Crooked River

67

As they burst through the back door, they saw the woman staggering out of the observation room and into the hall in front of them.

She turned. Coldmoon saw her face was streaming blood, cut by flying glass.

“I can’t... I can’t believe...” She gasped, wiping blood from her face. “I had no idea...”

“Pull yourself together,” Pendergast said. “You’re going to show us the way out of this chamber of horrors, Ms. Alves-Vettoretto.”

“I have limited passkey privileges. But...” She swayed and Pendergast grasped her arm to keep her from collapsing. “The doctor... he ran by and went in there.” She pointed to a closet door with a bloody hand. “He has full access.”

“Stand back.” Pendergast went to the door and tried the knob. Finding it locked, he fired the M16 into the lock and kicked the door open. The doctor was crouching behind a set of shelves with glass bottles, the orderlies trying to hide on either side.

Pendergast strode forward. The orderlies, unarmed, shrank back as he seized the doctor and hauled him to his feet, knocking the shelves over with a crash. The man cringed and burbled with fear. “Don’t, please don’t kill me. I didn’t want to do any of it; they forced me—”

Pendergast shook him like a rag doll. “You’re going to lead us out of here.”

“Yes! I will, of course I will,” the doctor babbled, his eyes blinking in servile agreement, head nodding.

Pendergast shoved him out through the door. “Best way out, no trickery.” He turned to the woman. “You too.”

“Best way out.” The doctor nodded, his look of servile terror morphing into a grotesque grin. “This way.” He scurried down the hall, and they followed.

The doctor used his passkey to open a door at the far end. “Through here.”

They went through the door into another hallway that led off to both the left and the right. The doctor turned down the right passage.

“What’s the route?” Pendergast asked.

“I’m going to take you out past the barracks. Fewer guards.”

“That’s a lie!” the woman named Alves-Vettoretto blurted out.

Pendergast and Coldmoon turned toward her.

She seemed as surprised at her outburst as they did. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “The barracks will be a hornet’s nest. You should go out the side entrance, through the old river gate.”

Pendergast turned back to the doctor, weapon raised in menacing inquiry.

The doctor hesitated. Then, with a hiss and an evil glance at Alves-Vettoretto, he turned and led the way down the left-hand passage until it ended in another door. The doctor used his passkey to unlock it, revealing a stairwell beyond.

Pendergast cracked the door open and listened. Loud voices echoed upward, along with the sound of pounding feet.

He slipped onto the landing, followed by Coldmoon. They heard the group of soldiers ascending rapidly.

Pendergast glanced at Coldmoon, who nodded his understanding. He hoisted his weapon over the railing just as Coldmoon called out in a loud, harsh voice: “Hey, you guys! Look down! They’re at the bottom of the stairwell, trapped!”

Five heads popped out from the landing below and Pendergast fired a long burst down the stairwell.

“Dumb bastards,” said Coldmoon as they ran past the bodies of five guards, sprawled and hung over the railings. Alves-Vettoretto stumbled along, Coldmoon sometimes holding her up. Another landing, and they arrived at the bottom.

“Go right, then straight,” the doctor said. “That passes through the holding cells.”

Pendergast turned his weapon toward the doctor again and the man cringed back. “It does! I swear it does!”

Pendergast looked at Alves-Vettoretto. She nodded.

They followed the directions, jogging down a maze of cinder-block halls until they came to the large open area where Coldmoon had found the prisoners. They were pressed against the bars.

“¿Qué pasa?” several of them cried. “¿Qué pasa?”

“You’ll be free soon,” Coldmoon replied in Spanish.

They jogged along, leaving behind a hubbub of excitement.

“We’ve got to go down one more level,” said the doctor. “There are crash doors we can use to get out the back of the building.”

He directed them to another stairwell, down one more level, and through another maze of corridors, encountering only one guard, who was so frightened he dropped his rifle in surprise and tried to surrender. Coldmoon took the magazine from his rifle, put one warning finger to his lips, and then left him. Finally, at the end of a short hall, they came to a crash door.

“This is it,” the doctor said.

“Where does it go?”

“It leads through a parking lot, through a gate, and to the road to the river.”

