The Solomon Key (6 page)

“No, miss. The woman blew up her lab and her co-workers.”

The reporter asked why.

“We’re not sure yet, but there is evidence enough to suspect that this is yet another attack on our way of life.”

Another reporter inquired about that evidence.
“That is classified at this time, but we will have more for you as our investigation into this terrible act unfolds.”
The man cleared his throat.
“This woman seemed just like a normal woman. She was born and raised in the United States, she was employed by the NAU, and she seemed very patriotic. So, I think this attack means that we have to be vigilant.”
And then, right at the end, he added,
“But we can’t let them change how we live.”

Scott frowned, but before he could flick the channel away, the news anchor came back on the screen and mentioned her name.

Melissa Strauss.

Scott sat up straight, his heart pumping fast. He was out the

door and in his car before the next story.

He ran a hand through his short dark hair as he tried desperately to keep his Bronco from going above the posted speed limit. Though he had removed the microchip from his license plate, created his own registration tag, and his car was too old to have one in the serial plate, it was even more of a reason to be cautious. If one of the scanners tried processing his plate number to send a fine and update his license by adding the necessary points, the computer wouldn’t be able to read the chip — which was required by law — and would raise a red flag on him. That would bring scrutiny his way. And then that path to a shovel and six feet of dirt would suddenly become a lot shorter.

He didn’t want to use his phone either. If they had any indication that the letter may have gone to Ed’s, they would most certainly be listening in. Even if not, just uttering the word “ring” would be picked up by their word recognition software, and his records would automatically be pulled. Though everything he owned was registered under false identities, he didn’t need any of his records being looked at. It was worth the slow and torturous drive over to his friend’s house. He hoped. He was also concerned about driving past curfew, but he had little choice. The curfew was only a few days old, and so he thought it unlikely the tools would already be updated to transmit immediate coordinates to the local authorities. He did, however, realize that he could be wrong. In any case, he had finally worn out his welcome in this town.

Scott turned the lights off as a precaution and rolled the truck to a stop a few houses away from Edward’s. Sitting silently in the dark, he picked up the old night-vision monocular from the seat next to him and pulled on the headmount. Designed for the Special Forces ages ago, the monocular went over just one eye in order to maintain the adaptation to the darkness in the other. The world was green and white, but visible. Too visible. He looked to the streetlights. They were out, their solar cells having been taken offline. While opening the door, he looked over Ed’s house for signs of other guests. He saw one. A figure walking in front of a second story window. Scott knew it wasn’t Edward. A quick look around the house to make sure there were no guards, and he was out of the truck, leaving the door open a crack to avoid the sound of it closing. He ran quietly across the street and into a neighbor’s back yard. The grass was wet with dew, and he had to be careful with his footing. He used the bushes and trees for cover. He moved quickly and fluidly, his mind working through all the possible scenarios he might find once in the house.

Ducking behind a bush that stood up against the last fence remaining before Cairns’ yard, Scott checked his surroundings. Looking above him, to the side of the house that was only ten feet away, he noticed that the lights mounted on its side, usually set off by motion or a certain heat signature, were dark. Scott sprung forward, grabbed the fence, and hopped it in one single motion, landing on the other side without a sound. He ran to the side of the house, the world blurring past him in a sea-sickening wash of green light. He put his back against the house and peered through a window beside him. There was someone in there, walking to the back door. He had a rifle in his hand, night-vision goggles strapped to his head.

Scott ducked below the window and moved to the back of the house, toward the back door. Sweat began to bead on his forehead in rhythmic timing with his heartbeat. He spun to the side of the door just as it pushed outward, arcing past him.

The man dressed in black didn’t even see what broke his neck.

Scott lowered him to the concrete patio and quickly searched his pockets. No ID, of course. But he took the knife, pistol, and semi-automatic rifle that had been slung over the intruder’s back. It had a silencer fitted to the end of the barrel. He took the goggles too, hooking them to his belt.

