CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
By the time they arrived at her home, Eileen Gelman bordered on hysteria. Confusion showed in her beat red face, and she seemed to Black like a woman stumbling half-coherent through a waking nightmare. When they questioned her about the leave and earnings statements, Jonas felt like an ambulance chasing vulture preying on a defenseless and fragile woman on the worst day of her life. But his assumption had proved correct. She kept the files at a self storage yard in Montclair, VA. They stressed the importance of the documents and cajoled her in to handing over the keys. She mumbled something about putting everything back the way they found it just as another bout of sobbing racked her body. They left the new widow in the care of a sister, but Black knew that in reality she was alone with her grief, no matter how many people were by her side. The whole exchange left him feeling dirty.
The storage yard resembled a thousand other such facilities that dotted the nation—a standard collection of corrugated metal containers strung together on the edge of town. Katherine pulled up to the gate and entered a code that Eileen had provided into a hooded keypad attached to a white metal pipe. Upon completion of the code, the facility
’
s black rod-iron gate slid aside with a high metallic scrape and buzz. The yard had both indoor and outdoor containers, and Black was happy to see that Eileen had opted for the indoor unit. Rain slapped against the Charger
’
s roof, and a dense fog had settled over the entire area. Visibility had dropped to zero, and he didn
’
t want to be outside in the rain more than necessary.
Inside the building, a narrow maze of walkways led to the various storage units. Fluorescent lighting hummed in exposed metal beams overhead and reflected off the polished concrete floor. A roll-up metal door and a padlock marked the face of each container. After a bit of wandering, they found Unit 318, designated by faded numbers applied in green paint, and Katherine used the key to undo the lock. Black pulled up the door to reveal a twelve by twelve space stacked from floor to ceiling with all manner of junk—boxes, totes, old furniture, a fake potted tree, children
’
s toys, an ugly 1970s style floor lamp, a rack of old clothes, old bikes, unused exercise equipment, a big black stereo, and what seemed like a million other objects. The space smelled faintly of moth balls and old varnish.
Katherine pulled her long red hair back in a pony tail as she said, “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
Black sighed and threw his jacket over a stack of totes. “Where did she say the file was?”
“A file box marked
Military Records.
”
As they started checking boxes and rummaging through the junk, Jonas said, “Sorry to have kept you out so late. I
’
m sure your boyfriend is pissed.”
She smiled. “Try not to be so obvious. And no, I don
’
t have anyone waiting up for me.”
“That
’
s good. I mean, it
’
s not good, but…”
“I know what you meant. I was in a pretty serious relationship up until a few weeks ago, but it didn
’
t keep.”
“What happened?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” she said. “Pull your socks up and find that file. I don
’
t want to be here all night.”
After a few more minutes, Black moved aside a box marked with a bright green Christmas tree sticker and found what they were searching for, a large translucent plastic file box with
Military Records
written on its top in blue permanent marker.
“This is it.” He pulled out the tote and added, “You
’
re the professional. I
’
ll let you do the honors.”
“What a gentleman.”
She flipped up the box
’
s hinged top and sifted through the records. At last, she found the right dates and pulled the papers free. She scanned over the numbers and information and said, “I
’
ll be damned.”
“Don
’
t keep me in suspense.”
She showed him the paper held in her left hand and gestured to a few of the dates and numbers. “Gelman was getting paid quadruple hazard pay. Four times what he would have received for being in a war zone, even though he was stateside in Maryland and supposedly participating in a cultural relations class. This is proof that there was a hell of a lot more going on than teaching troops how to be more sensitive to the locals.”
“Yeah, the military was conducting some kind of experiments, and these poor bastards volunteered to be the crash test dummies.”
“And you think that whatever they did to him caused John Corrigan to kill his family?”
Black nodded. “And now we have the proof.”
“Not so fast there, cowboy. This proves that Gelman was involved in something at Fort Meade that was dangerous enough to get paid four times hazard pay, but that
’
s it. Anything beyond that is speculation.”
“Maybe, but you heard Munroe. With this, he can force the brass to come clean. Or at least get some more info on what really happened.”
She shrugged. “We
’
ll see. Since you have so much energy, why don
’
t you put all this junk back so we can get out of here. I
’
m going to have a cigarette.”
“You smoke too?”
Rolling her eyes and heading for the entrance, she said, “Don
’
t start.”
He watched her slender form move down the narrow row. She looked over her shoulder at him once and smiled, and then she turned the corner and was out of sight. He started placing the collection of boxes and junk back in the order in which it came out.
