Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (19 page)

“Now, what are you going to do? Look, it’s only swollen up like that because of the bee sting. Leave it alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a bee sting or a bump from hitting your head. There’s something under your skin. It’s manmade.”

“You’re the one who hit the bee, right?” I said but she seemed preoccupied. I reached back and felt the lump gingerly. “You’re a marketing manager, not a surgeon.”

“Move your fingers and eat your banana,” she ordered. “Think about it, Robert. All these crazy things happening. And I’m telling you, somebody’s put something under your skin.”

This
was
crazy. But I needed to trust someone. She was the only one who hadn’t run or pulled a gun on me . . . yet.

With its peel, I recovered the banana. I laid it on the bed and gripped my knees. “Easy.”

“Don’t you worry. It’s for your own good,” she said, her voice as cool as the wet swab she wiped across my skin. The strong scent of rubbing alcohol struck my nose and burned my sinuses.

“I’m tellin’ ya, the doctor said there could be complications if that thing was messed with.”

“You mean the doctor who ran inside when he saw you?”

“Yeah, so? That doesn’t mean he was wrong.”

“Superman, the way things are going,” she said as I felt the sting of the tiny knife slicing the tissue around the bump, “you ain’t gonna see sunrise, let alone have time to worry about any other complications.”

Her term of endearment for me was a surprise.

I grimaced with pain but didn’t verbally protest, gritting my teeth instead. The alcohol burn was the worst, and I was able to get past it by considering what she was saying.

She had a good point. Besides, for some strange reason, I found myself trusting everything she was doing was for me. Something deep within, and not Harvey this time, told me to have faith in her judgment. Again, I recalled the TP note that said,
trust . . . solely in your emotions — for within them is the only real truth
. Somehow this woman, with a soothing touch and pleasing scent, was familiar to me. I had a definite feeling we were, or at least had been, very close.

“Why’d you call me that?”

“What?”

“
Superman
. Harvey calls me that.”

“It’s the nickname I gave you back in college.” She giggled. “You used to call me Wonder Woman. So, who’s
Harvey
?”

I frowned. “A voice in my head.”

“You have a voice in your head named
Harvey
?” She shook her head slowly. “You really are in trouble.”

I shrugged.

“What about you, Robert? Any kids?”

I stared out, searching for some sort of emotion, deep feelings, for what I was about to tell her. Oddly, I couldn’t find any. “That’s the other part of the hurricane. You know, when I said I had this feeling like I was in the eye of a storm, and I was just waiting for it to hit me again? There was an accident last winter.” As I spoke, something like a home movie played in my mind. A beautiful Oriental woman, Michelle, with short hair, pregnant and cooking at the stove; her laughing as she hit me with a pillow; her changing a baby’s diapers; her with longer hair, carrying a bag of groceries into the house and calling out, “I’m home, honey,” a young boy smiling big as he caught a ball I’d just thrown; my arm pushing the boy in a swing; my arm helping the boy ride a bicycle with training wheels.

My tone was unintentionally flat. “My five-year-old son was paralyzed when the car my wife was driving slid off an icy bridge. He’s in the children’s hospital ward at Mount Rainy Biotronics’ medical center. Michelle almost didn’t make it. Not so much from her ruptured spleen. The guilt nearly killed her. She’s okay now — mostly. But things haven’t been the same since.”

“Hmmm,” Sunny said, not offering any condolences as she picked up the tweezers.

I found her indifference strange and cold — but not unlike my own memories, I reasoned. Maybe she was concentrating on my little operation. My own lack of emotions, of real, heart-felt sentiments for my wife and child, puzzled me even more.

I mumbled the words from the note as if it were a chant. “
Everything you know is lies. Trust not in what you hear or see, but solely in your emotions — for within them is the only real truth.
”

“What’s that? Are you getting philosophical on me?” She asked and tugged at something under my skin.

