of tall pines separated the backyard from the water. Pitt could tell the house sat on a prime parcel of land that offered a breathtaking view of the lake. He swatted at a mosquito buzzing in his ear as he stepped onto a wide porch that ran the length of the house. He quickly spotted the old bell centered on a coffee table surrounded by some Adirondack chairs. The keys were indeed there, attached to a floatable chain used by boaters. Retracing his steps, he glanced toward the lake, noticing a private dock at the property line with a dark-colored boat moored alongside.
Ann had made her way to the front door and stood resting on her crutches. “Any luck?”
Pitt dropped the keys into her hand. “Just as advertised.”
She unlocked the door and stepped inside, groping for a switch. Pitt followed her in as she flipped on a bank of overhead spotlights that illuminated the interior. The antique cabin had been tastefully updated over the years. The kitchen glimmered with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, while the living room featured a large flat-panel television. A pair of stuffed trout hung next to an antique fly rod above the rock fireplace, an ode to one of the owner’s longtime passions.
Uncomfortable scouring the dead man’s refuge, Ann quickly hobbled through the house searching for an office or workshop. All she found were four large bedrooms.
“We better hope there’s something in the garage.” She looked toward a door at the end of the hall.
Pitt followed her as she opened the door and flicked on the lights. The sight surprised them both.
Though they expected to find a workshop of some sort, they never anticipated that a top-drawer research lab would be hidden in the Idaho woods. The garage looked like it had been transferred from the heart of Silicon Valley. The bright overhead lights illuminated a spotlessly clean white room filled with stainless steel workbenches. Rack after rack of electronic test equipment lined one wall; another corner was set up as a fabrication area. A long, narrow tank filled with water, used for marine hull and propulsion testing, stretched nearly the length of the building. But the space wasn’t entirely devoted to work, Pitt noted. In one corner stood a 1950s-era pinball machine next to an elaborate espresso machine.
“Jackpot,” Pitt said.
Ann limped her way across the room, where a large executive desk was positioned next to two easy chairs. A pair of laptop computers sat open beside several bound journals and stacks of schematic diagrams. Ann picked up a journal and read a few lines of the handwritten notes.
“This is dated just a few days ago,” she said. “He describes a series of successful tests of ‘SM’ in the lake and his plans for a final saltwater proof run in San Diego.”
“SM. That would be
“Thank goodness. His notes and data look to be all here. The plans haven’t been lost.”
The words had barely left her mouth when the lights to the house went off, leaving them in a sea of blackness.
23
THE TWO MEN HAD PULLED UP SHORT OF THE CABIN upon seeing a car parked in the drive. The driver opened the trunk, and each man retrieved a Glock semiautomatic pistol and a pair of night vision goggles. Darkness had enveloped the mountain lake by then, and a moonless night offered little illumination.
With trained stealth, they surveyed the cabin’s perimeter and located the electrical panel box. Prying open the cover, one of them found the main breaker and flipped it off.
Inside the windowless lab, it turned as black as a mine shaft at midnight. Ann let out a faint gasp. “What a place to be when the power goes out,” she said, a nervous uptick in her voice.
“May be just a power surge,” Pitt said. “Stay still for a moment so you don’t trip and fall.”
As they waited, an uneasy apprehension bedeviled Pitt’s thoughts. “Try turning on the laptop computer for light,” he said. “It should have some battery power.”
“Good idea.” Ann set down the journal and felt on the desk for one of the laptops. She located one and pressed a variety of keys, hoping to locate the power button.
From inside the house, Pitt heard the hall floorboards creak. They weren’t alone. He reached toward the workbench beside him and ran his hand across its surface, probing for a weapon. Ignoring some strands of loose wire, he felt a tool—a tiny pair of needle-nose pliers—and he palmed it in his hand.
“There, I think I got it,” Ann said. The computer began to boot up, and she spun the screen toward Pitt, casting the room in a turquoise glow. The faint light reached the house door just as it burst open. Two intruders charged in, then froze as they surveyed the interior.
Pitt saw they were both short but muscular, dressed in dark clothes and wearing night vision goggles. They held Glocks at arm’s length and swept the room mechanically until locking sights on Ann and Pitt.
“Do not move!” the lead assailant shouted with a slight Spanish accent.
He produced a flashlight and aimed its beam at them. Ann had to squint when the light lingered on her face.
The gunman strode forward, keeping his weapon trained on Pitt. “Back against the wall,” he said, illuminating the path with his flashlight.
Ann eased up her crutches and hobbled over to Pitt, then they both stepped to the side wall. A door in the wall led to the backyard, and Pitt gently nudged Ann closer to it as the gunman called to his partner. The second man approached and took up a guard position in front of Ann and Pitt, his gun fixed on them. The other man holstered his weapon, raised his goggles, and used his flashlight to begin searching the lab.
He was thorough, Pitt noted, and he knew what he was looking for. He started by examining the laptops and desk journals Ann had found, then methodically searched the lab itself. It took nearly ten minutes before he returned to the desk and organized the items he wanted. Locating an empty plastic bin, he stuffed it with Heiland’s notes and journals.
Ann huddled close to Pitt, stunned that she was staring down the barrel of a gun for the second time in two days. Anger began to push aside her fear as she saw Heiland’s work being stolen right in front of her. Emptying the desk drawers, the burglar stuffed the contents into the bin, finishing it off with the two laptops.
“Are you done?” the man standing guard asked.
“Almost.” The other man glanced at Ann and Pitt with annoyance. “Stay here with them until I get back.”
He hoisted the bin onto his shoulder and crossed the lab, guided by his flashlight.
A few seconds after he left the room, the guard called out to him, but he received no reply.
Pitt could hear the intruder as he lumbered through the house and exited the front door. He didn’t have to be a psychic to know nothing good would come from his return.
Without the lights from the flashlight and computer, the garage had again turned inky black. Too black, Pitt realized with a sudden flicker of hope. The guard’s night vision goggles required some form of ambient light to function, be it only faint starlight. But the only source of ambient light in the garage was the laptop computer and it had been removed. That’s why the guard had called to his partner—because he could no longer see anything.
Pitt’s theory was confirmed when he heard a zipper being pulled open on the guard’s jacket. He was fishing for his own flashlight. Pitt didn’t let him make the catch.
Pulling one of Ann’s crutches from her grasp, he spun it into a battering ram and charged forward. He could only hope that the guard remained where he was when his partner had left, five feet directly in front of Pitt.
As he fumbled for his light, the guard had lowered his gun hand and was totally unprepared when the rubberized foot of the crutch slammed into his sternum. The unseen blow thrust him backward, sprawling across Heiland’s desk. He whipped his gun around and fired several blind shots, not realizing he was aiming three feet over Pitt’s head.
“Ann, get out the back door now!” Pitt shouted.
Ducking low, he spun the crutch around again and started swinging it, trying to make contact with the prone gunman. The muzzle flashes gave him guidance, and he batted the aluminum crutch against the man’s wrist with a bone-shattering crack, sending the gun flying.
Ann had dropped to the ground at the first gunfire and felt along the wall until locating the door, then the
