Pitfall (24 page)

“No problem. I’ll give you a ring.”

She stopped at the door, looked back over her shoulder, and grinned.

As it closed behind her, Seth shot me a bemused look, shaking his head in wonder. His face was gray and drawn, but his tired eyes twinkled in barely concealed merriment at my apparent turn of good fortune, speaking volumes without uttering a word.

“Step closer to the light,” I told him. He obliged me. Squinting, I took a good look at my best friend. “You said I look rough, but you’re no prize yourself.”

“Says you,” he gruffed. “I’m the prettiest man in this room.”

“Sure you are. Why don’t you go on home to Kenny and Janine and get some sleep? When’s the last time you ate? How long have you been here, anyway?”

He just rocked his head, and I knew it was useless. The two of us have traveled a very long road together, over thirty years, and my concern was real. But I knew he wouldn’t leave me until I was in much better shape, just as when the roles had been reversed, I hadn’t left him either.

“Negative, Cap.” Emphatically he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m staying here. Like Sergeant Gaddick used to say, in for a penny, soldier, in for a pound.”

His mentioning Gaddick rattled my brain because suddenly the memory of Sarah Cahill came roaring to the forefront. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Who do you think? Sarah.”

I hadn’t remembered that I’d already asked him, and had been answered. The last time I’d seen the girl she’d gone into shock and was unconscious.

“
How
is she?” I demanded.

“Fine,” he answered, and he smiled. “Relax. She’s here. Down the hall.”

“Down the—” I blinked, stopping abruptly.

“They’re taking good care of her too, so go easy.” I was glad to hear that. “But you’re gonna hate this next part.”

From his tone, I knew I would. “Say it.”

“It has to do with the press.”

“The
press?”

“Sad to say, but yeah.”

I felt the Tabasco sauce coming up my legs. “You’re not kidding, are you?” It wasn’t a question.

“Not hardly. They arrived not long after you and Sarah were airlifted out. The good news is the hospital’s been keeping them at bay while you and Sarah recuperate.”

“They just couldn’t wait to exploit all of it, I’ll bet.”

“Yep. Factor in GeneSys and its evil crap, Cross and his henchmen, the kidnapped victims, the Cahills and Sarah, and your face and dossier, and the whole thing has been splattered all over the media. Local, national, and worldwide.”

“Oh man …”

“Turns out you exposed an international cartel. Seems Cross and his partners across the globe had snared all kinds of people. Runaways, homeless, mentally impaired, you name it.”

Hardesty chimed in. “It’s been a three-ring circus ever since the TV news choppers showed up there that day. CNN, Fox, and the rest, they all arrived in force on the grounds.” He pulled a face. “All of them disgorging their pretty, plastic reporters.”

I snapped out the words. “Who tipped them off?”

“Don’t know. So far we’ve kept them out of this hospital but fair warning, you’re gonna get pounced on the minute you get out of here.”

Seth spoke up before I could respond. “Not an issue, Sheriff. I’ll sneak him out so he won’t have to contend with them. He hates all that.”

“Like poison,” I agreed.

Seth continued addressing Hardesty. “John doesn’t know it yet, but he’s coming home with me and my wife for the duration. Whether he likes it or not. He’s too ornery to leave by himself in his condition.” Addressing me, his tone grew sharp. “Not a word from you, hoss. No use arguing, ‘cause I’m bigger than you.”

“Not by much,” I fired back.

Seth ignored that. “I’ve already made arrangements for Smedley, returned your rental car, and your Mustang is parked in the hangar. Marsh has had all of the calls to the hanger and your office forwarded to him, and Ted’s taken over the football team for a while. Kenny’s going to visit my folks; they’ve been wanting to spend more time with him anyway. So it’s all taken care of.” He held up a hand. “You got nothing to say about any of it.”

I pushed up with my right elbow and instantly regretted it. “That’s what you think.”

