.

  “Rocket-propelled grenades. The basic weapon in every arms dealer’s arsenal.”

  “Is it that thin bastard?”

  “Yes. He’s not giving up.”

  “How far can they fly?” Carrow was huffing and puffing and could barely get the words out.

  “Over nine hundred feet in the hands of an expert. And we have to assume that we’re dealing with experts,” Emma said.

  “I don’t think I can run any faster,” Carrow said.