Constant Fear (19 page)

CHAPTER 32

P
epperell Academy’s extensive tunnel system connected most campus buildings. Some of the tunnels were extremely narrow and hot, while others offered enough space to walk side by side.

Jake made his way through one of the narrow sections beneath the library, not his favorite by any stretch. His boots scuffed noisily against the rough concrete, the tap of his heels amplified by damp stone. Creatures scurried in the darkness. Rats, probably, but mice and moles lived down here, too. Jake was in charge of extermination and he kept the pests mostly under control, but not entirely. The clicks and scrapes of their clawed feet came at him from all directions. It was impossible to pinpoint a location in the dark.

Cables running above Jake’s head served as conduits for electrical and communication systems. Pipes of various thicknesses affixed to the walls with rusted metal brackets carried water and heat throughout the campus, and emitted a steady hum that became background noise. Some of the pipes leaked water that rhythmically punctured the eerie stillness in this otherworldly darkness.

At the spot where Jake could turn right or backtrack, he went right. The low ceiling forced him to stoop, but he kept a steady pace. Here the mildew smell was most intense, but it couldn’t make him forget the stench of fresh blood from the bathroom homicide. That smell overpowered all present odors, and those vacant eyes seemed to watch his every step.

To see in the dark, Jake used a headlamp secured to the front of his tactical helmet by an adjustable piece of stretchable nylon. He had left the PVS-14 with the J-arm attachment back in the larder. Night vision worked by magnifying existing light, and down here there was none. Jake could have turned on the overheads, but the fuse boxes were decentralized and mostly aboveground. He didn’t want to risk exposure by going to the surface. The headlamp worked fine. He could shut it off easily, and it freed his hands to let him traverse obstacles while wielding a weapon.

He kept his AK-47 slung over his right shoulder. In the cramped confines of the tunnels, it was far easier to maneuver his Glock than a long rifle.

The jouncing white light of the headlamp formed a portal in the gloom through which Jake could make his way. The way could be confusing. Enthusiasts circulated maps around campus to try and illustrate the various entrances to tunnels, but Jake found most renderings woefully incomplete. The real tunnels looked more like the schematic for a complicated piece of circuitry than a bunch of straight lines between buildings. Tunnels went in straight, curved, and diagonal lines. Some terminated in dead ends; others looped back like snakes consuming their own tails. This was a maze belowground, and it was easy to become disoriented and lost.

Jake crawled over a series of corroded pipes that looked like a pile of giant pickup sticks blocking the archway ahead. His guns and gear restricted his movement, and Jake needed to compensate for the extra weight. As he climbed down, Jake’s footing slipped and he staggered forward a few steps. His face bristled with stickiness: cobwebs. With his left hand, Jake cleared the webbing from his mouth and eyes, and brushed off a large spider, which had crawled across the nape of his neck.

He was accustomed to the tactile sensations down here. There was always something new to discover, to observe. This section of tunnel looked to him like the innards of a dying machine. Everything here was sagging, corroded, or rusty. Wires barely clung to decaying fasteners and dangled perilously close to pools of brown water. Jake kept his eye out for markers—spray-painted letter and number codes on the walls that served as trail guides. His predecessors had put them there and it helped with navigation if you knew what they meant.

School officials downplayed the extent of the tunnel system to keep interest in them to a minimum. Nobody wanted kids underground getting wasted or having sex around dangerous electrical equipment, hot pipes, or chemicals.

Students caught lurking in the bowels of The Pep faced immediate expulsion. That was generally deterrent enough to keep them out. But from time to time, Jake would come across wrappers and beer cans, even fresh graffiti scrawled on the cement walls. Denying access invited plenty of brazen daredevils. Over the years, various communities of underground explorers had sprung up with the expressed goal of getting in and roaming about just for kicks. It was Jake’s responsibility to keep them out.

The truth was, nobody came down here much anymore. A lot of effort went into making the maintenance work accessible aboveground—at fuse boxes, AVC controllers, boilers, and various circuits. Sections of the tunnel system had once served as pedestrian thoroughfares, but those had been shut down ages ago. The important thing now was that Jake could travel from building to building without ever seeing daylight. Without ever being seen.

At the end of a particularly claustrophobic stretch, Jake came to a stop at another arched passageway. His headlamp lit up a wider and higher section of tunnel beyond.
Good thing.

