Constant Fear

CHAPTER 43

Three Javiers had connections to the school: one was a student and two were parents.

Ellie found the student huddled on the auditorium bleachers with a group of his friends. He was a tall and thin boy, with tousled dark hair and a handsome face. Ellie asked him some basic questions to determine whether he had any connection to Andy Dent or his missing friends.

Javier was pleasant enough, and not the least bit nervous to speak with her. He answered politely and confirmed what she initially suspected: Javier Ortega was just another displaced student from Pepperell Academy caught up in the chaos. Javier gave Kibo some much-appreciated affection, and Ellie returned to her cruiser. This time, Ellie opened the door for her dog, and Kibo climbed in the front passenger seat, where he sat patiently while Ellie got the second Javier on the phone.

Javier number two lived in Orange County, California, and was a father of a student named Willow. Naturally, he had heard all about the incident at the school where his daughter boarded and answered the phone almost as soon as it rang. Ellie introduced herself as a member of the Winston PD and asked the same questions of this Javier as she did the other. There was nothing here, either. Javier said he hadn’t heard of any of the kids she mentioned, and Ellie was inclined to believe him. His biggest concern was for Willow, to whom he had spoken just moments ago. Ellie assured him the local high school was a safe environment for his daughter and ended the call after offering a few more assurances.

The last Javier on Ellie’s list lived in Winston, so she decided to take a drive over there.

The neighborhood where Javier Martinez lived with his wife, Stacey, seemed a different world from Jake’s little trailer home. The Martinez family, Ellie learned, had one son, Gus, who boarded at the school. Judging by the size and condition of the Martinez homestead, Gus’s education was not a strain on the family finances.

Ellie pulled her cruiser to the curb and cut the engine. All the lights in the home were off, except for one in the hallway. At the high school, she had asked around for Gus Martinez, but a girl named Rebecca had told her that he and his family had gone on vacation. Ellie’s radar went up right away.

A vacation before a major incident at the school? The timing was certainly a little peculiar.

She figured if this Javier had been somehow involved, he had pulled up stakes and gotten his family out of Dodge. Ellie wasn’t surprised to find the house dark and no cars in the driveway. The garage had no windows, but Ellie doubted she’d find any cars inside. The Martinez family was supposedly gone, after all. But to where?

Ellie cupped Kibo’s face in her hands. “Wait here, buddy. I’ll be right back.”

The evening air had a bite, so Ellie zipped up her jacket to stave off the cold. The neighborhood was quiet, as most neighborhoods were at this hour. The persistent chop of helicopters overhead was the only clue that something big was going down a few miles away.

Ellie walked up the front steps and peered into a side window, using her flashlight to enhance her vision. It was dark inside except for a single light in the kitchen, a typical precaution any family might take when leaving home for a week or so. Ellie knew this same as the burglars. From what she could see, the place looked in order. No overturned furniture. Nothing to suggest a struggle. Ellie noticed an ADT sticker on the window, but the panel was out of view, so she had no way to know if the alarm was on or not. She assumed it was on.

Maybe it was just a vacation.

Ellie decided to check around back. She was going to report this to Haggar. It was worth doing even if the lead didn’t pan out. He was already working on other intel that Jake had supplied, including the name Fausto. According to Haggar, the FBI had agents investigating reports of major thefts. Two hundred million dollars bought a lot of chatter. They could investigate and make inquiries all they wanted. At some point, Haggar would realize Jake wasn’t unstable-that he was, in fact, their best hope for a positive outcome. She only hoped that realization did not come too late.

After Ellie scoped out the backyard, she’d see what she could do to get Jake some support. She hadn’t heard any reports on the radio, but the FBI was using secured channels to communicate and Ellie wasn’t privy to most of those conversations. Jake could be up to his eyeballs in bullets. She had no way of knowing.

Do what you can do. Focus on making a difference.

That was what her father would have advised. Maybe this jaunt would help. Maybe she could find a clue that would help locate the Martinez clan, and, assuming they were involved somehow, make a difference.

Ellie kept her flashlight on, even though the moonlight sufficed. The side yard was nicely manicured, Ellie observed. The trees were pruned, the hedges trimmed, and Ellie saw nothing out of the ordinary. She shone her light into the small hopper windows and saw a finished basement with all the accoutrements of wealth: foosball table, pool table, comfy couch, and that was just what she could make out. A closed door probably opened into an unfinished side. Nothing unusual.

The backyard was broad and flat. Flower gardens looked lovingly maintained. Things didn’t have to be in shambles for something to be going on, but Ellie was scoping out the scene. Doing what she could do.

Ellie stuffed her hands in her jacket pocket and gazed up at the sky. The stars winked down on her and the vastness of it all was a reminder of her distance from Jake. What was happening with him? Ellie couldn’t waste another second chasing down this lead. She needed to be back in the action.

