Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7) (10 page)

Lemay didn’t hide her disappointment at the abrupt ending to their meeting.

“Of course, I understand. I do hope that we can meet again soon. Perhaps after I return from The Greenbrier. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

“It’s a—” he stammered as he tried to avoid using the word “date.” “Yes, yes, we’ll put it on the calendar.”

The gaff seemed to tickle Lemay, and she gave him a wink that said she knew exactly what he was thinking. She offered a handshake that lasted a little longer than it should have and then turned to leave.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, turning back. “After the meeting adjourned, I saw Dr. Green having a private conversation with General Reed.”

“Who?”

“General Richard Reed.”

Pike shook his head. While he didn’t know the name of every high ranking military officer, he knew most of them.

“Perhaps you know him by his nickname, Chappie?” Her lips curled into a snarl, as if even saying his name caused a sudden case of indigestion.

“The general responsible for our airfield?”

“That’s right.”

Pike rubbed his chin, thinking. “Do you know what they were talking about?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it seemed quite personal.”

“Personal? As in romantic?”

“Maybe. Can you imagine? Reed is the rudest, most unrefined man I’ve ever met.” Her eyes moved up and down Pike, like she was sizing him for a suit. “Not at all like you, Mr. President.”

Yumi stomped forward with her fists balled, and Pike abruptly stepped between them as he reached for the doorknob.

A broad smile came over Lemay’s face.

“And a gentleman as well.”

“Would you do me a favor, Ms. Lemay?”

“Brenda, please.”

He smiled. “Brenda. Could you make it a point to keep an eye on Dr. Green?”

Lemay raised an eyebrow. “You think she’s up to something?”

He gently swung the door open.

“I don’t know that I’d go that far, but I would feel better knowing what’s going on. Do you think you could do that for me, off the record as it were?”

She leaned in very close, brushing her cheek against his.

“Mr. President, I would do anything for you. Anything.” Before he could reply, she stepped back, offered one last wink, and left the room.

Pike slowly closed the door, his mind racing with possibilities. What the hell were Chappie and Dr. Green up to? Could it have something to do with the bunker?

“You might as well have bent her over the desk,” snarled Yumi. “Go ahead, ask her back. I’ll wait.”

Frustrated, he pushed past her. “Calm down.”

“Or perhaps you’d prefer to do her right here on the couch,” she said, slapping the leather.

“Are you mad?”

“You’re the one seeing ghosts, honey.”

He flopped down in his chair.

“Lemay’s a spy, nothing more.”

Yumi crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

“Come here,” he said, patting his lap, “and I’ll prove it.”

She walked slowly toward him, her sensuous hips swaying from side to side.

“I’m not even sure that you love me anymore,” she said with a pout.

“Of course I love you. You’re everything to me. You know that.”

She swung a leg over and straddled him.

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“When this thing with the bunker is over, get rid of that bitch. I don’t ever want to see her ugly face again.”

“She’s a congresswoman, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t care what she is.”

“I can’t smother her with a pillow, if that’s what you’re suggesting. People would ask questions, and besides, we’re trying to get out from under all this killing.”

“Then send her away to rot in some dark hole.”

There was a fierceness in Yumi’s eyes that frightened Pike. They both knew that she held the ultimate power over him, the ability to disappear.

“Fine. Once this is over, you’ll never see Lemay’s face again.”

“Promise?”

“Even if I have to throw her into a wood chipper myself.”

Yumi smiled and leaned in to kiss him.

“I love it when you talk dirty.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Don’t forget who keeps you sane, lover.”

He closed his eyes, enjoying the soft tickling of his scalp and the warm press of her breasts against his chest.

“I would never forget that,” he breathed. “Never.”

Chapter 7  

With its stately colonial design, vibrant gardens, and tall white portico columns, the main entrance to The Greenbrier looked a lot like the White House, only bigger. Much, much bigger.

“This place would give old Thurston Howell III a woody,” Rodriguez said, eying the seven-story resort.

“Corporal,” warned Bell.

Cobb cracked up. “Lieutenant, you gotta admit it’s big.”

