Killer Waves (37 page)

I was still thinking that when I brushed against an empty beer can, which made a hell of a noise as it rolled away. Gus started laughing and called out, "Lights, camera, action!"

Sure enough, the lights came on and I sat up, blinking my eyes, and I was at the juncture of another corridor. I could try to duck down the corridor and maybe make it, except that Gus was looking over at me, a sharp smile on his face.

"Thanks for your help, Lewis, but it's time for me to go on my own," he said, raising his revolver.

Then gunfire erupted, fast and furious, and I fell back and Gus fell back, and I realized with amazement that Gus wasn't the one firing. I crawled into the corridor, looked back, and the room was empty, except for two things. One was the handcart and its load.

And the other was a man strolling in, night-vision goggles hanging around his neck, wearing black combat fatigues, with what looked to be an Uzi in his hands, and one serious expression on his face --- the face of Felix Tinios.

"Felix!" I whispered loudly. "Over here!"

He came at me in a half-trot, head moving around like a radar station, looking for and evaluating any potential threats. He looked down at me, grinned. "You owe me one very good cell phone, complete with tracking device. I found what was left of it when I got here and spent the last half hour going up and down these damn corridors."

"I'll reimburse you the minute we get the hell out," I said, standing up.

"Which sounds good, so let's get a move on. Who was that character I shot at?"

I got up, feeling so good and alive, so damn alive with Felix standing next to me, well-armed, larger than life, having come after me after my not answering the phone the last time it had rung. A nice little defensive plan we had cooked up over our last breakfast. "That was Gus Turner, employee of the Department of Energy, and definitely not on the short list for employee of the month."

Felix looked over at the still form of Jack "Guess I got here just in time.  And who’s the guy on the ground?”

"Gus's former partner. They had a falling-out."

"Yeah," Felix said, his head still turning around. "Things like that happen a lot."

I went over to Jack's body, picked up his shotgun. Now I felt even better. "You know how to get out of here?"

"Yep."

"Then let's get going."

And we did, about three feet, until I looked over at the handcart. One of the black cases was missing. The one with the detection gear. The one with the radio.

The radio. "Hold it," I said.

Felix turned to me. "Hold what, Lewis? C'mon, let's get a move on."

"We can't," I said, trying to think of which corridor Gus might have run down. "We've got a problem."

Felix said, "Way I see it, we've got a number of problems. Which one is first on your list?"

I nodded in the direction of the handcart. "One of these days I'll give you a history lesson of how this got here, but trust me when I say that this is uranium oxide, the basic material for making an atomic bomb. The guy that was holding the gun on me, he's getting ready to turn it over to the Libyans."

Felix was standing still but his eyes were still moving about.

"No offense, but that's what we pay tax dollars for. To take care of matters like that. Government doesn't tell me how to dress, I don't tell them how to deal with rogue nations."

I felt a rising surge of frustration, did my best to control it. "By the time we blunder out of here and find a phone and get some help in here, it'll be too late. The uranium and that guy will be gone."

"So, what in hell are we going to do?" Felix asked.

"We need to find him," I said. "Right now, if not sooner. If we don't, then the world is going to be made a much more dangerous place in just a matter of hours."

Even in the dim light I could make out the range of conflicting emotions playing across Felix’s face.  He said, “You know, my rule has always been to look out for myself and those I offer my protection to. I'm going a bit out of my area here, looking for this guy."

I shifted the shotgun in my grasp. "Sorry. Because I'm in my area, and I'm going to have to do something about it. With or without you, Felix."

He seemed to sigh. "You would do something like that."

"No time to talk," I said. "You got a flashlight I can use?"

He reached into one of the bulging pockets of his fatigues, pulled out a small black flashlight, tossed it over to me. He looked over and said, "Way I see it, he went down one of these two corridors. I'll take the one on the right, you take the one on the left. Anything special I should do if I hook up to him?"

I switched on the light. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Smartest thing you've said so far," Felix said. I nodded and got a move on.

Faded black paint over the archway of the corridor stated EAST PASSAGEWAY, and like the corridor earlier, this one banked smoothly to the right. I traveled as far as I could with the benefit of the light from the central room, and when I could go no farther, switched on the flashlight. Patches of cement had fallen free from the wall and the ceiling, revealing rusting strands of rebar. Parts of the floor had buckled as well, and where the ground water had come up, caused long puddles to form. This forced me to keep close to the side as I moved in deeper into the tunnel. With the flashlight on, I found myself moving ahead in spurts, breathing hard, keeping the shotgun trained in front of me, both dreading and anticipating seeing Gus in front of me, phone in hand, trying to make his way out.

Something brushed against my hair and I bit hard to force down a yelp. I raised the light and saw old lengths of cable hanging free from a broken light fixture. More graffiti spoiled the smooth walls of the tunnel, most either promising or boasting of a variety of sexual exploits. More broken glass on the floor, more empty beer containers, more cigarette butts, but no sign of Gus.

I shifted the light in my grasp and had just started moving again when the gunfire started.

Pow. Pow-pow
.

Three shots. Just three shots. And none of them had the deep sound that I remembered from Felix's Uzi.

I got a move on, started splashing through the water, almost tripping, and then I slid to a stop. A shorter tunnel, leading to the right. Black paint announced CONNECTOR C. I leaned over, gave a quick flash of the light. More water but at least the sides of the tunnel were dry, There was no bottomless pit here. I moved in, again trying to keep to the side, again getting soaked in the process. Something slithered away in the water and I paid it no mind. I stopped at the intersection, the shotgun now weighing about as much as a length of concrete. I gave another ducking look with the flashlight. Nothing. I moved into the intersection, flashed the light up and down. Still nothing. I moved the light down and something heavy seemed to ooze through my throat as I saw what was there.

