Chapter
Five
Sarah jogged out toward the open field on the other side of the barn. She was moving at a good clip. The dog bounded out ahead of her, taking detours from time to time into the bush to check out new smells or to chase birds.
It had become part of his routine. He would dart here and there, picking up scents and following them. He usually came back, racing to catch up only to pass her again. She figured that during her three-mile run, Bugsy probably covered five or six times that distance. Trapped in his cage the animal needed to burn off energy.
On their very first run, the dog hung close and was highly cautious as they approached the barbed-wire fence. It was here that the underground wire had been lain that triggered a warning followed by a low amperage but painful shock through the dog’s collar if the animal approached too close. Through this device Bugsy had been conditioned not to get near the visible fence line. Once he realized that without the collar he was free, the dog went wild, streaking off into the distance to explore the unknown world. Since then he didn’t even slow down at the fence. He would slip under the bottom strand of barbed wire and be gone, as he did this morning.
* * *
Liquida settled in behind the steering wheel. He could hear gravel popping under the tires through the open driver’s-side window as the rental car, headlights out, rolled slowly down the road, keeping pace with the girl out in the field. If the road wasn’t so flat, he would have used gravity rather than the motor to keep the noise down. He was sure that she hadn’t noticed the slow-moving car out on the road. The girl was a good hundred yards away, out in front of him with her back to the vehicle as she ran.
He watched the Doberman taking off across the field well out ahead of her. There was just enough budding light on the horizon to see the two of them, dark silhouettes moving across the freshly mowed ground, the scent of alfalfa still in the air.
Within seconds Liquida watched as the dog came to an abrupt stop. The animal sniffed the ground. Then with the speed of a greyhound he suddenly took off in another direction. The girl ignored the Doberman and continued on her way. Thirty yards on she jumped the wire fence and headed toward a long line of trees in the distance. The trees flanked a slight depression in the ground, what appeared to be a creek that meandered across the girl’s line of travel.
Liquida pressed on the car’s accelerator. Within seconds he was out in front of her, rolling silently at speed down the dark road until he crossed the bridge over the creek. He pulled off to the right alongside the road and turned off the engine. He stepped out, crossed the road, and made his way down the embankment and toward the line of trees along the creek. Liquida moved swiftly, staying just above the bank and periodically checking his quarry through the binoculars. He kept moving until it appeared that the girl was running directly toward him from the other side. She was maybe seventy yards away. The question was whether she would cross the creek. If not, Liquida was going to have to get his feet wet.
In the distance he could see the farmhouse. Except for the porch light, the house was still dark. He lowered the field glasses, letting them hang from the strap around his neck. He was about to move toward the water to try and cross when he glanced to his right and noticed a sodden wooden plank jutting out into the creek from the other side. He moved around a patch of reeds and saw that the board, maybe twelve feet long, spanned the creek. It was supported by three large rocks, a makeshift footbridge.
Along the creek bank on both sides was a tangle of heavy brush and chest-high reeds. There was a narrow path through this foliage leading down to the plank on each side. He stepped to high ground and checked through the field glasses one more time. She was making her way directly toward the path across the creek. Liquida knew instantly that he had his spot. By the time she reached this point, she would be winded and tired, the lactic acid building up in her legs, making the muscles burn.
If Liquida had the use of both arms, he would have taken her from behind, but as it was, he couldn’t.
If things went sour and it turned into a wrestling match, even with his arm in a sling he would have a fifty-pound advantage over her, the element of surprise, and the fact that he was fresh. He moved toward a line of reeds no more than five feet from the near end of the wooden plank and settled in behind the natural blind to wait.
* * *
The tug of the fanny pack bounced against her hip as she jogged toward the tree line.
There was no sign of Bugsy. He had disappeared. He would usually cross the creek through the water and turn up on the other side, wet and sometimes muddy. If he got too dirty, Sarah would have to hose him off at the barn before putting him back in his cage. She had done this a couple of times in the last few days.
She stopped for a moment, checked her pulse, and took a swig of water from the aluminum bottle in her pack. She was beginning to work up a good sweat. Sarah checked her watch. She would have to keep moving if she was going to make it back to the house before the lights came on. She screwed the top back on the bottle, dropped it in the pack, and zipped it closed. Then she slid the fanny pack around to her front. Bouncing around with the heavy water bottle inside, it was beginning to chafe her hip. She started off once more, this time at a faster pace, edging toward the county road and making a beeline for the wooden plank across the creek.
Chapter
Six
Liquida could now hear the faint padding of her running shoes as the soles slapped the harder ground leading toward the opening in the brush. A second later he picked up the sound of her labored breathing. Crouched down behind the reeds, he inched toward the path until he was no more than two feet from the well-worn ground of the trail.
He reached into the sling with his gloved left hand and felt the handle of the needle-sharp stiletto. Slowly he drew it out and held it down low, close to his body, parallel to his left thigh.
