Safe and Sound (22 page)

“We were running an exercise five, six years ago,” Powell answered. “The Agency lent it to us.”

“And how long do you think it’ll be,” Keller said, “before somebody at the Army or the FBI puts two and two together once they realize that you’re in these mountains?”

Powell sighed. “Not long,” he admitted. “We may have to move again.”

Riggio had entered the room from outside. “So where would we go?” he said.

Powell just looked at him. Comprehension dawned on Riggio’s face. “Oh, no,” he said. “Oh, hell, no!”

“You got any better ideas?” Powell demanded. “The place is a goddamn fortress. And no one would ever think of looking there. Hell, there probably aren’t twenty people other than us who know the place even exists.”

“If it still does,” Riggio said glumly. He chewed at a fingernail. “Okay,” he said. “We can check it out.”

“What are you talking about?” Keller demanded.

“There’s this guy…,” Powell began. “His name’s Harland. He’s got this camp up in the mountains, right on the edge of the national park. We sort of stumbled on him while we were out in the bush.”

“What kind of camp?” Keller asked.

“A goddamn nut house is what it is,” Riggio muttered.

“Harland was in Nam,” Powell went on. “He was a Green Beret. He spent a lot of time raising hell up in the Highlands with the Montagnards. But it made him a little squirrelly. Or maybe it was coming back made him that way, I don’t know. He started talking about the end of the world, the collapse of civilization, all sorts of shit like that. He’d racked up a lot of good operations in Nam, so they kept reassigning him, trying to keep him out of trouble. But he wouldn’t shut up.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Riggio said.

“Mike?” Powell said. “We get it, okay?” Riggio looked sullen, but quieted down. “Anyway,” Powell said, “Harland got bounced out on a psycho discharge. So he came home.”

Marie spoke up. “What happened to him?”

Riggio laughed. “He wrote a book. And the damn thing became a bestseller.”

“Wait a minute,” Keller said. “Are we talking about Nathaniel Harland?”

“Yep,” Riggio said.

“I remember him,” Marie said. “He was on a whole bunch of talk shows a few years ago. I remember he was really intense and spooky-looking.”

“That’s our boy,” Riggio said sourly.

“What was the name of that book?” Marie wondered.

“After the Storm,” Riggio and Powell said in unison.

“You read it?” Marie asked.

Riggio grimaced. “No. He read it to us.”

“I thought he was dead,” Keller said.

Powell shook his head. “Nope. He took the money and ran. Set up this camp way the hell back in the mountains. A whole bunch of other folks went with him. They were going to ride out ‘the firestorm’ they said was coming. Things really peaked right before Y2K. Must have been about a hundred people up there by then. After a while, though, civilization didn’t collapse, and people got pretty tired of crapping outdoors. Folks started drifting away. But Harland’s still up there.” He glanced at Riggio. “And he’s got food, and guns, and a position you’d need a battalion to take, and only then if you really didn’t want to use the battalion for anything much afterward.”

Riggio ran his hand through his hair. “I know, bro, I know. But, damn, I’m not looking forward to listening to that son of a bitch rattle on about the end of the world.” He looked up. “And you know what? I’m tired of running. We never should have gotten ourselves in this mess in the first place.”

“Roger that,” Powell said sadly. “And now Dave’s dead because of it. And a whole lot of other people.”

“We should just turn ourselves in and take what’s coming to us, bro,” Riggio said.

“You may not get that far,” Keller said. “DeGroot’s still out there.”

“He’s not thinking about us,” Riggio said, “He’s running to save his own skin now.”

Keller shook his head. “No,” he said. “He’s still after you. This guy isn’t going to give up. He wants that money, and he wants us dead. And this guy isn’t going to give up until he gets what he wants.”

“How do you know that?” Powell demanded.

“Because, in some ways,” Keller said, “he’s a lot like me.”

“Jack,” Marie said, “You know that’s not true.”

Keller looked at her. “I wish you were right, Marie,” he said. “God knows, I really do. But I’ve looked him in the eye. And I’ve seen that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror.”

“Except,” Marie said softly, “you’re not a cold-blooded killer.”

