The Shop

and you owe it to your family to take care of them. They are your responsibility. You all need to be quiet so they won’t hear us, and you need to lead the way. Can you do that?”

He nodded. Then he zipped a finger across his mouth, pretended to turn an invisible key, and threw it over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Senator.” She said to Franklin, “Where’s the entrance to the tunnel?”

“It’s through the pantry.”

“This floor has a pantry?”

He motioned to a doorway ahead in the gloom.

“How do we get in and out?”

“There’s no lock on the door. It’s just hidden.”

“What about on the other end?”

“They’re hidden, too. No locks. We didn’t install locks because someone could get trapped in the tunnel that way. Nobody’s supposed to know about the tunnels.”

“Luke Perdue did.”

He glared at his daughter. “Yes, Luke did.”

Jolie decided to park them in the tunnel between the pool shed and the boathouse. That way, should anyone come into the tunnel, they’d have at least one place to run, and possibly two.

She hoped the killers didn’t know about the tunnels. But if they had a schematic of the island, they would.

The old man was losing focus, although he remained quiet. He sat with his back against the wall of the tunnel, zoning out. She didn’t like his color. He seemed to be sucking at the air. The tunnel was stuffy and damp; it smelled of mold.

But she had done the best she could. She needed to know what was happening above-ground. The bursts of automatic gunfire meant that Cyril had already engaged the enemy. He might be dead already. She had no illusions about her own ability. She was a sharpshooter, but that was a long time ago. Her training was that of a cop, not of a soldier or an operative. She relied on the authority of the badge. That would be no use to her now.

She handed Kay the extra .45 she’d brought along.

“You’re not going to leave us, are you?”

“You know how to shoot, right?”

Jolie knew that was true; Kay used to hunt with her dad.

“Where are you going? Why can’t you stay here with us?”

“You should be all right here. I’ve done all I can.” She realized she sounded just like Cyril. Felt it important to add, “If you have to shoot, shoot to kill.”

The helo circled once, then flew away. Landry trained his rifle on the front hatch of the Carolina skiff, just in case someone was inside. The storm was getting worse. The water was pea-green, and swirling a mixture of tannin bark, foam, and trash washed in with the waves. Visibility was poor. The rain was a curtain, falling so hard on the dock it created a mist that rose into the gray sky like gauze.

His mind ticked over what he’d learned. First thing: a head count. There was the swimmer, the driver of the SUV, at least two men in the helo—the pilot, and whoever had shot at him. The helo would be for reconnaissance, surveillance, and communications relay. Command and control. If Cardamone had come with his men, he would be in the helo.

That was four people right there. Landry figured anywhere from two to four in the skiff. He’d take the higher number. If there were more than that, he probably wouldn’t get through this, but where was Cardamone going to get those kind of operatives at short notice? So he’d guess there were eight total.

With the swimmer dead, that left seven.

The driver of the SUV had parked the vehicle somewhere nearby and come back on foot. Landry was sure of that.

The swimmer had managed to cut the cables to the lights and phone before Landry’d got to him, but at least one generator was still going—he could hear it. The helo was a diversion to pin Landry in one place while the rest of the team landed—probably one or two of them were disabling the generators now.

They would know he had access to a cell phone, that the people in the house had them, too.

But Cardamone also knew by now that Landry didn’t plan on calling in the cavalry. He knew it was between the two of them.

With Franklin in the middle.

Because they would take into account the fact that there would be cell phones, they would go in fast, before the family knew they were in immediate danger.

Cardamone’s team would fan out to all the structures on the island. The first place they’d go to was the main house. Two operatives, because they expected to encounter at least three people: Franklin, Riley, and the senator, and possibly the hired help.

The only question was, did they leave a man to guard the skiff?

The answer was no. If they had, Landry would be dead by now. The helo drove him here, into the boathouse—the obvious place to hide. Whoever was waiting for him would have picked him off like pheasant with its wings clipped.

It was the gap in their plan. They should have anticipated he would run for the boathouse, should have left someone there to kill him.

He made his way to the main house. He knew the enemy would have a simple diagram of sectors to search, and he also knew they’d stay within close enough distance to one another to offer support.

The rain fell harder. It seemed as if there was nobody on this earth other than himself. There was no movement except for the spatter of raindrops on foliage. The main house was dark—the generator out.

He went quietly into the dark house. The rain was loud, even from inside.

The operative almost blundered right into him. Landry saw his bulk, slightly darker in the half-light of the hallway, and stepped into the doorway of the room off the hall. The man sensed movement and crouched, pulling his knife and plunging it into Landry’s side.

By that time Landry had his hands around the man’s throat and broke his neck.

The man slumped, legs spread out in front of him. Landry’s wrist hurt so badly he sank to his knees afterward, seeing little yellow dots against a sea of darkness.

The knife’s blade had bounced off his Kevlar vest but grazed his armpit, and he could feel the blood leaking. Not serious, but it stung. He tore off his assailant’s watch cap and shoved it hard against the flesh under his arm, holding it there for what seemed like an eternity.

The man’s portable comm crackled. It was Cardamone. Landry thought about asking Cardamone’s position, but he didn’t think he could fake the voice. If the other op was near, he sure as hell didn’t want to give away his location.

Two down, he thought. Five to go? Five, or maybe just three. He hoped it was three.

He was getting tired of the carnage.

He was getting just plain tired.

Landry hoped Jolie had taken the family down into the tunnels. Although Cardamone knew about the tunnels, and he surely knew about the three entrances, it was still their best chance. Like trying to kill a gopher in that old arcade game. Whac-A-Mole. Hit him here, he pops up there. Mole or a gopher? He realized his mind was wandering, he was getting a little off-kilter. It was the pain. He cradled his wrist against his other elbow, realized he needed to clear his head. Had to move this guy, now.

He dragged the man through the doorway into the small bedroom and into the closet. Closed the door quietly. Listened. Nothing but the rain drumming on the roof. Could hear his heart beating, the quickening inside him as he got closer to his goal.

What he wanted was Cardamone.

His eyes adjusting more to the light, he now concentrated on another sense: his hearing. Try as he might, Landry could not hear the helo.

He guessed that Cardamone had touched down somewhere, met up with the SUV. Or maybe a boat. He