The Toymaker (17 page)

“What do you see?” Jake whispered into his headset.

“When you walk in the front door, there will be a wall on either side for the first five or six feet. Like a foyer area, then the room opens up. There will be four columns positioned equal distance around the center of the room.” Wiley said. “To the right is the stairwell to the upper floors and in front of the stairwell is what looks like a table. Both men appear to be sitting at the table.”

“Any movement upstairs?” Jake asked.

“No.” Wiley said. “My bet is the guard is asleep.”

“When we open the door, both men will be alerted. Probably with guns pointed our direction.” Kaplan said.

“Again, let Baraka go in first.” Wiley said. “At the very least she has to get them to lower their weapons. When they have relaxed their guard, I’ll signal and you two can take them out.”

Baraka gathered her bag, “I go now.”

“You are very brave.” Jake said. “Be careful.”

† † †

Collins finished his sandwich and threw the garbage on the back floorboard of the rental. He pulled out his newly purchased e-reader, flipped on the mini-light, and read to pass the time.

Dressed in full black, he was ready for his revenge. He would blend into the darkness and furtively take the next step in his complex plan to draw his prey to him. He read until it was time, turned off his e-reader, grabbed his pack from the back seat, and started the quarter-mile trek to the mansion.

Avoiding the streetlights near the Heatherwood Baptist Church, he walked behind the church through a parking lot to the tree line on the northern boundary of the property. Tucked behind a tree, he waited. Within a minute, there was a break in the traffic—no cars in sight—he darted across four lanes and a median and into the woods at the corner of Forest Road and Shenandoah Boulevard.

He retraced his path from earlier when he had planted the device. The same path he’d used several times earlier while he observed the patterns of the elderly couple. The old man, a retired public servant with some elevated status, was of declining health and had been unable to drive for almost a year. The woman was still in good health for her age, working in her garden plot and swimming daily in the pool that overlooked their private pond.

The Forest Road property contained a large secluded home with a guesthouse. The thick copse of trees that masked the main house from the guesthouse, also gave the owners a false sense of security. Those same trees provided Collins several prime viewing locations into the rear of the home. Another mistake the owners made—no window treatments. Through his high-powered binoculars, Collins recorded their movements by viewing through the glass enclosure.

He watched the old man and woman pour their nightly drinks, sort through and swallow their pills, and retire for the night.

Collins checked his watch.

Right on schedule.

CHAPTER 32

J
AKE FOLLOWED BARAKA through the front door. She moved toward the middle of the room while he and Kaplan hid behind the wall to their immediate right.

The bottom floor of the Hajjah Palace was a spacious, open room with ornate carvings along the woodwork and stone finishing. Its dirty walls revealed the outlines of picture frames and murals that once hung many years ago. The palace was long overdue for restoration like so many of Hajjah’s other buildings.

Jake didn’t care. These people lived in squalor. They allowed all their historic architecture to decay with time. The desert took its toll on more than just the people trying to carve out a living in the desolate region.

The men yelled at Baraka when she entered the room. Jake heard guns clattering and his pulse quickened. Baraka was talking fast in a language he didn’t understand. He knew she was nervous by the pitch in her voice. Kaplan said she was a woman of conviction and he was confident in Kaplan’s judgment.

After a few seconds of shouting the voices calmed yet remained tense. Baraka’s speech got louder as she repeated the same words.

Jake extended his mini-mirror around the corner to observe what was happening. One man held a knife to her throat while the other man pointed a gun at her. The men were similar in height but one was thin and the other overweight. The thin man was older, he held the gun.

She kept talking. Her speech rapid fire. Jake’s finger tightened on the trigger. The woman held out the bag and said something. The man grabbed the bag and dumped the contents on the table. Food.

The older man held up a finger and shouted. The overweight man lowered the knife. Baraka’s speech slowed to normal. She gathered up the food and stuffed it back in the bag. The older man pointed toward a back room somewhere behind the stairwell. Both men put their weapons on the table and moved away. As they did, Baraka dropped the bag on the floor, reached under her burqa, and pulled out a gun.

“Shit.” Jake dropped the mirror. “Go.”

