Bad Nights (10 page)

“Move out of the way,” Wade Trainer ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

He waited while Rayburn pulled Chambers away from the opening above them, the injured man cursing as his buddy jostled his injured leg.

Trainer turned his head and looked at Hamilton. “Get a first aid team on Chambers as soon as I've cleared the area, and get him back to camp.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked around at the remaining men. “Jessup and Porter, you're with me. Bring flashlights.”

“Yes, sir,” they both answered.

When the path was clear, Wade watched the two men lower themselves into the dark, dank space below the house. As Chambers had said, it wasn't a basement but a tunnel, dug into the earth, with post and crossbeam reinforcements. Not the safest place, Wade thought. But he stayed with the men, and they regrouped a few yards down the tunnel. The house had had a hidden asset. Was it an escape hatch to the outside or a hiding place where Barnes and the woman were still holed up?

“Draw your sidearms,” he ordered. “They could still be down here. Check the wall for hidden doors. Stay on alert for an ambush or a booby trap.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tension crackled in the group as they made their slow way forward, running their hands along the wall and shining their lights ahead of them. They found no hiding places along the walls, but after about fifty yards, they came to a ladder that led to a trapdoor. To the surface or to a hiding place where Barnes and the woman were holed up.

Once again, Wade hung back, not because he was afraid, he told himself, but because the leader didn't have to take the risks. That's why he commanded troops. “Open it,” he ordered Porter.

The troop climbed the ladder and moved a metal bar aside. As Porter pushed at the door, Wade braced himself for an attack from the other side of the barrier.

But there was only silence as the man's head and shoulders disappeared from view.

“Where are you? What do you see?” Trainer called out.

“I'm looking outside. About fifty yards from the house.”

“Climb out. We'll follow.”

Wade was the last to reach the surface, where he took a breath of the fresh air while he looked back at the blackened remains of the structure.

The exit from the tunnel wasn't all that far away from the house. If anyone had come out this way, he and his men should have seen them. Except that everyone had been focused on the blaze, which meant that Barnes and the woman could have slipped out while nobody was looking in this direction.

He wanted to let loose a string of curses. All this time he'd been searching for proof that Barnes and Rains were dead. Now he was pretty sure why he hadn't found anything. But he knew Barnes and the woman had been damned unlucky. If it hadn't been raining, Wade and his men wouldn't have been able to go into the house so soon, and the couple would have had hours to get away. That wasn't true now.

He addressed the men waiting for more orders. “Spread out. See if you can find which way they went.”

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound that set the hair bristling on the back of Trainer's neck. In the distance he heard a siren. Someone must have finally reported the fire.

He tightened his grip on his comms unit. “Is Chambers out of there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Rayburn, pick up what's left of the firebomb canister, and take it with you. Everybody out of the area. Now. I don't want any evidence that we were here.”

It might not be good enough. The authorities could probably figure out that arson had been involved. But hopefully there would be no evidence linking the incident to the Real Americans Militia.

Wade looked at the men who were gathered around him.

“We'll circle around and get back to our vehicles. And keep watch. When they're gone, we'll come back and search the area.”

Porter cleared his throat. “Permission to speak, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Didn't you send Gibson over this way?”

Trainer gave him a sharp look. In all the uproar, he'd forgotten one of his men wasn't accounted for.

“Where is he?”

“No idea, sir.”

“Well, he'd better not get caught by the firefighters, and he'd better have a damn good reason for not showing up.”

“Maybe something happened to him,” Porter said.

“Like what?”

“An accident. Or maybe he met up with Barnes.”

Trainer answered with a curt nod. He was considering the same possibilities.

***

Nothing much had changed since Shane Gallagher had tossed the coffee cup into the trash. He and his partner, Max Lyon, had put their other business on hold, and neither one of them had left the office, even to get something to eat. Neither one of them was hungry, but they'd both eaten some power bars because they might have to split at a moment's notice if Jack called.

That possibility was seeming more and more remote.

When the phone rang, both men leaped toward the instrument, hoping against hope that it was Jack.

But the familiar number made them both go still. It was Deep Throat, aka Arthur Cunningham, the government operative who had hired them to infiltrate the Real Americans Militia.

“Can we let it ring?” Max asked.

“Bad idea. We're working for him.”

Max nodded. “Maybe we'll pick up some information.”

Shane pressed the speaker button so they could both hear.

“Gallagher. I have Max Lyon on the phone with me,” he added.

“What's going on with Jack Brandt?” Cunningham asked immediately.

Shane hesitated.

“According to my project notes, you were expecting him to report in, right? And I was expecting to hear from you.”

“We were waiting for his call. But he can't always get back to us on schedule.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea what's going on at the militia camp?”

“No.”

“There was a fire reported in the area.”

Max and Shane exchanged glances.

“What's your source of information?” Shane asked.

“I'm keeping tabs on the local situation.”

“A fire—where?”

“At the vacation home of a woman named Morgan Rains.”

“Who is she?”

“A college professor. I don't know much else yet. Except that her house was about a mile and a half from the militia compound, which means that she could have run into Brandt.”

“What else can you tell us?”

“The local fire department is on the way.”

“We're going down there,” Shane said.

The voice on the other end of the line turned steely. “Stay away from the area,” Cunningham ordered. “I don't want Trainer to know he's being observed.”

“He already knows, if he's figured out that Jack was a plant,” Shane shot back.

“Jack may have gotten away. I mean, why burn the house down?” Cunningham answered.

“You think Trainer did it?”

