The Sixth Man (56 page)

The second thing to go wrong was the gun being shoved in his face.

This was no turban toting a subgun. It was a white man like him with a .357, its hammer already pulled back.

He rolled down the window. “Is there a problem?” he said.

“Not for us,” said the man, who was heavyset and jowly and looked closer to forty than thirty.

“Us?”

The man looked around and saw other white guys creeping out of the shadows. They were all armed and every gun they had was pointing at him.

“This is not part of the plan,” the man said.

The other man held out a cred pack. “There’s been a change in plan.”

The driver studied the ID card and badge and said, “If we’re on the same side, why the gun in my face?”

“In this part of the world I’ve learned not to trust anybody. Out, now!”

The driver slung his fully loaded knapsack over his shoulder and stepped down onto the dirt floor holding two things.

One was his Glock, which was useless with a dozen guns centered on him.

The second item was the black box. That was entirely useful. In fact, it was the only real bargaining chip he had.

He held it up to the cred man.

“Fail-safe,” he said. “Red button goes down, we all get vaporized. Truck is wired all the way around with cakes of Semtex. Enough to make this just a hole in the ground.”

“Bullshit!” yelled the cred man.

“Look under the wheel wells.”

The cred man nodded at one of the other men, who drew a flashlight and ducked under the truck’s right rear wheel well.

He backed out and turned. His expression said it all.

The dozen armed men looked back at the man with the box. Their superior numbers had just been rendered irrelevant.

He knew it, but he also knew this advantage was precarious. A game of chicken could have, at best, only one winner. But it could likely also have two losers. And he was running out of time. He could sense that in the fingers gliding to triggers, in the backward steps the men were trying to make surreptitiously. He could read their minds in every movement: Get out of the Semtex’s explosive radius and either let him detonate and kill himself or take him out with a kill shot and
hopefully save the cargo. Either way they would live, which would be their primary objective. There would be other cargo to hijack, but they could not conjure additional lives.

“Unless you can run a lot faster than Usain Bolt, that won’t be happening,” he said. He held the box up higher, so everyone could see how close his finger was to the trigger. “You shoot, my finger is going to involuntarily punch this thing and then we all get to have an eternity to think about our sins.”

The cred man said, “We want what’s in the truck. You give us that, you go free.”

“I’m not sure how that would work,” said the man.

The cred man licked his lips and eyed the box. “There’s a pickup truck over there, fully fueled with extra in the back and a GPS. You take it.”

“And where exactly do I take it?” he asked.

“Wherever you want to go. I’m assuming out of this shithole.”

“I had a job to do.”

“That job has changed.”

“Why don’t we just end this.” He moved his index finger closer to the button; barely any space existed between it and his flesh.

“Wait,” said the cred man. “Wait.” He held up his hand.

“I’m waiting.”

“Just take the truck and get out of here. What’s in that truck is not worth dying for, is it?”

“Maybe it is.”

“You’ve got a family back in the States.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. And I have to believe you want to get back to them.”

“And how do I explain losing the cargo?’

“You won’t have to, trust me.”

“That’s the problem: I don’t trust you.”

“Then we’re all going to die right here in this shithole.”

He eyed the pickup truck. He didn’t believe anything he had been told. But he desperately wanted to get out of this alive, if only to make things right later.

The cred man said, “Look, we’re obviously not the Taliban. Hell, I’m from Nebraska. We’re on the same side here, okay?”

He finally said, “So how about I withdraw quietly from the field?”

“That was my offer.”

“How do you propose doing this?”

“First thing, don’t push the button.”

“Then don’t pull your triggers.”

He edged toward the pickup truck, keeping his finger close to the button. The men parted to allow him passage.

He reached the truck and eyed the ignition. The keys were there.

The cred man said, “What’s the range on the detonator?”

“I think I’d like to keep that to myself.”

He threw his knapsack on the front seat, climbed into the truck, and started the engine. He kept his free hand ready with the detonator.

He shifted the truck into gear. All guns were pointed at him.

The cred man said, “How can we trust you not to detonate when you’re well away?”

“It’s a question of range,” he replied.

“And you haven’t told us what that range is.”

“Would you? So you just have to trust me, Nebraska. Just like I have to trust you that this truck isn’t wired to blow up as soon as I’m out of here.”

He pushed the gas pedal to the floor and the truck roared out of the stone building.

He expected shots to be fired at him.

None came.

He imagined they believed that would lead to their deaths when he hit the button in retaliation.

When he was far enough away he looked at the black box. The red button was right there. All he had to do was push it. And all the men and what was in that crate in the box truck would exist no more. It would solve a great many problems all at the same time.

His finger moved to do just that. He was still within range. He could still do it. But then he thought of the creds the first man had shown him. If they were legitimate there was a lot more going on here than he cared to think about right now. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to see it through.

In fact, he did.

He pulled his finger back from the button and accelerated.

And the only way to do that was to let this play out.

Now he just had to get the hell out of here.

He hoped that was possible. Because most people came to this part of the world simply to kill or be killed.

S
EAN
K
ING DROVE WHILE
Michelle Maxwell rode shotgun.

This was the reverse of what the pair normally did. She usually drove the car, like a rhino on steroids, while he hung on for dear life and mumbled his prayers, but without much confidence they would actually be answered.