Jake and Kaplan ran toward the men. The older man moved for his gun and Kaplan fired a shot. The dart hit him in the neck and he fell to the floor. The overweight man knocked the gun from Baraka’s hand, grabbed his knife from the table, and pushed the blade to her neck.

Jake moved to the left, Kaplan to the right.

“Shoot.” Baraka shouted.

As Jake and Kaplan moved farther apart, the man focused on Kaplan.

“Shoot.” She said again.

The man yelled something and Kaplan moved to the man’s far left. As he turned, Jake took the shot. The dart hit the target. The man fell and so did Baraka. She grabbed her neck but blood was already oozing through her fingers.

“We have a problem.” Kaplan said into his voice-activated microphone. “One of the men cut Baraka in the neck and she’s bleeding.”

“I okay,” she said. “I okay.”

“Whatever you do, do it fast.” Wiley said into their headsets. “The guy upstairs is moving your way.”

Jake leaned over and moved Baraka’s hand from the wound. “She’s right, Gregg. It’ll be okay.”

“How the hell do you know?” Kaplan said. “You’re no doctor.”

“No. But I do know what a neck wound looks like that isn’t okay.” Jake started dragging the old man against the wall. “Just hold pressure, it’ll slow in a few minutes.”

“I hold pressure.” Baraka said. “Go get girl.”

“Are you sure? Kaplan asked.

“I sure. I sure.” She said. “Go get girl.”

Jake moved the other unconscious man against the wall, removed the darts, and motioned to Kaplan and they started up the stairs.

The stairway went up fifteen steps then made a ninety-degree left turn at a landing. Because of the high ceiling downstairs, Jake made the assumption that the next flight would be equally as long.

Jake went up the left side of the stairwell while Kaplan went up the right side, two steps below Jake.

“He’s coming down on your side, Jake.” Wiley’s voice. “Remember, no gunfire. Shots attract attention.”

Jake motioned to Kaplan to move to the left side of the stairwell behind him. Jake moved higher in the stairwell, now two steps from the top of the first flight of steps.

“He’s just around the corner.” Wiley’s voice. “Go for casualty, but no shots. I repeat no shots.”

Jake eased his tranquilizer pistol into the holster and pulled out the Benchmade knife Wiley gave him on the airplane, a spring-assisted with a 3.25-inch blade. He silently opened the knife and locked the blade. Jake took another step. One step below the landing, back against the wall.

“Jake, stop right there.” Wiley. “He’s less than two feet away and about two feet higher. Wait for him. When he makes a move, you’ll know what to do.”

Wiley was right. The man in the stairwell was impatient and Jake was ready.

He saw the barrel of the man's weapon, a pistol, break the plane of the wall. Jake knew he had to move fast. Keeping his head and body behind the wall, Jake calculated where the man’s hand was, reached around the corner of the wall with his right hand, and sliced in a downward thrust where the man’s arm should be.

Jake felt the blade strike the man’s wrist, slicing through sinews and tendons. He felt warm blood spill onto his arm and hand. The man’s gun clambered onto the floor. Jake heard the man scream followed by footsteps running up the stairs.

Jake chased him up the stairs. The hallway was long and straight. The man grabbed a chair and held it out as if mimicking a lion tamer. The chair seemed small in front of the large man. Jake estimated the man weighed two-eighty and stood six feet tall. But he was injured. The man’s right arm was useless.

Jake pulled out his tranquilizer pistol and fired. The man anticipated the shot and blocked it with the chair, the dart lodged under the seat. He yelled and threw the chair at Jake. Then he turned and ran.

A mistake.

Jake was close enough when the man started running to catch him in a short distance. Jake was a sprinter and the man was slow. Jake tackled him from behind and landed on top of the facedown man. Although he’d never used the move before, he learned it at The Farm when Bentley sent him for skill craft training.

Jake grabbed the man’s head from behind, right hand under his chin, left hand on the back of his skull. He pulled back on the man’s head. The man thrashed about grabbing at thin air and attempting to buck Jake loose.

Jake pulled back harder, craned the man’s neck backward, placed his knee at the base of the man’s neck, and then he yanked hard to the right. He felt a small crack but the man kept moving.

