Forty Acres: A Thriller (31 page)

CHAPTER 81

M
artin stood at the edge of a steep embankment staring thirty feet down at the rushing river below. The roar of the green water surging around jutting boulders and rock outcroppings was thunderous. The crashing rapids threw off a ceaseless spray that coated Martin’s face. Although he shed no tears, the moisture on his cheeks made him feel as if he were crying.

Martin’s plan would not work.

Oscar had picked the perfect spot to prevent escape. If Martin tried to leap into the river from where he stood, he’d fall to a crushing death on the rocks below.

Out of options, Martin knew he was about to die.

Oscar and Damon stood facing Martin, the duffel bag resting on the damp ground between them. The two guards, Jamel and Russell, stood directly behind him.

Oscar brushed away beads of moisture from his face and raised his voice above the roaring river. “You need to say anything?”

Martin didn’t reply. He just looked for Damon’s eyes. Damon dropped his gaze, whether from shame or from malice, Martin wasn’t sure.

A stone slightly bigger than a softball lay in the mud nearby. There were no similar stones in the area, so Martin guessed that Oscar, during his disappearance earlier, had placed it there in preparation for this moment.

Oscar pointed to the stone and said to Jamel, “If you don’t mind.”

Jamel hoisted the stone. It was heavy, but just small enough for the muscular guard to palm with one hand.

Martin tensed as Jamel raised the stone and took a step in his direction.

“No,” Oscar said. “Give the stone to Mr. Darrell.”

“What?” Damon stared at Oscar like he was out of his mind.

Oscar deflected Damon’s outrage with an unflappable stare. “Please take the stone and use it to crush Mr. Grey’s skull. Dr. Kasim wants you to prove your loyalty.”

“Prove my loyalty?”

“You vouched for the traitor. Certainly, you can understand how that makes you suspect as well.”

“No, I don’t understand,” Damon said, “and I’m not doing it. No fucking way! I’m going back to the truck.”

Damon turned to walk away. Oscar shot Russell a look. The guard pulled his gun, cocked the slide, and raised the weapon to fire. The sound of the chambering weapon was enough to freeze Damon in his tracks.

As Damon pivoted back toward Oscar, he glanced at Martin; the brief eye contact seemed to finally break through Damon’s wall of anger. Martin saw a glimpse of his old friend . . . and a flash of regret.

Damon fixed a knowing glare on Oscar, pointed to the black duffel bag. “That’s for me, isn’t it?”

Oscar sighed. He almost appeared bored by Damon’s resistance. “Just do what the doctor asks, Mr. Darrell. You’ll save everyone a lot of trouble, and most importantly, you’ll save yourself.” Oscar signaled Jamel, who stepped forward and held the murder weapon out to Damon.

Watching as Damon stared at the stone, Martin saw something that drained away his last drop of hope. He saw Damon’s face hardening. He saw fear and reluctance and that flash of regret giving way to steely resolve.

“Be smart,” Oscar urged Damon. “Take it.”

Martin saw Damon’s chest inflate with forced courage. Then Damon reached out with both hands and took hold of the stone.

Oscar nodded ever so slightly. “Good. Now, one hard strike across the skull, that’s all. Then you’ll be done.”

Damon looked at Martin. His face was void of emotion.

Martin realized that the individual facing him was no longer the Damon Darrell he knew; he was a desperate man forced into a corner. He was a killer.

Raising the heavy stone, Damon began to step toward Martin. Martin backpedaled, his heart hammering. He froze when he felt the edge of the embankment underfoot.

Within striking distance and holding the stone high overhead, Damon said, “Turn around.”

Martin, stiff with fear, shook his head. “No,” he said. His defiant eyes burned into Damon. “You do this, you do it to my face.”

What happened next had the brief effect of short-circuiting Martin’s mind. Damon smiled at him. His murderous stare was gone, and he was flashing that devilish smile of his. “I screwed up,” he whispered, and before Martin could get a word out, he shouted,
“Run
!
”

Damon whirled and slammed the stone into Russell’s temple. The guard’s skull bloomed blood and he went down in a heap, gun toppling from his limp hand. Damon whipped back around and charged Jamel. The rock smashed into his nose before the guard could free his weapon from its holster.

