Читать книгу The Nightmare Thief - Meg Gardiner - Страница 14
ОглавлениеThrough the pines Jo saw, at last, the crest of the hill. They’d been hiking back toward her truck for two hours. She was thirsty, and an altitude headache was lurking. The sun darted in and out from between gathering clouds. The air had a nip.
She was itching to get Phelps Wylie’s damaged cell phone to the Tuolumne County Sheriff’s Office, down the twisting mountain road in Sonora. She took her phone from her jeans pocket. No signal. The messages to Evan Delaney remained in the queue to be sent.
“We’re still probably forty miles from the nearest cell tower,” Gabe said.
He slowed on the trail and took a careful breath. He looked golden in the sunlight. His eyes were warm and full of life. But breathing deeply could still cause him pain, because of scar tissue, gunshot damage, and surgical work. He was trying to get a lungful of oxygen without feeling as if a spear had ripped open his side.
She ran a hand down his arm and squeezed his hand. “Home-stretch.”
The final two hundred yards of the trail zigzagged around pines and October yellow cottonwoods and lichen green rocks, to a clearing beside the logging road. Through the trees she glimpsed sunlight bouncing off the windows of her Toyota Tacoma pickup.
She heard music and voices. She and Gabe exchanged a look.
They walked into the clearing, and Jo slowed. Rock music was blaring from a car stereo, the Kings of Leon promising that your sex was on fire. A gargantuan black Hummer was parked by her truck. Red and yellow flames were painted on its sides. Its hood was up.
A motley group of young people loitered nearby. Young women with carelessly styled hair wearing tired jeans and expensive shoes. Fit young men trying to impress them. And failing—one guy sat on the dirt with his back against the Hummer, head hanging low. He was almost as green as the splotch of vomit a few feet away. A girl in pink velour lay on the backseat of the Hummer, feet sticking out the open door.
Gabe murmured, “Early in the day for so much hilarity.”
Two men were bent over the Hummer’s engine. One wore a baseball cap with EDGE ADVENTURES stitched on it. The other was dressed in black tactical gear. He was wiry and had a dark orange wisp of a mustache, like an overripe peach.
He straightened and said, “Von.”
A third man walked out from behind Jo’s truck.
Gabe didn’t slow or say a word, but as they crossed the clearing he took his hands from his pockets and stepped a foot ahead of Jo. Her internal radar began to ping.
She said, “Engine trouble?”
The man called Von nodded. He too was dressed in tactical black. He was wiping grease from his hands with a rag.
“Hope it’s just the battery, not the starter,” he said.
Peach Fuzz added, “We’re chauffeuring our young guests on their way to a weekend outing. One of them got car sick.”
The young guest in question, the green-faced boy, was, at the moment, crawling alongside the Hummer toward a ditch.
Von nodded. He had a head like a basketball. “We stopped and then couldn’t restart the engine. You got jumper cables?”
Jo’s antennae continued to twitch. Was that why he was snooping around her truck? “Yeah. I can give you a jump.”
She unlocked the truck and got the cables from the crew cab. Nearby one of the girls, a brunette wearing a gold sweater and jeans tucked into what looked like Prussian officer’s riding boots, sulked against the side of the limo.
“This is six-star?” She crossed her arms. “Where—Appalachia?”
Von said, “Gonna get back on the road in two minutes, Autumn.”
She ostentatiously checked her watch. “Two minutes max. Or you get me a helicopter and evacuate us to the Mandarin Oriental.”
One of the young men from the Hummer, who was wearing a Dean Martin–style hat and a sweatshirt with grier printed on the back, wandered near the trees, unzipped his pants, and relieved himself.
“Weekend church retreat?” Jo said.
Von smiled. It looked robotic. “Twenty-first-birthday party. Daddy’s picking up the tab.”
Gabe took the jumper cables. His face was flat and his eyes alert. Jo got in the cab, fired up the engine, and maneuvered the truck grille to grille with the Hummer. Gabe raised the hood.
It took only a minute to get the Hummer started. The starter ground for a few seconds and then the big engine gunned to life, harsh and whiny in the mountain air.
The green-faced young man climbed to his feet. Swerving back across the clearing, he opened one of the Hummer’s doors and grabbed a water bottle. He sauntered over to Autumn and nuzzled her neck.
She pushed him away.
“God, Dustin. You smell like puke.” Gabe glanced inside the open door of the Hummer. Jo saw it too: a gleaming silver handgun with a telescopic sight.
Von said, “It’s a replica.”
The man in the Edge Adventures cap wiped his palm on his jeans and extended his hand. “Kyle Ritter. Don’t worry none about the guns. They’re for show.”
Gabe smiled, as robotically as Von had. “Just wondering what sort of birthday party you’re celebrating.”
Von took a business card from his shirt pocket. “Edge Adventures. The ultimate in urban reality games.”
Dustin walked over, water bottle hanging from his hand. “Yeah, we’re federal agents, guarding our prisoner. See?”
He opened the front door of the Hummer. A rifle was propped on the seat. Jo recognized the curved ammunition clip and tall front sight on the stubby barrel. It was an AK-47.
