Bolthole

by Jeff Mariotte

  “Point taken, sir,” Sam said. “We’re sorry to have disturbed you.”

  The man’s adrenalin rush was already fading. “Hell, probably good for my ticker to get a good fright once in a while. Jump-starts the circulation system.”

  “We’ll get out of your hair, Mr. Bilsen.” Sam handed him a business card. “If you see any strangers around here, please get in touch. And don’t approach—the man we’re looking for has no compunctions about killing, and he’s good at it.”

  “Will do,” Bilsen said.

  Sam and Callen headed out the front door. “You okay?” Callen asked.

  “Barely,” Sam said. “If I hadn’t been so close, some of that shot would’ve hit me, for sure. I was just near enough that he missed me altogether.”

  They were still in the yard when Bilsen called after them. “Hey, who’s gonna pay for my door!”

  “NCIS will,” Sam replied. “Just send us the bill. Address is on the card.”

  “I’ll do that,” Bilsen said. “And I’ll get one hell of a good door, I can tell you that.”

  “You do that, sir. Sorry again for the trouble.”

  “Hetty’s going to love that,” Callen said.

  “That’s why she makes the big bucks, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Callen nodded. “Yeah, I guess it must be.”

  * * *

  “It’s really pretty here,” Kensi said.

  “It’d be a little nicer without the fires of hell raging around us,” Deeks replied.

  “A fire of this magnitude only happens here every couple hundred years, Deeks.”

  “I know. I’m just saying, the smoke and ash kind of counter the natural beauty a tiny bit.”

  “You can look at it that way. Or you can look at it as part of nature, and we’re lucky enough to be here on an incredibly rare occasion.”

  “We’ll be lucky if we don’t spontaneously combust.”

  “There!” Kensi said, pointing. “That’s the Spellman place!”

  Deeks braked the SUV. They were on a road, looking downhill at the house. “I believe you’re correct.”

  “Of course I’m correct. Would you ever doubt me?”

  “I might. Once in a while.” He noted her look and quickly amended his statement. “A great while.”

  “We should check it out,” she said, choosing to ignore him. Sometimes that was the best approach. Often, actually. “Anybody would have to look out the windows and uphill to see us here.”

  “Yeah,” Deeks agreed. “Awkward angle for them. Of course, it means we can’t see in the windows very well, either.”

  “True.”

  He pulled to the far side of the road and killed the engine. They each had binoculars, so they took those and their weapons and crossed the street. At the hillside’s edge, they trained their glasses on what windows they could see. The house was clearly new, and just as clearly had cost plenty of money.

  “So that’s how plastic surgeons live,” Deeks said. “Not a bad gig.”

  “If you want to spend your life cutting into people,” Kensi countered. “Most of whom are just doing it out of vanity.”

  “Not my idea of a good time. But it looks like the pay rocks.”

  “You see anybody? Or are you too busy dripping with envy?”

  “I’m only dripping with sweat. But no, I don’t. Do you?”

  She scanned all the visible windows again before she answered. “Not a soul.”

  “No vehicles in sight, either,” Deeks pointed out. “And the ash is pretty thick down there. Looks like it hasn’t been disturbed since the fire started.”

  “I’m thinking they’re not here,” Kensi said.

  “Not unless they levitated into the house.”

  “From where? There’s not a car or truck in sight.” She looked beyond the house. The roof of another was visible a short distance farther down the hill. Beyond that, it looked like most of a mile before there were any more manmade structures. All was still.

  “We should get closer,” Deeks said.

  “That’s fine. We can get closer, but no one’s home.”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, Kens.”

  “That’s right, I am. That’s because I’m pretty sure. Very sure, in fact.”

  “Still, we have to see.”

  “I said we can check. I just know I’m right. You should stop doubting me.”

  The road curved around as it dropped in elevation. They walked along the edge, stopping every couple of minutes to scope out the house again. There was still no suggestion of life in or around it.

  They stopped at the end of a short driveway leading from the road to a three-car garage attached to the house. From there, they scanned the windows once more.

  “Nothing,” Kensi said. “Like I said.”

  “Maybe he’s hiding inside. In a closet. Or a panic room. A house that big must have a panic room, right?”

  “When was the last time you went to a movie, 2002?”

  “Okay, dated reference, I admit. But still—”

  Nell’s voice in Kensi’s ear blocked out anything Deeks might have said. “Kensi, Deeks. Wherever you are, get back up the hill, quick.”

  “We’re at the Spellman house,” Deeks said. “We were just going to approach and see if anyone’s inside.”

  “Nobody’s inside,” Kensi said.

  “I don’t know about that, but I’m sure Shogren and Betsy Peabody aren’t inside.”

  Kensi shot Deeks a satisfied grin. He might have seen it as a smirk. She didn’t care. “What do you have?” she asked.

  “Satellite imagery has picked up a gold sedan, parked in front of a house on the other side of the hills, off Benedict Canyon. From above, it matches the profile of a Buick LeSabre. The resolution is such that we can see clear tracks through the ash. The car’s only been there for a couple of hours, and it’s in an area that’s still under an evac order.”

