Scott turned the lights off as a precaution and rolled the truck to a stop a few houses away from Edward’s. Sitting silently in the dark, he picked up the old night-vision monocular from the seat next to him and pulled on the headmount. Designed for the Special Forces ages ago, the monocular went over just one eye in order to maintain the adaptation to the darkness in the other. The world was green and white, but visible. Too visible. He looked to the streetlights. They were out, their solar cells having been taken offline. While opening the door, he looked over Ed’s house for signs of other guests. He saw one. A figure walking in front of a second story window. Scott knew it wasn’t Edward. A quick look around the house to make sure there were no guards, and he was out of the truck, leaving the door open a crack to avoid the sound of it closing. He ran quietly across the street and into a neighbor’s back yard. The grass was wet with dew, and he had to be careful with his footing. He used the bushes and trees for cover. He moved quickly and fluidly, his mind working through all the possible scenarios he might find once in the house.
Ducking behind a bush that stood up against the last fence remaining before Cairns’ yard, Scott checked his surroundings. Looking above him, to the side of the house that was only ten feet away, he noticed that the lights mounted on its side, usually set off by motion or a certain heat signature, were dark. Scott sprung forward, grabbed the fence, and hopped it in one single motion, landing on the other side without a sound. He ran to the side of the house, the world blurring past him in a sea-sickening wash of green light. He put his back against the house and peered through a window beside him. There was someone in there, walking to the back door. He had a rifle in his hand, night-vision goggles strapped to his head.
Scott ducked below the window and moved to the back of the house, toward the back door. Sweat began to bead on his forehead in rhythmic timing with his heartbeat. He spun to the side of the door just as it pushed outward, arcing past him.
The man dressed in black didn’t even see what broke his neck.
Scott lowered him to the concrete patio and quickly searched his pockets. No ID, of course. But he took the knife, pistol, and semi-automatic rifle that had been slung over the intruder’s back. It had a silencer fitted to the end of the barrel. He took the goggles too, hooking them to his belt.
He entered through the back door and immediately discovered why the man was leaving the house. Three German Shepherds lay dead on the ground before him, streaks of blood across the floor from their being dragged. Calvin, Jefferson, and Washington — three of his only four friends. All dead. He took a deep breath, suppressing his emotion, clearing his mind. Then he raised the rifle tight against his shoulder, and began moving expertly through the house, room to room.
It was all clear. Which meant they had to be upstairs.
Scott walked through the living room and past the grand piano, suddenly catching a glimpse of another man above him. He swung the rifle up, aiming, and realized it was actually a reflection in the mirror hanging at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. The man was standing at the top of the stairs with night-vision and a semi-automatic rifle. Scott quickly stepped out of line with the mirror.
A scream came from above.
There was no more time. He stepped back into the living room and swung the rifle up, pulling the trigger one time. The barrel coughed, and the body crumbled to the floor. Scott ran up the stairs, training the sights on the doors that lined the upstairs hallway. Once at the top, he saw an open door near the end. He heard a voice. He crept closer. The hallway which he was walking down protruded out over the floor below, a railing to his left and doors to his right.
“Where is it?” The voice sounded professional, patient and calm.
No response met the question.
Scott could see Edward in his mind’s eye, bound to a chair, his face bloody.
“We know it’s here. There’s no use in hiding it from us.”
“Why are you doing this?” Scott could hear Edward’s weak voice respond.
“It’s a matter of security, Mr. Cairns. You of all people should understand.”
A weak laugh transitioned into a fit of coughing.
“You’re not going to force us to take this to another level, are you?”
Scott needed to know who else was in the room, if anyone. He was right at the edge of the door, trying to get a fix on who was in there and where they were positioned. Once he entered, he’d need to take them down fast. Before they could react.
“Mr. Cairns, where is the ring?” It was another voice, this one colder. Like ice.
“I don’t have it on me.”
Then he screamed.
The two voices were in front of Edward, facing him. Hopefully, they were the only ones in the room. Scott positioned himself so that he was directly facing the door. It was open about three inches. If the door swung quietly, the intruders would be dead before they realized it. If it didn’t…
Scott crouched low and leaned his shoulder into the wood, rifle up. He pushed on the door, opening it and following its arc by swinging the rifle up and around in one fluid motion.
The hinges squeaked.
There was a light source somewhere in the room that created indiscernible bright spots within his vision, and he could barely make out the greenish figure hiding within the glow. It turned to face him, obviously thinking it was one of his own men entering the room. A soft cough from the end of the sound suppressor proved otherwise. In less than a second, the other man that was to his left responded by firing at where Scott should have been, the bullet whizzing harmlessly over his head. Scott turned and shot him in the face.
Standing, Scott swept the smoking barrel back and forth over the room, making sure it was clear. He was right in seeing Edward tied to a chair, and he moved fast to untie him, studying the glowing green faces of the men he had just killed.
“It’s me — Matthew,” he whispered to Edward.
“How did you know?” Edward gasped, his voice managing to retain some resolve.
