“What’s going to happen to her,” Loni was shaking. “Why doesn’t someone tell me what’s going on?”
“Everybody just sit back down,” said Cabral. “We’ve got a few minutes to wait. Then, if you’re good, we’ll leave you. Maybe even alive, since you haven’t seen our faces.”
“Your face has been in every paper in the country,” said Bob Gold, with more guts than sense.
“Where I’m going it won’t matter. Keep this up and no one comes out alive.”
Suddenly the house was rent with horrifying screams, screams that carried unimaginable pain and terror.
“God! What’s he doing to her?!” Bob Gold struggled to get out of his chair.
“Stop it!” shouted Carver. “You’ve got what you want. Make him stop!”
The screams became louder. Loni threw up. Even Andre turned pale.
Then just as suddenly they stopped. All eyes turned to the stairs. It seemed like hours, but it could only have been a minute. A door could be heard opening, and a moment later Frank appeared. He was holding a limp Cilla in his arms, and, as he started down the stairs, even in the faint light cast by a dozen candles, they could see her clothes were torn and her chest covered with blood. He dumped her body on the floor. Cabral looked at it with distaste.
“You really did it. Shit, you even make me sick, you maniac.”
With a roar Frank delivered a blow to Cabral’s jaw that knocked him cold. He turned to the other members of the gang. “Who else wants to call me a maniac?”
They stepped back a pace. “Hey,” said Gil. “You can’t help ... being crazy...you...”
A second blow and Gil stretched out beside Cabral. Frank had the attention of the remaining two. They raised their weapons. Suddenly Carver saw movement from Cilla’s body. She was still alive! Cilla raised herself to her feet and, with the distraction caused by Frank, was able to throw herself on the back of the smaller of the two men still standing, staggering him.
“Frances!” she yelled.
The FBI woman had been as stunned by the action as the others, but was trained to react more quickly. “Look out!” she bellowed. The shout was just enough to distract Groper, the bigger man. Frank grabbed at his weapon, twisting it out of his hands. Then Frances went into action, butting her head into Crow’s midsection. He went down with both women on top of him, but hit Frances on the side of the head with his weapon. She rolled off, stunned. Cilla hit him, and the two struggled on the floor. Bob Gold raised on his crutches and, seeing Frank had knocked out the bigger man, hit the maniac on the back of the neck. Frank went down. Of all of them, only Andre remained standing. He picked up Gil’s rifle and pointed it at Cilla.
“Get off him, Cilla.”
She cautiously got to her feet, leaving the unconscious Crow on the floor. Bob started toward him on crutches. Andre knocked one of them away, and Gold went sprawling. But this was all the opening Cilla needed. In a flash she was on Adams, kneeing him in the crotch. As he doubled up, she brought a fist to his jaw. He collapsed.
A burst of gunshots and Cilla jumped back, hitting the staircase and sliding to the floor. “All right, game’s over.” Cabral was on his knees but had an automatic weapon in his hands. He got slowly to his feet, went over to Frank and kicked him in the stomach. The man groaned.
“Get up, you bastard. I’m going to tear you apart. Who the fuck do you think you are, laying hands on me.”
Frank crawled to his knees; Cabral fished a long blade, coated with red, from the monster’s pocket and threw it to one side. Weaving, Frank got to his feet. Cabral snorted with disgust and placed the rifle on the floor.
“I don’t need this to finish you. Let’s see how handy you are without your knife, butcher boy.”
The two circled each other, Cabral, though not as tall, far more ready for battle. Wally thought about going for one of the guns, but knew he’d never make it. Who did he want to survive, the monster that had brutalized Cilla? Or the fiend who intended to massacre all of New England? The only hope he could see was that the survivor would be so weakened he or Evans could reach one of the weapons scattered around the room.
Cabral got in the first blow, a hard right that smashed Frank against a wall. Frank, almost unaffected, got to his feet in time for another blow from Cabral that sent him against a wall of shelves, knocking over books and small figurines. He bounced back, grabbing Cabral with both arms. Cabral kicked his legs out from under him. Frank crashed into the fireplace, Cabral on top of him, forcing his head back into the flames.
“I’ll save hell the trouble of burning you,” he grunted, with his hands around Frank’s neck. In desperation, Frank got Cabral by the throat. It was a silent struggle of strength, and Carver knew the insane can call on more strength than those considered “normal.” Sure enough, gradually Frank emerged from the fireplace, forcing Cabral back. With his ski mask ringed by fire, the man known for his work with a knife looked like hell was already his home. With one hand still on Cabral’s throat, he grabbed his midsection with the other. The tableau that emerged, as a dazed Cilla’s eyes cleared, struck a chord in her memory. There was Cabral raised high over the other’s head, then brought down hard, back first, onto a knee. There was a dull `crack’, and Cabral was tossed aside like an empty bag of bones.
Which is what he was.
“Look out!” she yelled. Gil had recovered enough to pick up a rifle and was aiming it at the victor. There was a shot, but it was Gil who fell.
From the kitchen came a man with a pistol held in front of him. Evans recognized him, Bartlett Police Chief Solomon. He was followed by a snow-encrusted Todd.
“Hold it right there,” the Chief said to the one gang member left standing. “Christ! What’s been going on here? It looks like the Valentine’s Day massacre!”
Todd picked up one of the rifles.
“Are you alright, Mr. Carver?” the Chief asked, swiveling his pistol expecting other masked men to appear.
Wally looked around: Bob crutching himself back in a chair; Frances sitting up. “Yeah, alive. Though Cilla...”
“Todd!” said Cilla. “Is Kurt...?”
“He’s alright, Cilla. But you!” He stared at her red-splotched front.
“I’ll be okay,” a weak voice belying her words. “How did you get here?”
“Mountain Rescue dropped me at the police station. The phones are out. The Chief decided to come along in my plow while I told you. Like everybody else, he’s been working on where those tanks are.”
“No, don’t you move!” said the Chief waving his pistol at a hulking Frank, who was reaching for Gil’s rifle. Todd kicked it away, then started picking up other automatic weapons.
“We know where they are, Todd,” said Cilla. “We know everything now. There are three tanks at Bob Gold’s house, safe under refrigeration.”
“But the ones on the mountain. We never found them.”
“Yes we did. I was leaning on them early this morning.”
“I was with you this morning!” said Todd.
“Not when I was sitting outside the AMC hut near the summit of Washington.”
“Why didn’t you say something to Kurt and me?”
“I didn’t know, not then. But later Grecco said something about `lakes’ being more important than rivers. And just a few minutes ago I was reminded the telescope in the Yankee building was pointed out the window at that AMC hut.”
“The Lakes of the Clouds hut! That’s where they are?”
“Sitting against the building like propane gas tanks.”
“Is this all The Nutcracker’s gang?” asked the Chief.”
“I’ll bet they’re the important ones. Except for a man named Carlos, and the FBI knows about him,” said Cilla, with the beginnings of a smile. “There may be a little difficulty with some Russians, but they’re only foot soldiers.”
“It’s astounding! Mrs. Rogers, do you know what you’ve done?” exclaimed the Chief. “You’ve brought down The Nutcracker.” The enormity overwhelmed him. “My God, you’ve saved New England!”
“No,” said Cilla. “But I can tell you who did, a man who was bound and taken out into the desert to die, and not only got away, but found where the tanks were hidden and destroyed the Nutcracker’s gang. Because of him I’m