“
Go, go, g
o
!
”
Damon screamed at Martin as he spun in Oscar’s direction.

Oscar already had his gun out. Martin watched in horror as the overseer pumped round after round into the charging Damon. But momentum still carried Damon forward far enough to send him hurtling headlong into Oscar. Both men went crashing to the ground in a tangle. The sight of Oscar shoving aside Damon’s limp, bloody body while taking aim snapped Martin into action.

Gunshots rang out as Martin bolted through the woods in the direction of the Land Rover. He crashed through bushes, dodged trees, and leapt fallen logs as bullets whizzed past his head. Directly ahead he could see the vehicle peeking through the thicket. Just a few more feet and he’d be there. Another volley of concussive gunfire cracked the air. Chunks of tree bark exploded around him. Martin pounded forward even faster, clawing desperately through the brush, a single terrifying question suddenly pushing aside all other fears.

Will the keys be in the truck?

Martin burst from the tree line into the small clearing. Three steps, and he was yanking open the Rover’s door. He flung himself into the driver’s seat and groped for the keys in the ignition. His heart thudded when his hand grabbed nothing but air.

Outside Martin saw Oscar break into the clearing, raise his gun, and fire. There was an explosion of glass as bullets obliterated the windshield. Martin ducked and spotted the keys in the center armrest tray. Keeping low, he grabbed them, cranked the Rover to life, and stomped the gas. The Rover’s four-wheel drive power train found its footing instantly. The vehicle launched forward. Martin sprang up behind the steering wheel in time to see Oscar dodge clear of the barreling truck.

Martin veered hard to avoid a massive tree and suddenly he was careening forward through the dense woods. He yanked the steering wheel left and right, slaloming through nature’s obstacle course. The rear window spiderwebbed and spit glass. A side window blew inward. To the vehicle’s rear, Martin heard the rapid report of pursuing gunfire. In the side mirror he caught a glimpse of Oscar giving chase. The overseer was running all out and firing at the same time. Martin kept his head low and his foot firmly on the accelerator. Another glance at the side mirror revealed that Oscar had finally given up. Martin saw Oscar’s diminishing figure just standing there, weapon useless at his side, watching the vehicle speed away.

Martin had escaped.

Seized by a light-headed rush of relief, Martin felt an urge to brake the vehicle and give his heart a moment to settle down, but there was no time for that. Martin also wished that he could go back and help Damon, but the famous lawyer had been shot multiple times in the midsection. Even if Damon were still alive, without immediate help, he wouldn’t last very long. Damon had given his life for him.

Damon’s crime was unforgivable, but if Martin made it back, he’d make sure that Damon’s sacrifice was not forgotten.

Charged with determination, Martin continued to drive fast and hard over the rough terrain, pushing the Land Rover to its mechanical limits. Martin’s entire focus was now on one thing and one thing only. Something even more important to him than getting back alive.

He had to get to a phone so he could save Anna’s life.

CHAPTER 82

T
he sky was so blue, so perfectly blue.

Damon, in all his years, had never seen a sky so perfect. It was like an ocean hovering in the air, only there were no waves, just perfect blue. He wondered if Juanita could see the same sky. He wondered if Juanita would hate him or forgive him, when she found out what he had done. He wondered why it was taking him so long to die.

Damon had never felt pain like the pain he felt at that moment. He didn’t hurt in one spot; he hurt all over, as if every nerve in his body were a slowly smoldering ember. The pain was constant, but it wasn’t unbearable; in fact, he could feel the pain waning with each passing second. His strength was fading as well. He felt a slow yet steady withering of consciousness, as if his soul were circling a drain.

The perfect blue was becoming darker also, heaven’s light dimming faster and faster.

Damon blinked and suddenly the perfect blue sky was replaced by a face. There was a cold, unsympathetic face glaring down at him.

It was Oscar’s face. Oscar was kneeling over him.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Oscar asked.