I remembered the rest of the note:
Get ready. They will come for you soon. Destroy this immediately
. “Do you write notes on toilet paper?” I asked as I felt something slip out from my lump like the head of a ripe boil.

“No, but I like origami.” She said.

“That note in my shower, besides telling me not to trust anyone, it said for me to ‘get ready’, and that ‘
they
will come for me soon.’”

“Hmm,” she said sounding a bit disinterested as she brought a small, black object on the end of her tweezers around to my face. “There ya go.”

I took it, and she dabbed more alcohol on my wound. I gritted my teeth while rolling the small disk over in my hand. It was the same kind of black disk as the one she’d pulled from my shirt collar earlier. This one had a tiny puncture hole in it. I pressed my thumbnail into the thing and tore open its protective latex covering. It was also contained in thin copper foil, another tiny gold circuit board inside. This one was corroded as if it’d been exposed to moisture or some sort of acid.

“Where else you hidin’ those things?” she asked.

“My God,” I said under my breath.

From behind, Sunny put her chin on my shoulder. “Mine, too,” she whispered next to my ear. “What’s next? What are we going to do?”

I turned, put my arm around her and drew my face close to hers. I had no idea what she was up to, but asking nicely didn’t work with this one. “First, we aren’t going to do anything. I think it’s better if you stay clear of me from here on out.”

“Are you kidding? I love mysteries, and this is the best one I’ve found in years.”

“It’s no joke, Sunny. Haven’t you seen enough? You could get killed. They might be after only me, but any minute a couple of guys could bust into this room and shoot us both dead.”

“Robert, think about it. They’ve seen me with you. I’m in it now, too. Let’s quit quibbling over the small stuff and try to figure this all out.”

I looked away. “I am thinking. And the only thing I can come up with is that, somehow, you’re involved.” Facing her again, I narrowed my eyes. “You’re too cool about all of this. And this accidental meeting all of a sudden in the middle of a shit storm. All this bullshit you’re pumping me with — that we were friends or whatever it is we used to be. I think you know more than you’re telling me, and . . .” I quickly reached up and placed my hand across her throat. I was gentle but firm. I didn’t like two-stepping to a tune I didn’t know, and this one I couldn’t even tap my toe to. “ . . . and you’d better start spilling it, or I’m going to have to hurt you. I don’t like getting screwed without getting kissed.”

She placed her hand gently on my wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous, Robert. I’m here to help you.” She moved my hand away as if it were a helium balloon. She looked at me longingly. Her eyes were like those nonlethal weapons she was talking about, and she knew how to use them. I quickly felt disarmed.

She leaned to me and planted a lingering kiss on my lips. Although I didn’t give her one in return, tendrils of warmth spread through my body tickling my nerve endings and leaving me weak with passion. I pushed her away without really wanting to. I was married, and anyway, I should keep up my tough guy act in order to find out more. And I was sure she knew much more.

“It must have to do with something you’ve done or seen,” she said, still gazing at me.

I nearly shouted, “There’s nothing. Nothing.” I stared at the floor.

She pulled my chin up and gazed at me again. This time she took off my glasses. “Do you really need these? The lenses are all cracked up, anyway.”

I glanced around the room actually considering her question. “I’m blind without them,” I said but almost felt as if it was some sort of conditioned response. I seemed to see everything in the room just fine. I could actually read the
In Case of Fire
sign next to the door, all the way down to the fine print, even though it was a good ten feet away. I could see her face clearly although it was mere inches from my eyes. I didn’t need the glasses. I wasn’t blind without them.

“I don’t understand it,” I told her. “I can see fine without the glasses.”

“You have beautiful eyes,” she said. “I like you better without the specs.” Then she seemed to examine the eyeglasses. She rubbed over a burned spot on the bridge. “Hmm,” she said, and then snapped them in two.

As I began to protest, she raised the broken frames up for me to look at. Another even smaller computer chip stuck out from one of the broken pieces, as if I hadn’t seen enough computer chips today. It appeared burnt.

