Mystery: Satan's Road - Suspense Thriller Mystery (Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Suspense Crime Thriller) (20 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
 

I picked up the rifle off the floor, while O’Brien and the young soldier tussled. I noticed the broken slide, which meant the gun was useless. But the militiaman wouldn’t know that.

O’Brien wasn’t a cop, and he didn’t think like a cop. I could see the handle of a hunting knife poking out of the soldier’s boot.
Always disarm your opponent first
. All it would take was a second or two of inattention, and the professor would be bleeding out on the floor.

I poked the rifle barrel into the soldier’s forehead. He stopped wriggling.

“Professor,” I said. “Do you want to get up? And while you’re at it, help yourself to that nasty looking knife he has in his boot?” Kam got up, his hair plastered in sweat against his forehead, and clumsily retrieved the weapon.

“This is the mercenary I told you about. He knows where my wife is,” said O’Brien. The look on his face told me he was tempted to use the knife himself.

“Well?” I said to the soldier. “Where is she?”

The young man looked like he was weighing his options. Probably wondering if he had any bargaining chips left to use.

“Your savior, Gideon, ran like a scared rabbit. Where did he head to?” I asked.

“He didn’t run.”

“I think you’re right, son. He had a plan B of some kind, didn’t he? That didn’t include you though. So he gets to go free, and you spend the rest of your days in a prison cell. Seems fair.”

The soldier said nothing.

“A little co-operation would go a long way. You tell us where this man’s wife is, and I’ll put in a good word.”

“Can I stand up?” he asked. I nodded. He stood up, looking a bit groggy. He turned to O’Brien. “Your wife is in the women’s residence – across the common area – where the sleeping quarters are behind the kitchens.”

O’Brien took off without a word. That left the two of us until the front door opened, and several soldiers entered with their wives. There was a lot of yelling and bargaining still going on – men who weren’t happy with the failed mission and wondering where their leader had disappeared to – and women who wanted to leave. I could smell fear and desperation.

In the confusion, the young soldier bolted. I charged after him, throwing down the rifle.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Tommy leapt from the broad deck behind the central farmhouse, aware of the labored breathing of the big cop behind him. It made him smile. All he needed to do was start the generator. When the bunker bomb went off, a thousand seasoned fighters would be mobilized. When they heard that the government had bombed and killed their loved ones, they would be a force to be reckoned with. They would fight like demons, like an army ten times its actual size.

The key to the church's success was the detonation of the cave weapon. For that, they needed power. For only for a minute or two – minutes that would change the world.

Tommy's target was a small shack, no bigger than an outhouse, built from rough pine, half sheltered by tall grass and the trees at the perimeter of the yard.

When Gideon first built Parkhurst, he had insisted on a power backup, so before they had constructed the industrial generators, he had mounted a small gas generator in the tool shed. It was linked to the main house's power system.

The generator was rarely used, but part of the regime at Parkhurst was a routine inspection and test running. It may only be able to run a few lights for a few hours, but all Gideon needed was enough juice to ignite the blasting caps buried in the fertilizer tanks under the main residence. The explosion, which would take out the entire family living area, would be a rallying call to his chosen soldiers.

Tommy pumped his legs harder now, the pain in his head and back subsiding. He was getting closer, and time seemed to slow down for him. He remembered once in Iraq, touring a dusty little town called Zumar. He was running in full gear, his gun jammed, two insurgents who were familiar with the broken back streets close behind him and gaining. Yet he felt nothing then. He was simply waiting for the bullet to tear into him, for oblivion to embrace him.

Today though was different. Today he was going to make a difference.

:

Hyde's legs were burning, and his chest felt like it was about to explode. He was running on pure adrenaline and propelled by pure hate for this zealot bigot, who was several yards away and building distance on him. He was beginning to doubt if pure rage was enough. He couldn't tell if he had any backup, afraid to take his eyes off the prey. The guy was slippery as hell; he might just dart into some hidden rabbit hole and never be seen again.

Hyde was mad at himself too. He had his hands on the guy, the one that Kam called Tommy, and then lost him again. Now the soldier appeared to be racing towards some old tool shed by the edge of the yard. Was it a secret entrance to an escape tunnel? McNulty had warned him of the tunnels and the fact that hidden all over the property were a number of escape vehicles and private planes.

Hyde's rubbery legs were moving as fast as they could. He just hoped he could make it to the shed before collapsing from a heart attack.

:

Tommy was close enough now to make out the handle on the shed. He knew it was probably unlocked. Gideon never allowed locks at Parkhurst. If he couldn't trust his people, he said he didn't want them there. But he remembered the shack did have an old-fashioned hook lock on the inside. That should keep the cop out long enough for him to start the generator. If he could just get in the door and lock it before the lumbering cop ruined his plans.