There was a good reason for his piloting tonight, and for the last twenty-one nights. Michelle was simply not herself, at least not yet. She was getting there, only more slowly than she wanted.

He looked at her. “How you doing?”

She stared straight ahead. “I am armed. So you ask me that one more time and I
will
shoot you, Sean.”

“I’m just concerned, okay?”

She turned to him with a ferocious stare. “Oh, that I get. But I’ve been out of rehab for three weeks. I think I’m good to go. And that’s what your concern can do:
Go
.”

“Your injuries were life-threatening, Michelle. You almost didn’t make it. Trust me, I was there for every second of it. So three weeks out of rehab after something like that is actually not very long.”

Michelle touched her lower back and then her upper
thigh. There were scars there. There would always be scars there. The memory of how she had come by these injuries was as vivid as the initial knife thrust into her back. It had been done by someone she thought was an ally, but who instead had just wanted to kill her.

Yet she was alive. And Sean had been with her every step of the way. Only now his hovering was obviously starting to get to her.

“I know. But it was two full months of rehab. And I’m a fast healer. You of all people should understand that by now.”

“It was just close, Michelle. Way too close.”

“How many times have I almost lost you?” she said, shooting him a glance. “It’s part of what we do. It comes with the territory. If we want safe we have to get another line of work.”

“Yeah,” he said absently.

Sean looked out through the windshield as the rain continued bucketing down. The night was gloomy, the clouds fat with more rain and shifty through the sky. They were driving through a particularly lonely area of northern Virginia on their way back from meeting with a former client, Edgar Roy. They had saved him from a death sentence. He had been as suitably appreciative as any high-functioning autistic savant with severely limited social skills could be.

“Edgar looked good,” said Michelle.

“He looked really good, considering how close he was to a lethal injection,” replied Sean, who seemed relieved by the change in topics.

“Think he’ll take us up on our offer to do some work for us?” she asked.

“I think our trying to figure out what Edgar will do is not a productive use of time. Geniuses are not known for being predictable.”

Sean took a turn on the rain-slicked, curvy road too fast and Michelle grabbed her armrest for support.

“Slow it down,” she warned.

He feigned astonishment. “Words I never thought I would hear leave your mouth.”

“I drive fast because I know how to.”

“I’ve got the injuries and therapy bills to prove otherwise,” he shot back.

She gave him a scowl and then looked away. “So what now that we’ve finished all the work on Edgar Roy’s matter?”

“We continue our careers as private investigators and earn some income. Both Peter Bunting and the government were very generous with their payments to us, but we’re socking that away to either retire on or spend on a rainy day.”

Michelle looked to the stormy sky. “Rainy day? Then let’s go buy a yacht. We might need it to get home.”

Sean would have said something back, but he was suddenly preoccupied.

“Damn!”

He cut the wheel hard to the left and the Land Cruiser spun sideways across the slickened roadway.

“Turn into it,” advised Michelle calmly.

Sean turned into the spin and quickly regained control of the Cruiser. He applied the brakes and brought them to a stop on the shoulder.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped.

“You mean
who
was that,” answered Michelle.

She opened the door and leaned out into the rain.

“Michelle, wait,” said Sean as he started to turn off the car.

“Keep it on,” she snapped, scanning up ahead. “Point the lights straight up ahead.”

She slammed the door shut and Sean drove the Cruiser back onto the road.

“Hit your brights,” she told him.

He did so and the lights swelled in intensity, allowing them to see about thirty feet in front of them with as much clarity as the night and rain would allow.

“There,” said Michelle, pointing to the right. “Go, go.”

Sean hit the gas and the Cruiser sped forward.

The person running down the right shoulder of the road looked back only once. But it was enough.

“It’s a kid,” said Sean in amazement.

“It’s a teenager,” corrected Michelle.

“Well, he was almost a dead teenager,” added Sean sternly.

“Sean, he’s got a gun.”

Sean leaned closer to the windshield and saw the weapon in the boy’s right hand.

“This does not look good,” he said.

“He looks terrified.”

He snapped, “What the hell do you expect? He’s running in the middle of a thunderstorm with a metal object in his hand. He should be scared. And on top of that I almost hit him, and if that had happened, he wouldn’t be scared, just dead.”

“Get closer.”

“What?”

“Get closer.”

“Why would I do that? He’s got a gun, Michelle.”

“So what? We have guns too. Just get closer.”

He sped up while Michelle rolled down the window.

A spear of lightning lit the sky with a billion-candlepower burst of energy followed by a crack of thunder so loud it sounded like a skyscraper imploding.

“Hey,” Michelle yelled at the boy. “Hey!”

The teen looked back again, his face whitewashed in the glare of the headlights.

“What happened?” yelled Michelle. “Are you okay?”

The boy’s answer was to point the gun at them. But he didn’t fire. He left the road and cut across a field, his feet slipping and sliding over the wet grass.

“I’m calling the cops,” said Sean.

“Just wait,” she replied. “Stop the car.”

Sean slowed the Cruiser and pulled to a stop a few feet later.

Michelle hopped out of the vehicle.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sean cried out.

“He’s obviously in trouble. I’m going to find out why.”

“Did it occur to you that he might be in trouble because he just shot somebody and is running from the scene of the crime?”

“Don’t think so.”

He looked at her incredulously. “You don’t think so? Based on what?”

“I’ll be back.”

“What? Michelle, wait.”

He made a grab for her arm but missed.