Felix's weapon. But nothing else.

"Felix?" I called out softly.

No answer. I moved to the other side of the small intersection, where another tunnel seemed to lead away, and I took a step in and stepped on nothing, quickly wind milled my way back, breathing hard, trembling.

Oh. Oh, no.

I knelt down, held the flashlight out, saw where the concrete flooring disappeared after about two feet. I got closer to the rough edge and looked over. The drop wasn't much, maybe five or six feet, but it ended in a pool of water. There was a body in the water, floating facedown, wearing black fatigues and boots. There was a smear of blood at the base of the skull, and the body wasn't moving.

Oh, damn. Damn it all to hell.

Then there was another noise, farther down the hallway. Of metal striking metal.

I had a soul-deadening moment of regret, of sorrow and loss and anger all rolled into one, and then I heard that noise again.

I got up with the shotgun and went back hunting.

I didn't have far to go. The tunnel widened up to another connecting hub, and there was Gus, flashlight clenched in his mouth, as he was trying to get a clasp off a metal door. He had a length of rebar in his hands, his revolver in one rear pocket and what looked to be a radio in the other, and he quickly turned as I came in. I raised up the shotgun and worked the action,
snick-snack
, and an empty shotgun shell flew out and struck the floor.

"My, you're looking some serious there, Lewis," he said, smiling.

"Damn right I am," I said. "Drop the rebar and sit down on your hands."

"Why?" he asked.

"Sorry, I'm not in the mood," I said.

"Look, it makes sense," he said. "Let me out of here so I can use the radio. Looks like all this metal and concrete's blocking the signal. You wait with me until the helicopter arrives, and then I'll hand over the money that Jack was going to get. Then I get the goodies and leave."

"And what about my friend back there, floating in the water?"

He shrugged. "Got in the way. Sorry. Least he did was to give me this flashlight 'fore I tossed him into the water. Look, you can do well here. You telling me you don't care about the money?"

"Maybe I care about something else," I said, moving in closer. "Down. On the ground."

"Why?" he asked, his voice sounding almost reasonable.

"Why do you care so much that the Libyans get the bomb? That a bunch of desert nobodies eventually bomb the shit out of a bunch of other nobodies? You actually care about that?"

"Last time, Gus," I said. "On the ground --- now!"

"Or what? You gonna shoot me?"

"That's what I'm thinking... "

He shook his head, started to turn back to the door with the rebar in his hand.  “You don’t have the fucking stones.  I’ve read your record.  Nothing but an analyst, reader and writer.  You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

In a blaze of a second, I thought about all the bodies I had seen today, ending up with that of Felix, and I raised the shotgun to my shoulder and braced myself, and pulled the trigger back.

The shock of the sound almost floored me. I had expected a gut-wrenching blast, the force of the stock against my shoulder, and the sight of Gus falling down from the shotgun pellets striking him.

Instead: a tiny
click

Gus whirled around. "Man, I guess you did have the stones, huh?"

I worked the action, and nothing happened again as I pulled the trigger. Empty. The magazine was empty. Nothing.

I raised the shotgun as a club and advanced toward him, and Gus started laughing and said, "Man, this day just keeps on getting better and better. And you doubted that this was my lucky day."

I moved forward as fast I could, but Gus's practiced hand moved back to his rear pocket, going for his revolver, and though I knew in less than a heartbeat that I wasn't going to make it, I sure as hell was going to try.

Then something funny happened to Gus's shirt. Three red dots appeared, bright red and wavering, and then they suddenly blossomed wide into black, torn holes. Gus stumbled back, eyes wide open, and fell against the metal door he had been trying to open. His stolen flashlight fell to the ground, as did his weapon. He slid down to the dirty concrete, eyes still expressing surprise at all that was happening, and then things got busy and confusing and loud, as I turned around.

Hooded men in dark fatigues came trotting through, carrying stubby automatic weapons with silencers on the ends of the barrels, their laser Sights cutting through the darkness, and I couldn't quite make out their shouts, but I guessed their intent. I dropped the shotgun and raised my hands, and from behind the advancing group of armed men was a very happy-looking Laura Reeves.

There was a flurry of movement and sounds, and two of the armed men grabbed me by the elbows and started propelling me back down the corridor as Laura and a couple of others went up to Gus's body. Other men were setting up powerful lights on tripods along the corridor and in the main hub, and as I moved down the corridor I saw another group, clustered around that short corridor piece that ended in a pool of water. I closed my eyes and felt something inside me shudder as I went by. I wanted to stop, had to stop, but it was easier to let the armed men take me away.

In the center room more lights had been set up, and Jack's body was being examined, poked and prodded. The handcart and its cargo were also being taken apart, and a crew of two started working with a welding torch. I rubbed at my face, tired of it all, and sat down and leaned against the cold concrete wall. Lots of thoughts were crowding their way into my mind and I didn't want them to come up and play with me, so I focused on looking around me, at the burst of activity. Some of the men had pulled free of their black hoods and were talking together, hands moving in expansive gestures. The cutting crew was still at work on one of the canisters. There was a flap-flap noise as a rubberized body bag was undone and rolled out for Jack's body. Some photographs were taken. Another guy in black fatigues started putting together a communications setup of some sort. All of them ignored me.

That was a good thing.

Then Laura Reeves came strolling by, talking to one of her armed escorts, who looked a bit silly with an automatic weapon slung over his back as he was taking notes with a Palm Pilot in his huge hands. Laura noticed me and gave me a big smile. I'm afraid I didn't smile back. She had on khaki slacks and a blue turtleneck, and the cut of the turtleneck was spoiled by the black protective vest she was wearing. She went over to the guy with the radio and said, "Set?"