He had only just begun the tedious process when the overhead lights blinked out, and total darkness closed in all around him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Black was no stranger to night time operations executed in total darkness, but in almost all of those situations, he was the guy wearing night vision goggles and performing the assault. In this case, he had a bad feeling that the roles had been reversed. The lights going out could have had a very simple explanation. Even then, he heard the rain pinging off the building
’
s metal roof, but he hadn
’
t seen any lightning or detected any thunder.
He resisted the urge to immediately retrieve the cell phone from his pocket to use as a light source. First, he listened and analyzed the situation. If they were under attack, which seemed like a definite possibility considering the events of the past few days, he needed to keep his head, think of how the assault team would react, and do something that they wouldn
’
t expect.
The hum of the rain, his own breathing, and the pounding of his heart seemed to be the only sounds. But then he heard something else in the distance echoing off the concrete.
Cautious footsteps? The rustle of fabric? A slight rattle of tactical assault gear? Was it Katherine?
If he called out to her, he would reveal his exact position, and the sound he had heard seemed to come from the opposite direction in which she had been heading.
No matter what was out there in the darkness, even if it was nothing but his own imagination or Katherine making her way back to him, he couldn
’
t simply wait for something to happen. Being passive got you killed. Being proactive saved your life.
Risking turning on the phone to get some light, he shined the device
’
s screen into the open storage unit. Then he quickly unscrewed three light bulbs from an ugly old floor lamp resting along one wall and ripped a T-shirt from a rack of clothing. He wrapped the bulbs in the T-shirt and, making as little noise as possible, crunched the light bulbs into small shards of glass. The faint sound he had heard seemed to have come from the building
’
s west corner, and so he moved east to the edge of his row until he reached the outer wall. The building contained multiple rows, and an attack could come from almost anywhere, but he guessed that an assault team would move straight to Gelman
’
s storage unit and then fan out from there. And so he sprinkled the broken glass of the light bulbs on the paths stemming out from that area. Then he moved to the end of the row, squatted down, pulled his PT845 pistol, and waited.
If someone came down one of the marked paths, night vision goggles or not, he would hear them coming before they stepped around the corner and saw him. That would give him the extra second of tactical advantage that made all the difference in a firefight.
~~*~~
Katherine was five feet from the storage building
’
s exit when all the lights went out. The sudden onset of darkness felt like the floor had fallen out from beneath her feet. Her body shuddered, and her stomach crawled into her throat. The sensation lasted only a second before she realized that it was probably nothing more than a power outage. But still, what if it was more than that?
She considered calling out for Black or using her phone as a light, but would that alert anyone approaching in the darkness to her position? The exit rested just ahead, and the parking lot was well-lit. The open space of the lot seemed like the best option in that moment, and so she decided to simply push forward to the exit and worry about everything else once she was outside and free of the darkness that seemed to be physically pressing down on her from all sides.
With the image of the exit fresh in her mind, she covered the final five feet and groped for the handle. It felt like an eternity before she could locate the door, but she tried to tell herself that there was nothing to fear. Finally, she found the handle, pushed it down, and shoved.
It wouldn
’
t budge.
A terrible sensation of claustrophobia flooded over her.
Someone had blocked the exit. She was trapped.
Locked inside with an unknown number of killers converging on her from all directions.
Right behind her. Warm breath on her neck.
Calm down
, she told herself. She forced her mind to focus and almost immediately recognized her mistake. The realization made her feeling like a silly little girl, a child that needed a parent to check under her bed and believed that pulling the covers over her head would protect her from monsters.
She growled at her own stupidity.
The door opens inward, you eejit
, she reminded herself. Yanking back on the handle, she stepped outside and moved toward the car.
The glove box contained a flashlight, and once she was out of the rain, she would call Jonas and tell him that she was coming back inside with the light. After all, he and Munroe had been attacked recently, which would set anyone on edge. She didn
’
t relish the idea of a friendly-fire incident and wanted to give him a heads up.
She unlocked the door to the Charger, climbed inside, and retrieved the phone from her pocket. Then she dialed the number that she had programmed earlier for Jonas Black.
~~*~~
Waiting in the darkness with his sight stolen from him, forced to rely on other senses, Jonas felt very alone and very helpless. He had never considered how much reliance he placed upon his ability to see his surroundings. Operating in total darkness felt like someone had tied his hands behind his back and then told him to clean and fieldstrip an M16 assault rifle using only his teeth. It was truly paralyzing and made him respect Munroe
’
s perseverance all the more.
He squeezed the grip of his Taurus PT845 pistol and tried his best to quiet his breathing. He held the gun in his right hand and the phone in his left. When the time was right, he would need the light from the phone
’
s display to illuminate his target.
Then he heard it.
The crunching of broken glass beneath a person
’
s foot.
Then nothing.
