The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (10 page)

Ah, hell. There are four trucks lined up outside of Silo Twenty-Two.
 

The loading of the Exodus seeds has already started.

Three of the trucks are already loaded with bags of seed.
 

Another is under a cone, being filled.
 

We can hear the hum of the trucks’ engines. Except for the driver loading his truck, the others stand in semicircle around Dr. Wellborne, who seems to be briefing them on something. There is no moon tonight. The only light in the area comes from the trucks’ headlights.
 

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Jack murmurs. “From left to right, Dominic takes Truck One, Abu takes Truck Two, I’ll Take Truck Three, and Donna takes Truck Number Four. Kill the tires first. If possible, take the drivers and Dr. Wellborne alive, for further interrogation.”
 

His instructions come too late, in regard to Truck One, anyway. As the driver hops into it and roars off down the road, Dominic runs after it.
 

His first two shots ping the truck. The next one sends it skidding into the cornfield. Dominic reaches the cab before the driver runs off into the field.

Before the other drivers scatter, Jack, Abu and Arnie draw their guns and round them up.

On the other hand, Thomas takes off behind the silos.

“I’ve got Wellborne!” I shout to Jack.

I mean, how fast can he run, really?

Note to self: never underestimate the adrenaline rush that can take place in a man who realizes his capture means spending the rest of his life in a Federal penitentiary for treason and terrorism.

I take off after Thomas as fast as I can, but his head start puts him far enough away that I’d be wasting bullets if I tried to shoot him in the dark.
 

When we’re beyond six of the silos, he starts losing steam. He stumbles to the backside of the nearest silo.
 

By the time I get to it, he’s climbed halfway up the ladder.

My first shot whizzes past his ear. He pauses, but then goes hand-over-hand on the rungs even more quickly, until he’s at the door on top of the silo.

There’s nothing I can do but follow him. At least up there, he’ll be cornered.
 

“Who are you, really?” Thomas asks. The question bounces through the silo.
 

“Does it matter, Thomas? Game over.” I can’t pinpoint him by the sound, and the inside of the silo is pitch black.
 

From what I can see, a three-foot catwalk spans the length of silo, but what little light there is comes in through the open door and only shows a third of it before recessing into the black abyss beyond. I draw my gun. Then slowly, I step through the doorway.

An overhead light blinds me, but I hear the door closing behind me.

And I certainly don’t see the punch to the gut coming.
 

Damn it, my gun drops out of my hand, into the corn kernels below. As for me, I fall forward and nearly roll off the catwalk, but I catch hold just in time.

Thomas’s arms reach around my waist. He heaves me up, only to slam my head into the wall before dropping me back on the catwalk. I’m too stunned to do anything but rise onto my knees.
 

I feel his forearm on my back, bracing my face and shoulders against the catwalk. “It’s a wonderful position for a woman, almost like praying for mercy,” he murmurs. I try not to shiver when he licks my ear. “Ever tried anal sex?”

When I don’t say anything, he takes that as a no.

“Sweet, a virgin! Okay, word of warning: I’ve heard it feels like a hard turd going in backward. But you’ll be happy to know that it doesn’t feel like that on this end. Let me tell you, the sphincter is the tightest muscle in the human body, especially when it tries its damnedest to stay closed.” He laughs. “You better hope I ride you long and hard, because once I’m done with you, I’m tossing you in there.”
 

He shoves my neck over the edge of the catwalk so that I’m staring down into it. “You won’t see it in the employee video, but we’ve actually had a few poor guys fall off the catwalk. Everyone tries to fight their way out, but no one’s made it yet. It takes five minutes, tops, before they suffocate.”

He slams me back onto the catwalk. He uses his free hand to knock my knees apart. When he tries to pull down my pants, he finds my cuffs.
 

“Oh, my God, how nice is this?” he crows. “You brought your own play toys!”

He rips them off my belt loop, then jerks me up by my hair in order to cuff my hands in a praying position, before slamming my wrists back onto the catwalk.
 

I snort. “Really? Do you really believe that tiny thing of yours will reach beyond your gut?”

He smacks me hard on the backside. “You’re about to find out. Giddyap, cowgirl!”

He pulls my pants down onto my thighs. “Nice thong.” He twists it tight. “What say I work around it? It’ll give me something to look at, besides all the blood.”

To ride me, he still has to pull down his pants. I can’t see him, but I can hear him unbuckling his belt, but only with one hand. When he smacks me on the back with it, I flinch, but I don’t groan.
 

Wait for it…Wait for it.

He unbuttons with one hand again, but he needs two to move the zipper.

I bear down on my forearms and release a high kick with both legs.

It catches him right in the gut.

He falls backward, on his ass. As he struggles to sit up, he gets another kick—this time, in the teeth.
 

It puts him flat on his back again.