If he timed it right, he would spring up from behind the reeds just as her leading foot cleared the end of the wooden plank on this side of the creek. When he jumped, his sudden movement would cause her eyes to be instinctively riveted on his face. She wouldn’t notice the blade until her own forward momentum carried her body onto the point as Liquida thrust it upward under her rib cage. It would be over in an instant.
Liquida dipped his head low as he heard the rustle of brush on the other side of the creek. A second later the footfalls slowed as she negotiated her way carefully down the embankment; then came the first flat thud as the sole of her shoe landed on the wooden plank.
He could see her through the reeds. Two more hollow drumbeats followed as she raced across the narrow wooden bridge over the water.
She was close enough now that Liquida could smell her. He waited half a beat, then launched himself up onto his feet. He took one quick full stride forward directly into her path, closing the distance between them before the girl realized what was happening.
* * *
I am out of Herman’s hospital room like a bullet racing for the telephone at the nurses’ station. The doctor with a crash cart is working over Herman.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” The cop is out in the hall again after getting the doctor.
I turn back and skip sideways as I yell to him, “Call Thorpe. See if he’s still in the building. If not, get one of his agents up here—now. Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just call him.”
By the time I reach the nurses’ station and the phone, I realize that I don’t have the number, and the phone number at the farm is unlisted. It’s in my cell phone, but Thorpe or one of his minions has that. God knows where it is, probably back at their office in a lockbox with other property.
I head for the elevator just as Joselyn steps out of the ladies’ room.
“Where are you going?”
“Liquida knows where Sarah is.”
“What?”
“They’re working on Herman!” I point to the room. “Liquida must have t
old him just before he went unconscious.” I am hammering the button on the elevator over and over again. The doors can’t open fast enough.
“Call the farm,” she says.
“I don’t have the number. It’s in my phone.”
“Shit!” says Joselyn.
“I got him,” says the cop. He’s talking into a handheld radio from his belt. “He’s in the building. He’s on his way.”
“Are you sure?” says Joselyn to me. “Maybe Herman doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
I shake my head. “He wrote it out.”
“It’s not too late,” says Joselyn. “It would take Liquida a while to get there.”
“Not if he left yesterday.”
“Oh, God!”
A second later the elevator doors open. Just as I’m about to jump in, Thorpe steps out. “What’s going on?”
* * *
The abrupt motion startled Sarah. She saw him flash in front of her. The evil in his eyes caused the blood to drain from her head. The fleeting electric impulse of having flushed some homeless vagabond living along the creek instantly evaporated. In the split second before they collided, Sarah knew she was in trouble.
She reached up with both hands toward his shoulders, trying to ward off the collision as she screamed, but it was too late. His clenched hand came up fast from underneath, catching her low in the abdomen, driving powerfully up into her stomach. The blow collapsed her diaphragm, forcing the air from her lungs.
The impact of his punch stopped her forward motion in midstride. He pushed again, another shot, jammed up under her ribs, leaving her feet to grapple for traction in the soft mud along the edge of the water. Sarah stepped back with one foot, turned it on a rock, and fell backward into the creek.
Chapter
Seven
The instant the blade went in, Liquida knew something was wrong. The sharp point hit a hard surface as if it had glanced off a bone. It penetrated maybe two or three inches before the blade stuck as if it were caught in a vise. He pulled back and the stiletto moved as if it were free, but it wouldn’t come out.
His upper body was up against the girl’s. He couldn’t look down to see the blade. He was in too close.
Instinct flexed his right arm in the sling as he tried to reach out to hold her in place so he could force the stiletto up into her body. But the burning pain under his arm reminded him not to do that. He punched again with the handle, this time harder.
The girl stepped away from him, lost her footing, and tumbled backward into the creek. As she fell she ripped the stiletto from Liquida’s grip, taking it with her into the water.
Liquida took one faltering step toward her when he heard barking in the distance.
The girl was crawling on her hands and knees in the water, whether wounded or stunned he couldn’t tell.
He retreated a few steps up the embankment so he could see over the top. Two hundred yards away the Doberman was coming this way across the open field, devouring the ground ahead of him like a jet on afterburners. He must have heard the girl’s scream. Puppy or not, he had sharp teeth.
Liquida looked back at Sarah Madriani. She was lying dazed in the water. She was defenseless. A couple of shots with a heavy rock and he could crack her skull like a walnut.
By the time Liquida looked back, the Doberman had closed half the distance to their location on the creek. He considered the equation for a nanosecond, then turned on his heels and ran.
* * *
I catch Thorpe as he steps out of the hospital elevator. I tell him about Herman’s message that Liquida knows the location of the farm and that Sarah is there. Before I am finished, Thorpe has his cell phone out.
“Do you know the area code for the farm?” he asks.
I give it to him. “But the number’s unlisted.”
“Relax.” He punches in the area code and the number for information. “What’s your brother-in-law’s name?”
I tell him and give him the rural mailing address. In less than a minute, Thorpe has a supervisor on the line. He identifies himself and a few seconds later has the number at the farm. He dials it.