“We still talking about the hotel?” joked Rodriguez.

They gave each other a quick high five.

Hoping to keep things from getting out of hand, Mason started up the long winding driveway. Ashby, Leila, and the others quickly followed. Dozens of Cadillacs, BMWs, and Mercedes pressed together at odd angles, as if impatient drivers had all been vying for one final round of valet service. Most of the vehicles were empty, but a few contained the dried remains of would-be country clubbers. Whether they had been seeking refuge or trying to escape the resort was impossible to say.

A white limousine sat entangled in the logjam, its windshield impaled with a heavy wooden door. The whole setup would have been better suited to the Twister ride at Universal Studios than to a five-star resort hotel.

Bowie wandered over and propped his front feet on the hood to get a better look inside.

“How do you think that happened?” Leila said, stopping to study the scene.

“It must have blown out from the resort,” said Mason.

“Even so. To throw a door that hard this far…” She shook her head. “It must have been an incredibly powerful explosion.”

They continued ahead, passing cars that had flipped onto their sides and others whose tires had melted. It wasn’t until they arrived at the main entrance that they fully understood the extent of the blast. The steel doorframe still stood, but all four double doors were missing. The front wall bowed outward with deep spider vein cracks, barely able to contain the incredible forces within. By not giving way, however, it had reflected back much of the energy to wreak havoc on those inside.

“Watch your step,” Mason said, hopping over a chunk of plaster that had fallen from one of the four large support pillars.

Bowie looked back at him.

“Not you, boy. You’re always graceful.”

The dog stared for a moment longer and then continued ahead.

They ducked under a tangle of electrical wires and stepped into what remained of the once elegant lobby. Fescue-colored carpet lay in tatters, large strips of it folded back to reveal the wooden subfloor beneath. Wallpaper dangled from the walls like burnt strips of bacon, and the huge metal chandelier, once carefully bent to resemble a giant flower preparing to open, now looked more like junkyard scrap as it swayed precariously above their heads.

Curved stairwells rose to the left and right, and a central staircase descended to the service floor below. The blast had apparently originated on that level, because all that remained was a huge muddy crater, at the center of which was a broken concrete sewage pipe. If there had ever been any doubt as to the pipe’s purpose, the powerful stench rising up from the pit served to set the record straight.

Mason pulled his flashlight out and swept it over the gaping hole. There were fragments of human remains mixed into the wet mess but nothing that appeared threatening.

“Are those bones?” whispered Leila.

He nodded. “A reminder that sometimes nothing more than luck determines who lives and who dies.”

She pressed her lips together. “Perhaps. But I’ve found that more often than not, it’s people who decide such things.”

Mason didn’t argue the point. Death came by many hands, some capricious and some with evil intent. Of the two, only the dead could say which was worse.

“It blew open the sewer,” Ashby explained, his fingers tightly pinching his nose.

“That much we figured out.”

He strained to see by Mason’s flashlight.

“Do you see anything moving down there?”

“No. Should I?”

He lowered his voice. “I’m pretty sure that’s where the creature lives.”

Mason scanned the muddy bank leading out of the pit. There were indeed footprints, but they were so smudged that he couldn’t tell if they were from Bigfoot or a kindergartner wearing goulashes.

“You know, Marshal, if you get in a pinch, that’s your other way into the bunker.”

“Through the sewer?”

Ashby nodded. “Whether it was an oversight or a calculated risk, the bunker and hotel share the same sewage system. I’m pretty sure if you made your way west down that very pipe, you’d find yourself directly beneath the bunker. Of course, that doesn’t mean you’d ever figure out a way to actually get inside.” He thought about it a moment. “I suppose you could come up through a toilet or something.”

Mason eyed the wet soup of toilet paper and human waste.

“I think I’ll pass.”

Ashby turned and motioned toward the staircase to their right. The floor directly in front of the stairs had collapsed, leaving a fissure eight feet across.

“That’s the way we need to go. But until you figure out a way to get across, I’m waiting outside. The smell is making me sick.” With a hand pressed against his mouth and nose, he marched back outside.