“Yet,” Keller said. “And I’ve got you to thank for that.”

He shook his head. “But trust me on this. This guy’s coming. He’ll figure a way. And that’s why I have to go after him.”

“What!” Marie said.

“I’m not much good at waiting for people to come kill me, Marie,” Keller said. “And remember how this guy works. He’s willing to use the people you care about against you. And some of the people we both care about are out there. Angela. Oscar. Your dad.”

“But we warned them,” Marie said. “They’ll be on the lookout. And the police, the FBI—”

“Couldn’t protect us,” Keller finished for her. “How are they going to cover everyone we know? Hell, they may be using them as bait just like they did us.”

“They don’t know anything,” Marie said. “DeGroot has to know that.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But then he’ll just start killing them until we give up and come out.”

“How do you think you’re going to find him?” Riggio demanded.

Keller gave him a mirthless smile. “Finding people is what I do,” Keller said. “And if I can’t find him nearby, I know where he’ll be going. While I’m out,” he told Powell and Riggio, “I’ll call the CID guy who was looking for you. The guy who was at the overlook. I’ll tell him you want to come in. See what he says. Maybe he can run interference with the FBI for you. I don’t know.” He walked over and gently swung the door of the bedroom open. Ben was on the lower bunk, fast asleep. “Get him up,” Keller told Marie. “This place may be blown. We need to head for this Harland guy. I’ll go with you to make sure you get settled. Then I’ll go after DeGroot.”

“And when you find him,” Marie demanded, “what are you going to do? Bring him in?”

Keller thought back to Ben’s words. Get the guy that shot my dad. He thought of Scott McCaskill’s last words to him. “I doubt he’ll give me that chance,” he replied.

“But if he does…” He shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Bernie Caldwell slid a burger off the grill with his spatula and onto a bun. He looked over at the picnic table. His twin girls were already chomping away eagerly.

Normally he would have scolded them for not waiting for the grown-ups, but he was in too good a mood. It looked like the financial worries he’d been nursing the past few months—the twins’ braces, his wife’s back surgery—were about to come to an end. The fact that the job was being put together by DeGroot meant that it was probably illegal, which didn’t bother Caldwell at all. Since Desert Storm, he’d worked on either side of the law so many times that the line had blurred for him until it vanished. The only thing that mattered was taking care of his family.

“Honey,” his wife Gretchen called from the kitchen door. “Phone.” She was a plump, cheerful woman in a flowered sundress.

“Coming, Liebchen,” he said teasingly. They’d met while he was stationed in Germany, but he used her native tongue around the house more than she did. She swatted at him playfully as he pushed past her into the kitchen.

“Get those last couple of burgers off the grill, okay?” he said as he picked up the phone. She nodded and headed outside. “Yeah,” Caldwell said into the receiver

“Sorry to interrupt your braai,” DeGroot said, using the Afrikaans for “barbecue.”

“No worries,” Caldwell said. “Your message came at a good time.”

“Glad to hear it,” DeGroot said. “We need to move fast, though. Can you kit us out?”

“Depends on what you need,” Caldwell said. “But most likely, yeah. Who else is in?”

“Mark Holley,” DeGroot said. “And Danny Boy.”

“Markey? You sure? He’s been a little wobbly lately.”

“Give him his toys to play with, and he’ll unwobble,” DeGroot said confidently, “and you’re the toy man.”

“Okay,” Caldwell said. “Who else?”

A slight pause. “I’m going to try and get Mr. Phillips.”

Caldwell whistled. “He won’t work cheap,” he said. “Besides, I thought he was back in England.”

“I have different intel. And I need a good long-gunner.”

“Well, Phillips is your guy, then. I won’t need to get him anything. He always brings his own gear.”

“Right, then,” DeGroot said. He gave him the time and the meeting place. “This will be the last time we speak on the phone,” DeGroot said. “Don’t try to contact any of the others.”

“Wait a minute,” Caldwell said. “What’s going on?”

“Things are going to get hot soon,” DeGroot said.

“Does that bother you?”

“Depends on how hot,” Caldwell replied.

