The Solomon Key (8 page)

“You okay?” asked Scott, quickly looking over Edward to make sure that he wasn’t hit.

“Yeah.” And he craned his neck to look behind them. He counted to six before he saw the three ASVs turn the corner and come onto Worden Road with them. Though the military vehicles had wheel independent suspension that provided superior mobility and handling, it was the rail guns that concerned Edward the most. If given the opportunity, they’d reduce Scott’s Bronco to a pile of scrap metal in mere seconds.

“Hurry,” he muttered.

The park was only half a mile away, offering 772 acres to get lost in. But they were going to need to put enough distance between them and the ASVs if they wanted to escape the truck and flee into the woods without being gunned down in the process.

As they passed his house, Scott snuck a peak at the speedometer — 97mph. He figured they’d have about ten seconds to disappear into the woods. The park contained only three paved roads and an assortment of dirt paths, and though his vehicle could handle the bumpy terrain, the ASVs could handle it much better. Their only hope was to ditch the truck and force the soldiers to come after them on foot.

As they sped through the park’s entrance, leaving the sleeping town behind, they heard the helicopters above.

The cover of woods came just in time.

“How close are they?” Scott asked.

Edward looked back over his shoulder again. “I don’t see them yet.”

Suddenly and without warning, Scott turned the wheel violently to the right, taking the Bronco off the asphalt road and plunging it straight through a wall of foliage. There were a few huge bumps that sent both Edward and Scott bouncing out of their seats before even ground was rediscovered.

Scott jerked his head backwards, stealing a quick glance at the damage they left behind and wondered if there was any way the soldiers operating the ASVs might miss their maneuver and drive straight past the secret path. It didn’t look too bad. The hard turn didn’t seem to leave skid marks on the blacktop, and the brush they ran over sprung back to at least half-life. He drove forward through the darkness for a few more seconds before stopping and turning off the car, killing the brake lights. Because better trained soldiers would be concentrated in areas of conflict and not up here in the middle of nowhere, he figured those chasing them were probably some of the less experienced. If so, the odds of them passing by would be much more favorable. In fact, the line of vehicles were going way too fast to notice any sign of a departure from Worden Road.

“Looks like they passed right by,” Edward said, trying his hardest to see through the trees.

“Hopefully they take it to the end. That should give us enough time.”

He started the Bronco back up, turned on the parking lights, and continued bouncing forward across the uneven terrain.

Edward finally released his breath. “Where are we going?”

“I have a spot where we can spend the day.”

Edward stared at him, watched him drive, watched his eyes. He didn’t appear to be nervous or scared, and the look on his face wasn’t a new sight to Edward. Indeed, he’d spent a good portion of his life around such cold professional types. But until now, Matthew Scott had shown no clear indication that he was one himself. “You plotted this path a long time ago.”

It wasn’t a question.

A slight nod, Scott’s eyes never coming off the invisible road ahead. There was very little light making its way through the canopy above, and he didn’t want to alert the helicopters by turning on the headlights. So it was a slow ride full of scrapes and dents attacking the sides of his old truck. “I made it,” he clarified.

“You
made
it?” Edward asked in disbelief. He brought his big hand up to his bald head. “You knew this day would come...”

Scott’s eyes darted over at him. “You didn’t?”

Edward didn’t answer, just stared up at the colorful leaves that were the park’s sky. “This spot we’re going to, what is it?”

“A cave.”

“They’ll send dogs.”

“I know.”

“It’s not a coincidence that this park is here, is it?” Edward asked, a vague picture beginning to form in his mind.

Scott quickly turned the wheel to avoid a hidden bolder that was occupying the left side of the path. “No. It’s why I picked this place.”

Edward squinted. “Access north… why would you need that, Matthew?”

But he only grinned as he brought the truck to a stop. “Okay, you get out. I’m gonna ditch this thing and then come back to get you.”

Edward’s eyes flashed an ever-so-quick response that Scott interpreted as suspicion.

“I promise.”