The tunnels reminded Jake of the ball fields. The transition from corridor to dugout always put a smile on his face. It was the feeling a butterfly must have after crawling through its hard shell to take flight at last. Emerging from the darkness to catch that first glimpse of an emerald-green field was a joy like no other. Tunnels were a means to that end; and for this reason, Jake took to them just fine. But these narrower passageways, with the low ceilings and compressed walls, were as pleasant as giving up five runs in the second inning.

Jake had a sudden recollection about baseball that involved Andy. His son was eleven at the time, maybe twelve, and Jake was teaching him how to throw left-handed.

The ball had sailed in every direction but the one Andy had intended, with little velocity, either.

“This is a stupid waste of time,” Andy said.

“Throwing with your nondominant arm is good for building a balanced body,” Jake said. “Besides, you’ve got a better chance of going pro if you’re a southpaw.”

Jake was naturally bilateral, but he threw right and rarely worked his other arm.

“I’m never going to make the pros,” Andy said.

“You can do anything you set your mind to, son,” Jake said, almost reflexively.

Andy had guffawed. “That’s a load of horse crap, Dad, and you know it,” he said. “But I should clarify. I don’t
want
to be a pro baseball player.”

Andy had gone into his windup and threw the baseball left-handed, hard, using all the proper mechanics this time. The ball had sailed straight and had gone fast enough to make a pleasing slap, once it hit the leather of Jake’s glove.

Even then, his kid had attitude.

“So, what are you going to be when you grow up?” Jake asked, tossing the ball back to Andy.

“I dunno. Guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.”

Andy’s diabetes made that statement a lot less certain. It was especially true given the wild swings Andy’s blood sugar could take. But Jake never believed the disease would claim his son. And that belief carried over into today.

After passing through the archway, Jake stood, giving some relief to his cramped leg muscles. Fifteen feet farther, the tunnel branched to his right. That way would bring him to a staircase. From there, Jake could gain entry to the basement boiler room in the Terry Science Center.

He wanted to call Ellie, and probably could get a signal there, but decided to wait. He was close to the Academy Building, close to Andy, his purpose for being here. He pressed on ahead. Somewhere behind him, the rats began to scurry.

At one point, Jake had to crawl again. To get from one section of tunnel to another, he had to pass through a square opening at the bottom of a concrete wall. The fit was very narrow, and Jake squeezed through on his belly. He emerged into a new section of tunnel, with high ceilings and updated electrical and data cables. And then, the stairs. A lot of the yellow paint had chipped away, but the railings were sturdy and the steps safe to climb.

At the top landing, using his master key, Jake unlocked a steel door painted gunmetal gray. He pushed the door open and stepped into a janitor’s closet in the basement of the Academy Building. He had his AK-47 ready to do the talking for him, just in case.

No need. The closet was empty. He pushed a bucket and mop out of the way, clearing a path to the closet’s front door. He stopped and listened. Not a sound. Fine. Just to be sure, Jake put an ear against the bottom of the door to give another listen. Each cup on his Peltor earmuffs had a built-in microphone, receiver, and amplifier that provided an adjustable 19dBA sound gain. All was silent. The tunnels were louder than this. Jake opened the door and exited the closet.

He worked his way out of the basement and up to the first floor of the Academy Building. The school was weekend quiet. No people. No lights. No sound. The tunnel ran directly below the stage in the Feldman Auditorium and went the length of the building. If he had to, Jake would go outside and scope the building’s perimeter to try and pinpoint the enemy’s location.

He returned to the closet. Without several feet of stone in the way, Jake could get a signal there. He didn’t want to risk being overheard in the hallways. Ellie’s number was stored in Jake’s list of favorites, where she belonged.

His mind clicked over and Jake thought for a moment of something other than Andy. He thought of Ellie. It happened in a flash, but the message his brain was sending had come in, loud and clear. Once this was over, things between him and Ellie would be different.

It was an odd time for these thoughts, but Jake didn’t fight it. He had messed up with Ellie, kept too many secrets, but he could make amends. He’d tell her everything about his life, about his fears. He’d open up to her in ways he never could with Laura. He’d grieve for Laura openly; and in Ellie’s presence, he’d find comfort.

On the mound, Jake believed that most everything was within his control.
Throw strikes. Keep the ball away from a hitter’s sweet spot. Do your job and get the out.
It was away from baseball that things became more complex. But Jake was going to tell Ellie who he was and how he felt, regardless of the consequences. All he could do was throw the best pitch possible.

