“But the feds believed you in the end?”
“We came to an understanding.”
“They didn’t want to throw you in jail while they checked out your alibi, or whatever?”
“They may have preferred me to hang around a little longer.”
“So why let you go? Did you pull some lawyer trick?”
“Dialogue had stalled. It was time to explore other avenues.”
“What does that mean?”
“I felt I could contribute more to solving the case if I was free to operate in a less restricted environment.”
“In other words, you escaped?”
“If you like.”
“Oh yes, I do like. How? What did you do?”
“Not much. Just walked out the door when they weren’t looking.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Any chance of fixing it so these guys aren’t looking? So you could walk out of here, too? And take me with you?”
“Absolutely. When the time is right.”
“When the time is right? When will that be?”
“Someone’s coming to talk to me. It would be rude to leave without having a chat.”
“Screw ‘rude.’ I’ve been here three days.”
“Another couple of hours won’t hurt.”
“David, ever thought what they’ll do when they don’t need us anymore? Like maybe after they’ve talked to us?”
There was another bang above our heads, then two people’s footsteps clattered down the stairs. Julianne slumped forward like she’d been shot.
“Too late,” she said.
The two younger guys appeared from the bottom of the staircase.
“Your boss here?” I said.
They ignored me and crossed to the front of Julianne’s cage. The guy who’d driven me here had the keys. He opened her door. Julianne stood up and backed away.
“Where are you going?” he said. “Come on. Out.”
Julianne didn’t move. The driver stepped into her cage. She retreated. He followed her into the corner, grabbed her upper arm and hauled her out. The passenger pulled the door shut after him.
The padlock was one of the old-fashioned English kind. You can’t just click them shut with one hand-you have to hold the hasp in place while you turn the key. They’re more awkward to use, but I prefer them. No effort has been wasted on decoration or convenience. It’s all gone into making them solid and functional. They look uncompromising, like they belong in an ancient jail or dungeon. My door had the same kind.
The driver finished with the key and the two guys moved back toward the stairs, dragging Julianne between them.
“Don’t worry,” the driver said as they passed me. “You’re next.”
That would be fine for me.
Maybe not for Julianne.
Certainly not for them.
ELEVEN
So far, all my assignments have been in cities.
All except one, that is. It started out OK. I had a roof over my head, running water, cooked food. But things soon went downhill. It spread into the jungle. In Colombia. And I hated it. The entire place was full of creatures that spent every waking moment trying to kill you. Everything that walked or crawled or slithered or swam or flew was absolutely lethal. Even the frogs were poisonous. Apart from one type. Some exotic species that was all covered in bright red and yellow blotches. They’d evolved that way to fool people into thinking they were dangerous, apparently. Like the guys who’d taken Julianne, in many ways. Only there was a problem with that approach. Some predators fell for it and walked away, unwilling to take the risk. The rest just steamed in harder.
That may have worked for the frogs, half the time.
But neither result was going to suit me.
Julianne was brought back after only twenty minutes. I took a good look at her as the driver shoved her through the cage doorway. She seemed pretty composed. Not in any obvious pain, anyway. I tried to catch her eye but she didn’t lift her head. She wouldn’t stop staring at the floor.
The driver opened my door and glared across at me, alert and anxious. He was standing bolt upright, chest out, chin up.
“Your turn,” the driver said. “The hell you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” I said quietly, making sure not to look him in the face.
I hesitated for a moment, then wearily hauled myself to my feet. I made a real meal of it, slumping my shoulders and bowing my head. Another few seconds slipped away. The driver was beginning to relax, not perceiving a threat. Another long pause dragged by and, finally satisfied, I crept timidly out of the cage.
The passenger took my right arm and held it while the driver swung the cage door shut. When he had both hands on the padlock, concentrating, I stamped my right heel down sideways into the passenger’s left kneecap. He yelled, dropped my arm, and doubled over in pain. Struggling for balance, he hopped drunkenly back, hunched up, hugging his injured leg to his chest.
The padlock hit the floor. The driver was starting to react. His right hand was moving to his waistband, toward the shiny. 38. But before he could grab it, my left elbow reached the side of his face. It was hard to get the power with my wrists bound so close, but I caught him well enough. His head flopped sideways, full into the frame of the cage door, and he went down.
I turned back to the passenger. He’d straightened up and was taking some weight on his left leg again. His face was twisted with fury. His left hand was clenched into a fist, and as I watched his right hand appeared from behind his back, holding his. 45. I sprang forward, slamming into him, hands out in front of me, pushing his arm back down. The gun jammed into his groin. I went to twist his arm up and around, ready to break his elbow, but I couldn’t get the leverage with my wrists tied. I was short of options, so I just drove my forehead straight into his face. It was rushed, but still enough to break his nose-I heard the crack-and knock him backward onto the floor.
He dropped the gun as he went down. I kicked it sideways under the nearest set of shelves. He lay still for a moment, then rolled onto his front, struggled onto all fours, and clawed himself upright using the wooden frame like a ladder. He turned to face me. Blood was gushing from his nose, covering his chin, and already soaking into the front of his shirt. He took a limping, unsteady step toward me. I let him take one more, then swung my right knee up hard, high into his rib cage. He folded over in front of me, too winded to yell any more, so I smashed my fists down into the base of his skull, stepped aside, and left him to fall.
The driver’s Colt had fallen out of his waistband when he went down, so I leaned over and retrieved it. It was a nice weapon. The wooden grip felt good in my hand. My thumb hovered over the safety. Two each in the head would seem like a fair return. But that would be too noisy. It would attract the wrong kind of attention.
The driver had landed facedown, so I put his gun in my pocket and knelt down beside him. I put my right knee between his shoulder blades and took hold of his head, hands by his ears, ready to twist.
“David,” Julianne said, in a kind of hissing whisper. “What are you doing?”
She was at the front of her cage, only a couple of feet away. Her fingers were through the mesh and her eyes were wide and staring.
“Oh, my God,” she said slowly, her voice shaking. “You’re going to kill him.”
It was a long time since I’d worked with civilians. I’d forgotten how they can react in this kind of situation. Failing to neutralize those guys would be ridiculously naive. Let them live, and you know what would happen. They’d