Edward nodded without argument and pushed the door open, climbing down into a bed of wet ferns. Then he softly closed the door and brought the M4 up to his shoulder.

As the Bronco began moving away from him, turning and disappearing through another wall of plant life, he hobbled over to a large tree and sat. Soon the sound of the Bronco faded, and the biological life of the forest filled its void. He looked at his watch. It was 6:34. He rested the weapon on his lap and pulled at his jacket, fighting against the cold October morning. As his breath materialized in front of him, he listened to the sound of a nearby stream. The wind was blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves. A few fluttered to the ground around him. He used to take Jack to places like this when he was a boy. It helped gain some kind of perspective in a world that seemed to have none. It was their little retreat center, their refuge from the harsher realities of the world.

Edward closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the tree, and felt the cold breeze move over his face. He thought about Jack and his late wife, Naomi, who had died of cancer a number of years ago. He thought about their reunion one day — a day that would no doubt be sooner rather than later. But for now, when he opened his eyes, there was only the multicolored forest there facing him. No deceased loved ones welcoming him into Paradise. Just Vermont.

He closed his eyes again.

****

Edward nearly had a heart attack when a voice sounded behind him, startling him from sleep. Turning with the M4, he saw Scott standing only a few yards away.

“Come on,” Scott repeated.

“Must’ve dozed off…”

Scott helped him to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Are you offering to carry me?” he smiled.

“No.”

“Then I guess I don’t have much of a choice.” Clenching the muscles in his jaw, he began walking, painfully stretching out his stiff leg. And then a sudden blast of wind roared through the treetops and caused them both to look up. The dark clouds were moving faster now. “It’s going to rain,” he muttered.

Scott nodded. “Yep.”

Twenty minutes later, and just in time, they reached the cave. Somewhere out there in the woods, they could hear the faint barking of dogs while helicopters beat the air above them.

8

E
dward shifted his gaze away from the ceiling that was resting just two feet from his head and brushed some dirt off his jacket. Because the entranceway to the cave was nothing more than a small opening in the side of a hill, they practically had to crawl on their stomachs to reach the tiny expanse within it. He was sitting on a homemade chair that Scott had been gracious enough to offer, and it felt good to take the pressure off his wounded leg.

Three well-placed candles sat repelling enough of the darkness to make clear their surroundings. He could see a table, made from four branches and a sliver of tree trunk, and a shelf holding some old bowls and silverware. There was a pile of dirt in the back of the cave, fifteen yards away. Scott was on his knees with a candle at his feet, digging with his bare hands.

“How’s your leg?” he asked in a strained but controlled voice, throwing handfuls of dirt behind him.

Edward leaned back in the chair. “It hurts.” Then he asked, “What are you doing?”

“I hid my stuff back here.”

So many questions came to Edward’s mind all at once that he decided to just pick one at random, figuring there wasn’t one more important than another. “How long did it take you to do this?”

“The cave? A few years. Once I found it, I just had to dig it out and reinforce it.”

“And you picked this spot so that you could disappear if you had to?”

He stopped digging and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, this time willing to expound on his previous explanation. “Anyone ever came looking for me, or if I ever needed to run, the park was right at the end of the street, Ball Mountain just a little northwest.” Then he looked up at Edward, the shifting candlelight creating a myriad of shadows concealing his face one second while revealing it the next. “I could survive in the woods forever.”

Edward shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “After a while the isolation would get to you, drive you crazy. Probably start thinking about putting a bullet in your own head.”

Scott shrugged. “Then I’ve got New York to the west, Massachusetts to the South, Quebec north. If I wanted to join in the action, go out fighting, I could find my way there too.”

Edward lapsed back into silence and watched Scott continue to dig. It was clear that he knew what he was doing, some kind of preconceived game plan unfolding. Edward would want to know what it was. But he put off that question for right now. “Weren’t you afraid they’d find this place?”

“The NAU?” He laughed. “They’re bored and lazy, hardly ever go off the main paths. I’ve only seen them around this part of the woods twice. Besides, you saw how well hidden the entrance is. The roots from the tree above come down and cover the face of the opening.”