Within seconds of the generator starting, the main compound would be a crater the size of a soccer field. Tommy reached the handle, pulled the door aside and dove inside.

:

Hyde watched as McDane entered the tiny tool shed and slammed the pine door behind him. As he closed the distance to the shed, he couldn't help but worry. The building had no windows and looked ancient and on the verge of collapse. Something told him that this was not an entrance to some hidden network of tunnels – it just didn't look big enough. What the hell was McDane up to? Had he snapped? Then he heard a sound that raised the small hairs on his arms and back.

:

The tool shed was crowded with rakes, trimmers and sharp-nosed shovels hanging on the raw wooden walls. In the far corner, his eyes just starting to adjust to the dark, Tommy could make out the shape of the bulky portable generator, looking dusty and unused. He found the recoil cord and yanked it hard, hoping the engine would roar into life on the first crank. The engine coughed briefly but failed to start. Tommy swore and tried again. What kind of maintenance had they done on this machine? Then he remembered the priming bulb. Squeezing this rubber bulb forced gas into the engine, which was dry with a lack of use. He needed to get gas into the cylinder before going through the starting cycle again. Then he heard something hard strike the side of the building and Tommy was thrown hard against the rack of tools.

:

Instead of wasting valuable energy to slow myself down, Hyde just let his momentum carry him across the last few yards to the tool shed. Then he lowered his shoulder and struck the building's door with all of his weight. Not only did the door move on its hinges, he could feel the whole building shudder and move.

:

Inside, Tommy picked himself up off the dirty wooden floor and felt for the primer bulb. He braced himself for another attack on the ancient shed door as he pressed the bulb, hearing gas bubble through the lines. Just as he reached for the starter cord, he felt himself thrown through the dusty air of the shed.

:

Hyde had stepped back several yards and then run hard at the building, leveraging all of his rage and frustration, this time hitting it higher on the frame. He had a sense that the building was not attached to the foundation – if there was a foundation at all. He felt the building give, then reached up and pushed on the doorframe, forcing the building over. The shed lifted up on its side and fell over into the low scrub with a crash of falling tools and hardware.

:

Tommy fell hard, not expecting the entire shed to topple over. He collapsed against a jumble of tools and felt a sharp pain in his spine. He had landed on a steel rake, the tines driven into his back. He winced, his eyes filling with tears of pain. As he lifted his arms to pull himself upright, he felt the heavy generator shift and roll onto his chest. He could hear the cop above him, crashing against the door with his fists, the frame beginning to splinter and crack. Tommy reached up for the starter cord. His only thought now was to bring the generator to life. Even a few seconds of power was all that was needed to ignite a mountain of fertilizer and diesel fuel.

As he felt around the generator, confused by its new position, he felt something cold and wet envelope him in the dark. Gas was spilling from the overturned generator. He needed to hurry. He strained forward to reach for the recoil handle.

:

As soon as Hyde smelled gasoline, he sensed the reason for the soldier's mad rush across the yard. He noticed the power cable leading from the base of the shack and snaking into the ground. Now it made sense to him; the sound he had heard before was a small-stoke engine trying to come to life. The bastard – he had a generator in the shed. He grabbed the vinyl-coated cable with his bleeding hands and pulled as hard as he could; aware for the first time how difficult this was going to be with two fingers missing. Then he felt wires beginning to separate somewhere from inside the tool shed.

:

Tommy choked. Gasoline was pouring over his face, and he felt its stinging coldness in his eyes and nose. He tried to breathe, but he only succeeded in sucking in a ragged breath of fuel and air. The generator was obviously losing fuel. He made one last effort to clear his mind, take control of his damaged body and focus all of his will and determination on the one task that really mattered.

He reached up, and his wet fingers closed on the starter cord. He pulled hard and heard the starter whine.

:

Hyde pulled the thick power cable free, felt the wires tear, just as he heard the generator turn over. The engine sounded like it caught briefly, sending a brief surge of voltage into the torn wiring.

:

The sparks that resulted from the starter firing, ignited the heavy froth of gasoline in the shed. Tommy felt a blast of heat against his face. The last thing he sensed was the flame tearing down his throat and into his gas-soaked lungs.

:

Hyde drew back when he heard the distinctive sound of the gas igniting in the confines of the shed. The generator continued to rumble uselessly for another few seconds and then stalled. Flames were already pouring out of the gaps in the old door and around the edges of the floor. He could hear equipment moving around inside, but couldn't be sure if it was the young soldier struggling or just tools falling. But there was nothing he could do – the flames were already too intense.

Hyde stood there, blood pouring from his hand where he had opened the wound again, feeling the heat on his face. McNulty walked up beside him and pointed at the burning pile of old wood.

Hyde nodded, nothing else to say.

“The FBI stopped a convoy of suicide bombers just outside the gates a few minutes ago,” said McNulty. “Looks like they were headed for Washington.” Hyde just shook his head, blood running down his fingers into the long grass.