But I was interrupted as the door opened, and a pleasant-looking younger nurse came in. Her pretty face was a welcome relief from the Battleaxe.

He walked over and bent low while she whispered something to him. Straightening, he smiled. “Right in the nick of time, too.” Turning to me he scowled and held up a warning finger, clearly fed up with me and my antics. “No more farting around, John. I mean it. Be right back.” He addressed the other man. “Sheriff? Keep an eye on him?” Hardesty nodded and gave me a look of warning.

Who elected him king? I must have missed the election. I had to admit, though, all of this was wearing. I was mentally, emotionally, and physically wiped out. I’d been trained to ignore pain, but with the shape I was in, I had no choice; stupid, I’m not. So I, against my better wishes, resigned myself to turn my battered, broken body over to the doctors’ care.

The pain meds the nurse had given me were kicking in fast. It seemed I’d just closed my eyes when I heard footsteps. A whole flock of them, by the sound of it. Now what? Turning my head with effort, I was glad I did.

Somebody had propped the door open. Standing there were Jacob and Ruth Cahill, along with their son Billy, and all of them were beaming at me.

“I told you I had faith in you. That you were the man.” Jacob’s voice sounded husky. His wife nodded, tears filling her eyes. Just behind them stood Seth and a doctor. They all stepped aside.

And there was Sarah, sitting in a wheelchair.

What had happened to her? What was going on? I dreaded the worst. A young nurse pushed the chair over to the bedside.

“Why the chair?” I asked the nurse, alarmed. “What’s the matter with her?”

“Don’t worry, Mr.  Brenner,” the doctor spoke up. “It’s just hospital policy. She’s going to be fine.”

She was? Leaning back I expelled out a long sigh of relief. It was as if a great and terrible pressure had been lifted from me. Mission accomplished.
Now
I could relax.

“She came out of her mental fugue state just over two days ago,” Cahill was saying. “But she refused to calm down until she saw you with her own eyes. She wouldn’t believe us when we told her you were right here, alive and safe. She kept insisting you’d been pushed down a big, black hole, and you were dead. We know now she meant the Pit.”

She gazed intently at me. “Are you okay, Mr.  Brenner?” She sounded hesitant, her voice small. “Really?”

I nodded.

She sat quietly for a moment and then, tentatively, she reached over and very gently cradled my wrecked hand in both of hers. Her eyes filled. “You saved me.”

My throat thickened. “I think we both were.”

“Yes, I think we were …” She shook her head slightly. “I’m so sorry … please, what’s your first name again?”

I swallowed. “John.”

“Thank you, John.” Tears spilled down her face then, her voice breaking at last. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

Chapter Thirty

T
he mid-November Indian summer day was gorgeous, but it was probably the last mild weather we’d see before spring. The sky overhead was a ridiculously deep blue, graced with high, wispy white clouds that looked for all the world like pulled-apart cotton candy.

Outside the airplane hanger housing our skydiving school, the huge concrete apron and surrounding fields were filled with people gathered for our annual end of Pop Warner football season picnic. Against my protests, the kids on the team had insisted on postponing the festivities until I was strong enough to attend. 

The happy crowd seemed relaxed as everyone laughed, played, or talked. They included the team, along with their parents and siblings, my friend Marsh Plumb, Shelly Thornhill and her little boy Ronnie, Seth Delacroix and his wife Janine, their son Kenny, and lastly Ted Miller, the other assistant coach, and his family.

Off to the left I noticed Ted had organized a pickup football game, dads against lads. The lads seemed to be winning, but the dads also seemed to be throwing it. Ted, ever-present Pall Mall cigarette dangling from his mouth, looked content to referee the thing; with his incessant smoking I knew he didn’t have the wind to actually get in there and hustle.

At the large manmade lake across the way, the late afternoon sun glinted in flashes of brilliance off its lazy chop. Several families were enjoying some late-season boating and fishing, and I sincerely hoped we’d laid in enough food and drinks for this massive crew. In short, it was as fine a bucolic day as Andrew Weyeth could have painted.