“Not so hot the payoff doesn’t justify it,” DeGroot said. “We’ll talk more. Later. Just be there with the gear.”

“Wait a minute,” Caldwell said. But the line was dead.

He looked at the receiver in frustration. He wanted to know more. He considered hitting star-69 to try and ring back, but he figured it would probably be fruitless. He had a vague sense of unease. He looked out through the open kitchen door into the yard. His wife was eating with the twins, but she stood by the table to eat, where they were sitting down. For time to time, when she thought the girls weren’t looking, he saw her grimace in pain and put her hand to the small of her back. When the twins’ attention was on her again, she was smiling.

Caldwell sighed. He couldn’t afford to be picky. He went out and joined his family.

After dinner, as Gretchen was doing the dishes, he went out to the large storage shed that dominated the side yard. It was kept padlocked at all times, with Gretchen and the twins under strict instructions to never, ever go inside. Gretchen had been raised to believe a good wife never questioned her husband, so she complied without another word. He had caught the twins nosing around one time when they were six. It was the only time he had ever used his belt to spank them, and the experience so far had kept them terrified enough never to try it again.

Caldwell unlocked the shed and stepped inside. He carefully latched the door behind him before switching on the light.

The inside of the shed was an armory. Various rifles and shotguns hung on racks on the walls. Several automatic weapons were locked in cabinets with clear fronts.

Caldwell was a federally licensed gun dealer, and he had permits for most of the weapons on display. Certain other more exotic items, however…Caldwell
plucked a crowbar from a hook on the wall. He walked over to spot on the floor of the shed. There was a straight crack across the concrete floor of the shed. Caldwell shoved the sharp end of the bar into the crack and grunted as he lifted. He tried his best to spare his back; if he ended up like Gretchen, it would do none of them any good. He pried up the concrete slab, revealing a hole beneath. He put the crowbar down and slid into the hole. The area beneath the shed floor was cramped and smelled of Cosmoline. Caldwell worked quickly, selecting the items he needed and setting them carefully at the edge of the hole. When he had made his selections, he climbed out. With considerable effort, he fitted the slab back in place. He took the things he had chosen and set them by the door of the shed. He glanced at his watch. After the kids were in bed, he’d back his truck up quietly to the shed and load up. He’d have to leave early if he wanted to make the meeting, probably before the kids got up, but there’d still be time to say good-bye to

Gretchen. Suddenly, he wanted very much to hold her in his arms.

I have a very bad feeling about this job, he thought.

***

“How do we get there?” Keller said. They were standing in front of the cabin, by Keller’s car.

“There’s an old logging road that starts out back of the cabin,” Powell said. “We take it to the end, about six miles. Then we get out and walk,” Powell said.

Marie glanced at Ben. He was oblivious to their conversation. He was holding some kind of conversation of his own with the stuffed frog he’d been carrying since
they left the overlook. He had latched on to the toy as if it was a lifeline to a normal existence. Maybe it was. “How far do we walk?” she asked.

“Until Harland finds out we’re there,” Riggio said grimly.

“What happens then?” Keller said.

“Hope he doesn’t shoot us,” Powell replied.

“Whoa,” Keller said, “You never said—”

“Relax,” Powell said. “I’m kidding. I think.” He glanced at the car. “I’m more worried this thing’s going to bust an axle on the way. This road hasn’t been maintained in a while. Harland only comes out of the woods about once or twice a year for supplies.”

Keller opened the door. “Let’s get moving.”

The logging road was an old dirt trail, slowly being re-claimed by the forest. The car pushed over thick clumps of weeds like a tank. They weren’t able to make more than a few miles an hour over the rough track. Keller steered as carefully as possible, but every now and then a hidden or unavoidable rut would rattle their teeth. The woods loomed around them on either side. The road began to slope sharply upward. The trees on their left side gave way to a weathered rock face. The trees on the right abruptly thinned, then the shoulder sloped away, revealing a broad vista. Unlike the others they’d seen, this view was not one of green and rolling forests. The forest down the slope was still standing, but the leaves were gone. There was some scrubby undergrowth beneath, but the taller trees stood bare and brown, stripped of all vegetation despite the fact that it was late summer.