“But Collins being there—“ Neeley let that hang.
“Still not that big of a deal,” John said. “Gant radioed in a final report of the meeting and requested pick up. While we were packing up we got new orders. Someone wanted that videotape.”
“Collins,” Neeley said.
John shrugged. “I guess. Or Nero to use as leverage against Collins. So we hung around a little longer. Listened. Found out that al-Turabi was to keep the videotape. He was going back to Afghanistan via Somalia. Give some support to the brothers’ in-country there.”
“So you went to Somalia,” Neeley said.
“Yeah,” John said. “We pulled out of the hide sight, went back to the all-terrain and loaded up. Gant drove us into the desert and we waited. The Talon came back, landed and we drove on board. Took us to the airfield in Mogadishu where all the special operations people were stationed—the Rangers, Delta Force, and the Task Force 160 helicopters.”
John fell silent for a few moments and Neeley didn’t feel the inclination to prod him forward any more. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he was going to say. Hannah was sitting, drink in hand, watching her husband. Neeley noticed the other woman had yet to take a sip of her drink.
“We saw the special ops guys running their missions. The humanitarian part, then the snatch raids when things changed. The place was getting hairy. Gant disappeared into town a couple of times, searching for al-Turabi. I guess he found him.”
John’s voice went flat once more as he recited, just as he had probably done years ago at a debriefing. “The 3
rd
of October. There was going to be a raid later that day. Gant was talking with Nero and he was pissed, the first time I saw him get really emotional. I was just an engineer and wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he laid it out for me—the Ranger and Delta Force guys had no armor support and they were running their missions in daylight, negating their night vision technological advantage. And, what really ticked Gant off, was that they were using the same tactics over and over again. And Nero wanted him to use the raid that day as cover for taking out al-Turabi and getting the fucking video.
“The first wave of choppers lifted. I heard Gant ask: ‘Is this thing a go or no go, Mister Nero?’ I don’t know what Nero said, but Gant didn’t act like he appreciated the answer.”
Neeley could hear the sound of a clock chiming in another room as John Masterson continued.
“We saw the raid go into downtown. Everything seemed to be going all right. Then Gant and I loaded onto one of the Little Birds, an OH-6, to run our own little op in the middle of this. We flew downtown, to where the raid was. We landed on the roof. Delta guys had secured the building and snatched a bunch of their targets, including al-Turabi.
“Gant found the tape and some documents on al-Turabi, taped around his waist. Gant gave me the documents and stuck the tape in his pack. Then we shoved al-Turabi on board one of the Blackhawks. Things were beginning to get a little hairy. We were getting incoming fire. Gant and I were supposed to go out on the Blackhawk with al-Turabi but Gant decided against it. He felt the Delta guys could use our firepower as the ground column was caught up in some trouble and hadn’t arrived yet.
“I was pissed at him,” John said. “I wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. But he saved my life by doing that. Cause that chopper lifted, and started to move away, when it got hit by rocket fire from an adjoining building and went down. Al-Turabi and several others on board were killed.”
John sighed and became quiet. Neeley was trying to sort through what he had already told him. She wanted to know everything about the past very badly, but she also wanted to know what John was lying about concerning the present. “You didn’t leave Hannah the day Gant called.”
John stared at her and finally reluctantly nodded. “I was scared when Gant called, but he told me I was covered. That someone—he must have meant you—would come by and everything would stay the same. I was going off to golf when Nero called me on my cell phone. He told me it was time for me to go.”
“That’s why I didn’t sense it,” Hannah sounded relieved, as if a great mystery had been solved.
“I don’t get it,” Neeley said. “What did he mean by that.”
John looked at his wife. “I am so sorry. I never really thought Nero would come for you.”
Hannah was surprised. “For me?”
John shook his head, rubbing his hands across weary eyes. “This has all been a nightmare. Ever since that day in Mogadishu.”
Hannah was about to say something, but Neeley cut her off. “I don’t understand. If you were working for Nero, why did you and Gant keep the video and documents?”
John looked up at her. “Because Gant had seen who in the next building had fired the missile that downed the helicopter we were supposed to be on, killing everyone on board.”
Two things happened very quickly. There was a sharp crack as if someone had thrown a rock at the big window and Neeley reached over, grabbed Hannah's head and smashed her facedown into the carpet.
Hannah heard another loud pop and then Neeley was on top of her and whispering. "Keep down. Crawl into the hallway."