So why was I so unaccountably melancholy?

I knew one big part of it: Shelly and her boy Ronnie were leaving tomorrow, going into the witness protection program. The local GeneSys operation had been shut down, but like a hydra, it had many heads. Facilities in other cities located around the world had their own directors, and with Eli Cross’s trial due to begin soon, the U.S. Attorney General felt it best his star witness and her son be placed into protective custody as soon as possible.

The only ones not looking like they were having any fun today were the two large, unsmiling U.S. marshals guarding them. They’d offered the same protection to me as well, but I just gave them a flat look. In my opinion Shelly and her son should have been placed in PC earlier, but that wasn’t my call. I was just glad they were going to be safe.

Still, though, I was going to miss her.

For the past few days another indefinable black thought not related to Shelly or Ronnie had been tugging at the far reaches of my mind; I’d yet to figure out what it was trying to say. In spite of the liveliness of the party I couldn’t shake the growing feeling that something major in my life had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

I had no idea where this dread was coming from. I knew part of it was my resentment toward the media circus the GeneSys story had degenerated into. No, check that, media circus makes it sound fun. An unqualified goat-rope is what it was. Even while Sarah Cahill and I were laid up in the hospital, the news vultures began swooping in. As Seth had alluded, they considered me a “hero” for uncovering Eli Cross’s horrific operation, and it seemed a lot of people wanted a piece of me.

And from there it got worse. Once I was settled in at Seth and Janine’s place, the news people had gone into a feeding frenzy. At the end I’d given up and played along. For a while anyway. I figured only then could I start getting my life back; I wondered how long it would be until any of us really would.

Stringers working for the tabloids had started following me, right up until today. As a matter of fact, just an hour earlier Seth had run off one guy brandishing a camera and a release form. I hoped they were leaving the others in peace.

And let’s not forget the anonymous death threats I’d been receiving. I figured they were mainly coming from relatives of the people who now wouldn’t be getting the organs they’d paid Cross for. With the FBI shutting down GeneSys here, and Scotland Yard and Interpol, overseas, these people believed I’d effectively sealed their relatives’ death warrants. I don’t know, maybe I had. As I said, there was no way on Earth this thing could have ended cleanly; here was proof. I’d told Seth and Walt about the threats but no one else.

The only interview I’d granted was with
Time
magazine. I told them of the book and movie offers I’d gotten, pleas for TV interviews, offers of marriage, all of it laid at my feet, and all of it discarded. While we spoke, some stuff about Cross’s operation came to light.

The reporter—Bill Trexler, who seemed a decent enough guy, given his profession—revealed that some jerk with a camera cell phone had been there that morning when Seth had carried Sarah and me out of the dome. The guy had then sold the footage to some sleazy internet sites, and the stills to various supermarket rags. Big mistake on his part. If I ever find out who he is, that gentleman and I will have a lively discussion about the right to privacy.

But there was some good news as well. When the story broke, a nationwide outpouring of sympathy erupted for Cross’s victims, both the living and the dead. And those victims had been greatly varied. Along with the healthy, young men and women he’d snared, as Shelly had said, he’d held some who were physically and mentally challenged as well. These included two twenty-something men in wheelchairs, and a younger woman with Down syndrome. Like Cross had told me, he’d planned to harvest what he could from them, and trash the rest.

At the end there were tearful, photogenic reunions with the victims and their families. Some of the homeless involved had even been offered jobs, cars, and places to live. So what on Earth could be wrong? Boneless was dead, Eli was in jail, and everything was fine.

Wasn’t it?

“Yo, John, you want a hot dog?” I heard Seth call from near the hangar.

I turned and saw him holding one high in his hand in a bun. “No, I’m good.”

“Okay.”