He slipped the ear protectors to one side. Ellie answered on the first ring. He heard panic in her voice. “Jake, where are you?”

“Trying to find my son.”

“But where?”

“I need to make sure Andy is all right. And after I do, I’m going to need your help.”

“Jake, it’s not that simple.”

“I’m going to tell you where these guys are, and you’re going to send in the troops.”

“Jake, what is going on? Where are you?”

“I’ll call you back,” he said. “I’m not going to have a signal where I’m headed.”

“Jake, please,” Ellie said. “If you’re where I think you are, you need to get out of there right away. Jake, are you hearing me?
Jake?
Are you there?”

Jake headed down the stairs with the phone pressed to his ear. He would let the rock walls disconnect the call, as he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

As he descended back into the darkness, Jake’s mind conjured up the smell of Ellie’s hair and Kibo’s fur. They brought feelings of home and belonging, and finally something took away the scent of blood.

CHAPTER 33

E
llie put away her phone and set her gaze once again on Jake’s trailer home. A sizable contingent from the Winston Police Department was there, along with vehicles from the FBI, and the state police, too. From the number of strobes flashing, anyone would think Jake was a fugitive killer and the target of an unprecedented manhunt.

Leo Haggar came over to Ellie with a hostile look she knew was not directed toward her. It was just Haggar’s natural mystique.

“That was him,” Ellie said.

Haggar’s eyes narrowed. “Did he give his location?”

“No,” Ellie said. “But I think he’s in the school.”

Haggar whistled and one of his agents, a fit woman in a blue uniform and body armor, came running over.

“Everyone is in position to enter the premises. Are we still waiting for a warrant?”

“Forget the warrant,” Haggar barked. “Get in there ASAP. It’s my call, and I’m saying this guy will further endanger the hostages. I want to know everything there is to know about him. What he reads when he’s taking a dump. Where he shops. Who he’s screwing. Everything. And have forensics in there with you to secure all of the electronics. I don’t want a single byte of data lost. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

The agent turned on her heels to go, but Haggar whistled her back around. “And I want to see the blueprints to the school again. Hell, I think I have them memorized by this point, but have somebody get them to me anyway,” Haggar said.

The agent acknowledged the order with a nod and was off again.

“I’ll try to call him back,” Ellie said. Her voice came out too soft, too weak, too damn emotional.

Haggar’s ears must have been tuned to a different frequency, one that picked up subtext like it was amplified, because he gave Ellie a knowing glance.

“You might not know what he’s reading on the can,” Haggar said, “but I think you can tell me who Jake is screwing.”

Ellie’s face reddened. The twinkle in Haggar’s eyes surprised her.

“It’s okay,” Haggar said. “I already figured. But now you can tell me more.”

Ellie set her hands on her hips, pursed her lips, and looked to the sky. A constricting lump blocked her throat, and everything about Jake hit her at once: the blue of his eyes, the swagger in his smile, a scent sweet as his personality, a touch aware of her needs, the firmness of his body when he lay on top of her, the feel of him inside when she was on top. She loved Jake, but those words had never left her lips. Instead, they had tumbled about in her head, ready to spill out the moment he said it first.

If he’d opened up to her more fully, those three magical words would have come out faster than Kibo could chase down a stick. But Jake Dent had more secrets than he had shared with her the night of their big talk. And Ellie had a sinking feeling whatever they were would be found inside that trailer.

“Talk to me, Ellie,” Haggar said. “This guy is a real threat to our operation. We’re talking thousands of people potentially getting sick here from radioactive fallout if that bomb goes off. Not to mention the number of would-be terrorists an incident like that would embolden. Your guy is a match to that bomb’s fuse and I’m going to snuff it out, one way or another. Help me do it without spilling any blood.”

Ellie took a breath and told Haggar the story, beginning with her meeting Jake at the gun range and concluding with the details she had only recently learned.

Haggar listened with rapt attention. Despite the crisis unfolding around him, he had a remarkable ability to tune out the world and focus on whatever he deemed most important. Jake Dent was evidently very important to Haggar.

“Can you talk him out of there?” Haggar asked.

“I sure as hell can try,” Ellie said.

“I have seasoned hostage negotiators on hand who can help,” Haggar said. “Will you be willing to do whatever it takes?”