He entered through the back door and immediately discovered why the man was leaving the house. Three German Shepherds lay dead on the ground before him, streaks of blood across the floor from their being dragged. Calvin, Jefferson, and Washington — three of his only four friends. All dead. He took a deep breath, suppressing his emotion, clearing his mind. Then he raised the rifle tight against his shoulder, and began moving expertly through the house, room to room.

It was all clear. Which meant they had to be upstairs.

Scott walked through the living room and past the grand piano, suddenly catching a glimpse of another man above him. He swung the rifle up, aiming, and realized it was actually a reflection in the mirror hanging at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. The man was standing at the top of the stairs with night-vision and a semi-automatic rifle. Scott quickly stepped out of line with the mirror.

A scream came from above.

There was no more time. He stepped back into the living room and swung the rifle up, pulling the trigger one time. The barrel coughed, and the body crumbled to the floor. Scott ran up the stairs, training the sights on the doors that lined the upstairs hallway. Once at the top, he saw an open door near the end. He heard a voice. He crept closer. The hallway which he was walking down protruded out over the floor below, a railing to his left and doors to his right.

“Where is it?” The voice sounded professional, patient and calm.

No response met the question.

Scott could see Edward in his mind’s eye, bound to a chair, his face bloody.

“We know it’s here. There’s no use in hiding it from us.”

“Why are you doing this?” Scott could hear Edward’s weak voice respond.

“It’s a matter of security, Mr. Cairns. You of all people should understand.”

A weak laugh transitioned into a fit of coughing.

“You’re not going to force us to take this to another level, are you?”

Scott needed to know who else was in the room, if anyone. He was right at the edge of the door, trying to get a fix on who was in there and where they were positioned. Once he entered, he’d need to take them down fast. Before they could react.

“Mr. Cairns, where is the ring?” It was another voice, this one colder. Like ice.

“I don’t have it on me.”

Then he screamed.

The two voices were in front of Edward, facing him. Hopefully, they were the only ones in the room. Scott positioned himself so that he was directly facing the door. It was open about three inches. If the door swung quietly, the intruders would be dead before they realized it. If it didn’t…

Scott crouched low and leaned his shoulder into the wood, rifle up. He pushed on the door, opening it and following its arc by swinging the rifle up and around in one fluid motion.

The hinges squeaked.

There was a light source somewhere in the room that created indiscernible bright spots within his vision, and he could barely make out the greenish figure hiding within the glow. It turned to face him, obviously thinking it was one of his own men entering the room. A soft cough from the end of the sound suppressor proved otherwise. In less than a second, the other man that was to his left responded by firing at where Scott should have been, the bullet whizzing harmlessly over his head. Scott turned and shot him in the face.

Standing, Scott swept the smoking barrel back and forth over the room, making sure it was clear. He was right in seeing Edward tied to a chair, and he moved fast to untie him, studying the glowing green faces of the men he had just killed.

“It’s me — Matthew,” he whispered to Edward.

“How did you know?” Edward gasped, his voice managing to retain some resolve.

“We’ll talk on the way. Let’s go.” He helped him to his feet. “Put this on.” He handed him the night-vision he took from the man downstairs.

Edward cringed and began stumbling forward. He groaned in pain. “My leg,” he muttered. “They stuck a knife in it.”

Scott helped Edward back into the chair and quickly examined his bloody leg. “They missed the artery. Do you think you can walk?”

“I’ll try.” He reached up and wrapped his arms around Scott’s neck. As he was lifted up, and pain shot from his leg to his brain, he asked, “Did you get them all?”

“Four.” Scott was struggling with Edward’s weight.

Edward stopped abruptly, moving against Scott’s progress toward the door, making it impossible for him to go on. “No, Matthew,” his voice was alarming, and Scott could feel him tense. “There were five.”