Standing at the edge of the field, I soaked up the sun as I mused. Over my clear plastic cup of beer I eyed Sarah Cahill helping organize games with some of the younger children. It had been nearly eight weeks since the nightmare had ended, and she looked better than I would have dared hope. Better than I looked, at any rate. Her parents informed me physically Sarah was healing well; mentally might be another matter.

Jacob said his daughter was seeing a psychiatrist three times a week, and only now was able to talk a little bit about what she’d experienced: it turned out the blonde girl we’d found gutted on the operating room table had been Sarah’s only friend there. I knew what she was going through; I’m very well acquainted with that level of pain, up close and personal. There are some things that stay with you until your heart beats its last. 

Sarah had put up a good front throughout the afternoon, but I couldn’t help notice sometimes she’d grow still, and gaze vacantly off into the distance. Periodically I’d caught myself doing the same thing, staring into the past, vividly remembering GeneSys and its horrors. The yawning Pit gaped large in my mind, as though it had been the maw of hell itself. I’d been told the CSI unit said they’d never be able to give anyone an accurate count of all the victims that had perished there; the harsh enzymes had done their job well.

The pictures of death, degradation, and inhuman suffering, all for Cross’s avarice and pleasure, weren’t memories I cared to dwell on. What I did choose to dwell on was the miraculous—not too strong a word, not anymore—way the girl and I had managed to get out of there alive, not to mention the other thirty-five men, women, and children who had been held there in captivity.

Lost in my reverie, I recalled Seth telling me he’d only known where we were that night by following my blood trail. I knew those images were indelibly printed on my mind—and Sarah’s—never to leave. The best we could do was try to handle the fallout.

My jaw clenched tight. Regardless of the fact Eli Cross was now securely in federal custody, I sincerely hoped his eventual punishment would be long, dark, brutal, and painful. No, truth be told, I wished he was dead. And as the late, unlamented Albert Trask had put it, a job like that I’d do for free. Gladly.

My thoughts were broken by Seth’s approach, and I wrenched my mind back to the present. Although the temperature was only in the high 60s, his face glistened with sweat. Due to my maddeningly slow recuperation he and Marsh hadn’t allowed me to spell either one of them with the grilling chores today. And they say
I’m
stubborn.

My friend squinted into the sun as he mopped his brow with a plain, white-paper towel. Stopping beside me, he watched the kids playing all around. “I’ve lost track of how many burgers and weenies we’ve cooked in the last three hours. We’re just about out. This crowd’s wolfing them down like they’re free.”

“They are free.” I looked skyward a moment, contemplating a further response as the wind swirled the dry leaves around our feet. “Happy times make for good appetites,” I stated simply, taking another sip of my nearly drained cup. “I read that once on the slip of paper in a fortune cookie.”

Crumpling the damp paper towel, Seth turned, and using a hook shot, he threw it into a big, black garbage can close by. Cupping his hands around his mouth he yelled over to Kenny, “Not so rough with Ronnie, son. He’s only four. That’s two years younger than you.”

The boy hollered back that he’d be careful. Shifting his gaze to me, for the first time Seth regarded what I was holding.

“Just what are you doing?” His face had clouded into a scowl. “You know you’re not supposed to drink while you’re recuperating. Remember what the medics always told us? You shouldn’t mix alcohol with painkillers, especially like the ones you’re on.”

“That’d be a concern, all right.” I took a longer, noisier sip. “If I were taking them.”

He took two steps around and faced me squarely. “Say again?”

“I haven’t taken them for the past two weeks, not since I’ve been back at my place.”

“Is that so?” His gaze was as flat as his voice. “And why not?”

His query annoyed me, and I tried unsuccessfully to hold back my temper. “Odd, you don’t look like my mother.”

“Clever. Answer me.”

“Because the things make me feel like a zombie from the planet Mongo.” My cadence held a hard edge of strain. “They don’t help at all. They just barely mask the pain, and you know it.”