Jake turned harder.

A louder pop and the man’s legs stopped moving.

Jake gave another twist.

The man’s neck cracked loud and his body fell limp. A last gurgling exhale left the man’s body.

When Jake turned around, Kaplan was gone.

† † †

Gregg Kaplan followed Jake up the steps in the Hajjah Palace. Blood spattered on the walls and steps from where Jake slashed the last remaining terrorist’s wrist, causing the man to drop his weapon and flee. The large man screamed, turned, and fled up the stairs and down the long hallway.

Kaplan wasn’t accustomed to someone else taking the lead in an operation, especially someone with as little experience as Jake. But Wiley didn’t give him a choice. He’d never understood why Director of Central Intelligence Scott Bentley had handed Jake off so fast to Wiley. Kaplan had Special Forces training and had served in combat. Jake was a rookie and his impulsiveness made him a loose cannon. Danger and killing were new to him. He was still dealing with the loss of his fiancée. It didn’t make sense to hand Jake off to a stranger just to get him away from Washington and the pressure Bentley was receiving from Senator Richard Boden. But politics was Bentley’s problem and whether he agreed with it or not, it was the DCI’s decision.

Kaplan noticed Jake seemed to know exactly what to do when he was faced with the terrorist at the corner of the stairwell. He was quiet and effective. Jake slashed the knife exactly where it was needed. When Wiley said “
casualty”
and “
no shots,”
Jake, without hesitation, holstered his weapon and wielded his knife. Maybe Bentley did know what he was doing, and there was more to Wiley than just making spy toys.

Kaplan saw Jake sprint down the darkened hallway. Low wattage lights hung from the ceiling—bare bulbs in wire cages. Kaplan watched Jake jump the man from behind and twist the man’s neck while the man tried to buck Jake off. He followed Jake until a voice in his ear told him to stop.

“Gregg, stop.” Wiley’s voice. “Turn around. Go back down the main hall past the stairs and take the first left.”

“Got it.” Kaplan replied. “What about Jake?”

“He can handle himself.” Wiley said. “He knows what to do.”

“Apparently.”

Kaplan retraced his steps, ran past the stairwell and turned down the first corridor to the left.

“End of the hall.” Wiley’s voice. “Second door on the right.”

Kaplan ran the thirty feet to the door and tried the knob.

Locked.

The light was dim so Kaplan fished out his MagLite mini and shone the beam at the locking mechanism.

A warded lock, which meant he needed a skeleton key.

Kaplan heard a groan on the other side of the door. Isabella.

More groaning.

“Isabella."

Kaplan stepped back and kicked hard into the massive door. It didn’t budge. Although the exterior of the palace was in disrepair, the interior structure was built to withstand time. The huge planks of wood that framed the doorway were more than a match for any man. He needed the key.

Kaplan turned to go search for the key, Jake was standing next to him.

Jake held out his hand. “Looking for this?”

Kaplan saw the skeleton key dangling from a leather strap.

† † †

Something aroused Isabella Hunt from her drug-induced stupor but she was too groggy to tell what it was. Or, if in fact it was just another dream. She thought she heard screaming. A man screaming. Not a yell, but a scream. The sound of fear—or injury. And then a loud banging from somewhere in the building.

Maybe it was just a dream. She’d had plenty of them while she’d been held captive in this God forsaken place, wherever it was. She thought she’d heard Gregg Kaplan yelling for her, coming to save her. But that, too, had been in her dreams. Gregg would kill all the guards, burst through the door, take her in his arms, and sweep her off to freedom. Just like in a Harlequin romance novel where the hero rescues the damsel in distress. But this time the voice was different than in her dreams. It was louder and more distinct.

Hunt jumped at the sound of the key in the lock. A sound she’d become accustomed to hearing, but not at this hour of the morning. The familiar clank as the solid shafted bit key released the locking mechanism. The squeak of the hinges as the massive wooden door opened wider.

In the darkness she could discern only two beams of light entering the doorway. Frozen with fear and groggy from the drugs, she tried to move. She didn’t have strength to resist.