Dead Man's Tunnel (33 page)

Suddenly, a flashlight clicked on from the darkness of the tunnel. Hook turned and stared into its glare.

“Been expecting you,” a voice said from behind the light.

“Edgeworth,” Hook said. “Or should I say Alex Gregor?”

“The name Edgeworth has served me well enough,” he said. He stepped forward with his weapon pulled. “I'll have that gun of yours, Runyon. Butt first.”

“I'm unarmed,” Hook said, showing him the empty holster.

“The car keys,” he said.

“The army has a thing about giving civilians the keys to their vehicles. You might try Captain Folsom.”

“He didn't have them. Unfortunate, because in this business you need a reason to keep on living.”

“And what business would that be, spying for the Ruskies?”

Edgeworth smiled. “It might surprise you to know that the Russians already have their nuclear engine, except for one small detail.”

“The cooling system,” Hook said.

“Without that, all else fails,” he said.

“So that's the information you extracted from Ballard?”

“What's a secret or two shared between allies?” Edgeworth said. “A few minutes more, and I'd been on my way. There's a contact with a departure plan all set to get me out of the country. You have caused me considerable trouble, Runyon.”

“You killed Erikson and set that bo up?” Hook said.

“Erikson made his contribution, though his information was limited. And then he turned greedy.”

“And the bo?”

“Caught him stealing supplies from the cook car. Offered him a deal to stay out of jail and some spending money on the side. All he had to do was catch a train and stir up a little trouble.”

“Sabotage had never been the plan,” Hook said. “You needed Ballard. You needed the cooling system.”

“You're smart for a yard dog, Runyon,” he said, cocking his sidearm.

Mixer barked from the canyon trailhead, and Edgeworth whirled about. Hook ducked into the darkness of the tunnel, moving into its depths as fast as he dared. His only hope was to make the exit before Edgeworth could reach him.

He'd gone only a few yards when the first volley whizzed by his ear. Heat rushed through his veins. He scrambled back, the blackness enveloping him.

The second shot rang out, slamming into the rock face and spraying chips into his neck. He spun about. Pain from the cuts seared its way into his stomach. He dropped into the cinder bed and lay still.

But then came Edgeworth's footsteps running through the tunnel, his flashlight swinging to and fro.

Hook struggled to his feet and edged farther back into the darkness. He could see Edgeworth's light getting closer and closer, bobbing in the darkness behind him. Now and again the light would pause and pan the area.

Hook stumbled on in the darkness, but Edgeworth continued to gain on him. Hook could hear his breathing and the crunch of his footsteps in the cinders. He had nearly reached the curve when Edgeworth's light picked him up.

Hook leapt forward and scrambled just beyond the curve. Something sharp gouged into his side, and he remembered the spiked fusee flare still in the pocket of his coat. He worked to free the flare, but Edgeworth's light found him yet again.

“There now,” Edgeworth said.

Hook stared into the muzzle of Edgeworth's sidearm and clenched his jaw against what awaited. But when the shot rang out, it came not from Edgeworth's gun but from somewhere behind Edgeworth. The bullet ricocheted through the tunnel like an angry wasp. Edgeworth cursed and dropped his light, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

Hook dug the flare from his pocket. He could hear Edgeworth's breathing as he searched for his light.

Hook struggled to hold the flare with his prosthesis in order to twist the cap off with his good hand. Sweat ran into his eyes, and the flare slipped from his grip. He swept the ground, searching for it, his heart pounding in his ears.

Finding it only inches from his feet, he clenched the flare between his calf and thigh, bore down with all his weight, twisted off the cap, and ignited the flare. The tunnel exploded in a shower of sparks. Edgeworth fired into the light, but the bullet whined away.

Hook drove forward and plunged the flare spike deep into Edgeworth's chest. Edgeworth clutched it with both hands, his face illuminated in the crimson glow. Air whistled from his lung. He looked up at Hook, sighed, and fell back as the flare sputtered and hissed in a fiery tribute to his end.

Hook knelt and picked up Edgeworth's weapon. “We all run out of reasons to live sooner or later,” he said.

The lieutenant stepped from the darkness, his P.38 in her hand. Mixer stood at her side. The red glow of the flare danced in her hair and in her eyes.

“Later is better,” she said.

Hook stood. “But I thought…”

“I decided to push on,” she said. “I found the cache and figured you had come back. Mixer was waiting at the tunnel entrance. Sorry about being such a lousy marksman.”

“Lieutenant,” he said, “as far as I'm concerned, there's no better shot alive.”

 

41

H
OOK SAT BACK
in Scrap's chair and dialed Eddie Preston.

“Division,” Eddie said.

“Hook here. Why didn't you tell me the line was to be shut down, Eddie?”

“It was a military thing, Runyon. Even I don't know the details.”

