Autumn was deathly pale. Ethan went down on his knees and pulled her against him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s bad, but I need you to pay attention to me right now, okay? This is super-important. Tell me what you did to Blessed.”
“I didn’t do anything, Ethan, I only—”
The door in the wall suddenly closed again.
Ethan knew they didn’t have much time. He said, “We’re going to get out of here. We’ll go back the way we came.”
“Ethan.”
He turned to see Joanna staring down low on the wall. He heard gas snaking out from a small white vent not six inches above the floor. He cursed under his breath. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
He scooped Autumn up in his arms and ran to where they’d first entered the white room, Joanna right behind him. Even though he could see the outline of the sliding door, he couldn’t see how to open it.
“There has to be something,” Joanna said. “There has to be.” Ethan went on his knees in front of Autumn. “We’re going to run our palms over this wall, look for a button, anything. Breathe real light; try not to let the gas get to you.”
They couldn’t find a way out. Ethan slammed his shoulder against the door, but it was solid. He could smell the gas, feel it against his skin. He ripped off his shirt, ran back to the low vent in the wall, and dropped to his knees. He stuffed his shirt as best as he could between the narrow slats. But to do any good at all, he had to hold the shirt in place.
Joanna fell to her knees beside him, shoved up her shirt, and unclipped her bra. “Move your shirt.” As she stuffed her bra between the slats, Ethan yelled, “Autumn, go over by the far wall and pull your T-shirt up over your nose and mouth!”
Joanna pulled off her sneakers and stripped off her socks. He did the same. They stuffed the socks in, trying to hold their breath as they worked.
Objectively, Ethan knew there would be no stopping the gas, and there wasn’t. “Sorry, Joanna, this isn’t going to cut it. We’ve got to find the way out of this place. There’s got to be some mechanism.”
“Yes, there has to be something,” Joanna said. “There has to be.”
But there wasn’t. Ethan felt the world spin, felt as if he were rising off the floor. He passed out.
63
WINNETT, NORTH CAROLINA
Eight minutes passed before Savich’s cell phone rang.
“Savich.” After a moment, he nodded. “Good.” And he punched off his phone.
He said to Cully and Sherlock, “The cavalry’s here. The chief of police and every single deputy Winnett has on the payroll are in position. They can’t cover the woods, but they’ve got Pulitzer Prize Road blocked on both ends. They’re forming a big perimeter, hunkering down where there are breaks in the trees, but trying to stay out of sight.
“The chief said he posted a couple of marksmen on top of Victor’s apartment building, came in through the back and up the stairs to the roof. The chief assures me everyone did their best to keep Victor and Lissy from knowing they’re there. We didn’t hear any cars from here, so maybe they didn’t either. They’re looking for Victor and Lissy’s car or, rather, for a car that’s hidden, since we don’t know what car Victor and Lissy are driving right now.”
Cully said, “They’ve probably got it stashed in some trees off the road.”
“Can’t be too far from here. Maybe the chief will find it. Then we’ve got them.”
“So in the best of all possible worlds, Lissy and Victor have no clue they’re surrounded,” Sherlock said.
Cully slammed his fist into the wall. “I hate this, I really do. What if Bernie is dead?” He looked into Savich’s eyes. “I guess you don’ know. Bernie’s wife, Jessie—she’s my sister. They’ve got two kids, my nephews.”
Sherlock touched her fingers to his forearm. “He’s their hostage until they nail us and drive out of Winnett, Cully. He’s alive, at least for now.”
He nodded, but she knew he wasn’t holding out much hope.
She said again, “Dillon, it’s time to see if they split up, see if one of them is waiting out back for us to step out the kitchen door. It’s about thirty feet from the back of the house to the edge of the woods, and the neighboring house is a good fifty feet away. It’s all forest on our other side. Now, since it wouldn’t be bright to go out the bac k door, I’m thinking to go out the bedroom window, there’s a whole mess of oaks out there. Great cover.” Sherlock saw his face and added real fast, “I’m the smallest, I can slip through the window, they won’t see me. You know I can dodge and duck with the best of them. I’ll slip into those trees and work my way back—”
Savich said, “No way. You just had your spleen removed, Sherlock.”
“Come on, Dillon, it’s been months since the surgery. I’m fine. You know I’m fine. Stop playing Mr. Protector.”
“Forget it, you’re still not up to running all out in the woods. I want you and Cully to stay put, keep a sharp eye out. Look at it this way, we’ve got backup in place. I’ll probably be redundant. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. Good plan, by the way.” And before Sherlock could jump on him or yell at him, Savich moved away from the front windows back down the hall to the bedroom.
He heard Sherlock say behind him, “Who needs a spleen anyway?”
64
VICTOR NESSER threw his binoculars to the ground.
Lissy jumped a bit, picked up the binoculars, and looked through them. “There’s still no movement in the house, not even a face looking out the front windows. Even though they couldn’t find our federal cop buddy here— I’ll bet you they called for their crime scene team, Victor, and that’s why they’re still inside the house.”
Victor said, “But why isn’t the crime scene team here yet? Why aren’t they
“I remember, it’s
“Yeah, but, you know, this is a hick town. Where would anybody get a forensic team? Maybe at Bud’s Bowling Bonanza or down at O’Malley’s Dairy Queen? What’s taking them so long to get it together?
Lissy patted Victor’s cheek. “They will, baby, they will. They’re stupid. They don’t know anything. They’ll come trotting out of the front door any minute now and we’ll blow them into a gazillion pieces.” She frowned suddenly, punched his arm. “Some bomb you made, Victor. First you couldn’t manage to stall out that security guard’s car in Washington, and now you couldn’t get the bomb to go off. Some computer expert you are.”
“It should have gone off,” Victor said, rubbing his arm. “I followed the instructions carefully; you watched me do it. Don’t hit me again, Lissy, I don’t like it.”
“Still,” she said, then looked over at Bernie. “We’ve got Mr. Fed here, and that’s something.”
Victor leaned over and punched Bernie hard in the arm. “Hey, wake up, pigface. You know why your buddies aren’t out here looking for you?”
Bernie was awake, had been for some time now, trying to control his roaring headache from the blow on the back of his head. Actually, he’d been whispering hallelujahs. Victor’s bomb hadn’t exploded, thank the good Lord, which meant Savich and Sherlock had disarmed it. Cully was still alive, and that was all Bernie wanted to think about. He’d hoped they’d say something useful if he kept playing possum, but then Victor hit him.
“Come on, pigface, open your baby blues!”
