Curious Minds (26 page)

“I don't feel comfortable with that,” Emerson said. “I'm not actually a gun person.”

“Guns don't kill people,” Rollo said. “Pontiac GTOs being pushed off mountains kill people.”

Riley reached across the gearshift and honked the horn. Rollo turned to look, and Emerson kicked out with his foot, landing a sideways blow on Rollo's midsection. One of the guards drove the butt of his rifle at Emerson's chest. Emerson moved with it, grabbed the rifle, and threw it off the cliff. The remaining two guards ran to subdue Emerson, and Riley used the opportunity to jump seats and get behind the wheel. She cranked the engine, slammed the car into reverse, and floored it.

The dirt road was narrow and carved into the side of the hill, and the white panel van blocked her way. Riley hit the brakes, and Günter screamed as his leg banged against the seat in front of him. Riley speed-shifted into second and drove forward toward Emerson. He was in a no-win situation with three armed guards and Rollo. She saw him get thrown to the ground and go still.

“No,” she whispered, slowing to a crawl with nowhere to go. “No, no, no.”

Emerson was lying in a heap on the ground, Rollo poking him with his foot. The driver's door to the GTO was wrenched open and Riley was yanked out of the car by a guard.

“Emerson?” she asked.

“Dead,” the guard said.

R
iley walked to where Emerson was lying. She dropped to her knees and put her hand to his chest. No heartbeat. No sign of life. His eyes were open and fixed. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.

“This is a real pain in the ass,” Rollo said. “He was supposed to die in the car wreck, but he insisted on fighting us and hit his head on a rock.”

“Let us go,” Riley said. “Let me take him home so his Aunt Myra can say goodbye. We aren't going to make problems without Emerson.”

“No can do,” Rollo said. “The boss man wouldn't like it. And it wouldn't be any fun.” He gestured to one of the guards. “Get her back into the car, and this time tie her in.”

Rollo got behind the wheel, put the car into gear, and drove close to the cliff's edge. He put the car into neutral and got out. Emerson's body was loaded in behind the wheel and the seat belt was fastened around him to keep him upright. Riley could see the bloody wound on the back of Emerson's head. The desert dust had mixed with Emerson's blood to form a thick mass in his black hair.

“What's the matter with him?” Xandy asked.

“He's dead,” Rollo said as he leaned in to made sure the brake was off. “Say a prayer for him. And throw one in for yourself.”

Rollo slammed the door closed and ran back to the van. The van pulled up to the rear bumper of the GTO and nudged the car forward. Riley strained against the rope restraints.

“I can't get loose!” she said. “Xandy, get up here and help me!”

“Not necessary,” Emerson said. “I think I can do this.”

Riley felt like her heart might explode. He was alive!

Emerson gave the GTO some gas and moved about twenty feet forward to the very edge of the cliff. He threw the car into reverse and plowed into the front of the white van, knocking it back.

“I thought he was dead,” Günter said.

“He g-g-got over it,” Riley told him.

She was sobbing uncontrollably, gulping in air, tears running down her face and soaking into her shirt. She had no knowledge that she was crying. She was swallowed up by the horror of the moment and the relief that Emerson was alive.

Emerson ground through a couple gears and took off. The car skidded out along the edge of the cliff. Emerson turned back onto the road, cut around the van, and slammed into its left side.

He put the car in reverse, backed up, put it into what was left of first and slammed into the van again. The van slid sideways and Emerson put his foot to the floor and shoved the van and all its occupants over the edge of the cliff.

No one said anything. Everyone just sat there breathing. Hard to believe the horror was over. Hard to believe they were alive. Riley kept looking at the spot where the van had disappeared. She was blinking tears away, waiting for Rollo to climb back up, like a hockey-mask-wearing killer in a cheap horror movie. But Rollo remained out of sight. The monster didn't rise again.

“The Siddhar's not going to approve of this,” Emerson said. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Is there something wrong with my head? I have a splitting headache.”

Xandy reached around and untied Riley. “We need to leave before the aliens return,” she said.

Riley shrugged out of the ropes, got out of the car, and walked to the edge of the cliff with Emerson. They looked down at the white van. It was upside down at the bottom of the mountain. It was far away but they could see that it was smoking. There was an explosion, and the van was consumed by a fireball. Black smoke billowed off the van and was carried away on the air currents.

Emerson wrapped his arm around Riley, hugged her into him, and kissed her on her forehead. “Crap on a cracker,” Emerson said.

R
iley got behind the wheel and gripped it hard to keep her hands from shaking. She put the car into gear and very carefully drove down the mountain. She got to the highway and turned to Emerson.

“Now what?” Riley asked.

“I don't mean to complain,” Günter said, “but I'd really like to see a doctor. Or at least get some more of those drugs. I'm in agony here. Sorry.”

“We'll get you help soon,” Emerson said. “I'd like to get out of the area first.” He turned to Riley. “Take the Saint Rose Parkway exit and turn right on Executive Terminal Drive.”

Riley looked over at Emerson. “You have a plane?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Why didn't we use it to get to Nevada in the first place?”

“Aunt Myra needed it. Dr. Bauerfeind was in seclusion in Vancouver, and Aunt Myra was kind enough to pick him up in my absence. I suppose I should consider getting a backup plane, but I've never needed one before.”

“But the plane is here now?”

“Hopefully. I suspected we might need a fast getaway so I asked Aunt Myra to hop down here and wait for us once she secured Dr. Bauerfeind.”

Riley followed Emerson's directions to the airport and looked at Xandy in the rearview mirror.

“What about Xandy?” Riley asked.

“I'm going home,” Xandy said. “Put me in that fancy plane of yours and drop me off in Des Moines. The hell with aliens. I'm going back to being a dental hygienist.”