He went back to digging, talking over his shoulder. “I switch up my route, avoid making a path. The only way to discover this place is first to recognize it and then to crawl through the hole itself to see where it goes. There’s no NAU soldier who’s going to do that without being commanded to.” He finished digging, the wall of dirt now low enough for him to crawl over, and wiggled his way into the darkness beyond.

A second later, a huge army bag was coming back over the dirt and into the room. And then another one. Scott’s head reappeared next, emerging from the dark womb, dirt streaked over his face, mixing with sweat. He crawled back over the pile of dirt and got to his knees before turning around and reaching back into the secret compartment. This time, it was a large metal box that he pulled into the candlelight. He handled it gently, setting it down in the dirt with awkward reverence. Flipping the two latches on the case, he swung the lid open.

Edward leaned forward, shocked to see grenades and claymore mines stacked within the box. “Who
are
you?”

Scott didn’t answer, just began opening the large duffle bags, pulling a huge M107 — the Army’s first semi-automatic .50 cal. sniper weapon system — out of the first one. He leaned it against the wall. “An oldie but a goodie. Effective on multiple targets up to 2,000 meters. But too loud for this.”

“For this what?”

Still ignoring his probing questions, Scott went back into the bag, this time retracting a fully assembled AS50 semi-automatic sniper rifle. “Another relic. Designed for Special Ops. Twenty-seven pounds dry weight. Fifty-three point nine inches long.”

“I know what it is, Matthew. What are you planning on doing with it?”

But next came an HK 417 assault rifle, a SAW, a few pistols, another M4, and a whole lot of ammo.

“Guess the ATF would’ve had an issue with all this, huh?” Scott asked, still deflecting.

Edward leaned back against the chair and sighed. “I’d really like to know what you’re thinking, Matthew.”

To which Scott asked, “How you holding up?” He had camouflage for each season laid out on the floor. Selecting the digital bushland pattern, a four-color autumn palette, he began taking his jacket off.

“Fine.”

He watched Scott pull the camouflage pants on. “Are you going to tell me who you are or not?”

He pulled his boots back on. “Who I
was.
”

“Okay, who you were.”

“CIA.”

A pause. “Data entry?” Edward quipped, stealing another glance at the small arsenal just laid out before him.

“Black Ops.”

Edward thought about the answer. It would certainly explain a lot. “And the story?” he asked, trying to process this new revelation slowly.

Scott stopped for a second and looked into Edward’s eyes, about to disclose the secret he’d kept from him over the last few years. And, after sighing in surrender, he finally nodded his consent. “I sold my soul to the flag just in time to realize that the flag didn’t really exist anymore.” He reached over and grabbed his backpack, taking out a canteen. After a gulp, he offered it to Edward. “It’s purified.”

Edward accepted and drank, eager to hear the rest of Scott’s story.

“I got to Iran in 2013.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was captured and almost had my head sawn off. Wasn’t one of my favorite days. They offered to bring me home for a while, but I didn’t trust the people I’d be returning to, so I stayed put.” He watched his fingers working with the buttons on his jacket. “Then I heard that some of the guys I was involved with in the past were starting to turn up dead. Heart attacks, hit and runs, airplane disasters… someone was tying up loose ends.”

“Loose ends?”

“Something we were involved in before Iran. Anyway, they suddenly wanted to fly me home for ‘debriefing,’ but people like me aren’t allowed to retire, and I wasn’t looking to disappear on their terms. The base I was staying at was attacked by rockets and machine gun fire, and I managed to sneak out during the chaos.”

“How’d you get back into the states?”

“I knew some people who would take money without asking questions. Got a new identity and laid low, avoiding the places that were overly friendly with surveillance and police.”

“When?”

“2016 is when I got back stateside.”

“Why Jamaica?” Edward asked while trying to erase the whole conception he once had of Mathew Scott.

“Six hundred and eighty-eight feet above sea level and nine hundred and forty-six people in the county. The West River, the woods, mountains… I told you, the location was ideal for someone who might have to disappear in a hurry.”