JACK KILBORN ~ AFRAID (35 page)

Unlike the main entrance, this was for emergencies only, and Wiley had to get on his belly to fit inside. He pulled on a fake root and tugged open the door, then called Woof to the small opening, patted his head, and took the rope off his snout. The dog sniffed at the hole, then happily climbed in. Wiley followed, feetfirst so he could close the door behind him. The tunnel was actually a PVC pipe with a four-foot circumference, roughly fifty feet long. It angled into the ground at a slighter incline than his main ramp. Wiley had to pause several times to catch his breath and allow his heart rate slow down.

The tube let out into his kitchen closet. Woof jumped on him and licked his face when Wiley made it through. Wiley patted the dog on the head, opened the closet door, and said, “Don’t shoot,” when Fran swung her shotgun at him.

The expression on Fran’s face when she saw Woof was priceless. The beagle ran right to her, and she rubbed its muzzle and kissed his nose, beaming. It reminded Wiley of Fran’s wedding, the last time he’d seen her smile. He hadn’t meant to crash the ceremony, hadn’t meant to be intrusive. Wiley went out of curiosity, not to cause trouble. But the curiosity turned to regret and self-loathing, which led to drinking too much and getting into a shoving match with Fran’s stepfather—a much better man than Wiley ever was.

Wiley watched Fran and Woof, silently jealous of the dog.

“Thank you,” Fran said without looking at him. “And thank you for saving Josh.”

“He’s in the storage room?”

“Yes. The Red-ops, they’re inside, too, but haven’t gotten through the hallway door.”

Wiley figured it would take them a while. It was a steel security door with a brace across the center. Impossible to open without tools. Unfortunately, they had a whole garage full of tools in there with them.

A floor-shaking
BAM!
coming from the hallway confirmed they’d already gotten started.

“I’ll send Josh in here with you,” Wiley said. “Go give Duncan his dog.”

Fran nodded, heading for the door.

Wiley called to her. “Hold on a second.”

She stopped. He went to her. “Aim the shotgun at the door.”

Fran complied. Her angle was good, but she had the butt tucked under her armpit rather than tight in the shoulder. Wiley got behind her, helped her adjust the stock.

“It’s got a recoil buffer, but it will still kick. Lean into it when you start firing. And don’t be scared by the noise—it will be the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Am I aiming right?” Fran asked.

He put his hand on hers, raised the barrel.

“Match up the back sight with the front sight.”

“Like this?”

I’m actually holding my daughter,
Wiley thought.

“Perfect. You’re doing perfect.”

Wiley released her, watched her walk away. Then he went to the storage room, calling out before entering so Josh didn’t shoot him.

“Thanks again for saving my ass,” Josh said.

“I want you to go into the kitchen with Fran and Duncan. We’re going to hold them off as long as we can, then I want you three to go into the closet and escape the back way, up the tube.”

“What about you and Sheriff Streng?”

“He can’t make it, and I won’t leave him. When the soldiers get in they’ll have access to my weapons. I want you to be long gone by then. Understand?”

Josh nodded.

“One more thing. When all this is over, you should come back here. In those boxes, next to the bottled water, are a few hundred thousand dollars worth of gold, gems, cash. And take this.” He handed Josh a thin black object, made of plastic. It was about the size of his fingernail, and said “8GB” on the top. “A micro SD card. Can be read on computers and cell phones. It holds a digital copy of an old eight-millimeter film.”

“Fran told me about it.”

“Make sure the press gets it. Tell them what you’ve seen here, what’s been happening.”

“I will.”

“Where’s that monkey? Mathison?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only seen Fran.”

“We need to—”

Wiley caught a blur in his peripheral vision—someone running past the doorway. Someone in black.

Dammit! They must have followed me in through the PVC pipe.

Wiley raced into the hall, saw Santiago pulling off the barricade, yanking open the door.

That big son of a bitch, Ajax, rushed in like a charging linebacker.

Wiley shot slug after slug at him, emptying the Benelli, not missing a single one.

The giant staggered, bleeding from the face and neck, his body armor smoking where the shots hit. But the son of a bitch kept coming.

Wiley dropped the gun and pulled his Glock, backpedaling as he squeezed the trigger, Josh racing to the great room ahead of him.