“We’ll talk on the way. Let’s go.” He helped him to his feet. “Put this on.” He handed him the night-vision he took from the man downstairs.
Edward cringed and began stumbling forward. He groaned in pain. “My leg,” he muttered. “They stuck a knife in it.”
Scott helped Edward back into the chair and quickly examined his bloody leg. “They missed the artery. Do you think you can walk?”
“I’ll try.” He reached up and wrapped his arms around Scott’s neck. As he was lifted up, and pain shot from his leg to his brain, he asked, “Did you get them all?”
“Four.” Scott was struggling with Edward’s weight.
Edward stopped abruptly, moving against Scott’s progress toward the door, making it impossible for him to go on. “No, Matthew,” his voice was alarming, and Scott could feel him tense. “There were five.”
Scott stopped struggling. “Okay.” He helped Edward to the wall where he could lean against it for support. “Stay here.” He handed him the pistol he had also taken from the man downstairs and crept out of the room.
Scott saw the fifth man just in time, diving to the hallway floor as bullets flew over his head and tore apart the railing and the wall next to him. The gunman was below him in the living room, now firing up from underneath the overhanging hallway, tearing apart sheetrock, wooden studs, plywood, and carpet.
The floor exploded all around Scott, and he hurried to his knees, throwing himself through another door that lined the hallway. Now he was off the overhang, another room below him. He got to his feet.
The shooting stopped.
He could hear his own breathing.
Then the door shattered to pieces, wood splinters flying past his face, cutting his forehead. He spun away from the door, putting his back against the wall next to it, and slid down into a squatted position, chunks of drywall exploding from the wall around him. He swung the rifle around and aimed it blindly out the door, firing in the
direction of the stairs.
That sent the intruder seeking cover, and Scott used the opportunity to run back into the hallway, leaping over the unstable section of floor, and into the room Edward was in.
“Coming in, Ed!” he shouted in a whisper, trying to avoid being shot by his friend. He ran past Edward, who was still leaning against the wall with pistol held ready, and went to the window. He used the butt of the rifle to break the glass. “Fire a shot toward the steps,” he told Edward.
Without asking questions, Edward leaned into the hallway and squeezed off a couple rounds toward the stairs.
“Now get in the closet and don’t move.”
“What are you gonna do?” Edward asked, as he struggled to get to the closet on the other side of the room.
“I’m not sure.” Scott lifted one of the dead men up onto his shoulder and went to the window, throwing him through it and onto the roof.
A noise came from the hallway.
He dove out the window. Using the dead body to stop himself from going over the edge and off the roof, he regained his footing and threw himself to the left of the window. He sprang to his toes, crouching, his back against the house. He reached for the corpse and pulled it by the ankle until he could reach its arm. Then he stood, lifting the lifeless body up in front of the window.
The body began jerking, blood spraying the house and Scott, and then it flew out of his hand, falling to the roof and rolling off. Scott gripped the rifle with both hands, waiting for the shooter to come to the window to inspect his work. But then a loud thump sounded from inside the room.
Scott turned and jumped back into the room, landing in a tuck and roll, coming up ready to fire. But the last man was already sprawled out on the floor before him.
“Sorry, I had the shot,” Edward said from inside the open closet.
“Your idea was better than mine,” he mumbled. “Come on, we gotta go before the police get here. The neighbors probably reported the noise.”
Edward then went down the hall and to his bedroom. He picked up a pair of pants off the floor and, sticking his hand in a pocket, pulled out the ring. “Okay,” he said, hobbling to the stairs.
Scott followed him down to the back door and watched his older friend pause momentarily over the dead dogs.
“Why don’t we take my car?” Edward asked, his voice crackling from the pain he was trying to suppress, both physical and emotional.
It would be a struggle to get Edward across the street to where he parked, so Scott considered it for a second. But then he shook his head. “I can’t leave my car. They’ll find us if I do. You can make it.” He helped him across the street and up into the Bronco. Then they were off and heading back to Scott’s house.
There were some things they would need.
5
Matthew Scott worked on Edward’s leg, cleaning the wound and dressing it. He worked fast, knowing they had a lot to do if there was any rest to be had before the action really began. The TV was on, more 3D terror alerts scrolling across the air in front of the screen.
Scott finished and stood just as headlights could be seen reaching through the air outside, grabbing the ground in front of them.
“Shhh.” Scott quickly shut off the TV. “Lay down. Stay here.”
“What is it?” Edward asked, lying down.
“Police.” Having already ditched the stolen guns into a creek on their way back, he didn’t have to worry about hiding them. He ran upstairs and jumped into his bed, pretending to be asleep.
The big armored vehicle drove slowly down the street, its high-tech equipment peering through house walls and detecting every sound behind them.
It passed by.
Scott waited another few minutes before getting out of bed and descending the stairs back to Edward. “I’m going to pack. You should get some rest. It’s going to get interesting tomorrow.”