“Hello, is Sarah Madriani there? My name is Zeb Thorpe. I’m with the FBI.”
He listens for a moment. “Is she all right? Why can’t she come to the phone?” He lifts the phone away from his ear for a second. “What’s Hinds’s first name again?”
“Harry . . .” My heart is pounding so hard it feels as if it’s going to penetrate the wall of my chest. “Here, give it to me.” I rip the phone from Thorpe’s hand. “Hello—who is this? Fred, this is Paul. Is Sarah there? Is she OK?”
Before Fred can answer, Harry is on the line. “Where the hell have you been?” he says. “We’ve been calling your cell, but there has been no answer.”
* * *
Sarah was conscious of movement behind her, thrashing in the brush, and the shallow water washing around her body. She was able to breathe again. She rolled over. The shock of the ice-cold water on her back sharpened her senses. The tight pain in her stomach began to ease.
She came to just as Bugsy streaked past her, shot across the creek, and up the embankment on the other side. In the flash of an eye he was gone, heading at the speed of light toward the road.
Sarah struggled to her feet, stumbled around the rocks in the creek half dazed, and slowly made her way up the path in the direction of the dog. When she reached the top, she saw Bugsy in the distance. He was racing toward the embankment leading up to the road.
Before he reached it, a small sedan parked on the other side started up, turned on its lights, and skidded in the gravel along the shoulder as it pulled away. Sarah watched as the car’s taillights disappeared around a bend. When she looked back, Bugsy’s lean militant body stood silhouetted in the middle of the highway.
Only then did she look down and notice the steel handle and the narrow blade of the stiletto dangling from a hole in her fanny pack. She unzipped the top of the bag and found the point of the blade embedded in the aluminum water bottle. Like a cork on the tip of a knife, it had saved her life.
* * *
“Liquida paid us a visit,” Harry says, “earlier this morning.”
“Sarah . . . ?”
“She’s all right, shaken up, but no serious wounds. She had a very close call. She was lucky. If she had nine lives, eight of them are gone now. I’ll tell you what happened when we see each other. If you have a god, you’d be wise to thank him tonight,” says Harry.
“Liquida?” Thorpe is over my shoulder.
I nod.
“Is she all right?”
I nod again.
“How long ago?” says Thorpe.
I shake my head. I don’t have a clue.
Thorpe grabs the phone from the nurses’ station and dials a number. Within seconds he is talking to someone on the other end.
“Liquida is in Ohio, a place called Groveport.” He gives them the farm address. “He hit the place earlier this morning. He’s on the run again. Contact the nearest field office. It’s probably Columbus. Tell them to get some agents out there ASAP. If they need to use a chopper, do it. Get whatever information they can. Put out an APB. Just a second.”
I am listening to Harry with one ear and Thorpe with the other.
Joselyn is back from Herman’s room. She leans in over my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “The doctor has stabilized him.”
I look at her and nod.
“Do we have a vehicle description, license number, anything?”
“I don’t know. . . . Harry, listen, can you put Sarah on the phone?”
“She’s pretty upset. Shaking like a leaf,” he says.
“I understand.”
“Did she get a good look at him?”
“Yeah. One she’s not likely to ever forget,” says Harry.
“Did she get a good look?” says Thorpe.
I nod.
Thorpe’s back to the other line. “Tell the agents to take a laptop with I
denti-Kit software with them. They need to talk to the girl, Sarah Madriani, and work up a good computer-generated photo. . . . What about any vehicle?” He is talking to me again.
“Did she see a car?” I ask Harry.
“Only from a distance. No license plate or vehicle description,” says Harry. Harry’s voice drops almost to a whisper. “He did leave a knife, however. A wicked-looking thing.”
“Where?”
“You don’t want to know,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“She is all right?” I ask.
“Yes. Physically she’s fine, a few bruises and scrapes,” says Harry.
“Can I talk to her?”
“Right now she’s in the other room with Susan. I’d give her a few more minutes and call back. Let her get herself together. She’s pretty upset.”
“I understand. Are the police there?”
“Sheriff’s deputies crawling over the place like ants,” says Harry. “He won’t be coming back, not here, not if he’s smart.”
“How did it happen? How did he get to her?”
“I’ll tell you later,” says Harry. “It’s a sore subject with Sarah. You might want to go easy. She made a mistake.”
“I see.” A few seconds of silence pass between us on the phone.
“Harry?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell her I called. Tell her I love her. Tell her that I’ll call back in just a few minutes and that I am making arrangements to get the two of you out of there and here to D.C. as quickly as possible.” I look directly at Thorpe as I say this last bit.
He nods. “Can do,” says Thorpe.
“Got it,” says Harry.
“And Harry, don’t let anyone touch that knife in case there’s prints,” I tell him.
Harry laughs a little. “I don’t think they’ll find any. But it is true what they say, that the fruit never falls far from the tree.”
Trader of Secrets: A Paul Madriani Novel Page 3