Ajax got within ten yards.

Wiley aimed for the face, but the huge man was enraged, shaking his big head from side to side like a bull, picking up speed.

Eight yards away, coming on fast. He was going to plow right into Wiley, and the force would no doubt cripple or kill the older man.

Wiley took a different approach. Rather than try to follow the swaying of Ajax’s head, he kept the Glock rock steady. He forced out a breath, sighted down the barrel of his weapon, waiting for the massive forehead to line up with his sights.

Five yards and closing.

Ajax bellowed.

Wiley kept both eyes open and fired.

The bullet entered Ajax’s face just below his right eye, making a small hole. As it left his skull the hole was much larger, blowing out a section of skull big enough to put a fist into.

Ajax dropped to his knees and pitched forward like a felled tree, a mist of red floating to the floor after him.

But it was too late; the other two had gotten into the storage room, and to the guns.

Wiley turned and ran, following Josh into the great room, locking the door behind him.

D
uncan went from being very happy to being very scared. Mom brought in Woof, and told him Josh and Wiley were also okay, and just when he started hugging his dog there were gunshots and Josh and Wiley came running in.

“Cover the door,” Wiley said. “They’re coming, and they’re coming armed. Duncan! Where’s that monkey?”

Duncan was too surprised to speak. He pointed to the sofa. Mathison sat on the armrest, looking agitated.

“Duncan, you need to grab his collar. It’s really a special kind of bomb. It has a button. You press it and it will kill the bad guys.”

“How?” Duncan managed.

“They have microchips in their heads. This sends a signal, breaks the chips.”

“Mathison has a chip in his head. Will it hurt him, too?”

Wiley stared at him, and Duncan could tell by his expression that it
would
hurt Mathison.

“He’s my friend,” Duncan said.

“Duncan, we’re all going to die if we don’t press that button.”

Duncan nodded and swallowed. He walked slowly over to Mathison, the tears making it hard to see.

“I’m sorry, little guy,” Duncan said. “It’s the only way to save everyone.”

Mathison put his tiny paws on his scarred head and screeched. Duncan wondered if he understood what Wiley had said. Duncan held out his hand, trying not to cry too much, and the monkey leapt off the sofa and darted across the room.

Shooting, from the hallway. Duncan turned and saw the door begin to shake. He ran after Mathison, but the monkey screeched at him again and tugged at his collar.

He did understand,
Duncan thought.
And he doesn’t want to die.

“They’re here!” Wiley yelled.

Duncan looked over at the doorway just as everyone began to fire their guns. The room sounded like bombs were going off, so loud that it hurt Duncan’s head. He knew he should fire back, try to help, but it was so noisy and he was so scared and he was just a kid and what could he do anyway?

The shooting went on and on, and Duncan crouched down with hands pressed to his ears and started to cry, wishing it would end.

Finally Wiley yelled, “Conserve your ammo!” and everyone stopped.

All the gunfire had made the room smoky, and Duncan waved his palm to clear the air and see. Mathison was gone. Josh and Mom were behind the table. Wiley and Sheriff Streng were behind the sofa. Duncan realized he’d dropped his gun somewhere. He scanned the floor but didn’t see it.

“I’m out of bullets!” Josh said. His voice sounded far away. “So is Fran!”

“Where’s the ammo bag?” Wiley called.

“I left it in the kitchen,” Fran said. “Where’s Duncan? Duncan!”

“I’m here, Mom!”

Fran crawled over, hugging him.

“Where’s your gun, baby?”

Duncan was sobbing now, full blown. “I … I dropped it. I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t want us all to die.”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” she was crying, too, and she smoothed his hair and touched his cheek and looked so sad. “It’s not your fault.”

Josh scooted over, putting his arms around both of them.

More gunshots, from Wiley. Then he yelled, “I can’t hold them! They’re coming in!”

Duncan closed his eyes. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt too bad when they killed him.

And then he heard someone cooing.

Mathison.

The monkey walked up, walked up on two legs just like a little person. He had his collar in his tiny hand and was holding it out for Duncan. He looked so sad.

Duncan took the collar, which was thick and heavy. He ran his fingers over it and found the button under the buckle.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Mathison.