Edward nodded, his expression revealing little concern. Without his dogs, he suddenly felt disconnected from the world, no longer a reason to stay in it. As he looked into Scott’s eyes, he saw his concern. “I’ll be fine, Matthew.” Then he rolled onto his side, his mind asking a million questions, none of which really concerned him at the present moment. They could all wait until morning.
“I’ll wake you when it’s time,” Scott stated as he walked to a window and split the blinds with his fingers. No sign of the police. He looked at his watch. It was a little after one. Curfew wasn’t lifted until five. They would be leaving at 5:30 A.M. Where they were going, however, was still uncertain. He left the window, offered a last quick glance at Edward, and then moved down a hallway.
He was ready for this day, always knew it would come, though he had imagined different circumstances creating the need for it. He also hadn’t counted on anyone being with him, especially not an older man with an injured leg. He’d have to make some alterations to his plan. But as he reached for the backpack atop a shelf in the hallway closet, he had to admit that he never thought he would’ve been able to hold out this long. Was he grateful for the extra time, for what it allowed? It hadn’t restored his marriage or brought back the friends he once had. Hadn’t taken away all the shame, hadn’t restored peace to the country…
Whatever.
He opened a hidden compartment within the hallway closet, revealing a few studs that reinforced the walls. One of the studs, however, was cut to allow for a compact M4 rifle inside, running vertically through its center and hiding it from the police scanners. As he grabbed it, he peeked around the corner and down the hallway, toward where Edward was sleeping on the couch. Edward was going to need answers about all of this. He was going to want to know who he really was. So he began thinking of how much he should reveal and how much would be better left unsaid. His brain worked on that equation as his hands handled the assault rifle, ammunition, and gear that was years ago the most advanced. Within an hour, he was packed and pretty sure he had an adequate story ready for Edward. He set his watch, leaving the backpack and rifle on the hallway floor. Crossing through the living room, he passed Edward and went up to his bed.
It was hard for Scott to fall asleep. So much was going through his mind. He found it remarkable that Edward was able to find rest so easily. He felt sorry for Edward. He had lost it all, outliving everything in this life that he held dear. His wife, his son, his dogs, even the country he’d served. And, in an indirect way, Scott had something to do with that. He struggled with the decision to edit that fact from his story.
His thoughts traveled without direction, just one leading to the next, taking him wherever. It didn’t matter. The ring, Jack, this archeologist girl, Indiana Jones, the old movie theatre by his house, his first date… Soon he wouldn’t even be able to recognize the path of thoughts that led him here. To these thoughts. Thoughts of his wife.
The last time he saw her was in 2013, just a few months after the terrorist “event” in L.A. A long time ago. He could still feel that kiss, the last one they shared before he walked across the runway and boarded the plane. The plane to hell. He shifted in the bed, turning onto his side, chasing the image of her from his head — her short strawberry hair that blew down across her green eyes as she waved goodbye, the tears that passed over her quivering lips…
His stomach started to turn. He pulled a pillow over his head. He hated thinking about her. He hated it more than anything else in life. He wished he could erase her memory from his brain, forget she ever existed — that they ever existed. He didn’t know where she was, how she was, or even if she was. All he knew was that it was all his fault. Everything.
Times like these he wished he was back in that dark room where all he could hear was his own screaming and all he could see was his own blood. It was a better reality than the one that paraded the only thing he ever loved so constantly through his mind. To have his head sawn off would have been wonderful compared to living with the guilt that came from leaving her. Oh, he wished he had been killed. Wished he had some excuse for not coming home
to her. But death wouldn’t justify what he had done prior to that, the very reason he couldn’t come home. It was the largest and most damning of all his sins that was to blame, the watershed to everything else that now tormented him.
He had been strong enough to escape the physical danger and to stay alive all these years, but he was running out of the resolve it took to withstand the emotional anguish that came with the surviving. He hated himself for it.
And then, suddenly, it wasn’t his fault anymore. Coming to his mind’s eye was a crowd of powerful men, all without faces. Shadows. And as his muscles tensed beneath the sheets, a tremor of violence shaking his body, he thought of what he would do to them if ever he was before them.
6
A faint red glow broke the horizon, the line it struck across the distance like a fire signaling the end of the world. Or the beginning of the day. Either one was a possibility.
Mathew Scott stood before the coffee table, his eyes fixated on the ring. He had been intent on passing the table and the empty couch in favor of the kitchen when the mysterious object caught his eye, stopping him. He was still staring at it when Edward walked into the room.
Having freshened up in the bathroom, Edward came in behind Scott, noticed his friend’s trance-like state, and followed his frozen stare to the ring. It wasn’t until his hand was on Scott’s shoulder that Scott blinked and turned his head.
“You okay, Matthew?” Edward asked, his eyes more suspicious than sensitive.
“Tired,” came the muttered reply. Finally turning away from the coffee table, he walked past Edward, skipping the kitchen after all, and went instead to retrieve his packed bag.
“Matthew, how did you know I was in trouble?”
The Solomon Key Page 5
