Darkness First (32 page)

7:12
P.M
., Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Moose Island, Maine

H
arlan shook Tabitha awake a little after seven
P.M
. Told her it was time to get ready.

Tabitha didn't say anything. Just nodded.

While they waited for the last of the summer light to fade, Harlan buried the empty cans of fruit, the wrappers from the breakfast bars and any other visible signs of their brief habitation at Toby Mahler's grandfather's house.

Then he wiped the bottle of pills and the three stacks of fifties clean of fingerprints. Finally, he stuffed both the bottle and the money back inside the teddy bear.

‘I won't be able to sew him up,' Tabitha said.

‘That's okay. We'll push some newspaper in back. That ought to hold him together well enough.'

Harlan filled his canteen with water from the stream and they left. ‘How far do you think you can walk?'

‘Pretty far. I sometimes go on hikes with Tiff.
Went
on hikes with Tiff,' she corrected herself. ‘We'd go four or five miles.'

‘We may have to go farther than that tonight. Do you think you can make it?'

‘Yes,' she said, her voice determined.

T
hey reached the cannery at Parnell Point a little before ten. The last of more than a dozen canneries that once anchored the economy in and around Eastport, the ruins of Parnell Point remained only because of a protracted legal battle among the heirs of the former owners.

An eight-foot-high chain link fence, now falling into disrepair, surrounded the place. A
No Trespassing
sign hung from the padlocked gate. Harlan, with Tabitha in tow, circled the outer perimeter of the property, checking for possible entry points and stopping every thirty meters or so to scan the area inside for any sign that Conor Riordan had arrived early.

He helped Tabitha slip through a break in the fence near the main gate and then went through himself. Half walking, half jogging, they crossed a broad, open area devoid of cover. Nothing but low brush, rocks and cracked clay all the way to the building.

As they drew closer, the structure rose before them, alone on the edge of the land, like a black dead thing rising from the black dead water behind. The place was falling apart. Much of the roof and interior ceiling had collapsed and the old wooden walls were rotting away. All secondary entrances and exits had been boarded up for decades, leaving only a pair of large barn doors at the front. These were protected by a padlock and another
No Trespassing
sign. Harlan told Tabitha to move behind him. He destroyed the lock with a single shot from the M40 and pulled open one of the doors.

‘Are we going inside?' Tabitha asked, her voice quavery.

Harlan didn't like the idea of leaving her outside alone but the kid was obviously terrified.

‘Okay. You stand guard out here and try to be invisible. I'll only be a minute.' He handed her a baseball-sized rock. ‘Bang on the wall with this if you see or hear anyone coming.'

‘Three times?'

‘Just once.'

Tabbie nodded. She used her shirt to wipe the mist from her glasses and scooched down next to the building. Harlan took Harold and went inside. Even from out here Tabitha could hear dozens of tiny rat feet skittering across the wooden floor. Fighting an urge to scream, she forced herself to lie still and watch the darkened landscape for intruders. She had to be brave, she told herself. Had to do this one thing. Not just for herself but also for Tiff and for her mother and even for Pike.

I'll only be a minute
, Harlan had said. But if it was only a minute it felt like the longest minute of her life. Finally he emerged without Harold.

Minutes later the two of them lay side by side in a shallow culvert 200 meters south of the building. The spot was well camouflaged and provided a perfect field of fire across the entire property. If Riordan was a careful man, and Harlan was sure he was, he'd likely enter from somewhere other than the front. But no matter what direction he came from, the only way to the bear was through the barn doors and Harlan had them covered. For a trained sniper, a 200 or even 300 meter kill is easy. Harlan's longest in Iraq had been over 800, and that wasn't considered exceptional.

Temperatures had been dropping most of the day and a cool breeze from the bay carried the sounds of the ocean and the first hints of autumn and the winter that lay beyond. Tabitha was shivering. Harlan unrolled his sleeping bag and told her to get inside. It would not only keep her warm but would also prevent sudden movements at the wrong time. Two hours passed. Tabitha started getting restless trapped inside the bag. Harlan told her to be still.

A little after midnight, a vehicle, its lights off, pulled to a stop behind a thin stand of shrubs across the road from the front gate. Harlan watched the driver's side window slide down. A face, green through the scope, peered out. A man inside the car raised binoculars to his eyes.