Pendergast turned to Alves-Vettoretto. She shrugged and shook her head. He leaned into the door, opened it a crack, and peered out. Then he pushed it open and gestured for them to follow, weapons raised. As the door opened wide, Coldmoon could hear the wail of sirens grow suddenly louder.

“You don’t need me anymore,” said the doctor, beginning to scurry off.

“Not so fast,” Coldmoon said, grabbing the man and giving him a hard shove. “You’re staying with us.”

They came out into a side parking lot, with rows of jeeps, Humvees, and transport trucks. Rain was falling, blown in gusts, and a flash of lightning lit up the clouds, followed by a distant rumble. Klieg lights from the tower above were roaming over the area. They pressed themselves against the wall of the building as a beam passed.

Pendergast looked at Alves-Vettoretto. “Are you going to be able to do this?”

She nodded mutely.

“Stay close,” said Pendergast. He darted out across an open area and crouched beside a truck as the others followed. Another light passed nearby and Coldmoon could see a line of soldiers moving along the far wall, arms at the ready.

“Where’s the gate?” Pendergast asked the doctor.

“In that far wall,” the doctor replied. “Beyond the big truck, to the right.”

“Is it guarded?”

“Yes, but it’s the least defended gate into the complex.”

“And beyond that?”

“Nothing but a ruined courtyard. Then the road down to the river.”

Pendergast and Coldmoon rose cautiously and peered over the hood of the truck. Through the rain they could see the gate, lit up, manned by four soldiers on high alert. Another patrol, jogging alongside the wall, rounded the corner and they ducked down.

“Beyond that courtyard, how far to the river?” Pendergast asked.

“About a quarter mile.”

Pendergast, crouching, moved alongside the truck, then sprinted across another open area to hunker down behind a Humvee. The rest caught up behind him. The tower lights roamed this way and that. After waiting a moment for the lights to pass, they dashed to another vehicle, and then another, approaching the gate.

Now the patrolling squad of soldiers appeared again, moving through the center of the parking lot, the men spread out with portable spotlights, probing among the dark array of vehicles.

Pendergast gestured for them all to crouch down and wait.

The soldiers wound through the vehicles, every once in a while shining a beam inside or underneath one. They were speaking to each other by radio in low voices, moving swiftly.

As the soldiers neared their hiding place, Coldmoon braced himself; if they were discovered, there would be nothing for it but to engage in a firefight, two against ten. But discovery wasn’t a given — at the rate they were moving, there were many more vehicles than the soldiers could inspect thoroughly. It was a fast sweep.

He held his breath as he heard, through the sound of the rain, the murmuring of the soldiers into their walkie-talkies.

Suddenly, the doctor jumped up, waving his arms and crying out shrilly. “It’s me, Dr. Smith! Don’t shoot, I’m the chief doctor. I have hostages—!”

Two simultaneous bursts of gunfire cut him almost in half, opening him up like a ripe papaya. But the doctor’s treachery had caused the soldiers to pause, giving Coldmoon and Pendergast an opportunity to return fire. They dropped two soldiers before the others dove for cover.

Pendergast skittered around one side of the vehicle and fired again, gunning down one of the soldiers at the checkpoint.

“To the gate!” he shouted, taking Alves-Vettoretto by the arm and hauling her along.

But even as he spoke, a klieg light locked on them, bathing them in brilliant light and blocking their ability to see into the darkness beyond. They dove for cover behind a truck as the soldiers opened fire again, the rounds hammering through the metal above their heads, showering them with chips of paint and bits of canvas.

“If we can get past that gate, there’ll be cover in the woods,” Pendergast said to Coldmoon. “We’ll alternate movements. Lay down suppressing fire while I try to clear the gate. You first, then I’ll take her.” He turned to Alves-Vettoretto. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

As Coldmoon gathered himself for a dash, Pendergast rose and fired once over the hood at the soldiers, forcing them to take cover again. Coldmoon dashed to the next vehicle, then readied himself to cover Pendergast and Alves-Vettoretto as they made their own dash. The gate was just two vehicles away now, and Coldmoon watched as Pendergast dropped another of its guards.

