usually came back, racing to catch up only to pass her again. She figured that during her three-mile run, Bugsy probably covered five or six times that distance. Trapped in his cage the animal needed to burn off energy.
On their very first run, the dog hung close and was highly cautious as they approached the barbed-wire fence. It was here that the underground wire had been lain that triggered a warning followed by a low amperage but painful shock through the dog’s collar if the animal approached too close. Through this device Bugsy had been conditioned not to get near the visible fence line. Once he realized that without the collar he was free, the dog went wild, streaking off into the distance to explore the unknown world. Since then he didn’t even slow down at the fence. He would slip under the bottom strand of barbed wire and be gone, as he did this morning.
Liquida settled in behind the steering wheel. He could hear gravel popping under the tires through the open driver’s-side window as the rental car, headlights out, rolled slowly down the road, keeping pace with the girl out in the field. If the road wasn’t so flat, he would have used gravity rather than the motor to keep the noise down. He was sure that she hadn’t noticed the slow-moving car out on the road. The girl was a good hundred yards away, out in front of him with her back to the vehicle as she ran.
He watched the Doberman taking off across the field well out ahead of her. There was just enough budding light on the horizon to see the two of them, dark silhouettes moving across the freshly mowed ground, the scent of alfalfa still in the air.
Within seconds Liquida watched as the dog came to an abrupt stop. The animal sniffed the ground. Then with the speed of a greyhound he suddenly took off in another direction. The girl ignored the Doberman and continued on her way. Thirty yards on she jumped the wire fence and headed toward a long line of trees in the distance. The trees flanked a slight depression in the ground, what appeared to be a creek that meandered across the girl’s line of travel.
Liquida pressed on the car’s accelerator. Within seconds he was out in front of her, rolling silently at speed down the dark road until he crossed the bridge over the creek. He pulled off to the right alongside the road and turned off the engine. He stepped out, crossed the road, and made his way down the embankment and toward the line of trees along the creek. Liquida moved swiftly, staying just above the bank and periodically checking his quarry through the binoculars. He kept moving until it appeared that the girl was running directly toward him from the other side. She was maybe seventy yards away. The question was whether she would cross the creek. If not, Liquida was going to have to get his feet wet.
In the distance he could see the farmhouse. Except for the porch light, the house was still dark. He lowered the field glasses, letting them hang from the strap around his neck. He was about to move toward the water to try and cross when he glanced to his right and noticed a sodden wooden plank jutting out into the creek from the other side. He moved around a patch of reeds and saw that the board, maybe twelve feet long, spanned the creek. It was supported by three large rocks, a makeshift footbridge.
Along the creek bank on both sides was a tangle of heavy brush and chest-high reeds. There was a narrow path through this foliage leading down to the plank on each side. He stepped to high ground and checked through the field glasses one more time. She was making her way directly toward the path across the creek. Liquida knew instantly that he had his spot. By the time she reached this point, she would be winded and tired, the lactic acid building up in her legs, making the muscles burn.
If Liquida had the use of both arms, he would have taken her from behind, but as it was, he couldn’t.
If things went sour and it turned into a wrestling match, even with his arm in a sling he would have a fifty- pound advantage over her, the element of surprise, and the fact that he was fresh. He moved toward a line of reeds no more than five feet from the near end of the wooden plank and settled in behind the natural blind to wait.
The tug of the fanny pack bounced against her hip as she jogged toward the tree line.
There was no sign of Bugsy. He had disappeared. He would usually cross the creek through the water and turn up on the other side, wet and sometimes muddy. If he got too dirty, Sarah would have to hose him off at the barn before putting him back in his cage. She had done this a couple of times in the last few days.
She stopped for a moment, checked her pulse, and took a swig of water from the aluminum bottle in her pack. She was beginning to work up a good sweat. Sarah checked her watch. She would have to keep moving if she was going to make it back to the house before the lights came on. She screwed the top back on the bottle, dropped it in the pack, and zipped it closed. Then she slid the fanny pack around to her front. Bouncing around with the heavy water bottle inside, it was beginning to chafe her hip. She started off once more, this time at a faster pace, edging toward the county road and making a beeline for the wooden plank across the creek.
Chapter Six
Liquida could now hear the faint padding of her running shoes as the soles slapped the harder ground leading toward the opening in the brush. A second later he picked up the sound of her labored breathing. Crouched down behind the reeds, he inched toward the path until he was no more than two feet from the well-worn ground of the trail.
He reached into the sling with his gloved left hand and felt the handle of the needle-sharp stiletto. Slowly he drew it out and held it down low, close to his body, parallel to his left thigh.
If he timed it right, he would spring up from behind the reeds just as her leading foot cleared the end of the wooden plank on this side of the creek. When he jumped, his sudden movement would cause her eyes to be instinctively riveted on his face. She wouldn’t notice the blade until her own forward momentum carried her body onto the point as Liquida thrust it upward under her rib cage. It would be over in an instant.
Liquida dipped his head low as he heard the rustle of brush on the other side of the creek. A second later the footfalls slowed as she negotiated her way carefully down the embankment; then came the first flat thud as the sole of her shoe landed on the wooden plank.
He could see her through the reeds. Two more hollow drumbeats followed as she raced across the narrow wooden bridge over the water.
She was close enough now that Liquida could smell her. He waited half a beat, then launched himself up onto his feet. He took one quick full stride forward directly into her path, closing the distance between them before the girl realized what was happening.
I am out of Herman’s hospital room like a bullet racing for the telephone at the nurses’ station. The doctor with a crash cart is working over Herman.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” The cop is out in the hall again after getting the doctor.
I turn back and skip sideways as I yell to him, “Call Thorpe. See if he’s still in the building. If not, get one of his agents up here-now. Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just call him.”
By the time I reach the nurses’ station and the phone, I realize that I don’t have the number, and the phone number at the farm is unlisted. It’s in my cell phone, but Thorpe or one of his minions has that. God knows where it is, probably back at their office in a lockbox with other property.
I head for the elevator just as Joselyn steps out of the ladies’ room.
“Where are you going?”
“Liquida knows where Sarah is.”
“What?”
“They’re working on Herman!” I point to the room. “Liquida must have told him just before he went unconscious.” I am hammering the button on the elevator over and over again. The doors can’t open fast enough.
“Call the farm,” she says.
“I don’t have the number. It’s in my phone.”
“Shit!” says Joselyn.
“I got him,” says the cop. He’s talking into a handheld radio from his belt. “He’s in the building. He’s on his
