No Way to Die (37 page)

“I think he thought we were going to rob the place,” Kenny said.

“He didn’t stop?”

“Nope. He slowed down, but he kept on driving.”

“He noticed that these two guys are old farts,” Kenny said. “He didn’t figure them for robbers.”

Richard laughed. “The kid’s probably right,” he said.

At 8:20, the FBI arrived in eight separate SUVs with four or five agents in each. Jennifer wasn’t kidding—they really were able to bring the manpower. They piled out of their vehicles. All were tac’d out in black with
FBI
stenciled in big blocky white letters across their backs. The effect was impressive—sure as hell impressed the folks at Starbucks.

Jennifer and I made the introductions and explained the roles that each of our sides would play. I’d already made certain Richard was well briefed as to the extent of the FBI’s role and the need to not give them the address to the house under any circumstances. Unless of course they got a Bullpen call, in which case they were to come running.

A couple of minutes later, Doc made his eight thirty call-in. No change.

“Okay, guys,” I said. “This is it. Anyone have any last-minute questions?”

There were none.

“Good deal,” I said. “Remember, keep your heads down. You,” I said, pointing to Kenny.

“Yeah?”

“Move to cover. Then shoot.”

He nodded.

“Good luck, guys,” I said. “This should all be over in an hour.”

* * * *

I fired up the Jeep and got back on I-5, this time heading south to the La Conner exit in Conway, five miles away. After I got off the freeway and headed west, I noticed that the land on either side was flat and full of flower fields for as far as I could see. Yellow daffodils were starting to bloom. Huge forty-acre squares of brilliant yellow were interspersed with equally large squares of green—probably tulip fields that wouldn’t be in bloom for another month or so. The effect was something like a giant, green-and-yellow patchwork quilt laid out on either side of the road for miles on end.

I continued driving westward and, about six miles in, I crossed a bridge that spanned the Skagit River, which was apparently in a hurry to empty itself into the Skagit Bay a few miles west of the bridge. The river was only about seventy-five yards wide here, but it still looked cold and murky and had a pretty brisk current. Doc had made his swim in the middle of the night at a point upstream that was more than two hundred yards wide. Tough duty. I’m glad it wasn’t me.

Just after the bridge, I turned right and began to follow the road northward as it snaked along the river. After only a couple of minutes, I passed a black Suburban parked on the right side of the road. A man on a cell phone sat inside. This, then, was the southern edge of the property—Point India—and this was the sentry Doc told us about. Marlowe knew I was here. The man did not follow.

Two hundred yards further north, I slowed as I came to a mailbox with the address, 1217, painted on the side. Straight ahead, perhaps another 150 yards up the road, I saw another black Suburban. That would be Point Juliet—the northwest edge of the property. I slowed further, and then made the right turn onto a gravel driveway. There were no vehicles in sight from the highway, other than the two sentry vehicles back at the corners.

The driveway looked to be maybe a hundred yards long to the point where it jogged to the left behind some trees in order to clear the main house. There were no vehicles on the road, but near the end, I saw a man waving me forward. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder. I proceeded, and when I reached him, he held up his hand for me to stop.

When I stopped, two other men stepped out from behind a tree on the side of the driveway and approached the vehicle. They both held AK-47s. They peered inside the Jeep to make sure I was alone.

“Follow the road; drive around the house,” the first man commanded with a sharp British accent.

I drove forward slowly and swung around the house. I found myself in a parking lot that I recognized from the aerial photo. Gordon Marlowe and Cameron Patel stood at the edge of the lot near the door to a big barn. Two men armed with AK-47s stood on either side of them. A regular welcoming committee. When I pulled into view, Marlowe beckoned me forward to park. I pulled up and shut off the Jeep.

THE SUN ACTUALLY broke through the clouds and lit up the gravel parking lot just as I pulled up to a log that was used as a curb. Marlowe and Patel waited patiently for me.I tried to scope the place out as I approached. The barn itself was old and rustic with siding that looked to have been painted red at one time but was now mostly weathered to a silver pinkish-gray color. Horse paddocks lined the outsides of the barn, but there were no animals. In fact, the barn looked abandoned—it had most likely seen no livestock in quite some time. There were two doors on the barn’s end behind Marlowe: a large, car-sized door that was closed, and a smaller door off to the right side that was open. The brightness outside combined with the darkness within the barn made it impossible to see inside.

I reached for the duffle bag. As I did so, I quickly glanced in the rearview mirror. The three guys who’d searched the Jeep out front when I arrived were rounding the corner of the house and approaching from behind on foot. This now made a total of seven men in view—four in front, three behind. If Doc was right on his intel report—and I’d lay odds he was—there were three more men acting as sentries on the perimeter of the property. And, since he’d said there were eleven total, one more guy was floating around somewhere—maybe inside guarding Toni.

Good enough. I hopped out of the Jeep. Let the games begin.

“Mr. Logan,” Marlowe said with a smile that reminded me of a crocodile.
Happy to see you. Can’t wait to eat you.
As I’d come to expect, he was turned out sharply in a suit the color of dark charcoal—in other words, almost black. He wore a bright purple tie that made a striking contrast. He waited for me as I walked toward him. “You’re right on time. I trust the drive up was not too much of an inconvenience.”

“Compared to what?” I said, looking around. There was no sign of Doc. Then again, there wouldn’t have been.

He laughed. “I apologize both for the out-of-the-way location and for the fact that events have conspired to make our relationship—how shall I put it—somewhat . . . edgy?” he said.

I walked toward him. “I think we’re past the niceties, don’t you? Why don’t you just save ’em, Marlowe.”

He stared at me for a moment, and then he smiled. “Marlowe now, is it?” he said. “I see you’ve been speaking with the authorities—that would be the FBI, I suppose. Good. I think it’s a good idea to take the hounds out every once in a while and exercise them.”