As she turned to go, something in a tall row of juniper trees at the far end of the backyard caught her eye. A glowing reddish ember hovered inexplicably in the dark. It took Ellie a moment to realize what it was: a cigarette. Somebody was in the yard, concealed in those trees, smoking a butt.

Ellie undid the snap on her gun holster. Her hand went to the handle of her Glock 19. She took a step toward the smoker.

“This is the police. Come out where I can see you.”

The ember glowed brighter. The smoker took a drag.

“Come out from the bushes now.”

Ellie’s heart began to race. Her nerves tingled. She pulled the gun from its holster, trained the weapon on the ember and shone her flashlight on the bushes as she took another step toward the smoker.

“Come out now.”

Ellie saw the bright flash, heard the pop, and an instant later felt pain in her leg. She went to the ground as her injured leg folded in on her. She felt an excruciating burning sensation, and hot blood pumped through a hole in her thigh. The ground seemed to sprout hands that held her down. She couldn’t move, couldn’t get up.

Another flash came from the dark. This bullet struck the ground near Ellie’s head. She found strength to lift her body maybe a few inches off the ground. It was enough to squeeze the trigger in the direction of the shooter.

Ellie got five shots off in rapid succession. She aimed just to the right of the glowing ember. She saw the cigarette fall from the shooter’s mouth and heard him cry out. Then she heard nothing.

Ellie put her finger on the bullet wound to her thigh. The blood flowed steadily, but she didn’t think the bullet had hit a major artery.

The basement door flew open, and Ellie cocked her head in the direction of the sound. Sensors on the door detected movement and turned on a powerful set of floodlights. Ellie saw a tall, shadowy figure come lumbering toward her. Fear was something foreign to Ellie, but now it wrapped around her like a straitjacket. The man came fast. She saw the flash when he was maybe fifteen feet away. The gunshot echoed into the night.

Ellie heard Kibo bark in distress. The bullet struck Ellie in the chest. The pain was instant and intense. She puffed out her cheeks and tried to make the burn go away. The shadowy figure approached and put three more bullets into her body-another one in the chest, one in the stomach, and a third in her other leg. With each bullet, Ellie’s body jolted in shock. She came up off the ground a few inches and fell back down with a thud.

The fourth shot, a head shot, landed in the dirt.

She heard the man say, “Hijo de puta.”

Through slits in her eyes, Ellie watched the man continue his approach until he now loomed over her. Blood seeped out of the hole in her other leg in steady hot spurts. The chest and stomach wounds were nothing; those bullets had struck her body armor and would leave nasty bruises. But her legs burned. The hot lead was like a blowtorch to her muscles.

Ellie felt the ground for her Glock. She brushed against the metal with the tips of her fingers. If she stretched, she might be able to reach it. But the pain in her chest and stomach made the slightest movement impossible.

The man came over to her and laughed as he put a boot on her chest. “Adios,” he said. He took aim with his gun.

Her next move was pure reflex. Ellie latched onto the man’s ankle and gave it a hard yank. His surprised eyes widened until the whites became the size of cue balls. As he fell backward, Ellie reached for her gun. The man quickly rolled on top of her and moved his arm to get the gun in front of her face. Ellie seized his right wrist with her left hand and applied counterforce. She pushed across her body while her right hand continued to search for her weapon.

Her attacker was at least six feet tall and outweighed her by fifty pounds. His square face was frozen in an expression of rage. He pushed hard against Ellie’s arm and gained an inch. Another few inches would put the barrel of his gun in front of her face.

Ellie’s fingers brushed against something metal. She stretched them until it felt like her knuckles would separate from the joints. The man snarled and pushed even harder, his gun inching ever closer to her face. With one final stretch, Ellie’s fingers grazed her gun once more. At that very moment, her attacker put a hand around her throat and began to squeeze. Bile raced up Ellie’s esophagus, collecting there and choking her more. Ellie kicked frantically as her right hand finally got a good grip on her gun.

With one final effort, as her world turned dark, Ellie lifted the gun off the ground and moved it under the man’s body. She fired several shots in rapid succession into his gut and chest.

The intense pressure on her throat released as the man tumbled back and off her body. His legs kicked spastically; then they went still.

Ellie rolled over onto her stomach, coughing, spitting, fighting the burn in her throat, her legs, her body. She started to crawl toward her car. She had bitten her tongue in the struggle and spat gobs of blood onto the grass. Her stomach and chest felt as if they had been torn apart by some animal, but she knew it was just bruising from the gunshots.

Ellie reached for her radio during her crawl. She had just pulled it off her belt, when the basement door flew open again. She cocked her head once more in that direction and saw a man charging at an angle that didn’t give her a clear shot. He came fast. No letup in his stride. He dove on top of her, tackling her while she was already on the ground. Ellie tried to fend him off, but he was wiry and far stronger. He had little trouble wrenching the radio and gun from her hands.

He stood and used his boot to flip Ellie onto her back. “You just killed my friends, bitch.” He pointed what appeared to be a miniature cannon at Ellie’s head.

Kibo’s barks echoed like gunshots.