‘He's here,' Harlan whispered.

Tabbie scrunched down lower into the culvert.

Five minutes passed before the driver's side door opened. The car's interior remained dark. Through the scope Harlan watched the guy who had come to his house, the guy he had beaten up, step out. Emmett Ganzer's wrist was bandaged, his face still bruised and blackened from the beating he'd taken. Harlan watched him look left and right. Cross the road. Slip through the same break in the fence that he and Tabitha had used. Ganzer drew a hand-gun and walked, in a low crouch, straight down the middle of the property toward the cannery. Careless, Harlan thought as he watched the familiar figure, very, very careless. Even assuming Ganzer was wearing body armor and Harlan had to go for a head-shot, he was making this easy. Harlan studied Ganzer's face and thought about Tabitha's description of the December Man. She'd only seen him for a split second but even so something didn't compute. He unzipped the sleeping bag to free Tabitha's arms and passed her the weapon. ‘Look through the eyepiece,' he ordered. ‘Is that the guy you saw last December?'

At first Tabitha's glasses got in the way and she couldn't see anything. Harlan told her to take them off. He'd adjust the focus. She just had to tell him when the image appeared sharp.

‘Not yet,' she said. ‘Not yet. There. Go back a little. That's it.'

She peered at the man slowly crossing the open ground in a crouch. ‘No,' she said in a loud whisper.

‘No what?'

‘That's not him.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘I'm sure. Face is different. So's the hair. Plus he's way too big.'

‘He's probably wearing body armor,' said Harlan. ‘That'd make him look bigger.'

‘It's not him.' She handed the weapon back to Harlan.

Not him?
Shit. Did that mean there were two of them? One going after the bear. One waiting in the car. Or maybe not waiting in the car. Maybe waiting miles away. Or maybe coming around behind them in the dark. The first rule of law enforcement, Harlan's father always told him, was never enter a potentially violent situation without backup.

Harlan whispered to Tabitha to turn and watch their rear. Tap his leg the instant she heard any sounds or spotted any movement coming from behind. The girl nodded.

Harlan studied the car through the scope. At first he saw nothing. But then he sensed movement on the front passenger side. Just the shift of a shoulder. Or maybe an arm. But it meant Conor Riordan, whoever he was, was still there. Waiting, he supposed, for Ganzer to retrieve the bear. Or to get shot, if Riordan suspected the ambush.

That created a problem. If he killed Ganzer first, Riordan would drive away. Escape the trap. Somehow he had to kill the man in the car first. Unfortunately, the odds of hitting Riordan from where he was now were slim to none. His view was obscured by shrubs. His bullet would have to clear the chain link fence, go through the car window and, finally, pass through the headrest on top of the seat, any or all of which would alter its trajectory. No, killing Riordan from here would be like winning the Powerball Lottery: damned near impossible.

To get a clear shot he'd have to leave the compound and go around behind the car without being seen. Worst part was he couldn't bring Tabitha with him. Too dangerous for her. Too likely she'd alert Riordan by making some noise. But leaving the child here by herself with Ganzer on the prowl didn't sit well either.

Harlan was still pondering how best to deal with this when he felt a hand tapping his leg. He spun and looked back where Tabbie was pointing. A dark figure moving toward them in a low crouch, carrying a weapon. Christ, could there be three of them? He peered through the scope. Aimed at the moving shadow. Applied gentle pressure to the trigger. And then eased off.

No way in hell could Harlan Savage ever shoot his own sister.

C
rouched in the darkness on the far side of the ramshackle building, the index finger of his right hand inside the trigger guard of his Glock, Michael McCabe watched Emmett Ganzer rise and run the last hundred yards to the front wall of the old cannery. The running man was definitely Ganzer. No doubt about that. Were the two of them in this together? Ganzer and Carroll? Or had they been wrong about Carroll? McCabe wasn't sure.