I smiled. “Remember, sometimes the hounds actually catch the fox. When they do, they usually rip it to shreds.”

“Oooh,” he said, grinning. “Sounds savage. Mustn’t allow that to happen.” He paused. “Nicely done, though—picking up and carrying the metaphor.”

“Cut the crap, Marlowe,” I said. “How about we get down to business, so we can both be on our way.”

He looked at me, and then he smiled. “Well said. We’ll do it your way, then. Shall we head inside? Let’s get down to business. You must be eager to be reunited with Ms. Blair.”

I wasn’t 100 percent comfortable with the way he worded that. Furthermore, instinctively, I didn’t much like the idea of heading inside if it could be avoided. “What’s the matter with the idea of doing our business right here? What’s wrong with just making a simple swap?” I asked. “I’ve got the device and the key, just like you said. Go ahead and bring Toni out. Give her to me. I’ll give you the duffle bag and I’m out of here. No need to complicate things.”

He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Mr. Logan,” he said. “Please. These things are complicated, wouldn’t you agree? You wouldn’t expect me to complete our major transaction without checking the merchandise, would you? I certainly expect you to do the same. In our case, we need to verify the authenticity of the key you’ve brought. Unfortunately, this will take a few minutes. We have a computer set up inside. Trust me, you’ll be quite safe. We’ll have you on your way in no time. Now, please, follow me.”

Said the fucking spider to the fly
! my mind screamed. I stared at him, but he quickly turned and walked toward the open door.

I didn’t see where I had much in the way of options, so I followed.
What the hell
.

* * * *

I stepped through the door into the barn and was nearly instantly blinded because of the change in ambient lighting, from very bright outside to extremely dim inside. The barn floor was dirt. The air was damp and still. There was a strong musty smell that reminded me—well, it reminded me of an old barn.

After a few seconds passed, my vision adjusted to the point at which I was able to make out some details. A center walkway, maybe twelve feet wide, ran the length of the building. Box stalls—maybe twelve by twelve or so—lined both sides of the walkway—four on each side. The nearest stall on my left was completely enclosed. It had probably been used as a tack room. Likewise, the stall farthest away on the left was also enclosed—either a feed storage room or an office of some sort. All the rest of the stalls were open along the center aisle, with a wooden fence maybe five feet high fronting them and a gate into each one. Each stall also had a door outside leading to its respective paddock. All the doors and gates were closed. The stalls were in a mostly neglected state of repair with numerous planks missing from the walls and the gates.

As my eyes grew more accustomed to the light, I was able to make out Toni and Holly. They were seated on the ground, their backs against the tack-room wall. Their hands were restrained in front with zip-tie handcuffs. From the looks of them, they were both still pretty much drugged and out of it. Both had their eyes closed. Holly was propped up so that her head leaned back against the wall. Toni leaned forward; her head drooped down toward her chest.

Within a minute or so, after my eyes were pretty well adjusted, I could see that Marlowe had a small table set against a stall opposite Toni. A man sat on a stool in front of a laptop computer. A Starfire device—presumably one of the two real ones—sat on the table. Marlowe and Patel stood beside the table. Three of the armed men followed us in.

“What’s wrong with her?” I said, nodding toward Toni but not moving from the entry.

“She’s quite alright,” Marlowe answered. “We’ve given her a mild sedative. You may be pleased to know she was quite belligerent yesterday. Two of my best men were sent to the hospital and are out of commission this morning because of the lovely and talented Ms. Blair. Seems she has quite a facility with the martial arts.” He looked at me. “Feel free to examine her.”

I walked over and knelt down beside her. In the dim light, it looked like she had a bruise on the side of her face, but no other visible injuries.

“Toni,” I said softly. I pushed her back so that she leaned against the wall. “Toni, can you hear me?”

Without opening her eyes, she turned her head slowly in my direction. “Danny?”

“I’m here.”

“Danny,” she said again, “they gave me something . . .” A tear rolled down her cheek, and as it did, my heart went cold.

“Just rest easy,” I said. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

I turned back to Marlowe.

“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you,” I said.

He looked at me. “Oh, there, there, Mr. Logan,” he said. “She’s just fine. No need to lose your composure.”

“Pardon me, but I don’t understand someone who hurts women,” I said. “To me, only a real lowlife does something like that.”

“Sticks and stones, Mr. Logan,” he said. “Shall we get through this?” He pointed to the computer.

I stared at him. I wasn’t past it, but I wanted to get moving. “Let’s get it done,” I said.

“Splendid idea. Give me the key and the Starfire device, if you please.”

I walked toward the table and set my bag on the ground. From it, I pulled out the fake device. I’d made certain before I arrived that the detonator switch was off. I put the device and the key on the table.

“Wonderful,” Marlowe said, looking genuinely delighted. He turned to the technician behind the table. “Check it,” he ordered curtly. He pointed to the Starfire box that was already on the table—the one he’d brought. “Use this Starfire box,” he added, “not that one.”Naturally. The bomb he’d given us was not likely to decrypt anything.

The computer tech plugged the key into the real Starfire box and connected the box to his laptop. He punched a few keys and then watched his screen. A few seconds later, he turned to Marlowe. “I’m not 100 percent certain what to look for here, but I’m getting a screen that says, ‘Starfire Protocol—Applied Cryptographic Solutions’ at the top. Then it’s asking for a private key for factoring.”

Marlowe pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and opened it. “Plug this number in,” he said as he handed the book to the tech. “Be careful—it’s long, and it must be input precisely.”

I held my breath as the technician carefully entered the number. He hit the return key. “It says, ‘Calculating. Estimated time to factor: eight hours, fifty-seven minutes.’ And it’s got a little progress bar here.”