The Keys of Solomon (29 page)

“Say, you folks military? Or police?”

A second red dot had appeared on top of the man's shirt, third button from the top.
Good woman, Lexis,
thought Ronni. For a fleeting second, she wondered what Elliott was doing. The prick probably had his laser pointing at the back of her head. She decided it was probably best not to think about it.

“Joint task force, DEA and ATF,” she lied.

“Oh, well hell! That explains it. I heard all that racket a while ago. Thought it might be somebody hunting coyotes. But hell, if you're ATF, that sure 'nuff explains everything. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Ronni as she holstered her pistol.

The watchman looked past Ronni and seemed to notice the damaged SUV for the first time. He let out a low whistle. He turned the flashlight toward the front grill, though Ronni thought it did damn little good while they stood beneath the powerful floodlights mounted atop the building.

“No offense, girlfriend,” said Duke, “but your rig looks like it was rode hard and put away wet. What did you do, roll it off one of them high spots to the east? The company did a lot of open pit mining around those ridges. Damn good thing y'all didn't roll off into one of those holes. Nobody would've ever found you.”

Ronni wasn't sure what to make of the man. He had to be the real deal because no one could act that goofy. “No, we didn't roll it. It's a—a training vehicle for field exercises … like tonight.”

“Well, kiss my ass and say you didn't! That's what y'all are doing out here? Training? Say! I bet you're waiting for that flight that's coming in. Is it a part of the training exercise too?”

“I'm sorry. Somebody should have notified you, but we were told the office was closed this time of night,” lied Ronni again. The team had been told no such thing. In fact, they were told the field had been abandoned several years ago by the former owner. “When is the flight due in? Or is there more than one incoming plane tonight?”

The young man took a sip of his coffee and nodded. “Just the one, girlfriend. You know, we don't get many visitors these days. An occasional distress stop, you know, like a type-one FAA emergency. That's sort of my specialty, them type-one snafus. We keep a night crew, a couple of mechanics, and a shop flunky on staff just for those kinds of problems. They're back in the shop now, probably playing poker. The bosses depend on me to keep them on the straight and narrow, if you know what I mean. I'm not just a guard, you know. I'm sorta the ramrod of this outfit.” Duke puffed out his anemic chest as he said this.

“Sometimes, some hotshot in a single-engine job needs emergency refueling. That's a little beneath my qualifications, but what the hell. A job's a job, right, girlfriend?”

He pulled a large key ring from his jacket pocket, dangling it in front of Ronni's face. “They have to go through me to get the fuel. Then I get his John Hancock on the old dotted line, and Mr. Hotshot is on his way to Vegas or Cancún. Rest of the time, I just keep the peace out here. You know, discourage poaching on company property, and keep out the trespassers and sightseers.

“Get a load of this! Sometimes, on weekends, I turn on the juice to the electric fence and go hide out near the front gate. Damn kids drive out here to drink all the time. It's funny as hell when one of them pisses on that fence. Seriously, I don't like being such a hard case, girlfriend, but it
is
a private airfield, you understand.” Slapping the plastic flashlight holder at his side, he said, “And that's my job. I keep it private, if you know what I mean.”

Ronni just nodded her head, unable to speak. The whole conversation was now a study in the juxtaposed worlds of the surreal and macabre. A dead field operative in the back seat of the SUV, another one injured and bleeding, and a pair of kidnapped “guests.” And now, this self-important little Barney Fife wannabe, the embodiment of every night watchman joke she'd ever heard. Ronni figured it was even odds that he carried a single spare battery for that flashlight in the breast pocket of his shirt. After dueling demons, he was actually a welcomed relief.

“The pilot is expecting us. It's all a part of the drill, you know.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink, which he promptly returned. Checking her watch again, Ronni said, “In fact, our man is running late. Have you heard from him?”

“Oh, we ain't got a radio out here. Well, we do have Oscar's boom box, but we mainly use it for playing CDs. Dance mix.” Another wink.

Never taking her eyes from Duke, Ronni called out, “Any luck with a signal yet, Lexis?”

“Not yet. Still trying.”