  “We’re on our way,” Deeks said. “It’ll take us a little while.”

  “Callen and Sam aren’t far away. They’ll be there way before you.”

  “They should wait for us,” Kensi said.

  “I’ll pass that on,” Nell said. “But with a hostage in the house, if they have a clean shot, they’ll probably take it.”

  Kensi met Deeks’s gaze, and nodded once. They took off running up the hill, back to the borrowed SUV. “We’re en route,” Kensi said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  Ash made the road slippery, but they reached the vehicle in a few minutes, and soon were racing back up the hill, once more heading toward the flames.

  This time, they had a good reason to hurry.

  48

  Shogren had assured Betsy that the fire wasn’t going to come down the hill to where they were. She wasn’t sure she believed a word he said. He had been a soldier, and presumably knew about such things. But she’d known him before his Army career, and she didn’t trust him for an instant.

  She was already sick of being his prisoner. She wanted to know how Hugh was. She wanted to hold his hand. She would feel safe when she was back in his arms. Never mind that she was the one who kept their household safe; who made sure the doors were locked, who followed their bank accounts to ensure that they hadn’t been breached. As Hugh’s memory went, she was worried that he’d become vulnerable to telephone or email scams, so she tried to be the first to grab the phone when it rang, and she checked his email account regularly.

  But when he held her, she felt as she had when they were younger, just married. She felt secure, loved, cared for. He had told her time and again that he would never let anything bad happen to her. They’d both known that was a promise that couldn’t be kept. It didn’t matter. It was the promise that counted, the effort to protect each other from life’s tribulations.

  She missed him so.

  She’d found some food in the freezer, and other ingredients in the pantry. The power was on, so she prepared an early dinner for them. She was sti
ll determined to make him see her as a human, not a hostage, and if cooking would help with that, she was glad to do it. It was another reason for him to keep her alive.

  The house had a landline. He’d checked it, determined that the phone service was still down, but then broke every handset he could find, anyway.

  The house was even more luxurious than it had looked from the outside. The décor was very contemporary, with modern art pieces that she didn’t understand the appeal of accenting low-slung, expensive furniture. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with stainless steel appliances that looked like they’d come straight out of a four-star restaurant. By the time dinner was finished, although it was simple—a couple of steaks she’d thawed in the microwave, some frozen French fries, fresh green beans with some light spices—she thought it smelled like one of the best meals she’d ever prepared.

  Of course, part of that might have been that she hadn’t had a bite to eat since breakfast, and it had been a busy, eventful day. To say the least.

  When dinner was ready, she found him in a den, watching a TV that seemed almost as big as some movie theater screens she’d seen. He had the local news on, and both their faces were in a split-screen shot, bigger than life.

  “I look terrible,” she said.

  Shogren turned around. “You look fine, Mrs. Peabody.”

  With a start, she realized that her name had been plastered across the screen, underneath that gigantic face.

  “No,” she began. “That’s… a mistake. I’m Kath—” She couldn’t even remember what name she had told him. Her heart was pounding in her chest like a drum solo from Woodstock, and she couldn’t catch her breath. The room seemed to swim, and she was afraid she would faint.

  “I knew I recognized you,” Shogren said. “I just couldn’t place you. I guess it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “Dinner’s ready,” she said. “In the—” She flailed her hand toward the doorway, groping for the word. “Kitchen. In the kitchen.”

  “I don’t know that I’m very hungry,” he said. “More, I don’t know, curious. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out who you are?”

  “I didn’t—I didn’t know. Like you said, it’s been years. I’ve changed. You’ve changed a lot.”

  “You recognized me, though? Didn’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have lied about who you were.”

  “I—” She had been about to tell him she’d been warned, that NCIS had told her that he was involved in Susan’s death. But she didn’t want him to know that. Definitely didn’t want him to know that she had tried to help them find him. This place wasn’t any cabin in the woods, so she figured her photos hadn’t been helpful after all. “I did eventually,” she lied. “Not at first.”

  “You know Susan’s dead?”

  “I—I heard that. The police. They said there weren’t any clues.”

  Shogren grinned. It was awful. “Thanks for confirming,” he said. “I was only guessing, because she disappeared. No contact, no messages. Just gone. We had a protocol. If she was able to, she’d have been in touch, so I knew she was either arrested or dead.”

  “She’s dead because of you, isn’t she? I always knew you’d hurt her in some way.”

  He barked a laugh. “I saved her. I freed her. You wanted to make her another you. Another boring white American who never knew the first thing about the world, living in a bubble. If you had your way, she’d go to school, get a job, go to church on Sundays. She’d spend her life thinking she was safe, maybe birdwatching and belonging to a book group, giving money to charity a couple times a year.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Betsy said. She backed up until she felt the door jamb behind her, and leaned against it, unable to trust her knees. Her legs were shaking. She tucked her hands into her pockets so he couldn’t see them quake.

  “It’s hell,” Shogren said. “It’s a lie. You’re not safe. Nobody’s safe. The world is a vicious, spiteful, dangerous place. It’s filled with hate and fear and death, and the only way to not be a victim is to be the baddest dog on the block. Of course Han shot first—if he didn’t shoot first, he never would have made it to the new movie.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s the first time you’ve had to see the real world.”