“How about Gideon?” asked Hyde

McNulty tapped his shoulder mike. “No word yet.”

“This area won’t be safe until we find him,” said Hyde. “Wherever he is, it has something to do with this generator. Men like Gideon always have a backup plan. Let’s go find him.”

McNulty put his hand up. “Hyde, before we do that, the FBI wants to talk to you. They need your help.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Tamara was on her hands and knees, moving carefully in the dark, away from the men with the guns.

They had found Eliza and from what Tamara could tell, the news was not good. They had fired a shot, and then she heard the words
you got her
from one of the men. The voice sounded uncertain and full of surprise, like the man had followed an order but now regretted his actions. And she heard nothing from the younger woman, no movement, no response.

The blast of the single gunshot echoing in the concrete bunker sounded like the end of the world. She had never heard anything so frightening in her entire life. It filled her with dread. She had an instinct to run blindly, so she dug her fingernails into the dirty concrete and pressed as hard as she could. She fought down the urge to gasp out loud and give up her position.

What would these men do? Could they re-activate the power and turn the bomb back on? She had no idea. But she knew they would come after her next. She continued to move away from their lights, back into the darkness of the storage room, pebbles cutting into her palms.

Suddenly, there was a bloom of light from the entrance. Then voices. Then the steel entrance door clanged closed again. Another person had entered the bunker, their flashlight beam arcing across the high ceiling.

“I need you both out of here. Now.” Then a pause. “What happened?"

 It was the voice of someone used to giving orders. Someone from their command centre perhaps. An officer.

One of the hunters answered, guilt in his voice. “She came in here with a friend and chopped the power cables. With an axe.” 

“Is she dead?”

 “'Pears to be. Can’t find a pulse.”

The voice of the commander then sounded puzzled. “But she’s one of us. Why would one of our women do that?  She must be possessed.”

No one answered. Tamara hated the silence. It made the blackness close in around her. She was certain they could hear her heartbeat booming in her chest.

Finally, the third man said “You need to get out of here now!”

“But there’s another one in here, Gideon. I think she’s the ring leader.”

They all said nothing for a minute. They were listening for her.
Gideon
, she thought.
The messianic leader is going to dirty his hands. This must be incredibly important to him.

“Where did this one get the axe?” Gideon asked.

“No idea. We don’t keep those down here.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need power to finish up here."

“To finish what?” said one of the men.

“You ask too many questions. You need to leave.”

“Yes, sir." There was the sound of shuffling feet, like the first two men were getting ready to leave. "Just trying to help out, Gideon. I think they might have killed the guards too. They’ve disappeared. The guards, I mean.”

Gideon laughed. “Regular Charlie’s Angel’s aren’t they? I'm not afraid of a woman. And I don’t have time to chit chat anymore. Get back to the front doors. If you see any more rogue women coming your way with axes or two by fours or even bared fingernails – shoot first, ask later.”

The two men marched away. Tamara heard the metal entrance door open, then close again with a hollow
thunk
. Gideon hadn’t moved. He was standing by the fallen woman, near one of the vats filled with the oily yellow porridge. She listened, wondering if he was re-connecting power. It didn’t seem possible. He was a preacher, after all. Not an electrician. But hadn’t she heard he was a pretty good marksman? Had he come to shoot her at long distance, like a gopher in the dark?

Then she heard something else. A toolbox opening. There was the unmistakable sound of small parts being shuffled about. He must be doing a repair.

Tamara turned then and slowly crept back in his direction, fighting every instinct against it. If her young friend was dead, and though it hurt just to think of that, it hurt even more to think she died in vain. She took a wide arc around Gideon, careful not to make a sound. The plain cotton dress they had given her muffled the movement of her knees on the cement floor.

Stopping electricity was one thing. Stopping a man with a gun was never in her plans. She couldn’t stop thinking of poor Eliza now, her sunburned face pressed into the cold concrete. She felt a tear slip down her cheek.
Don’t whimper
, she thought.
Stay angry and alert. Use your fear against this man. But how
?

As she crept closer, his silhouette became clearer in the orange glow of his flashlight. He was hunched over the vat, working on something. Something that could set off the explosive? She knew it now. Gideon was here to ensure that his plans went forward. She had no expertise in explosives, but guessed it would be some kind of device that would ignite the tank, maybe a flare or a fuse of some kind.

She inched forward, raising herself up. She could smell the nauseating rankle of the nitrates and the diesel oil in the air. Gideon was bent over the rim of the vat, placing something into the slurry, his flashlight balanced on the edge.
It was too late,
she thought.
Too late to make a difference.
But she rushed at him anyway, leaping at his broad shoulders, the force of her charge forcing them both over the sidewall of the vat and into the nitrate slurry.

His flashlight fell to the concrete floor and blinked out.