Ronni gave Duke what she hoped would pass for a businesslike smile. “We're having a little trouble with our cell phone. I don't suppose you have a phone I could use?”

“Well,” drawled Duke, “I don't know. I mean, sure, we have a land line, but it's for official business and all.”

Ronni turned up the wattage on her smile, and Duke melted. “Oh, hell, what with you being feds and all, we're practically on the same team! C'mon in, girlfriend. Phone's inside the office, far end of the building.” He turned for the front door and motioned for Ronnie to follow.

“C'mon, now. And don't worry about your friends. Nothing ever comes around here except a jack rabbit or maybe a skinny wolf.”

Ronni started forward, nearly reaching the door when Lexis called out, “Ronni! It's the … I mean, it's Katherine. She's having a seizure!”

*   *   *

Sam leaned over in the seat and clutched his stomach. Since exiting the interstate, the nausea seemed to increase with each passing mile. Now that they were on the service road leading to the airfield, a fire raged in his upper abdomen and threatened to burn its way through his thin chest.

From his first harsh dry heave, Thomas Falco peppered him with questions.

“Sam? Sam, listen to me. Are you sick because we're getting closer to the nest? Is that it?” he asked.

Unable to talk, Sam nodded, then folded tighter into a ball with both arms wrapped tightly across his lower chest.

“Sign up ahead,” said Enrique. “Six miles to the airfield. We'll be there in a few minutes, Thomas. Can Sam tell us what we're walking into?”

Falco leaned over the back of his seat and shook Sam's arm. “Sam? Listen to me, Sam. Do you know how many there are? I know it's tough. Hell, even I can feel something. Try, Sam. How many are there?”

Sam said, “Three or four lesser entities and at least two greater demons.”

The car hit an oily spot on the asphalt and slid. Enrique yelled, “What was that?”

Looking out the passenger-side window, Falco said, “It looks like a
wight
that's been shot all to hell.” Looking over his shoulder at Sam, he said, “Stinks like hell, huh?”

Sam nodded as he waited for the nausea to pass.

“Our young friend concurs, Rikki. It looks like your extraction team encountered some early resistance. We don't see many of those things in rural areas. They usually hunt in run-down metro areas, places where serious urban decay—or war—makes detection very difficult. Its usual victims aren't the kind of people one would miss right away. I killed my first in Kosovo after it ate half a United Nations reconnaissance team.”

Sam struggled to a sitting position and looked out the rear window. The car was moving too fast and the distance now too great for him to see anything but a lump on the shoulder of the road. However, he didn't need to see the monster. He knew the smell. It was very similar to that of Drammach's soldier demons killed by Michael Conner in the old mine shaft beneath Abbotsville.

“Jesus!” said Enrique. “It looks like Sam was right. We're headed into a hornet's nest. What happens if we run into something we can't kill with a bullet?”

Falco scowled at his half-brother. “I told you this was a bad idea. You should have stayed behind.”

“Don't worry,” said Sam. “We'll find a way to handle whatever we encounter.”

Enrique looked at Sam through the rearview mirror. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“Let's just say I'm highly motivated to stay alive,” said Sam.

Falco chuckled, but it wasn't a jovial sound. Sam thought it was more akin to the growl of an angry Doberman. “Looks like you're feeling better, kid, and it couldn't come at a better time. We're probably less than four or five miles from the airfield.”

“Yeah, I can feel them. The worst of the nausea is passing. I haven't had a signal hit me this hard since … I can't tell if we're going to find a dozen like those back there, or two or three of the larger variety. The signatures are all running together. Either scenario sucks, to be honest.”

“Headlights in the rearview mirror,” said Enrique. “One car, maybe two, trailing us now. They're coming up fast, so stay alert.”

Sam turned around in the seat and looked down the long stretch of road. Definitely two vehicles. The first was the station wagon, with its duel headlights on low beam. The driver maintained a steady pace, neither gaining nor losing ground. Sam couldn't make out the second vehicle, but he thought there was something disturbing and familiar about it.
Just one more thing to worry about
, thought Sam.
You know, I really don't want to die today. God? You listening? Joriel? Anyone out there?