His enemy realized that they had given themselves away and were waiting for him to make a move. But war was a game of wills. In a combat situation such as this, the most patient and disciplined soldier won the day.
His enemy couldn
’
t see him hiding behind the corner. They would have to choose whether to move forward or back. He imagined them second-guessing and worrying and trying to predict his tactics just as he had done with them. He had turned the tables on the predator and now he would—
The phone vibrated in his left hand, and the display lit up.
It startled him and forced a split second
’
s hesitation.
And then the enemy converged on him with swift and violent determination.
~~*~~
Katherine frowned as she reached Black
’
s voicemail. Why hadn
’
t he answered? Were they really under attack? Or was she just acting like a child again?
She opened the glove box and pulled out the flashlight. If Black was in trouble, she had to help. And if not, it was time that they took the evidence and left. They could worry about repacking the storage unit in the morning.
Then she realized with a start that the lights of the parking lot still burned brightly. If it really was nothing more than a power outage, then she reasoned that all of the lights would have been extinguished.
She grabbed up her phone in order to call for backup. She briefly considered calling her office but decided that a simple 911 call would bring help much faster.
Her finger had pressed the nine and strayed toward the one when a hand wrapped around her mouth and an arm snaked around her chest, crushing her into the seat.
Someone in the back of the car. Someone trying to kill her.
She tried to scream, but a gag muffled the sound. No, not a gag. A piece of cloth. A cloth covered in the sweet chemical scent of chloroform.
She struggled against the strong arm choking the life from her. Clawing, scratching. She reached for her Glock, managed to pull it from the holster, and then fell into sleep.
~~*~~
In the dim light of the phone
’
s display, the first man threw off his NVGs and used his whole body as a weapon to ram Black like a charging rhino. The squat black-skinned attacker couldn
’
t match Jonas in size, but the man was thickly muscled and clearly knew how to use a lower center of gravity against a larger opponent. Black rocked back on his heels, arms flailing. Then the man focused on Black
’
s right hand, knocking the pistol free. It clattered across the polished concrete.
The second man kept his distance but took aim with a strange looking submachine gun. Then he pulled off his own NVGs and flipped on a tactical light located on the end of his gun.
Analyzing the situation within a split second and letting the pain and adrenaline fuel his attack, Jonas Black regained his footing and deflected the black man
’
s next blow. Then he followed it with a swift and violent strike of his own.
An open palm was often thought of as a less effective blow than the traditional closed-fist punch. But in reality, an open palmed blow could be very damaging when a person applied enough force behind it. The palm covered a lot of area, almost the entire side of a man
’
s face, even more so when dealing with palms the size of Jonas Black
’
s. Plus, a closed-fisted punch could inflict almost as much damage to the attacker
’
s hand as the receiver
’
s face, while the open palm could administer just as much force with less risk of injury.
Knowing this through instinct and training, Jonas slapped both palms against the black man
’
s ears and temples. Then he chopped the man in the neck and thrust his palm up beneath the attacker
’
s chin. As the man
’
s head flew back, Jonas
’
s fingers closed over the man
’
s face and found the black man
’
s eye sockets. Instinctively attacking the weakest areas of his opponent
’
s body, Jonas pressed his index and ring fingers into the man
’
s eyes. The black man screamed in agony, and he shoved the attacker back toward his companion.
But the second man was ready. This attacker, a stocky Hispanic man with a shaved head and thick mustache, had kept his distance. He sidestepped his companion and opened fire.
Black tried to dive away, but he couldn
’
t react in time. He screamed in anguish as he felt the rounds tear into the muscles of his thighs. A cold fire rippled out from the impacts, and he fought to stay upright.
But the trauma was too much for his body, and despite his best efforts, he fell back against the concrete. The air expelled from his lungs with the impact. He couldn
’
t breathe, and his legs tingled with a strange numbness that seemed to be spreading throughout the rest of his body.
He frantically scanned the floor for his gun and caught sight of it a few feet away. Scrambling on hands and knees, he thrust his body toward the weapon.
But the Hispanic man didn
’
t let up. Black felt the same cold fire strike his shoulders and arms. More rounds from the strange submachine gun tearing into his flesh.
Dizziness. Disorientation. Confusion.
The world pulsed and spun end over end.
He felt nauseated. So sleepy. He just wanted to lay his head against the concrete and forget about everything. Forget about Corrigan and Munroe, and the case, and Katherine, and his nephew and sister-in-law. Just give up and let it end. Let it finally end.
He wrestled against the sudden desire to sleep but was no match for it. He felt cold and tingly all over. So weak. So tired.
Then calm acceptance and warmth flooded his sensations and blocked out the rest of the world.
He wondered absently as he slipped away if this was what it felt like to die.