Lost Girls

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Back us off,” Neeley ordered the pilots. The barrel of the .50 caliber machinegun was red hot. The steeple was now nothing more than an abbreviated stump on the top of the church itself.

“Gant?” she called out on the tactical frequency. “Gant? Do you hear me, damn it?”

There was no reply. She looked at Golden. “Contact Finley.”

“Hammer this is Falcon.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill this bitch right now?” Finley snarled in reply.

“Because you still want Paul Roberts and Cranston,” Golden said.

“Fuck Cranston. That was Forten’s thing. And you just appear to have made mince meat of him.”

“What about Payne?” Golden asked.

“What about him?”

“Doesn’t he want Cranston?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Cranston and Roberts. Right on main street. Then you back that fucking chopper away or your girl ends up like Forten.”

Neeley nodded when Golden looked at her. “All right,” Golden said. “We’re coming in.”

“Gant?” Neeley called out on the tactical frequency. “Where the hell are you?”

Someone was tearing at his throat. That was the first conscious thought Gant had. He tried to reach up and defend himself, but whoever it was, batted his hands away and kept jerking his throat from side to side.

Then suddenly he felt nothing on his throat and blessed oxygen pouring in as he gasped for breath.

Gant blinked, blinded by the light, only seeing a silhouette over him. A person. Long hair. He shook his head, ears ringing as his brain tried to come back up to speed.

A half-naked girl. Dirty, grimy, haggard. And in her hands was the prosthesis that had been choking Gant. It all came rushing back to him as he took deep, steady breaths. He sat up and stared at the girl, who stared back at him with a half-wild look in her eyes.

Gant unbuckled his combat harness and pulled off his fatigue shirt and offered it to her. She eyed it warily for a second, then took it and slipped it over her shoulders.

And then she began to cry. Huge wracking sobs.

Gant reached forward and pulled her into his chest. “It’ll be all right, Emily,” he whispered, even though he knew it was a lie.

“Gant?” Neeley glanced at Golden and Bailey who were as mystified by Gant’s last transmission as she was. “You ok?”

“Emily’s with me,” Gant said in a hoarse voice.

“Pull up,” Neeley yelled to the pilot as they were about to touch down on main street.

The chopper shuddered as the pilot gave it power. They swooped over the destroyed steeple and Neeley could see spatters of blood and what appeared to a severed arm among the ruins.

“What the hell are you doing?” Finley’s voice came over the FM freq.

Golden raised her eyebrows at Neeley, indicating she wasn’t sure how to reply. Neeley switched her transmit frequency to the same one Golden was on. “The game has changed, asshole.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Finley demanded.

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance I’m the person who is going to kill you,” Neeley said.

“I’ve got the girl. Back off. Give me Roberts and Cranston.”

“You got nothing,” Neeley said.

“Give them to me or she dies now,” Finley warned.

“Let me check with my partner.” Then she turned off the transmitter.

Gant had his breath back although it hurt to talk. Emily Cranston was still crying, wrapped in his shirt, her arms tight across her chest. He was scanning the immediate area, knowing they still had Finley out there somewhere. He’d heard Neeley’s exchange with the man over the tactical frequency and considered the situation.

“Where did they have you?” Gant asked Emily.

She sniffled and raised her head up slightly. “The water tower by the rail tracks. Inside.”

Gant remembered seeing it on his way down. He had no doubt that Finley was somewhere relatively close to the tower.

“How did you get out?” he asked.

“I used my bra wire to undo the shackle, then my shoe and shirt to climb over the top, then I climbed the ladder down. I saw you pass by with your parachute and followed.”

Gant stared at the girl, amazed at what she had accomplished. He keyed the radio to talk to Neeley. “I’ve got Emily and she’s ok. She was being held in the old water tank near the railroad tracks. Do you see it?”

“Roger that.”

“I bet Finley is somewhere close to there,” Gant said. “I got a suggestion.”

“Go ahead.”

The only expression Bailey showed when Neeley relayed Gant’s suggestion was a slight rise in his eyebrows, then he nodded. “All right.”

Bailey turned to Cranston and Roberts. “Finley is out there. He was holding your daughter in the old water tower. We’ve taken out Forten and Payne.” He leaned over and opened a plastic case and removed two pistols. “You get these. Then you take out Finley.”

Neeley reached over and cut the men’s flex cuffs after ordering the chopper to set down on the near side of town at the end of the main street. “Finley,” she said into the boom mike.

“I’m waiting.”

“We’re dropping Roberts and Cranston off at the end of main street. Let the girl go.”

“When I see them,” Finley said. “And I want you and that chopper and fucking machinegun to back way off.”

“No problem,” Neeley said.