Enrique added, “Lights up ahead, too. A red beacon sandwiched between a pair of bright whites. I think we're coming up on the airfield.”

*   *   *

When Ronni reached the Escalade, she crawled into the back seat, where she found Lexis hovered over the petite, violently shaking form of Katherine Conner. The girl's mother, Amanda, hadn't moved from her stiff, upright position, but a single tear trailed down her cheek.

Lexis whispered, “Can you move Brian? It's too crowded back here. No room to work.”

Calling for Elliott to give her a hand, Ronni ran around to the other side of the vehicle and opened the rear passenger door. She just managed to catch the limp body of Brian King as he slid out of the seat toward the ground. “Help me get Brian out of the way. We can move him into the back of the Escalade.”

Though Brian had been a man of average height and weight, tipping the scales at just over 180 pounds, moving the limp form of a dead person was always a challenge. Fortunately, Elliott was a large man and fit, and Ronni was in excellent shape. Elliott took Brian's upper body and Ronni took his feet. Together, they moved the dead Watcher out of the passenger seat and into the roomy rear cargo compartment.

Night watchman Duke was still standing by the front door of the building, his vision partially obscured by shadows and the vehicle.

“Hey, what's wrong with your friend? He don't look so good. I got a cot inside if he needs to lie down. We got a first-aid kit, too.”

That cracked Elliott up. “Not a bad idea you have there, Sheriff. Have you got a spare blanket? Our buddy's a little cold.”

Under her breath, Ronni whispered, “You're a sick fuck, do you know that? If you're not careful, Lexis's going to take your head off.”

“Nothing to worry about, Duke,” Ronni called out. “He ate some bad oysters back in Apache Junction. Just a little sick to his stomach. It'll pass after he lies down for a little while.”

Elliott let loose another belly laugh. “Oysters. Apache Junction. You're a real fucking comedienne, aren't you? As for Lexis, well, it ain't my fault she had a thing going with old Brian. Boy must have been hung like a Clydesdale the way she's acting. You might want to tell her to get her head out of her ass real quick, Weiss. We're not out of the shit yet. In fact, if you ask me, none of us are going to live out the night if that plane doesn't hurry up. I mean, we might have a chance if we dump our guests. Hell, you saw how those shit-eating cat-monkeys were acting. It's the Conner bitches they want, not us!”

Ronni shot Elliott a look that spoke volumes and relieved any need for conversation, then hurried back to Lexis and Katherine. When she crawled into the back seat, the girl was still shaking, though the severity of the seizure had lessened.

“How is she, Lexis?”

“I'm fine, Ms. Weiss,” whispered Kat. “I'm not really having a seizure.”

Surprised, Ronnie looked at Lexis. Lexis shook her head in warning and whispered, “Keep it down. The kid spotted something you need to know about. I'll keep an eye on the watchman while Katherine tells you … Hey, what's Elliott doing?”

Over her shoulder, Ronni watched as Elliott engaged Duke in conversation. After a moment, the watchman shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. Elliott reached over and thumped Duke's breast pocket with a finger. Duke seemed surprised, as if he hadn't been aware of the item in his pocket. Laughing, he produced the pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter and handed them to Elliott.

“He's just bumming a smoke, Lexis.” Turning to Kat, she said, “Now, what's this all about, girl? And no games. I'm not in the mood.”

“Screw your moods, lady,” Kat said in a matter-of-fact manner. Ronni almost slapped the impertinence from the kid's mouth, but Kat continued. “Don't expect any sympathy from me or my mom. If you think you're having a bad day, you should see it from where I'm sitting. And it's about to get worse. Now, do you want to know what I saw or not?”

“Go ahead, kid, and hurry up.”

Kat raised her head a fraction, making sure Elliott still had Duke engaged. When she saw that he did, she smiled. Keeping her voice low, she said, “At least Mr. Snickers is good for something.”

Ronni started to ask who Kat meant, then realized the girl was talking about Elliott. “That blowhard is no friend of mine, kid.”

“Yeah, right. You two looked pretty chummy when you kidnapped me and my mom. Anyways, don't go in that building with Duke. If you do, you won't be coming back.”