Hannah started to move and only then noticed the weight of John on her legs. Hannah gasped and struggled to free her feet. She felt something warm and wet soak her back. "Get off me, John!"
Neeley's voice was insistent and level. "He can't, Hannah. He's dead."
Hannah pulled her feet loose with a jerk. She started a low crawl toward the hall all the while hearing the shots and the crashes that followed them. Whoever was firing was using a damn large caliber gun. As she got close to the hallway, a glass frame above her shattered, raining splinters of glass on and around her.
Hannah paused and turned to look for Neeley. Another well-placed shot caused her to roll into the hall, regardless of the glass.
Suddenly Neeley was at her side, John’s briefcase in her hand. "Crawl into your room. Get dressed, fast. We've gotta get out of here."
Hannah looked at the strange woman. “John is dead?”
“Yes.”
Hannah closed her eyes. A hand pinched her arm. “You don’t move, we’re both gonna be dead too.”
"Why should I listen to you? You were going to kill John and me a few minutes ago."
Neeley pushed her. "I wasn't going to kill you. I came to help. Now go get dressed!"
Hannah shook her head. "What do you mean you weren't going to kill us? You had a gun pointed at us! That's certainly--"
Neeley brought the pistol back up, cutting her off. "OK, I will kill you if you don't get dressed right now. Whoever's out there is an expert. We only have a few minutes to get out of here so do what I say now!"
Whether the words or the tone worked wasn't clear, but Hannah crawled to the big bedroom. Neeley followed and darted around Hannah, making her way to the bathroom. By squatting in the tub she could see most of the backyard. With the light off, she knew she couldn't be seen from the outside. It was still dark out there but the promise of daylight was not far away.
Neeley couldn't see a thing and regretted leaving her pack in the truck. Whoever the Cellar had sent had been amazingly fast. The firing had stopped once they got out of the den. She had been surprised at the number of bullets the shooter had put into the house. He couldn't have seen them once Neeley shoved Hannah down, but he had continued to fire as if he knew where they were. And he should have come into the house by now. How did he know they hadn't run out the front door or garage, or called the cops?
Neeley had it then. This guy was smart. He had access to the same equipment Gant had had and would operate in the same way. Neeley braced her forearms on the edge of the tub, the barrel of her pistol pointing into the back yard. She took a chance. "Hannah, get away from the kitchen window!" she yelled.
She saw the bright muzzle flash right where she expected it. By the old tree. She heard the kitchen window shatter. Hannah was calling out but Neeley ignored her as she fired rapidly. First shot to blow out the plane of glass between her and the target, then three rounds as fast as she could pull the trigger at the muzzle flash even though she knew the shooter would have relocated as soon as he fired.
"What are you doing?" Hannah was yelling, the sound of the gun echoing off the tiles.
Neeley ran to the bedroom, staying low just in case and grabbed Hannah's arm with a fierce grip. She hissed in Hannah's ear. "The house is bugged. The person outside can hear us. Do whatever I say if you want to make it out of here alive."
Neeley looked down and realized Hannah had on a silk dress buttoned wrong and had been trying to pull on pantyhose. "Jesus," Neeley muttered.
Neeley reached into the closet and felt around. Nothing felt like denim. "Socks, Hannah," Neeley whispered. "Socks and tennis shoes. Sneakers," she added. Neeley grabbed the nylon out of Hannah’s hand.
In a minute she had Hannah reasonably well put together. She edged back to the door of the bathroom and looked out. Nothing moving. Neeley looked at Hannah, who was moving now, stuffing clothes and items into a large tote bag. "Call the cops," Neeley said loudly.
"What?" Hannah asked, confused.
"Call the cops. As soon as you get them on the phone, I'll be gone," Neeley said. She was watching the woodline. "Move!" Neeley snapped. "Call them now!"
Hannah crawled over to the nightstand and picked up the phone. Neeley saw something moving in the woodline and smiled. She turned and grabbed Hannah's arm. "Let's go," she whispered.
"But--"
Neeley clamped a hand over Hannah's mouth and dragged her toward the garage, the phone falling to the ground.
**************
Racine was running through the woods, heading back toward his car. He rubbed his hand down his left side as he moved. There was a little bit of blood. Splinters from the tree. The bitch was good with a pistol. It must have been sixty-seventy feet from his position to the window she'd fired out of. Contrary to the cop shows on TV it took a damn good shot to even get close with a pistol at that distance.