The girl whose feet were protruding from the Hummer sat up. “Badass. We are badasses.”
She pitched back on the seat again.
Jo checked the jumper leads. The Hummer’s engine was gunning. “Think you’re all set.”
Gabe disconnected the cables from the pickup’s battery. Jo caught his eye. He was wearing The Look.
Not his laid-back all-is-well look. The other one. It set Jo’s nerves on edge.
He slammed the hood of the pickup. Casually, he said, “Let’s roll.”
Von stuffed the rag in his pocket, his eyes on Gabe. “The weapons are decommissioned.” He gestured at Peach Fuzz. “Friedrich’s an ex-cop, and we have former military on staff. Everything’s cool.”
“Great.”
Gabe leaned into the crew cab and put the cables away. Under his breath he said, “Bullshit.”
He glanced at Ritter. “His gun’s patently a toy, something the guy picked up at a Battlestar Galactica convention. But the others are working firearms.”
Behind him, one of the girls turned up the music and began dancing. Ritter slammed the hood of the Hummer. Von clapped his hands. “Everybody, let’s go.”
Gabe glanced at them edgeways. “I’ve been on one of these role-playing weekends. In Finland, with a bunch of think-tank guys. Executives playing Cold War. One side gets captured by a Russian tank, then out pop the 'Soviet’ invaders—a bunch of Finnish lingerie models in Red Army hats. They had real Kalashnikovs, but it was obvious at a glance they’d been deactivated. The barrels were plugged. The firing pins had been removed. Colored tags were hanging from their muzzles to identify them as 'safe,’ ” he said. “Whatever this game is, it’s a bad one.”
“Let’s go.”
Jo was planning to drive straight down the mountain to the sheriff’s station. When she got there she’d tell the deputies about this drunken rodeo.
Behind her, Dustin stood by the door of the Hummer. “Lark, where’s Peyton?”
They looked around. The blonde in raspberry velour had wandered into the trees.
“Peyton,” Lark called.
Dustin shouted, “Mackie, get back here. We got boot camp. And after that, you got escaped felons to hunt.”
He reached into the Hummer and picked up the AK-47 from the front seat. “Peyton, come back before I come after you.”
He slung the strap over one shoulder like he was Rambo. The muzzle began to come up.
Gabe jumped at him. “Don’t.” He got his hand on the barrel and pushed it down. “Aim the barrel downrange. Never aim it at anybody.”
Dustin spun away. “What’s your problem? The gun’s fake. Fake.”
He ostentatiously swept the rifle in an arc, aimed it at the trees, and pulled the trigger.
The rifle fired. Four shots in a close burst, the sound cracking the air. Orange flame spit from the barrel, cartridge casings ejected, and the rounds hit the trunk of a pine. One two three four, splintering the wood in a rising progression.
The girls screamed. For the time it took to blink, Jo stood shocked. Then she yelled, “Get down,” and dived to the ground behind the pickup.
Gabe lunged at Dustin, twisted the rifle from Dustin’s grip, and shoved Dustin away from him. “What the hell are you doing?”
Dustin stared at the rifle with horror. “Jesus, what—? That thing . . .”
Peyton ran into the clearing. “What was that?”
Autumn clenched her fists in front of her mouth. Her eyes looked like silver dollars. Dustin gazed at her, baffled and terrified.
For a moment, the echo of gunfire stank around the clearing. Ritter looked stunned but hyperalert, as if ready to jump—in what direction, Jo couldn’t tell. Von, his face white, raised his hands calmingly.
“Sorry. It was supposed to be a surprise. My fault,” he said.
Gabe spun on him. “Surprise?”
“Live-fire exercises when we get to the assault training course.” He tried to smile. “That shouldn’t a happened.”
Autumn raised both hands and said, “That’s it. I’m out.”
She stalked toward the back of the Hummer. “This entire thing is screwed. Where’s my phone? I’m calling my dad.”
Von turned. “No.”
She opened the luggage compartment. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
She froze. Then she screamed.
In the luggage compartment, a large green duffel bag had fallen partially open. A body was stuffed inside. A man’s blood-soaked shirt was visible. Autumn lurched back. Friedrich charged, grabbed her by the hair, and twisted her to her knees.
Gabe took the rifle in both hands and brought it up and got his finger on the trigger. But behind him came the sound of a slide being racked on a semiautomatic pistol. Von and Friedrich both had guns in their hands, aimed at his head.
“Put it down,” Von said.
Jo saw Gabe inhale. He was calculating. But the gunmen were too far apart to guarantee he could hit them both before they could get him. And there were too many people in the field of fire.
“On the ground,” Von said.
Gabe put the rifle down and raised his hands.
For a moment the air seemed to tremble. Then the young man with grier on the back of his shirt turned and bolted for the trees.
Friedrich swung his gun and sighted it on the kid’s back. The boy pounded toward the forest, arms flailing.
Autumn and Lark screamed, “No.”
“Friedrich,” Von yelled.
Friedrich fired. The shot blew Grier off his feet.
