Dead or Alive

“Shake the trees?” Dominic suggested. “Barn first?”

“Why not?”

Brian scooted back from the ridge, gathered a handful of stones, then returned. He tossed the first stone in a high arc. It smacked into the barn’s roof, then clattered down the shingles and thumped to the ground.

Nothing moved. No sounds.

Brian tossed another stone, this time in a flat trajectory. The stone thunked against the barn’s wall. Five minutes passed.

“Been a half-hour.”

“The barn first, then the huts?” asked Dominic.

“Yeah. If there are any reinforcements, that’s where they’ll be.”

They backed away from the hilltop and crawled to their right until they were directly behind the barn, then went back over the top of the hill and picked their way down the slope to the barn’s rear wall. The wood planking was old and brittle and widely gapped. Brian and Dominic looked inside but saw nothing moving. Brian gestured: On to the huts. I’m on point.

Hunched over, they moved out from behind the barn and crept along the base of the hill, keeping their heads below the top of the scrub brush. After fifty feet they reached a narrow dirt path. Directly across it lay the adobe huts. Twenty yards with no cover. A hundred feet to their left stood the farmhouse. Above the back porch, the window was still lighted.

Brian gestured: You go; I’ll cover.

Dominic nodded, took one more look around, then sprinted on flat feet across the road to the westernmost hut’s outer wall. He checked both corners, then signaled Brian to cross over. He was there ten seconds later. Dominic tapped his ear, then tapped the wall. A few feet above their heads was a horizontal slit window. Through it they heard sounds of snoring.

I’ll take the two on the north, Dominic gestured.

They met back up two minutes later. Brian cupped his hand around Dominic’s ear and whispered, “Two men, one to a hut. AK-47 each.”

Dominic nodded his agreement, held up two fingers, then four. Four total. He drew his thumb across his throat, shrugged his shoulders: Take ’em down?

Brian shook his head and pointed to the farmhouse. Dominic nodded. With Brian in the lead, they followed the contour of the hut walls to the eastern side, the closest point of approach to the farmhouse’s back porch. More open ground, but only twenty feet this time.

Browning up and tracking right, left, up, down, Brian crossed the distance, then dropped into a crouch beside the steps. After two minutes, he gestured Dominic across. Brian pointed at the wooden steps and drew his thumb across his throat. Too old, too noisy. Dominic nodded. He crab-walked to the edge of the porch and tested the railing. He turned and gave a thumbs-up to Brian. Three minutes later they were over the railing and on the porch. They moved to the door, each taking a jamb. Brian tested the knob. It was unlocked. He swung it open two inches, then stopped. Waited. He pushed it open the rest of the way, peeked around the corner, and pulled back. He shook his head.

They stepped across the threshold, Brownings up and tracking for movement. They were in a tiled foyer. Ahead and to the right, a set of stairs led up to a balcony hall lined with doors. To their left and right, sitting rooms. The walls were painted stark white stucco, seemingly glowing in the darkness. Dominic pointed to himself. On me. Brian nodded and sidestepped over, and together they moved into the sitting room and into a dining room beyond, off which they found a kitchen. Out the opposite kitchen door they found themselves back in the sitting room to the left of the foyer.

Brian pointed at the stairs and got a nod in return. Dominic backed into the corner of the foyer to act as overwatch as Brian mounted the stairs; once at the top, he took overwatch, and Dominic climbed up to join him.

There were four doors along the hall and one on the far wall. They started with the first door. A bedroom. Empty, bed made. The air was musty, as though the room hadn’t been occupied for some time. They moved to the second and third doors and found two more empty bedrooms. Behind the fourth door was what looked like a home office, complete with an oak desk, a multiline phone, a fax/scanner/copier, and a flat-screen computer monitor. Brian stepped inside and looked around. Built into a credenza opposite the desk was a wall safe.

They moved to the last door. Dominic pressed his ear to the wood, then pulled back and mouthed, Snoring. He gestured: I’ll go for Almasi; you clear the room.

Brian nodded.

Dominic turned the knob, eased the door open an inch, and put his eye to the gap. He turned back, gave Brian a nod, then swung open the door. He was at Almasi’s four-poster bed in three strides. Almasi was lying on his back, his arms by his sides. Brian was moving through the room, checking the corners and the master bedroom. He nodded at Dominic, who grabbed Almasi’s opposite arm, jerked him onto his stomach, pressed his face into the pillow. Almasi was instantly awake, arms flailing. Dominic jammed the Browning’s suppressor into the base of his neck.

“One sound and you’re dead. Nod once if you understand.”

Almasi nodded.

“We’re leaving, and you’re coming with us. Make life hard for us and I’ll make sure you die badly. You’ve got a computer and a safe in your office. You’re going to give us the password and combination, yes?”

Almasi nodded again.

Brian handed Dominic a roll of duct tape; he bound Almasi’s hands, then tossed back the roll. He backed away from the bed and gestured for Almasi to stand. He did so. With Brian in the lead, they moved back into the hall, then into the office.

Dominic powered up Almasi’s computer, a high-end Dell tower. The Windows Vista logo came up, followed by a log-in screen. He found a pad and pen in the desk drawer and shoved it across the desk to Almasi. “User name and password.”

Almasi didn’t move.

Brian pulled a nearby chair across the room and shoved Almasi down in it. He pressed the Browning against Almasi’s right knee. “That’s where I’ll start. Knees, then ankles, then elbows.” He picked up the pad and pen from the desk and dropped them in Almasi’s lap. “User name and password.”

This time Almasi didn’t hesitate. When he finished, Brian handed the pad to Dominic, who logged in and began scanning the computer’s directories. “Get him started on the safe,” Dominic said. “I’ll start downloading, then toss his bedroom.” He inserted a flash drive into the tower’s USB port and began transferring files.

Brian got Almasi to his feet and prodded him toward the safe. “Open.”

“My hands.”

“You’ll manage.”

Almasi dropped to his knees and began turning the dial.

“Be right back,” Dominic said, and left the room.

Almasi looked up at Brian. “Done.”

“Open it, then move back.”

Almasi did so, sidling backward on his knees. Brian knelt before the safe. Inside, it was empty, save a single CD-ROM in a paper sleeve. He reached inside. In the corner of his eye, he saw Almasi’s bound hands moving toward the shelf beside him. He turned, saw the pistol in his hands, spun, brought the Browning up while sidestepping. There was a crack. The room flashed orange. From the hip, Brian snapped off a shot, hitting Almasi in the center of the sternum. Almasi toppled sideways.

“Brian!” Dominic came through the door, took two strides, and kicked the gun from Almasi’s hand. He knelt down, checked his pulse. “He’s gone.”

“He came up with a gun,” Brian panted. “Took my eyes off him for a second. Goddamn it.”

“Whoa, sit down, Brian, sit down.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?”