Racine pulled the small headphones off and tucked them into a pocket, sealing the Velcro cover to make sure they didn't fall out. The house had been wired, just as he'd expected. He'd picked up the conversation in the kitchen as he'd hit the right freq. Jesus! Masterson had just been sitting there spilling his guts and that had forced Racine to act before he was ready.
He'd taken out John to shut him up, but the women had reacted faster than he had expected. He'd peppered the fucking house, tracking them by sound from the wire as best he could, trying to flush them out, until they'd mentioned the cops. That was a bit too much publicity for him, especially after Baltimore.
"Fuck!" Racine came to a halt. Neeley wouldn't call the cops! She'd tricked him. Just as she'd tricked him to shoot at the window. Racine half-turned back toward the house, and then realized it was too late for that.
He smiled, his teeth giving him a ferocious appearance in the dark. It didn't matter. He knew exactly how to meet up with Hannah and Gant's ghost. Racine began sprinting, heading back the way he had come.
Hannah glanced at the woman behind the wheel. Neither of them had said a word since they had switched to Neeley's pick-up and made the on ramp for Interstate 70. They were going toward Kansas City and Neeley, if she had a plan, wasn't sharing it.
Hannah was surprised at her own calmness. She had no idea what was going on or who this seemingly dangerous woman was other than her name, yet she felt a detachment that seemed to insulate her from even curiosity. The thought of John dead didn't affect her as much as she had thought it would. The last week had angered her beyond her imaginings. Now it was as if the events of the past hour had shifted her into the eye of the hurricane, taking her out of the turmoil she was in. She didn’t know what was coming, but she was sure it would also be bad. Most importantly though, was the realization that had seeped into her as John told his story that his leaving had had nothing at all to do with her. She felt as if the last ten years of her life had been wiped clean.
She watched the endless businesses, strip malls and larger shopping centers that constituted northern St. Louis zip by her window. She thought of the stores she had frequented and was reminded of the meager supplies in her current possession. She had her purse with its few cosmetics and useless credit cards, the tote bag with the stuff she had crammed in it in the dark, and was wearing sweats that Neeley had grabbed for her with a nylon windbreaker, socks and sneakers. That was it.
Hannah felt certain she wouldn't be going home any time soon, or even ever. In the space of less than two weeks, she had effectively lost her husband and the whole of her possessions. A couple of hours ago she had almost lost her life.
Hannah pushed memories of the shooting from her mind. Neeley seemed intent on her own thoughts and just driving the truck. Hannah could appreciate the distance they were putting between them and whoever had made Swiss Cheese of her den. When Neeley spoke, the suddenness of it caused Hannah to jump.
"Aren't you going to say something?"
"No."
Neeley turned to the woman huddled in the passenger seat. "Are you in shock or something? Aren't you interested in what's going on?"
"I don't want to talk right now, OK?" Hannah said.
"This isn't going away, Hannah. You can't draw into yourself and pretend you're on a Sunday afternoon outing."
"Where are we going?" Hannah finally asked.
"Right now I'm just trying to get out of town."
“And then? What are we supposed to do once we get out of town?"
"I figure first we just get away from the guy trying to kill us. I agree, we'll have to figure something out though, because he'll find us soon enough."
"What? How can he find us? And who is he any way? What is going on? Who exactly are you?"
"He found your house." Neeley recited the facts in logical order. "He freq’d in on the bugs that I placed in your house. He--"
"Bugs in my house?” Hannah cut in. “That you placed?"
"I needed to find John," Neeley said.
"You bugged my house? You listened to me?"
"I was doing a job," Neeley said.
Hannah turned away and silence again reigned inside the truck.
Neeley glanced in the rear view mirror. As far as she could tell they had not been followed. She had not liked going back to her pick up truck, given that the shooter had probably come from the same direction, but there was too much irreplaceable gear in the truck-bed under the camper shell. She couldn't leave it sitting there, waiting for the cops to find it. Her fingerprints were all over the truck and when John's body was found it wouldn't take the cops long to put something together.
She realized she had not done well. The fact that the shooter, whoever it was, had not done particularly well either, taking John out first instead of the person with the gun, did little to console her.
“Whoever it was heard what we were saying?” Hannah asked.
Neeley nodded, trying to figure out a plan.