“I’ll bet this is some kind of tracking chip,” she said. “I think they call them transponders.”

I didn’t understand how she could possibly know that. But she seemed to know a lot more about all this than I did. She discarded the glasses, tossing them into a small wastebasket in the corner of the room, and then placed her hand on my cheek.

I frowned at her and shook my head. “I don’t get it. It’s like I’m in a tunnel with no light.”

As if on cue, at the same time the words slipped from my lips, bright lights blared through the drape-covered windows.

Chapter 16

Sunny went for her backpack on the other bed in the motel room. She flung open the pack’s flap and reached inside as I stood up and started toward the curtains.

“Don’t!” she said, and when I turned to her, she pulled out a little .32 caliber, Beretta Tomcat pistol. I knew exactly what it was, but I didn’t know how I knew, not remembering ever shooting a gun in my life.

“There’s a window in the bathroom,” she said and ran to it, taking her backpack with her.

When I followed, I saw the small window high on the wall between the sink and the shower. Maybe, just maybe, she could fit through it, that is if she were slicked up with Vaseline first.

“No way,” I said, and as I did, something crashed through the window in the living room. I had the presence of mind to pull Sunny under me and protect our faces.

An incredible explosion and flash of light followed. My guts and lungs trembled violently. It felt like I’d been slapped on both sides of the head. We were both staggering. For a moment I thought Sunny was screaming but soon realized it was my own ears. Flash-bang grenade. I knew what they’d hit us with, but again, I didn’t know how I knew. Luckily, our eyes hadn’t been exposed to the blinding light.

This was only the start. The room lights went out, and I tried the wall switch to no avail. The only light we had was coming through the small window from a cloud-veiled full moon until Sunny pulled a flashlight out of her backpack.

They’d be crashing through the front door any second, and there was no other apparent way out of the tiny motel room except that same door.

Sunny seemed to realize it also. She searched in her backpack of tricks again and produced a smoke grenade. That confirmed it. Carrying a pistol, a smoke grenade and who knew what else
— she wasn’t at all what she appeared.

She stepped from the bathroom, pulled the pin out like a pro and tossed the smoke canister under the bed nearest the front door.

Thick yellow smoke began filling the room, and the bedcovers ignited like kindling. I pulled her back inside the bathroom, yanked the door closed behind us and pushed in the lock button on the knob. The dense smoke and fire might buy us an extra ten or fifteen seconds as our unidentified adversaries fumbled through it. The doorknob button lock wouldn’t add any more than a couple of seconds to that.

“You won’t fit!” Sunny yelled, looking at the tiny bathroom window. She’d screamed out the words, and I wasn’t certain if it was to ensure I could hear her over the ringing in my ears or because of the ringing in hers. She turned toward the door and set the flashlight on the vanity, it’s light beam on the doorknob. Keeping the small pistol at the ready in one hand, in the other she held what might have been some sort of medallion under her T-shirt. It was a little large for a Saint Christopher’s.

I looked below the window at the bare wall between the tub and the toilet and instinctively went at it with my foot. Memories of building a house flashed like an old, black-and-white Charlie Chaplin movie through my mind — in and out, in and out. It was just another snippet from my past mostly lost to my concussion, I reasoned. If the construction was conventional and contemporary we might be in luck. Few people realize how easily even an outside wall can be busted through.

With the first kick, the sheet rock cracked. I stepped back against Sunny in the small room and gave the drywall three quick snap kicks about waist high. The sheet rock gave way.

Sunny got the idea and turned the flashlight on the sink top, shining it toward the hole I’d made. She assaulted the wall directly under where I had. After she kicked it twice more, we both tore at the wallboard like starving coyotes after a prairie dog, yanking pieces of the wall out and pulling away large chucks of pink insulation. A section of sheathing over a foot wide and three feet tall was exposed between the wall studs. Again, we were fortunate. It wasn’t plywood or wafer board, instead it was Celotex-like fiberboard as I’d hoped. Used for its insulation properties, it was much softer than wood and easier to break through.