Scott stopped struggling. “Okay.” He helped Edward to the wall where he could lean against it for support. “Stay here.” He handed him the pistol he had also taken from the man downstairs and crept out of the room.

Scott saw the fifth man just in time, diving to the hallway floor as bullets flew over his head and tore apart the railing and the wall next to him. The gunman was below him in the living room, now firing up from underneath the overhanging hallway, tearing apart sheetrock, wooden studs, plywood, and carpet.

The floor exploded all around Scott, and he hurried to his knees, throwing himself through another door that lined the hallway. Now he was off the overhang, another room below him. He got to his feet.

The shooting stopped.

He could hear his own breathing.

Then the door shattered to pieces, wood splinters flying past his face, cutting his forehead. He spun away from the door, putting his back against the wall next to it, and slid down into a squatted position, chunks of drywall exploding from the wall around him. He swung the rifle around and aimed it blindly out the door, firing in the direction of the stairs.

That sent the intruder seeking cover, and Scott used the opportunity to run back into the hallway, leaping over the unstable section of floor, and into the room Edward was in.

“Coming in, Ed!” he shouted in a whisper, trying to avoid being shot by his friend. He ran past Edward, who was still leaning against the wall with pistol held ready, and went to the window. He used the butt of the rifle to break the glass. “Fire a shot toward the steps,” he told Edward.

Without asking questions, Edward leaned into the hallway and squeezed off a couple rounds toward the stairs.

“Now get in the closet and don’t move.”

“What are you gonna do?” Edward asked, as he struggled to get to the closet on the other side of the room.

“I’m not sure.” Scott lifted one of the dead men up onto his shoulder and went to the window, throwing him through it and onto the roof.

A noise came from the hallway.

He dove out the window. Using the dead body to stop himself from going over the edge and off the roof, he regained his footing and threw himself to the left of the window. He sprang to his toes, crouching, his back against the house. He reached for the corpse and pulled it by the ankle until he could reach its arm. Then he stood, lifting the lifeless body up in front of the window.

The body began jerking, blood spraying the house and Scott, and then it flew out of his hand, falling to the roof and rolling off. Scott gripped the rifle with both hands, waiting for the shooter to come to the window to inspect his work. But then a loud
thump
sounded from inside the room.

Scott turned and jumped back into the room, landing in a tuck and roll, coming up ready to fire. But the last man was already sprawled out on the floor before him.

“Sorry, I had the shot,” Edward said from inside the open closet.

“Your idea was better than mine,” he mumbled. “Come on, we gotta go before the police get here. The neighbors probably reported the noise.”

Edward then went down the hall and to his bedroom. He picked up a pair of pants off the floor and, sticking his hand in a pocket, pulled out the ring. “Okay,” he said, hobbling to the stairs.

Scott followed him down to the back door and watched his older friend pause momentarily over the dead dogs.

“Why don’t we take my car?” Edward asked, his voice crackling from the pain he was trying to suppress, both physical and emotional.

It would be a struggle to get Edward across the street to where he parked, so Scott considered it for a second. But then he shook his head. “I can’t leave my car. They’ll find us if I do. You can make it.” He helped him across the street and up into the Bronco. Then they were off and heading back to Scott’s house.

There were some things they would need.

5

M
atthew Scott worked on Edward’s leg, cleaning the wound and dressing it. He worked fast, knowing they had a lot to do if there was any rest to be had before the action really began. The TV was on, more 3D terror alerts scrolling across the air in front of the screen.

Scott finished and stood just as headlights could be seen reaching through the air outside, grabbing the ground in front of them.

“Shhh.” Scott quickly shut off the TV. “Lay down. Stay here.”

“What is it?” Edward asked, lying down.

“Police.” Having already ditched the stolen guns into a creek on their way back, he didn’t have to worry about hiding them. He ran upstairs and jumped into his bed, pretending to be asleep.

The big armored vehicle drove slowly down the street, its high-tech equipment peering through house walls and detecting every sound behind them.