“Why was John shot first?” Hannah asked. “You had the gun.”
Neeley was surprised that this housewife was asking the same thing that had just occurred to her. “He screwed up.”
“Whoever it was is a professional, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then he didn’t screw up, did he?”
Neeley frowned, but Hannah continued.
“He shot John to shut him up.”
Neeley realized Hannah was right. She replayed the scene, trying to focus on what John had been talking about just before getting killed. Hannah’s observations disturbed her, even though they were pretty much the same as her own. Neeley pointed to the generic restaurant at the next exit. "We'll stop for some coffee. We can talk there."
They rolled into the lot and Neeley parked the truck. They walked in and took a booth where Neeley could watch outside.
***************
Four miles back, Racine had a small metal suitcase open on the passenger seat. A power cord ran from it to the cigarette lighter. He watched the dot that represented Neeley’s truck come to a halt. He smiled at the thought that the bitch's training would be her downfall. He'd known exactly where to find her ride and the Vermont plates had just been icing. She had by-the-book-Gant stamped all over her. Gant and his fucking rules. There were problems with rules and if the dip-shit have ever condescended enough to treat Racine like an equal, he would have been glad to explain some of them to Gant. Number one was if someone knew your rules, they could predict your actions and be one step ahead.
Racine saw the first sign for the exit the women had taken come up. The bitch had outsmarted him at the house. Time to push things, Racine decided as he flipped open a small black book. He thumbed through until he got to the page he wanted. Then he opened his cellular phone with his free hand. With difficulty, he punched in a phone number.
He grimaced when the other end was picked up, but he knew one had to make due with what was available. He didn't have much time to plan anything elaborate but all he needed was a few minutes of quiet time to kill Neeley and get the blond into the trunk. He knew Nero was adamant about not killing her and he couldn't afford another mistake. At least not yet, as far as Nero was concerned.
*************
**
Hannah glanced at the other patrons in the restaurant and decided it was a place where no one would find her oddly dressed. Neeley was fussing with the coffee they had been brought by the middle-aged waitress. For the first time Hannah could clearly see the other woman's face and decided she was lovely. The dark hair and eyes highlighted the pale skin that seemed to glow with an athletic health and vigor. Hannah knew this was a dangerous, hard woman, but she had to admit she was also a pretty one.
Neeley reached over and clasped Hannah's free hand. It was not a gesture of comfort but rather one of restraint. Her voice had a steady quality that was more frightening than the information it conveyed.
"Listen closely, Hannah. If you want to survive this, you'll listen to me and do what I say. I don't know what kind of dream world you've been living in, but it's time to check in to reality. In the real world your life is worth spit about now. I'm not the bad guy, OK?"
Hannah stared at her. "You walk in with John all tied up and waving a gun and you're not the bad guy?"
Neeley shook her head. "No, no, that's not how it is. You see, your husband screwed you over. He not only took everything when he split, he left you hanging in the wind knowing that someone like me or the man who shot up your house would show up."
"John wasn't a bad man for God sakes. He was a little egotistical and overly involved with material possessions but that hardly damns him." The words sounded hollow to Hannah even as she said them. Just this evening she’d been damning John at the top of her lungs to the empty rooms of her house.
"Hannah, your husband just told you he was involved in something a long time ago that killed him earlier this morning. But he never told you a word about it, did he?"
"You're lying. John was making that up."
"There's the briefcase in my truck with something in it that John has had all these years that says I'm not lying and that he wasn’t making it up." Neeley squeezed tight on Hannah’s wrist. “You were angry about John leaving you, but understand he betrayed you when he met you by not telling you the truth about his past. Use that anger, work with it, because you need something to get you through this.”
The waitress appeared with the coffee pot.
Neeley let go of Hannah and pushed her hair from her face with impatience. Neeley waited until the waitress refilled their cups and was gone before continuing. "What we need is a plan, because everyone else is going to have one."
"Who is everyone else and just what's going on? For starters, who exactly are you?"
"First let's get you up to now," Neeley said. "You now know your husband was involved in something that forced his termination. The man that I spent the last ten years with was also involved and he sent me to John."
“This Gant fellow?” Hannah asked.
Neeley nodded.
"Where is Gant now?"
"He's dead."
"People seem to die around you a lot," Hannah said.
"Not just everyone around me. I'm dead too in a manner of speaking."