Henderson Executive Airport had twin runways, a tower straight out of the 1940s, renovated like a museum piece, and a state-of-the-art sleek modern traffic control center.

There were several hangars and a fleet of corporate jets sitting out on the blacktop. Riley parked at the private terminal, and they loaded Günter onto a rolling luggage rack and followed Emerson inside. Emerson found his pilot and they were escorted out to the plane, leaving everyone in the terminal open-mouthed in shock at the bedraggled, blood-splattered group.

Emerson owned a G550 configured to comfortably seat twelve. It flew with two pilots and a flight attendant, a stocked galley, a pleasant lavatory, and a fully functioning office. The interior had high-gloss wood trim and soft cream-colored leather seats and couches. The exterior of the plane was gleaming white with a majestic royal blue “M” that swooped along the sides like an eagle flying in for the kill. The guest towels in the lavatory were also monogrammed with a royal blue “M.”

Aunt Myra was in the open doorway of the G550, smiling at them like she was welcoming them to a barbecue.

“Well, there you are!” she said in her Appalachian drawl. “I was getting ready to send out the bloodhounds.”

“We were delayed,” Emerson said. “We've sustained some injuries, I'm afraid.”

A couple baggage handlers hauled Günter off the luggage rack and carried him up the stairs to the plane. Aunt Myra got him settled onto one of the couches and buckled him in.

“We'll sit you up for now,” she said. “After takeoff we can lay you down and make you more comfortable.”

“Alcohol would help,” Günter said.

“We got plenty of that,” Myra said. “Pick your poison.”

“I'd kill for a martini.”

“I'll pass it on to Margie. That's the flight attendant.”

Myra turned to Emerson. “If you don't look a wreck. We've gotta get you some better people skills. Were you in another one of them bar fights?”

Riley's eyebrows raised an inch. “Bar fight? Emerson?”

“I swear, him and Vernon were a trial when they were younger, and they aren't much better now.”

An older man with coarse gray hair and bushy eyebrows was sitting in a single seat toward the back of the plane.

“Dr. Bauerfeind,” Emerson said. “Nice to see you again. Sorry about my appearance. We had some problems getting out of the gold vault.”

“Understandable,” Bauerfeind said. “I had some problems as well. Fortunately Myra came and rescued me just as the Grunwalds' henchmen were breaking down my door.”

“There were only two of them,” Myra said, “so it wasn't much of a problem.”

“She kicked one of them in the privates,” Bauerfeind said. “And then she sucker-punched the other in the throat.”

“Yeah, and then we ran like the dickens and jumped into the car and took off for the airport,” Myra said.

“Tell the pilots that the first stop is Des Moines,” Emerson said. “After that it's back to D.C.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Myra said. “Everyone take a seat and buckle up. Soon as we're in the air, Margie will get you all something to eat and we can take a look at the hole in the back of Emmie's head.”

T
hey were an hour out of Des Moines when Riley woke up and looked with longing at the iPad on the console next to her.

“Are we still off the grid?” she asked Emerson.

“Not effectively,” he said. “I'm sure they're tracking my plane. Although it might take some time to determine exactly who was incinerated in the van.”

“I'd like to tell my family I'm okay.”

“I'd prefer that you wait until we're on the ground in D.C. It would spoil my plan if we were met by armed guards at the airport.”

“You have a plan?”

“Of course.”

“Does it involve the memory card?”

“Not directly. The photographs are worthless without a gold sample. Unless we can trace the gold back to the Federal Reserve, we can't prove any wrongdoing.”

“What about the fake gold that's
in
the Federal Reserve?”

“I doubt they're going to open the vault to us, and the chances of breaking in again are slim to none. However, there is another source of recast gold.”

They simultaneously turned and looked at Günter passed out on the couch.

“I think I'm seeing your plan,” Riley said.

“How many martinis did he have?” Emerson asked.

“Too many,” Riley said.

“I can get the information I need verified by Vernon,” Emerson said. “He's babysitting the house.”

Vernon was in the kitchen when he answered his phone. “Em,” he said. “It's like you read my mind. I got the zebra pen repaired and rounded up all the zebras, but one of them wandered into the house and I can't get him out. He's looking at me like I'm an idiot. I swear he's giving me the evil eye. I offered him a carrot and some alfalfa and a can of cat food, but he's not having any of it.”

“That's Willie. He's harmless. He just talks a good game.”

“You named him Willie?”

“Yes, after Willie Sutton. He was a convict. The zebra has stripes. It makes sense.”

“If you say so, cuz.”

“Give him a salt lick and he'll be happy.”

“I don't know where you keep the salt licks,” Vernon said. “He's gonna have to be happy with potato chips. I got a big bag of those.”

“Whatever,” Emerson said. “I need you to do something for me first.”

“I'm on it. What do you need?”

“Go into the library and find the plaster statue of Saint Nicholas.”

“Okay, but Willie's gonna follow me. He's been following me all over the house.”

“Yeah, he'll do that. He doesn't know he's a zebra. Call me back on the plane number when you get the statue.”

Vernon called back ten minutes later. “I got it,” he said. “Now what?”

“Break it open.”

“Whoa. Isn't that sacrilegious? I mean, busting a statue of Saint Nick? Wouldn't that put me on the naughty list?”

“The naughty list is a myth, Vernon.”

“So you say. I'm not taking any chances.”

“Vernon, break the statue. I'll suffer the consequences.”

“Does it work that way? How will Santa know?”

“I'll write him a letter.”

Emerson and Riley listened on the other end of the line as Vernon hit Saint Nick with a meat mallet.

“Is there anything inside it?” Emerson asked.

“Yeah, a little bag. With coins in it.”

“Gold coins?”

“Uh-huh, with pictures of some guy that looks like Magneto from
X-Men
on it.”