Damon opened his mouth to reply and he gurgled up a bitter coppery fluid. Blood. He coughed and tried to speak again. “Let him go,” Damon rasped. “Let it end.”

Damon saw Oscar’s eyes narrow to angry slits. He saw the gun rise into view, then he felt the cold muzzle pressed against his forehead.

“Go to hell,” Oscar said.

Damon saw Oscar’s finger squeeze the trigger. Then the universe exploded.

*   *   *

Oscar rose from Damon’s corpse, gun still smoking in his hand. He watched Jamel and Russell writhing in the dirt while clutching their wounds. “My face,” Jamel moaned over and over. “My face. My face . . .”

Oscar walked over and put a bullet in Jamel’s head first. When he turned to approach Russell, the terrified guard was kicking and clawing in the dirt, attempting to drag himself away. “Please,” Russell pleaded. “I can make it back. I can.”

Oscar stepped over Russell and took careful aim. “Sorry, but there’s nothing to make it back to.”

The bullet struck Russell between the eyes.

Oscar gave the three corpses a final look. Satisfied that they were all dead, he holstered his weapon and set off into the woods.

Oscar walked briskly and with focus. He needed to get back to the compound as quickly as possible. Mr. Grey’s escape meant that life for everyone associated with Forty Acres was about to undergo a tectonic shift. There were emergency protocols, evacuation plans, and cover-up procedures that needed to get under way. There were also a lot of people who needed to be silenced. Not only those at the compound but also the dozens of minor support personnel located all over the country.

Oscar picked up the pace. There was so much to do.

CHAPTER 83

C
oiled with tension, Martin wrung the steering wheel as he guided the Land Rover across the rapids. It was one thing to be a passenger during a river crossing, another to be in the driver’s seat wrestling the vehicle for control. The closest that Martin had ever come to similar driving conditions was creeping through a flooded Manhattan intersection in his Volvo. That was nerve-racking enough. Grinding across an angry river in the middle of nowhere with so much at stake felt literally heart-stopping.

The Rover had reached the deepest part of the waterway. The charging water relentlessly slammed the right side of the truck, forcing Martin to make constant steering corrections while stomping rapidly back and forth on the brake and gas pedals. Martin’s determination and the 4x4’s stubborn torque combined to finally deliver him to the opposite shore. As Martin pushed the Land Rover forward into the wilderness before him, he glanced back at the churning water in his wake. The toughest part of the journey was over, he hoped. Now all he had to do was get to the highway.

Martin estimated that it would take Oscar about two hours to hike back to Forty Acres. That’s how much time he had to reach that old forest highway indicated on Dr. Kasim’s map, flag down a passing vehicle, borrow a cell phone, and call Anna to warn her to seek police protection immediately.

Martin recalled the spatial relationship on the map between the river, the ranger station, and the old highway. Starting from the river, if it took ten minutes to reach the station, it should take approximately twenty-five minutes to reach the highway. That should be plenty of time to save Anna’s life. But there was still one troubling unknown.

When describing the highway, Oscar had mentioned that travelers rarely used that route anymore. He even made a joke about it. If Oscar was right, it could take five minutes for a vehicle to drive by, or it could take hours. There was just no way to be sure. Martin hated to admit it, but the success of his plan—whether Anna lived or died—would be determined by luck.

One sure way to better the odds was to have as much time to spare as possible. The faster he reached the road, the better his chances would be of encountering a passing vehicle, so Martin poured on the speed. He had never forded a river before, and he was equally inexperienced at off-roading. A rugged drive for Martin was a gravel parking lot or a speed bump, but that didn’t stop him from pushing the Land Rover as hard as he could. Wrapping around a tree or snapping the axel on a boulder would be disastrous, so Martin had to try to find a balance between maximum speed and control. He whipped the Rover around obstacle after obstacle. Wildlife scrambled clear as bushes and saplings toppled beneath the bumper. Rooster tails of dirt flew up in the Rover’s wake as its churning treads propelled the vehicle forward.