He patted the monkey on the head, right on his scar. Instead of flinching away, Mathison closed his eyes and opened his arms to be held. Duncan embraced him, hugging hard.

“Bye-bye, Mathison.” Duncan told him, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Then he pressed the button and threw the collar at the door.

There was a loud crackling sound, a flash, and the lights went off. The room became darker, but not totally black, because of the candles he and Mom had lit earlier.

“They’re down!” Josh yelled. “The Red-ops are down!”

Everyone cheered but Duncan. He cried, softly stroking the belly of his friend, Mathison, limp in his lap.

H
e did it,” Wiley said. “Duncan did it.” The words came out more like a rasp, and then he fell to his knees and onto his side.

“Josh!” Ace yelled. “Something happened to my brother!”

Wiley heard people walk over, saw them bringing candles. Josh crouched next to him, pressed his fingers to his carotid.

“Talk to me, Warren,” Josh said. “What happened? Were you shot?”

“No,” Wiley said. It was tough to breathe. And it hurt. He forgot how much it hurt.

“Help me look for wounds. Let’s get his shirt off.”

Josh and Fran tugged at his clothes and Josh said, “Oh … Warren.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, you old bastard?” Streng asked.

“We weren’t … we weren’t exactly on speaking terms, Ace.”

“How long ago?”

Wiley touched the scar on his breastbone. “Ten years. Went to the ER in Madison. They put in the pacemaker.” He winked at his brother. “Runs on a microchip.”

“Fran told me about the film,” Ace said. “That’s why you didn’t stay in touch.”

“People after me. Too dangerous. Didn’t want them to go after you or our parents.”

Someone grabbed his hand. He stared, saw it was Fran. She squeezed it tight, and he tried to squeeze it back.

“Wiley!” Duncan ran over, knelt next to him. He was still holding the monkey, and he set its dead body down on the sofa. “What’s wrong, Wiley?”

Wiley coughed. “Bad heart, son. Couldn’t take all the excitement.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Wiley shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Duncan. I really would have liked to go fishing with you.”

Duncan hugged him, and for the second time in far too long, Wiley smiled.

“Do you like apples?” he asked his grandson.

“Yeah, Grandpa. I like apples.”

Wiley cleared his throat, and then he felt his heart beat for the last time.

“I like apples, too.”

• • •

S
treng closed his eyes. An hour ago, he’d wanted to kick Wiley’s ass. But now he felt a loss even greater than his missing leg.

Though Streng hadn’t followed his brother’s footsteps into seclusion, he did live alone. He had a job, yes, and buddies, and even a small circle of lady friends to help keep warm on chilly winter nights. But Streng had never married, never had children. Wiley was the last of his family. And just as they were rebuilding their relationship after half a lifetime apart, he was taken away.

“How are you doing?” Josh placed his hand on Streng’s shoulder. “Your leg, I mean.”

“I’m managing.”

“The front entrance won’t open. It runs on electricity. But there’s a secret exit. It’s going to be hard on you. We’ll have to pull you up with rope.”

Streng shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here a while. I’ve got food, medicine. Even if you get me out, we can’t get to a hospital.”

“I’ve got a plan for that. And we won’t leave you behind.”

Streng saw the seriousness in Josh’s expression and gave in.

“Okay. Wiley’s desk chair has wheels on it. Let’s roll that bad boy over here and get me mobile.”

Streng tucked the Taurus into his belt and allowed Fran and Josh to manhandle him into the chair. It took every speck of effort he had left not to scream when they set him down too fast and three of the clamps knocked against the floor, but he managed to contain it.

“What about Grandpa and Mathison?” Duncan said. “Are we leaving them here?”

“We’ll come back for them, Duncan. We have to get the sheriff to a hospital first.”

Duncan patted Mathison on the head and reluctantly followed.

“Come, Woof.”

Woof sat next to Wiley and didn’t move.

“Woof, come!” Duncan said again.

Woof licked Wiley’s face, then howled. Then he moved to Mathison and nudged the monkey with his nose.

“Woof!” Fran yelled. “Come, now!”

Woof picked up Mathison in his mouth, ever so gently, and trotted after them.