Coldmoon let loose with several bursts of suppressing fire as Pendergast scurried across, pulling Alves-Vettoretto along as he sprayed the gate with a dozen rounds of his own, dispatching its last two guards. Now all the klieg lights were on them as they crouched by the side of the last truck. It was brighter than day. More soldiers were surely on their way to the firefight.

“Ammo?” Pendergast asked.

He swiftly checked his magazine. “Christ, only one left. You?”

“One also. But the gate is clear.”

Just as he spoke, Coldmoon heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie on the far side of the gate. Shit. And behind them, he could see the soldiers in the parking lot moving toward them, spread out, darting from cover to cover.

“We’re surrounded,” Coldmoon said. “Only two rounds, and the bastards aren’t likely to let us surrender.”

“They’re going to kill us?” Alves-Vettoretto asked.

“What do you think?” said Coldmoon sarcastically.

There was brief moment of silence, a pause, as they stared at each other.

“Well,” said Pendergast, extending his hand. “You’ve been a fine partner.”

“You weren’t half-bad, either.”

They shook hands.

“You won’t tell anyone I said that, I presume?” Pendergast asked.

Despite their situation, Coldmoon laughed. “You wouldn’t have told me that if you thought I’d have a chance to repeat it.”

Another burst of fire tore into the truck they were crouching behind as the soldiers in the parking lot made a coordinated rush. Pendergast said, “Get ready,” and aimed his rifle, not at the approaching soldiers, but at the truck’s gas tank. He fired a round into it.

“What the—?” Coldmoon scrambled back as the truck erupted in fire, ready to blow. Pendergast grabbed Alves-Vettoretto and ran past the smoke and flame through the gate, Coldmoon following, firing his last round into the darkness ahead. As they came out the other side, into the old courtyard, a voice rang out.

“Drop your weapons! Hands up! Now!”

They had practically run into a squad of soldiers stationed just outside the gate, arranged in a semicircle, their weapons aimed squarely at the little group of three. Coldmoon looked around in a panic for a way to escape. Broken walls of weathered stone rose on two sides amid pallets of bricks, long forgotten and covered with kudzu. The gleam of the searchlight cast a ghostly pallor over everything. They were trapped.

“Drop your weapons!” barked the voice. “I won’t ask again!”

Pendergast and Coldmoon placed their now-empty weapons on the ground. Then they raised their hands over their heads. Behind them, Coldmoon could hear soldiers from the first squad coming through the parking lot and past the gate.

They were surrounded, with approximately twenty weapons pointed at them.

The figure that had spoken stepped forward. He was tall and muscular, with an acne-pitted face. Unlike most of the other soldiers, he wore the markings of a full-bird colonel, along with a name tag: Kormann.

He looked from Pendergast, to Coldmoon, to Alves-Vettoretto, with a mixture of disdain and hatred. “Which one of you shot Harrigan?” he asked, jerking one thumb toward a prone figure directly behind him. Coldmoon noticed the colonel’s boots were freshly splattered with what must have been the dead man’s blood.

“I had that privilege,” Coldmoon said.

The man named Kormann stepped up to Coldmoon. He smiled lazily. Coldmoon smiled back.

Kormann lashed out with a fist, catching Coldmoon on the jaw. Coldmoon staggered under the blow but didn’t fall. As he raised himself back to full height, the colonel spat in his face, then buried the fist in Coldmoon’s gut. He doubled over, groaning, and Kormann connected with a wicked haymaker that knocked him prone.

Pendergast must have made some attempt to intercede, because Coldmoon, as if from far away, heard the clatter of weapons and an order from Kormann: “As you were.”

There was a brief silence. Then Kormann laughed. “You’re the one called Pendergast, aren’t you? Well, look at you now.”

Coldmoon, full consciousness returning, saw Kormann turn to one of his men. “Let’s take them back to the barracks — and have some fun.”

Coldmoon grabbed a stone from the rubble-strewn ground and, half rising, tried to smash Kormann with it. But the colonel dodged the blow easily, kicked him brutally back onto the ground, and then — with a brief laugh — began to close in.