“You think it's a coincidence?”

“It could be,” Shane said, but he heard the doubt in his own voice.

Cunningham was speaking again. “Even if he caught Jack poking his nose in where it didn't belong, that may be the sum total of his information. I don't want Jack traced back to Rockfort—or to me.”

“You just want us to abandon him?”

“If he screwed up and got caught.”

“He didn't screw up.”

“We're just speculating. Nobody knows what happened. Stay out of the area. That's a direct order.”

“And if we don't agree with you?”

“There will be consequences.”

When the line went dead, the two Rockfort agents looked at each other.

“We're just supposed to leave Jack twisting in the wind?” Max asked.

“Maybe that's what he thinks is going to happen, but he's dead wrong,” Shane responded. “On the other hand, he's right about secrecy. We can't just go charging in there. We need a cover story.”

“Campers? Hunters?” Max asked.

“It's not hunting season,” Shane responded. “But like you said before, fishing makes sense. We can get organized and drive down there tonight. Then be ready to go to the burned house in the morning.”

“Where's our starting place?” Max asked.

“Skyline, Virginia. Unless you have a better suggestion.”

His partner shook his head.

***

Jack stood with his back to Morgan, dragging in air and letting it out. He'd dozed off, then awakened with Morgan touching him, sliding her lips against his face and neck.

He'd known she was sleeping, and probably dreaming of her dead husband. He'd known he should wake her immediately, but he simply hadn't been able to do it. Not right away.

He'd lain still, enjoying the hot sensations coursing through him as she'd made love to him. He'd been caught between wanting it to go on to its logical conclusion and knowing that he would have to stop her before she did something that both of them would regret.

Then her eyes had blinked open. He'd seen her confusion. Her disappointment. Her embarrassment and regret.

He was the wrong man at the wrong time in the wrong place, and he'd better remember that.

He tested his ankle. He'd given it a few hours' rest and gotten some cold air on it. It seemed better, but he wouldn't want to press it to the limit at the moment.

Anyway, it was getting dark. Not a good time to travel through the woods, particularly when you couldn't risk using a flashlight. They'd get out of here in the morning, but tonight he wanted to make sure their hideout was a bit more secure. He stepped outside, glancing up at the thick vines that partially screened the cave mouth.

He went back inside and got one of the knives they'd brought.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure anyone who tries to come in here gets a surprise.” He looked back at her. “But first you might want to go out and find a nearby place where you can pee.”

She flushed, and he was sorry he was embarrassing her again, but they had to take care of practicalities.

“Better than in here,” he added.

“Yes.”

“Don't go too far. Take a gun, and don't stay any longer than you have to.”

“You think those men are looking for us?”

“If not now, we have to assume they will be,” he answered.

“They won't think we burned up?”

“Not if they find the trapdoor to the tunnel. And they have a better chance of doing that if the rain put out the fire.”

She got up and went to her knapsack, rummaging inside and pulling out a small pack of tissues.

“Make sure you bury the used ones under some leaves,” he said.

She nodded tightly, and he watched her disappear around a boulder. She was back in a few minutes.

He followed her example, finding a spot that would give him some privacy while he relieved himself.

When he came back, he got to work on improvising an early warning system.

She watched as he cut some of the vines. Next he found a thin branch and broke off two nine-inch lengths, which he hammered into the ground across the cave entrance, using one of the many rocks strewn around the area. He stretched a length of vine between the sticks, then ran another piece up into the tangle at the top of the cave mouth. After securing it, he searched for rocks about the size of goose eggs, which he salted into the mass of vines.

When he was finished, he ducked back into the cave, being careful not to catch his foot on the vine he'd stretched between the sticks.

“A booby trap?” Morgan asked.

“Yeah. If anyone hits that vine on the ground, he's going to pull on the vertical one and bring the rocks down. That should send an animal running in the other direction. And warn us that a man's found our hiding place.”

“Good idea.”

“Best I can do without equipment.” He looked toward the cave mouth. “I suggest we move farther from the entrance so that booby trap will give us time to react.”

They picked up the sleeping bag, the packs, and the wet clothing and moved them farther from the cave entrance. Jack shined the flashlight along their path as they went.

When they came to the old campfire, Morgan stared at the charred wood.

“Someone else has been here.”

“Not recently.”

He kept going until he found a spot that was around a bend from the entrance. The wall of rock would block any wind coming from the cave mouth.

After spreading out the sleeping bag again, he glanced at Morgan. Neither one of them had put on their wet jeans. “Get inside to keep warm.”

She slipped inside and picked up the flashlight again.

“Is it all right to have some water?” she asked.

“Yeah. It's a good idea, actually, unless we're digging in for a siege.”

“Are we?”

“I don't think so, but keep the light off most of the time to save the batteries, after we check our bite wounds.”

“Right.” He watched her work in a businesslike fashion as she unbuttoned her shirt and slipped her arm out of the sleeve, obviously trying to expose as little of her front as possible. And he tried to minimize his contact with her skin as he took off the dressing and looked at the bite.

“I think it's healing okay. Probably we can leave the bandage off.”

“Good.” She sat very still, staring into space as he applied more antiseptic. When she'd put the shirt back on, she said, “Now you.”

He would have liked to avoid having her touch him, but it would be dumb to refuse. Instead of protesting, he took off his shirt, turned, and focused on the wall as she unwrapped his dressing. “I think you're okay too,” she said with a little catch in her voice.

When she got out the tube of burn salve, he said, “I think we can skip that part.”

“Okay.”