The Blackhawk’s wheels touched down and Bailey gestured for the two to get off. As soon as they were out, he tossed the guns out and the chopper took off once more.

“Stay here,” Gant told Emily. They were in the back store room of what used to be a diner. They’d heard the chopper come in relatively close and Gant had considered taking her to it, but decided against it as it appeared Finley still thought she was in the water tower and that was a big advantage.

Emily nodded and sat down in an old rickety chair. Gant went through the open door to the front part of the store, staying in the shadows. He then crawled over to one of the booths and slid in, peering out the window. He could see Roberts and Cranston standing in the main street arguing, pistols in their hands.

Gant could well imagine what the fight was about: Roberts would want to save himself and Cranston would want to save Emily and face down the man behind her kidnapping.

The arguing ended when a voice yelled down the street. “This way.”

Gant twisted his head, but he couldn’t see who had called out, although he knew it had to be Finley. Glancing back, he could see Cranston and Roberts split up, one to each side of the street, keeping close to the buildings, weapons at the ready as they headed down toward the rail line at the end of the street.

“That’s far enough.”

Gant turned his head to the right and saw a man standing in the middle of the street, a sub-machinegun in one hand, a small black box in his other.

“Got this rigged with a dead man’s switch,” Finley yelled. “Shoot me, I let go of it — then the girl is dead.”

Gant felt a presence behind him and saw that Emily had crawled out of the back. She slithered into the other side of the booth across from him and looked out at the showdown. “You have to save my father,” Emily said.

Gant’s instinct was to say no — all three of the men out there had played a dirty hand and innocents had suffered because of it. But Emily — she was staring at him and he knew that he owed her. Her ability to escape from her shackle and from that tower was the wild card that had tipped this entire thing against Finley.

“Drop your weapons,” Finley ordered both Cranston and Roberts.

The two reluctantly put their pistols on the ground.

“How does it feel to be helpless?” Finley took a couple steps closer to the two.

“Please,” Emily said. “Or I’ll walk out that door.”

Gant cursed to himself. “All right.”

Gant stood and walked to the front door of the diner.

“I should make you suffer,” Finley yelled. “Just like I suffered. Like all those you betrayed suffered.”

Gant opened the door. “Oh, just shut up.”

Finley spun, weapon at the ready. “Who the hell are you?

Gant brought his own sub-machinegun up. “I’m from the Cellar.”

“Fucking Cellar,” Finley said with a nod. “Heard of it. Where the hell were you guys when these assholes were fucking me over? Fucking the sniper team over?”

When Golden’s son disappeared, Gant thought. Perhaps Nero had been getting too old for the job. “I’m here now.”

“Little fucking late,” Finley said. “It’s over now. I take them out, you take me out, it’s done.”

“That’s fine by me, but Emily would like to keep her father alive,” Gant said.

Finley laughed. “Tough shit on Emily.”

Emily’s voice came from behind Gant. “No, tough shit on you.”

Finley looked stunned for a second, then, surprisingly, he laughed. “Very industrious of you Ms. Cranston.”

“So go ahead and blow up the water tank,” Gant said. “We could all use a show. And then we cut you down where you stand.”

“I’ll give you a show,” Finley said. “But I recommend you hold off on the shooting. You see—“ he held the transmitter up—“there are two buttons on this. The first, well, don’t need that anymore.” He let up a finger holding a button.

Everyone cringed as the water tower exploded. All four legs were blasted away and it began to topple over away from them when a secondary blast underneath the bottom of the tank went off shattering the woods into thousands of pieces.

Gant’s ears were ringing and a few stray pieces of wood sprinkled down around him out of the sky but he kept his attention on Finley. His earlier confidence had faded. The targets’ plans had always prepared for contingencies and he had a feeling Finley was going to unveil the last one.

Cranston had picked up his pistol and was bringing it up to bear on Finley.

“Hold it,” Gant called out to him.

“Good call, Mister Cellar,” Finley said, wiggling the box and the forefinger still pressed down on a button. “I’ve got a card up my sleeve.”

“Fuck,” Gant muttered to himself as he suddenly saw what he’d missed from the very beginning. “Where is he?”

“Very sharp, Mister Cellar,” Finley said approvingly.

Cranston turned and looked at Gant. “What the hell is going on?”

Gant took a step closer to Finley, still not lowering his weapon. “Where is he?”

Finley pointed with the transmitter. “Right there. Inside. Along with five pounds of explosives.”

Gant followed the gesture. A wooden coffin was leaning upright against the side of a building less than thirty feet from Finley. He walked over to the coffin and threw open the front.

A young boy was tied inside, gagged, eyes wide in fear, the interior of the coffin lined with C-4 charges as Finley had said.

Gant had never seen him before but he knew right away he was looking at Jimmy Golden.