“What do you think?” Leila said, eyeing the gap.

“I think we’re going to have to make a bridge.”

She looked up at the chandelier.

“What about throwing a rope over and swinging across like Tarzan?”

Mason nodded toward Bowie. “He’s good, but that would be worthy of the circus.”

“Right,” she said, grinning, “a bridge it is.”

“Holy crap!” Cobb said, stepping up to the edge of the pit. “Get it? It’s a hole filled with crap.”

Rodriguez shook his head. “Your jokes stink worse than the sewer.”

“You two go find something to lay across the gap,” directed Mason.

“Gladly.” Rodriguez grabbed Cobb’s arm. “Come on, Martha Stewart. The Marshal doesn’t like your jokes either.”

“It’s Jon Stewart. Not Martha.”

“Whatever. You look more like a Martha.”

They ducked back out the front entrance, the sounds of their bickering slowly fading.

“I better go keep an eye on those two,” Bell said, hurrying out after them.

Mason let out a frustrated sigh.

Leila smiled. “They’re nervous, that’s all. Think about how you felt on your first mission.”

“My first mission was to protect one murderous warlord from another murderous warlord. I certainly wasn’t in the mood to crack jokes.”

“Talk about a crummy assignment.”

“It wasn’t quite the same as rescuing a camp of POWs, that’s for sure. What about you?”

“My first assignment?”

“Yeah.”

“You know that I can’t say.”

Mason chuckled. “I’m pretty sure what little bit remains of Mossad isn’t going to come looking for you should you decide to spill a secret or two.”

“Maybe not, but when I give my word, I don’t break it. You probably think that’s empty pride talking, yes?”

“No, I know exactly what it is.”

“Oh?”

He turned to face her. “It’s duty. You and I are not so different, Leila.”

She reached up and placed her palm against his cheek.

“What I can tell you is that Mossad missions often require that we do things we don’t want to. They can last weeks, months, sometimes even years.”

“Years?” He shook his head. “I think I’d forget what the mission was about.”

“Yes, that happens sometimes.”

“And when it does?”

Her faced tightened. “Mossad sends someone else to finish it.”

Mason reached up and gently grabbed her hand.

“That life is over. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.”

He slowly spun her around to see the open sewer pit.

“The good news is that your new life is so much rosier.”

She laughed, but he saw tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.

“Leila—”

“Marshal, what about this?”

They turned to find Cobb, Rodriguez, and Bell carrying in a door that looked suspiciously familiar. Ashby followed behind them.

Leila gently pulled away. “That should work, right, Mason?”

Realizing that their moment was lost, he slid the M4 across his back and said, “Let’s give it a try.” He helped them carry the door to the gap before slowly standing it upright. “All right, lower it nice and easy. We don’t want to lose it down the hole.”

Together, they tipped it forward, the far end of the door finally settling onto what was left of the bottommost stair.

“What do you know,” said Rodriguez, “a perfect fit.”

Mason dug through his pack and pulled out a small bundle of paracord. He tied several sturdy loops and had each person slip one around their waist. He also created a figure eight to act as a simple harness for Bowie.

“If it tips or gives way, everyone plant your feet.” Holding onto Leila’s arm for balance, he stepped out onto the door. It wobbled briefly, finally settling on the far side. Mason gently hopped up and down a few times. It held. “All right, people, follow my lead, one at a time.”

Mason crossed first, before calling to Bowie. The dog seemed less than thrilled about walking over a muddy pit, but he came nonetheless. One by one, the group crossed over, and one by one, they stepped to safety onto the staircase.

As soon as he was untied, Ashby started up the stairs. The rest of the group quickly fell in behind him, avoiding the steps that looked questionable. They reached the second level without incident and discovered a long hallway with doors on both sides. Other than a little buckling of the subfloor, it looked ready for guests.

Mason turned to Ashby. “Which way?”

He pointed straight ahead. “We’ll swing by the Exhibit door on our way up. But if it’s open, you must promise not to leave me until we get Claret.”