Constant Fear

CHAPTER 39

Jake made another phone call before he descended back into darkness. He needed to speak with Lance.

“Jake! Jake, is that you?”

“Listen, Lance, I don’t have a lot of time. You’ve got to try and convince Haggar I’m not crazy.”

“What?”

“No time to explain. He’ll know what it’s about. Just tell him I’m not nuts. It’s going to go down in here pretty soon, and I’d rather not go at it alone. Tell them to engage. If they hold back, all these kids are going to die, and that includes my son.”

“Andy? Where is Andy? I’m really lost here. You’re not making any sense.”

“And another thing,” Jake said, not wasting a second on backstory. Lance would figure it out eventually. “This is all about money. A lot of money.”

“What?”

“Andy and his friends were involved in something. There was a theft. I told Ellie about someone named Javier. Does that mean anything to you? Javier?”

“No,” Lance said, but then stuttered, “I-I-don’t know. I’d have to think. I’m rattled.”

“All right. You do that and tell Ellie what you come up with.”

“What are you doing, Jake?”

“I’m doing what I do best. Surviving, big brother. I’m just surviving.” Jake ended the call so he could return to the catacombs.

The call to Lance took another five minutes off the clock. Forty to go.

Jake went as quickly as he could, but not recklessly fast. The tunnels were full of obstacles that could cause serious injury from a full-speed impact. While any second could be Andy’s last, Jake also believed that Fausto would honor his own deadline. Why, exactly, he couldn’t say. It was a gut feeling. Fausto sounded sadistically playful in the conversations Jake had overheard, as if he would relish each minute as it ticked off the clock. The fear of death for him would be as intoxicating as any drug.

Yes, Fausto would wait the full hour, Jake felt certain of it. But, Jake reminded himself, it was no longer an hour.

He had figured on spending fifteen minutes navigating the tunnels. Ten to gather supplies. Twenty-five off the clock. The rest of his plan would take another ten minutes to execute. Thirty-five minutes total before he could engage. Jake had about a five-minute buffer, and the margin for error was wider than the Amazon. His other choice was to stand down, leave the school, get taken into custody, plead his case to Haggar, and then bury his son.

Wasn’t going to happen.

The beam from Jake’s headlamp bounced across the familiar walls, revealing all the places where he needed to duck, crawl, or slouch. Otherwise, he was running. He went under the Terry Science Center, the library, Gibson Hall, and the Society Building, where he had left a dead man splattered on the bathroom floor. Jake took the tunnel to the Groveland Gymnasium, and at last he returned to the section of tunnels that was home to his bug-out location.

For a few panicked seconds, Jake fumbled with the new key for the door lock on his bug-out location, cursing under his breath, and eventually got inside.

Jake turned on the lights and checked his stopwatch. The whole trip went faster than expected, leaving him an extra minute on his deadline. One minute added to his buffer. Aboveground they would be looking for him. There would be chatter on the Bearcat-“Has anybody seen Dent? Anybody?” Haggar would be nervous. He’d press Ellie to make Jake follow the order.

All this was happening, but none of it was of concern. If SWAT or the FBI made entry into the school, Jake would figure it out eventually. In the meantime, he’d be taking necessary action.

It didn’t take long for Jake to locate the items he had come to retrieve. The flares were stored in the larder, away from the gasoline. Nearby was a case of tactical smoke grenades, with smoke output of 25,000 cubic feet. More than enough. He grabbed a handful of Cyalume Chemlights, military-grade infrared light sticks. They were just like regular glow sticks-bend, snap, crack-but the light emitted was invisible to the naked eye. With the night vision goggles, though, a few of those sticks would provide more than enough illumination.

He had seven mags of ammo for the AK-47-one loaded, three on his chest rig, three on his battle belt. Jake decided to include a few additional mags of pistol ammo inside a small backpack, along with an extra flashlight and four pieces of the rebar he had scavenged from a construction site.

He grabbed his tactical helmet and attached the night vision optical to the J-bar. He adjusted his Kevlar, inspected his guns, and paused to check his gear in the full-length, wall-mounted mirror. His face and hands were still covered in camo paint, mixed with tunnel grime. The tactical helmet fit snugly on his head. The rest of him was geared up: chest rig, battle belt, ammo, flares, glow sticks, smoke grenades, knives, two pistols, a Glock, the Ruger, and his rifle.

He was ready for war.