Again, I attacked the wall, but as my sidekick made contact, I heard the front door slam against the inside of the front room and glass crunch under running feet. My foot went through the sheathing and the siding up to my ankle, and Sunny had to help me get free. I stepped back and kicked twice more, the wall finally giving in, and my leg busted through past my knee. I knew they would soon make it through the smoke, past the flaming bed and up to the bathroom door. Still they did not say, “Police! Open up,” or “Don’t’ move! You’re under arrest.” They said nothing.

I put my weight against the door, hoping they would try to break through and not shoot through, and I shoved Sunny toward the hole.

Hurried footfalls came from the other side of the door.

Sunny didn’t take time to snatch up the flashlight but did snag her pack and went at the opening as if she were chasing her own white rabbit. She punched the edges of the hole, making it a few inches larger, and wriggled her way mostly through. But the broken siding caught her left foot. She struggled briefly as I watched the doorknob turn slowly. Finally, her Nike slipped off, and her socked foot disappeared. A crash came from what sounded like trashcans below.

As I lunged for the hole, I swiped up the flashlight along with Sunny’s shoe and dove head first like my unwanted nickname, Superman. The bathroom door splintered behind me. My head, arms and shoulders made it out into the cool night, but I became lodged there, caught up by my belt buckle. I was writhing to get through when I felt hands clutching my legs.

Sunny stood ten feet below, reaching up, leaping and grabbing at me. I dropped her shoe but hung onto the flashlight. Our hands slapped at each other as my captors pulled me back inside.

But I was ready. I only saw two of them, helmeted, in body armor and dark-blue fatigues like SWAT team members. Somehow, I recognized the guns slung on their shoulders as silenced MP5 assault rifles
— and they wore night-vision goggles. As they pulled me back and my extended arms cleared the hole, I yanked away more of the siding and sheathing from the opening with my free hand. I flopped back onto the floor, turned quickly, jabbed Sunny’s flashlight at their faces and tossed the building material from my other hand at them, too.

They both took a step back with one hand shielding their night-vision goggles then flipped them up and out of the way. Still, they said nothing, and as they attempted to restrain me, I regained my feet.

I had that sharp pain inside my head again, but it didn’t impede me. For a moment I had my balance and one arm free. It was time enough to place a roundhouse punch alongside the closest intruder’s neck right below his helmet. My fist knocked his Kevlar pot off, and he fell against the vanity.

I ducked and rammed my shoulder into the midsection of the other guy. His feet left the floor as he went back through the door they’d recently smashed. I took no more time to fight, but did briefly shine my light into the faces of three more of his body-armor-covered companions who had caught him from behind in the smoke-filled room.

As I rushed back to the opening, my light found my first combatant, sitting against the bathroom vanity, his eyes staring back, blank and lifeless — his sewn-on nametag said Sgt. Qian.

This time, I dove through the hole without encumbrance like a jungle cat through a burning hoop. I cleared the trashcans Sunny had fallen into, but when I landed, the flashlight busted into pieces as I rolled on the grassy ground below the window.

The next thing I knew, rapid-fire snaps from the silenced assault rifles filled the air, and the motel’s siding fell off in chunks. They’d decided if they couldn’t catch me, they’d kill me.

A familiar smell came to my nose and even under the deadly circumstances, I felt the need to pause and consider it. Gunpowder, the unmistakable scent of burnt nitrites and sulfur
— but not the kind in fireworks, the kind in bullets. Still I couldn’t recall ever firing a gun.

Sunny’s hand was on my shoulder as dirt and grass leapt from the ground around us. A crimson light beam shown from the hole in the wall we’d created. It made a pencil-thin line that searched through the gun smoke then ended up on the center of my chest. They were using laser sights in the darkness. A fraction of a second later, two more red lasers beamed out from the opening.