“Anything,” Ellie said.

The FBI agent Haggar had sent off to retrieve the school blueprints came running over with them in hand. She had an electric look in her eyes; Ellie guessed they had dug up something of vital importance.

“Sir, you should come inside right away. I think we have a serious problem on our hands.”

Someone handed Ellie a pair of gloves. She put them on as she followed Haggar into Jake’s trailer. This was not how she’d imagined being invited into his home, but here she was.

Ellie looked around and saw only a devoted dad doing his best to provide for his son, to create a home—but the light was dim and rather depressing, the walls were paneled wood and dark, the quarters cramped, and the furniture all looked secondhand.

Despite this, Ellie had to admire Jake for his effort. Being a single parent under any circumstance was not easy; and in addition to the worry over Andy’s diabetes, Jake’s salary could not have been very much. The trailer was not the ideal place to raise a child, but Jake had spruced it up by filling the home with photographs of a father and a son, memories of good times together, two people making a go of it best they could.

Seven or so gloved agents began tearing the place apart and their combined body heat turned the trailer sauna hot. For Ellie, it was as difficult to breathe as it was to move. A special agent, tall and dark-haired, greeted Haggar in the living room and led him and Ellie down a narrow hallway. Ellie excused herself to push by the crush of agents engaged in a carefully orchestrated demolition of Jake’s life.

The agent escorted Ellie and Haggar to Jake’s bedroom. He had the same excited look as the woman who had summoned them into the trailer.

“What do we got?” Haggar asked.

“Guns and a whole lot of crazy,” the agent said.

He opened a closet and cleared away some clothes to reveal a gun rack with five secured rifles, only two of which Ellie recognized as a Browning and a Remington.

“So he’s a hunter,” Haggar said. “These weapons all look properly secured to me. And they’re not on his person, so that’s another plus.”

“That’s what I said, until we found this.”

From within the closet, the agent removed a large backpack secured to an ALICE frame and brought it over to the bed. He opened the pack, tipped it over, and dumped out the contents. He took more stuff from various zipped-up pouches.

Ellie studied the items with growing unease. On the bed were several liters of water, a filtration system, clothing, a tent, a tarp, a sleeping bag, cooking gear, and a hygiene kit. It would have all made sense to her, except Jake had never mentioned a love of camping. Somebody who loved camping enough to own this kind of gear would have talked about it, she believed.

He unzipped another pouch. What he pulled out made Ellie shiver: a SIG SAUER P226, with ammo to go with it. Most campers Ellie knew carried a whistle to scare away the bears, not a high-caliber pistol.

Haggar eyed the items. “So he’s an outdoorsman who doesn’t want to be mugged in the woods,” he said. “I’m still not concerned.”

The agent said, “Yeah? Just wait.”

The agent removed from the closet a twenty-gallon plastic tote with an attached lid. He set the tote on the floor by the bed and took off the lid. The agent pulled out from the tote a tactical helmet with a J-arm attachment, which Ellie suspected accommodated a night vision optical. They took more items out of the container and piled them on the bed: ammo, laminated maps, several large knives, a compass, green Kevlar line, wire, duct tape, magnifying glasses, handcuffs, body armor, satellite phone, batons, and lots of books.

Their titles made Ellie’s stomach sink. She focused on a few of the meatier tomes:
Surviving the End of the World
,
After the Fall: How Doomsday Preppers Will Look Like Prophets
,
The A–Z of Prepping
, and
Get Ready for the End of the World
, whose title left little doubt about its contents.

“I’m not a profiler, sir,” the agent said with a gleam in his eyes. “But it seems we’ve got a loose cannon. This guy thinks the world is coming to an end, and I suspect he’s armed to do battle.”

Ellie watched the color drain from Haggar’s face and guessed hers had done the same. Heartbreaking as it was, without a doubt, Ellie knew this was the real secret Jake had been guarding.

Haggar unfolded the blueprints and spread them out on the bed, covering Jake’s survival gear like a blanket. He studied the plans thoughtfully; then he looked to Ellie.

“Does Jake Dent know how to access all the tunnels at the school?”

Ellie said, “He never said anything to me, but he’s in charge of maintenance, so I suspect there’s a good chance he does.”

Haggar whistled long and low. “If that’s the case, our problem just got a whole lot bigger.”