E
mmett Ganzer, his head pounding, his breath short from the effort of running in the heavy body armor, rested his considerable bulk against the outer wall of the cannery. Sweat trickled down his face and he sucked in the cool air of the evening, trying to calm himself. When his heart had finally slowed enough, Ganzer edged toward the door, holding his 9 mm automatic in two hands. It was okay, he thought, for Carroll, who was sitting back there safe in the car. Sonofabitch told him it'd be a piece of cake. Told him no one would be waiting inside the building but rats. But Carroll had always been a lying scumbag and Savage was sneaky. He might just be sitting inside the building pointing his fucking rifle.

Ganzer slipped through the door and dropped instantly to a crouch. He saw no movement. Heard no sound. No flash of a shot. Something soft and furry darted across his ankle. Emmett Ganzer swallowed hard. He hated rats, though not quite as much as he hated the idea that Harlan Savage might be hiding in here, waiting to put a bullet through his head. Emmett pictured himself wounded, his life oozing out in this filthy place, rodents crawling over his body. Lapping his blood. Nibbling at his flesh. Ganzer held his left arm as far from his body as he could, flipped on his Maglite. He saw the bear immediately.

‘D
rop your rifle, Harlan.' Maggie spoke in a soft whisper as she pointed McCabe's Mossberg 590 pump-action riot shotgun at her brother's chest.

‘I don't think so, Mag. No way you'd shoot me. Any more than I'd shoot you.'

‘I don't have to shoot you, baby brother. All I have to do is fire this cannon into the air and your fox will bolt.'

Harlan stubbornly held on to the M40. ‘I came here to kill him, Magpie. Not Ganzer. The one in the car. Both of them if I have to.'

‘You're not killing anyone.'

‘No way they should live.'

‘No way I'm letting you spend the rest of your life behind bars. I'm a cop, Harlan. This is my job, not yours.' Maggie took out a pair of handcuffs. ‘Put the rifle down, and put your hands behind your back.'

‘You have backup?' Harlan asked.

‘I have backup.'

‘All right, go do your job,' he sighed. Then he put the rifle down. ‘But don't cuff me. Somebody needs to stay with the kid. Keep her safe.'

Maggie thought about that and finally nodded. Harlan was right. Someone did need to protect Tabitha. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to have extra backup. ‘All right,' she said. ‘But you've got to promise me you won't fire unless it's absolutely necessary.'

Harlan smiled the smile that was uniquely his. ‘Cross my heart and hope not to die.'

Maggie asked Tabitha if she was okay. The girl nodded. Maggie disappeared into the darkness the same way she came.

M
cCabe peered through the split boards on the sidewall of the cannery. Inside, no more than ten feet away, he could see Ganzer's broad back in the faint glow of the Maglite. He was crouching down behind a large block of rusted-out machinery. The narrow beam of his light focused on a large teddy bear propped in the middle of a long table that ran the length of the room. McCabe wondered if Harold still contained the package Tabitha had talked about in the message.

Ganzer flipped off the Maglite. Darkness returned.

‘Harlan,' Ganzer called out. ‘Harlan Savage. You're under arrest for the murder of Tiffany Stoddard. Let the child go and come out with your hands up. Harlan Savage, can you hear me?'

The only thing that broke the silence was the scurrying of rats.

M
aggie crept to within twenty yards of the car. Close enough to make out the shape of Sean Carroll's curls in the front passenger seat. Carroll was peering intently through his binoculars, seemingly unaware of her approach.

C
arroll watched Emmett Ganzer emerge from the building and start back across the open field. Walking normally. Carrying the bear in his arms. This was the moment for Savage to shoot him. But there were no shots. No sound at all except the wind blowing in off the sea. Sean Carroll's sacrificial lamb was still unquestionably alive. Strange. Carroll had been sure Savage was setting up an ambush. But the further Ganzer came toward the fence the more difficult Savage's shot would be. Could he have figured this wrong? Definitely beginning to look that way. When Ganzer was almost all the way across the open ground, Carroll put down the binoculars and stepped out of the car.

M
aggie fingered the Mossberg and resisted a strong urge to blow Sean Carroll's too handsome head off his oh so beautiful body and be done with it. Instead, she watched him slip on a pair of white latex gloves and pull a 9 mm from its holster. Why the gloves, she wondered. Why the gun? What was that for? If the two of them were in this thing together, it made no sense. So maybe they weren't. She realized there was no way of knowing. And that was a problem.