“I'm security, for Christ's sake. I should have been told. I could have been killed.”

“Right,” he said. “Look, I'm transferring you to Albuquerque. Frenchy will be picking up the caboose.”

“What for?”

“Call me when you get there.”

“That old popcar is sitting on Yampai siding. You need to send someone.”

“What's the matter with it?”

“Out of fuel,” Hook said.

“There's a work train coming through. Catch it out. Next time, remember to gas up before driving out on the main line.”

“Thanks for the help, Eddie.”

“And, just so you know, the board's decided you had no business giving away railroad property without permission. It will be coming out of your paycheck.”

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Eddie?”

“And that yodel out of Ash Fork dropped his assault case against you.”

“Hoffer?”

“He couldn't get his lawyer paid. Just be thankful you didn't get another Brownie out of this, Runyon. Hadn't been for me, you'd be sleeping under a bridge.”

*   *   *

With gas can in hand, Hook swung off the work train at Yampai siding. He waved it off and walked over to the popcar. The desert morning crackled with sunshine, and the smell of creosote rose up from the steeping ties. The cuts on his neck tightened when he lifted the gas can, and the sounds of Edgeworth running into that tunnel came rushing back to him.

He set the cap and cranked over the engine. Blue smoke drifted off as she choked down. He cranked again, and she struggled back to life.

After pushing the car out onto the main line, he secured the switch and climbed aboard. He'd checked for clearance and had plenty of time before the
Super Chief
came through on its run west.

Mixer had taken off yet again that night, and Hook hoped to call him in at the trestle. Leaning back, he watched the scenery slide by. Riding a popcar into the desert came as close to freedom as a man could expect in this life.

When the tunnel opened up in front of him, he idled back. The clack of his wheels resounded in the darkness as he moved into the mountain. As he rounded the midtunnel curve, his scalp crawled. In that place, he'd come as close to death as he cared to remember.

The sun fell warm on his face as he emerged from the tunnel and brought the popcar to a stop just short of the trestle. From there he could see a staff car parked at the bottom of the guardhouse steps.

*   *   *

Lieutenant Capron came to the door. Her copper hair lit in the sunlight, and her smile broadened when she recognized him.

“Hook,” she said. “Come in. I'm in the process of closing out the guardhouse.”

Hook stepped in past the lieutenant, her perfume lingering after him.

“Thought it might be you,” he said.

“I'm sorry I didn't get to talk that night,” she said. “There were calls and things that had to be done, as you can imagine.”

Hook sat down at the table. “What happens now?” he asked.

“I'm being transferred to Command,” she said.

“So, it's the army for you, is it?”

She shrugged. “It fits me, you know, and things will be changing, for women I mean. I'd like to be part of that.”

Hook ran his hand through his hair. “How's the foot?”

“Oh,” she said, turning her ankle. “Better.”

“About Ballard's engine?”

“The program has been suspended,” she said.

“Because of the risks?”

“No. Something about the weight and tractive-force ratio not working. I don't really understand.”

“And what about Edgeworth, Ballard, Captain Folsom?”

Allison walked to the window and looked down on the canyon.

“Captain Folsom died in the line of duty like so many others have. Ballard, according to the coroner, suffered heart failure back in Schenectady. And, as you know, Edgeworth is just a name stolen from a dead man.”

Hook rose from the table. He studied the lieutenant against the morning light. “And the bo?” he asked.

“He couldn't be identified,” she said.

“Then none of this ever happened?”

She turned. “No. It never happened. And what about you? Where do you go from here?”

Hook lit a cigarette. “I've a dog to chase down and then Eddie has something doing in Albuquerque.”

She came across the room. “Maybe someday I'll take you up on one of those book hunts.”

“I know just the place,” he said.

*   *   *

Hook sounded off his best whistle, and it wasn't long before Mixer came bounding out of the canyon.

“I ought to make you walk,” Hook said.

Mixer wagged his tail, piled onto the popcar, and flopped down for the ride.

Hook cranked up and moved out onto the trestle. He looked back to see the lieutenant standing on the guardhouse porch watching him.

He throttled up for the run home. There were lots of things in his life he would like to pretend never happened. This wasn't one.

 

ALSO BY SHELDON RUSSELL

Dreams to Dust

Empire

Requiem at Dawn

The Savage Trail

Hook Runyon Mysteries

The Yard Dog

The Insane Train

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

DEAD MAN'S TUNNEL.
Copyright © 2012 by Sheldon Russell. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

Cover photographs: tunnel ©
Sura Nualpradid/Shutterstock.com
; railroad ©
Martin Horsky/Shutterstock.com
; town ©
ilolab/Shutterstock.com
; soldier © TJ Scott; dog © Ann Clarke Images/Getty Images

ISBN 978-1-250-00100-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 9781250010582 (e-book)

First Edition: June 2012