I land on his chest, hard, with both knees. While he gasps for air, I take my elbows and slam his head into the catwalk. He whimpers in pain.

Suddenly, the door opens. I look up to find Jack standing there. Seeing my hands cuffed in front of me, he shrugs. “I took a wild guess that you were all tied up.”

He kneels in order to put the barrel of his gun to Thomas’ forehead. “No sudden moves. No one likes brains with their cornflakes.”

I get up. Jack hands me his handcuffs. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Do you even have to ask?” I kick Thomas. “Sit up slowly, then put your hands—
behind
your back.”
 

He knows better than to disobey. I cuff one hand, then the other. When I’m done, Jack pulls out the key and unlocks my cuffs.

“Now, get up, nice and easy, Dr. Wellborne,” Jack warns him.

The bad doctor rises slowly, and rolls to one side so that he can get onto his knees, then rise on one leg. When he rises on the other, he charges me—

Jack shoots.

Thomas is just inches away when the bullet pierces his back. The light goes out of his eyes. He topples forward—

Onto me.

I try to sidestep his grasp, but I can’t. I flail my arms to get my balance, but I’m caught in the forward momentum of his now-dead body. We both go over the side—

A cloud of corn dust rises as Thomas slaps into it.
 

On the other hand, I’m dangling in mid-air, upside down, by my ankle.
 

“I thought you were dieting,” Jack mutters as he heaves me back up onto the catwalk.

I smile. “Why mess with perfection?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got a point. By the way, since I’m already down on one knee, will you marry me?”

“There’s a dead body below us ready to be fast-frozen in a bag of corn kernels, and who knows how many trucks of killer seeds out there on their way to who knows where. I’d say your timing is a little off.”

“You have a point. Business before pleasure.” He gets off his knees.

He heads out the door.

Maybe I was too hard on him. It would have been easy to just have said yes.

But no. This isn’t how I envisioned his proposal would happen. Doesn’t he realize that?

There will be a better time, and a better place, but first things first. When your business is saving the world, everything else has to wait. That’s just the way it is.

Abu and Dominic have already taken the drivers back to Acme’s holding pen.
 

When we get back to headquarters, Ryan is watching the camera monitor broadcasting from inside the interrogation room. “Where’s Thomas?” he asks.

Jack grimaces. “Dead.”

Ryan frowns. “What part of ‘take him alive’ wasn’t clear to you two?”

I shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the part where he tried to rape me, then toss my body into a silo of corn where I’d suffocate to death.”

Being fluent in Ryan’s grunts, I’m able to make out his apology.

“There’s one bit of good news. The Acme lab rats have compared the seeds to the DNA diagram on one of the cards that was confiscated from the MSS handoff. It’s a match.”

“So, we have the killer seeds right here,” I murmur. I shudder at the thought.

“But not for long,” Ryan assures me. “The FDA is sending a security detail to pick it up and destroy it. Tomorrow, there will be a raid on SeedPlenish. The corn and seed in every silo will be searched, and every corn stalk in the research field will be tested. If it proves to be part of the Exodus strain, it will be confiscated and then destroyed as well.”

“What about the drivers?” Jack asks. “Do they know anything?”

“They’re being held in separate soundproof cells. They’re Mexican illegals, hired by Wellborne for late night deliveries,” he informs us. “They presumed you were an Immigration Service patrol, which is why they took off and ran.”

“In other words, they know nothing about the seeds other than the destinations for their deliveries,” I reason.

“We were able to confiscate their manifests. We can interrogate the receiving entities too,” Jack adds.

“Abu and Dominic are on it, first thing tomorrow,” Ryan replies. “All are Big Agra farms whose corn is distributed to food manufacturers of all kinds. Chances are they didn’t know what they were getting—and wouldn’t, until it was too late.” He pauses to wipe the fatigue from his eyes. “Now for the bad news. Apparently, this wasn’t a first run, at least for one of the drivers. He did another delivery almost two months back, to an independent farmer in Dixon, right up the road.” Ryan scribbles down the address and hands it to me.

It says Clover Hill Farms. “We’ll check it out now,” I promise.
 

Ryan nods. “Good idea, since it’s still dark. George is standing by, ready to take you by helicopter.”

“Does the corn have any identifying marks?” Jack asks.

Ryan nods. “Its color is almost as much orange as it is yellow, and the stalks have a blue tinge to them. Also, the kernels and husks are larger than normal.”

“Talk about genetically modified,” I mutter.

“The one bit of good news is that this driver also rounded up the other three, so I presume it may have been the first time the Exodus strain made it out of the silo,” Ryan says.

“Let’s hope so,” Jack mutters.
 

“Unfortunately, two months is just long enough to grow a field of corn, depending on the strain and the temperature conditions,” I explain.
 
“A few years back, we grew a few stalks in the back yard. It was one of Mary’s fifth grade Geography projects.”