  “This isn’t the real world, Hal. We’re inside somebody’s house; I don’t think you even know whose. We’re hiding out from the law because—I don’t know why, but you have blood on you, and a gun, and a bag that you won’t let out of your sight. There’s a massive fire burning all around us, and you’ve taken me prisoner. Does any of that sound remotely real to you?”

  “It’s all real, Betsy. That’s your name, right? Betsy. And Hugh—he was the old man I hit this morning. I would have hit him harder if I’d known. I just thought he was some useless old coot. This is real life. Life on the edge. Life and death. That’s what it’s about, Betsy. That’s where things get real, on the edge.”

  “I… I don’t understand that. No, I don’t accept it. I never thought you were any good, Hal, but I didn’t think you were insane. Now I’m starting to wonder.”

  “The blind always think those who can see are crazy,” Shogren said. “It’s the way of the world.”

  “Anyway, dinner’s in the kitchen if you want it.”

  She spun away from the doorway and hurried down the hall before he could say anything more. She shouldn’t have insulted him. She should have played dumb, acted like she was on his side. Who knew what he’d do to her now? He couldn’t let her live, not knowing she could identify him, say where he’d been.

  She had to get away from him, somehow.

  Back in the kitchen, she looked out the glass wall that faced onto the front yard. The sun was almost down. Night came early in the canyons. Maybe under cover of darkness, she could escape.

  But of course, he was a soldier. He was used to hunting and killing. He probably enjoyed it.

  Still, she had to try. It was the only chance she had. She took a step toward the door, but he was already coming down the hall.

  She was too late.

  49

  The tracks in the ash were a giveaway. Martin was surprised that Shogren hadn’t come up with some way to disguise them. It would have been hard, he supposed, in a regular passenger car. Ordinarily, he’d have counted on other traffic to obscure his tracks, or in the case of something like a heavy snowfall, for the snow to quickly fill them in. But the fire was mostly at higher elevations, and the ash tended to float on the wind, which blew uphill. Tracks farther down remained evident for a while.

  But he wasn’t certain until he saw the lights on.

  It wasn’t the only house with lights on, of course. People had evacuated quickly. They’d rounded up children and pets, grabbed the things that they considered irreplaceable, piled into cars and headed down the hill. Checking the light switches was the furthest thing from their minds.

  It was, however, the only house with lights on and people moving around inside.

  He couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself. His read on Shogren had been correct. It had still taken a while to spot the tracks, and longer to follow them to the right house. But he’d done it. He didn’t see any law enforcement around, either.

  Perfect.

  Dusk was settling in fast. That was perfect, too. He could see in, but it would be hard for anyone inside to see him. He moved closer, careful but not slowly. He wasn’t worried about the neighbors spotting him; there weren’t any.

  It was him and Shogren.

  It was payback time.

  “Bobby,” he said aloud. “This is for you, bud.”

  * * *

  “Left turn!” Eric called. “Left turn, now!”

  “I’m turning!” Sam said. “If you could give me a little more warning next time, it’d help. Maybe a tenth of a second or so.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eric replied. “There’s a minute lag in the signal. By the tim
e I see where you are, you’re a little ahead of there.”

  “So you’re saying your technology is inadequate,” Sam said.

  “No, I’m saying—right! Turn right!”

  “I think I see it,” Sam said.

  “You should be able to by now.”

  “I’m stopping.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because there’s an armed man, a former Army Ranger, in that house, with an innocent hostage who, believe me, has already been through more than enough grief in the last couple of days. I don’t want him to kill her, and I don’t want him to see us coming. So we’re going on foot from here.”

  “Okay,” Eric said. “Yes. Those are all good reasons. Just, you know, hurry.”

  “Of course we’ll hurry, Eric. We’re not here sightseeing.”

  “Sorry,” Eric said. “I know, you’re on the scene. It’s your call. I’m stuck back here. Just trying to help.”

  “It’s a big help, Eric,” Callen said. “You found the place, and told us where it was. But we’ll take it from here.”

  “It’s all yours,” Eric said. The feed went silent.

  “Lot of windows,” Sam said, getting out of the truck.

  Callen climbed down on his side, grabbed his weapons, and closed the door silently. They’d already turned off the dome light. “Good for us, bad for him.”

  “Unless he’s watching with night-vision goggles.”

  “If he’s using thermal imaging, he’s probably going blind,” Callen pointed out. “Everything’s hot around here.”

  “Image enhancement’s more common, though,” Sam argued. “And not as sensitive to heat.”

  “He probably doesn’t have any night-vision gear.”

  “Probably not. Why would he?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You see him yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Neither do I. It’d suck if this was the wrong house, wouldn’t it?”

  “A lot,” Callen said. “A whole lot.”

  Sam grabbed Callen’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “You see him?” Callen asked.

  “I don’t see Shogren.” Sam pointed to a vague shape in the near-darkness, ahead of the house. “But who’s that?”