“Better than nothing.”

“Not in my book.”

“Have you been keeping up your physical therapy through the VA?”

“No, I know what to do.”

He snorted, “Sure you do, but are you doing it? And when are you gonna start shaving again? You look like some kind of a crazy castaway.”

My eyes burned a warning into Seth’s. “After my face finishes healing up I’ll show you a shave that’d make a DI proud. Until then
,
shove off.” I ran my free hand through my thick, wavy hair in agitation. “Look, I can only take so much mothering from you and Janine and Marsh. I’m glad you guys care, and I appreciate all of your help. But like I keep telling you, I’m big a boy. So
disengage.”

That had come out much sharper than I’d intended. The relentless pain and fatigue were dragging me down. I hadn’t meant to be so shitty to my old friend; he was only trying to help. And I knew that without people like him I was basically alone in this world. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, and started to tell him so.

But Seth spoke before I could as undaunted, he didn’t retreat from my verbal attack an inch. “Testy, are we? So that’s why you look like that. That also explains the dark circles under your eyes, and your sunken face.” His tone softened. “You shouldn’t brood about this, John. You did your best.”

“Says you.”

“Yeah, says me. There’s no percentage in it. Have you been getting any sleep at all?”

“Some.”

“Only from sheer exhaustion, I’ll bet. I knew I should have made you stay with us longer.” His critical gaze dropped to my waist. “I wouldn’t be surprised you’ve lost well over twenty pounds these past few months. Am I right?”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe to it. You’re getting way too thin.” A look of certainty filled his face. “Look, we both know the drill. We’ve both been wounded. I know what you’re going through. You want to get your strength back? You know what to do. Your body needs rest and fuel.”

“Yeah, yeah …”

“Don’t yeah yeah me. You’d better consider the consequences of blowing this off. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You haven’t eaten a thing this afternoon, have you?”

“No. I really don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t explain it, but …” I shook my head.

“What?”

I regarded him with a flat gaze. “Something’s wrong. Very wrong.”

“Wrong? With what? Look around.” He gestured in a sweeping arc in the direction of the families at play. “It’s a perfect day. You couldn’t ask for better.”

Again I rocked my head. “I can’t shake it, Seth. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch.”

He rubbed his chin and appeared to consider that for a moment. Then his face softened by degrees. “So call it therapeutic, and eat anyway. Why don’t I get you a burger?”

When I didn’t reply, he clapped a hand on my right shoulder, his voice too bright. “Come on, man, they’re good. I should know, I cooked ‘em.”

A few seconds of silence ticked by. At my somber expression he finally gave a short sigh and shrugged. “Oh well. Question asked and answered, right?”

“You got it.”

“John, you give me a pain my muscular ass. I should know better than to argue with you. It’s a lost cause. You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. You’d think I’d have learned that by now. However,
I’ve
been eating like an escaped prisoner.” He motioned to the cup I was holding. “I could sure use one of those bad boys to wash it all down.”

“They’re in the hangar. You go on, take a break by the lake and cool off. I’ll bring you one.” I slapped him lightly on the back, purposing to make amends for my short temper.

“Make it two.”

As he walked away, I made my way inside the building, where a small aluminum pony keg cooled in a galvanized tub full of ice on the floor. Throwing my empty cup in the garbage can, I stooped down and grabbed one of the plastic cups off the stack on top of the keg. I placed it under the tap and pulled the handle. The thing chuckled once, and a thin trickle of beer leaked out, coming too slowly to suit me. It was only then I noticed the keg was bobbing gently in the slushy water. That’s why it was gurgling; it was just about empty.

Sitting on the floor next to the tub was a full keg, cool enough for the time being but just begging to be chilled down even further. The problem was I knew it went a hundred pounds, easy, and in my condition it would be a challenge to swap with its nearly drained brother. But unless we all wanted to drink warm beer later, it had to be done.