*   *   *

Less than twenty minutes later, Martin was standing on the faded yellow dividing line of a two-lane forest highway. As he peered up and down the tree-lined stretch of empty road, Martin was infected with a hollow feeling of hopelessness. The old highway wasn’t just desolate, as Oscar had described; the weed-cracked and leaf-strewn blacktop looked like it hadn’t been touched by speeding rubber in years.

Martin listened hard for any sign of an approaching vehicle. The buzz and warble of wildlife and the low rumble of the idling Land Rover, which was stopped at the side of the road, were the only sounds. Martin felt an urge to shout at the top of his lungs, to cry out to the world for help, but he knew that it would do no good. He was completely alone, and from the looks of that forgotten highway, his state of isolation wasn’t about to change anytime soon.

With Anna’s life hanging in the balance, he couldn’t just wait there. He had to do something.

Approximately thirty minutes had passed since he’d escaped. That left another ninety minutes before Oscar reached the compound. Martin could drive damn far in ninety minutes, especially on a road free of traffic. Maybe he could reach a gas station or even the main highway with still enough time to make that lifesaving phone call.

Maybe.

The interstate wasn’t indicated on Dr. Kasim’s map, nor were there any gas stations. Martin had no idea how long it would take to reconnect with civilization. There was also one other problem. Martin’s head ticked back and forth, peering down the highway in one direction and then the other. If he did decide to take the gamble and keep driving, which direction should he choose?

As Martin weighed this decision, he spotted something on the road that seized his attention.

A wild rabbit.

The furry gray creature was sitting on the yellow line about fifteen yards from where Martin stood. Its nose twitching and its ears erect, the rabbit peered back at Martin, perhaps wondering what that strange tall creature was doing on his highway. Without any provocation, the rabbit suddenly bolted to the side of the road, scampered halfway up the embankment, and disappeared down a burrow hole.

The sight of the creature vanishing into the earth jarred something in Martin. For the last couple of hours he had been so focused on saving Anna that he had forgotten that there were other lives at stake as well. There were dozens of people imprisoned in Dr. Kasim’s gold mine, and the mine was wired to explode. When Oscar finally reached the compound and reported Martin’s escape, not only would Dr. Kasim carry out his threat against Anna, he would also order the execution of the slaves. Even if Martin could reach a phone in time to save his wife and alert authorities, help would never arrive in time to save those people trapped underground.

But what could Martin do to save them?

Even if he did something crazy like go back to the compound and try to rescue the slaves, he’d be doomed to failure, not to mention certain death. He was just one man, completely unarmed. Getting past the guards and freeing the slaves would be impossible.

Or would it?

They’d have to know that he was going for help. Moments after Oscar’s return, Forty Acres would be in turmoil. Plus he’d have the element of surprise on his side. The last thing that they would expect was for Martin to return to the compound. In fact, they probably wouldn’t expect any outsiders to show up for at least a couple of hours. Chances were pretty good that their focus would be entirely on escape rather than keeping anyone out.

Still, that didn’t solve the problem of how Martin could save the slaves. Sneaking back into the compound suddenly seemed very possible, but getting down into the mine and getting the slaves out—it was just too big a mission for one man.

Martin peered up and down the desolate highway again. The frustration and helplessness that he felt at that moment returned his hopes to his original plan. If only a car would come, he thought, just one stupid car or truck or motor home. Then his problems would be solved. He’d make the phone call, Anna would be saved, and there would still be enough time for the authorities to reach the compound and stop the destruction of the mine.

It was at that instant that it came to him. The answer to how one man could save the slaves struck Martin like a thunderbolt. It was a long shot, but it could work. But what about Anna? If he turned around and raced back to rescue the slaves, he wouldn’t be able to warn Anna in time to save her.

Martin had to make a decision—try to save Anna and his unborn child or try to save the slaves. Two lives versus dozens of lives.

Morally, the answer seemed obvious. But still, Martin couldn’t bring himself to make a choice that might result in his wife’s death. So, with time running out, he thought it best to leave the decision up to someone else, someone he trusted more than himself.

Martin Grey stood in the center of that deserted old highway in the middle of nowhere and asked himself one simple question. What would Anna want him to do?