“Great. What did John mean?” Hannah pressed. “About Nero coming for me? Why would he come for me?”
Before Hannah could say anything else, Neeley interrupted. She had been looking past Hannah and now she shook her head. "See those two men who just pulled in to the parking lot?" Neeley inclined her head toward the glass.
Hannah could see two young men in dirty jeans and brown leather jackets climbing off large motorcycles. Both had beards and were not the type you wanted to run into in a dark alley or anywhere else for that matter. They were looking about. "Yes?"
"They're here for us," Neeley said.
"How do you know?"
Neeley smiled coldly. "Woman's intuition."
The two men sauntered to the door of the restaurant and walked in. One was tall, with long flowing dirty blond hair. The other's skull was shaved. The tall one looked about, then his eyes settled on the booth Neeley and Hannah were in.
"Just stay calm," Neeley said. "Let me handle this."
The men walked over, then slid onto the seats, pinning the women against the window. Tall blond was next to Neeley and the shaved head was next to Hannah.
"Can I help you?" Neeley said. She glanced out into the parking lot. There was a car parked, facing their window. The glass was dark but she could tell the engine was running by the exhaust coming out the tailpipe. It had pulled in right after the two motorcycles. She couldn't see the driver, just the form of someone sitting there, waiting.
"I like my woman big," Blondie said. "You like your men big?" He grabbed Neeley's left hand and pushed it into his crotch.
Neeley turned her attention back to the booth. Hannah was scrunched up as far as she could against the glass. The man next to her had his hands under the table. Hannah gasped and jerked further away as the man did something.
Neeley curled the fingers of her left hand and squeezed. "Not big enough, buddy boy."
Blondie gasped as he doubled over. "Ah shit!"
Neeley's Glock was out and pointing straight at Baldie. "You'd better have your hands on the table right now," Neeley said.
Blondie swung with his right arm and Neeley ducked the blow. She twisted her left hand and he screamed as his balls did a 180. The muzzle of the pistol hadn't wavered from between Baldie's eyes. "Put your hands on the table," Neeley ordered again.
Baldie did what he was told, a strange-looking knife with a notched point in his right hand. There was blood on the tip. Neeley rapped the muzzle of the gun against the side of Blondie's head and it thumped down on the table top.
Neeley could see the waitress on the phone. The cops would be here in a couple of minutes. She brought the gun back to bear on Baldie. "Who hired you?"
"Some guy."
"Bad description," she said, slamming the barrel down on top of his right hand. He screamed as bones broke. She looked at the parking lot. The car was pulling out.
"That him?"
Baldie was holding his wounded hand. "Yeah, some guy. That’s all I know. He had a lot of cash. Crazy dude with crazy eyes. You broke my hand you bitch!"
"Get out of the seat," Neeley said as she pivoted and used both her legs to push Blondie onto the floor. Baldie did as he was told.
"Let's go," Neeley said to Hannah who had remained frozen throughout the entire proceeding.
Hannah stirred. "I'm bleeding," she said, looking down at her left leg where blood was dripping down from a cut in her thigh, just above the knee.
Neeley tossed some napkins. "Use those." She stood. "On your face," Neeley ordered Baldie. He did as he was told and Neeley grabbed Hannah's arm, dragging her out of the restaurant.
They hustled to the truck and Neeley quickly drove out of the restaurant and onto the Interstate, heading back toward St. Louis.
Hannah finally spoke as they merged into traffic. "Who were they?"
"Some shitheads the man who shot up the house hired."
"Why?"
Neeley just stared. "Why do you think? To grab us, drag us some place quiet, and blow our brains out. Evidently he doesn't want a public spectacle that he’s involved in."
Hannah was holding the now red-soaked napkin to her thigh. "What about the gun battle at my house? That was pretty public."
Neeley shook her head and pointed behind them. "Not like that. And I think you were right—John talking forced the play at the house. Unless the Cellar called in a disposal unit and cleaned up your house, we're going to be fugitives soon. I can't go to the police but you still could. I don't know how much they'd believe and I can't guarantee someone from the Cellar won't show up with the proper papers and identification to take you away and nobody would ever see you again. We’ve stepped into some deep shit here, Hannah."
Hannah was starting to shake her head. So much for the eye of the storm. "I don't know who you are but don't leave me, OK? Let's just get out of here. There's got to be some place we can hide. Right now I feel like a bullet's going to punch me right between the eyes any second."