P Deutermann - Nightwalkers

But also from upstairs.

I stopped and thought about that. The noise on this level was nothing compared to what I was hearing from the other two levels.

Motion detectors and speakers.

Fuck.

I ignored the awful racket and went around the rooms of the main floor until I found a small white cube sitting on a white mantel, practically invisible unless one was looking for it. The cube was heavier than I expected, and there was a tiny glass eye on the front. When I waved my hand over the eye, the dying woman stopped screaming in my face from the embedded speaker. The shepherds backed away, totally confused by what they were hearing and not seeing.

I went back upstairs and found the second speaker, and then down to the lowest level for the third one. In each case, the speaker stopped its noise the moment I came into the room. I carried all three in my hands to ensure the eyes could detect motion, and the house went blessedly silent. I went back up to my mattress and popped out their batteries to end the disturbance once and for all.

Not bad, I thought. Somewhere nearby there was a transmitter that had been activating these devices. It was amazing how much noise these innocuous looking four-inch cubes could generate. Once again my ghost had flushed out his quarry, and once again he'd been in the house while we'd been out beating the bushes for coal mines. His ready access to the house had to mean that he had a hide somewhere not too far away-or more accomplices. Or maybe not, given this guy's predilection for shooting accomplices who disappointed him.

I called Tony and told him what had happened. I said I was going to come back to the cottage. He pointed out that that might have been the objective of the screaming barrage: to get me to come out of the house into the darkness. I thought about that and then told him I was going to try a gambit of my own. I hung up, gathered up the dogs and my gear, and went to the front door of the house. I opened it and then slammed it again, loud enough that if someone was listening, he might think I'd gone out the front door. Then I took my buddies downstairs to the kitchen, unlocked the trapdoor, and went down into the basement. I used the flashlight freely down there until we were right in front of the escape door. It had a red lens that could be rotated over the clear lens, and I did so. Then I switched it off and pushed gently, hoping that our guy hadn't discovered our fake door latch.

The ballpoint pen dropped and the door swung open. A wave of cool air came in from the tunnel. We stepped through, and I left the door ajar. Keeping the shepherds right behind me, we crept to the dogleg turn and then stopped and listened. There was no sound in the old tunnel, just the smell of ancient mortar, dirt, and mold. I stuck a gun around the dogleg and followed it. The red light would have been useless outside, but in the absolute darkness of the tunnel it worked just fine and also preserved my night vision. We hurried down the tunnel to the point where the fire-pit access hatch was right above us, stopped, and listened.

This was going to be the tricky part, so I decided to wait and listen for a few more minutes at the base of the ladder. My plan had been to go out the tunnel and up into the yard, where I hoped to get behind my tormentor. I'd forgotten the dogs: There was no way to get them up that ladder.

Then I heard a sound, a heavy clunk down at the other end of the tunnel.

The door had closed.

I tried to remember the bolting arrangement. There had been a black iron bar and brackets, but they were on my side of the door. The other side had been a bare wooden wall. I looked up at the trapdoor underneath the fire pit. Tony had lifted the trapdoor by pulling up on those andirons, but there'd been no latch. So either way, I wasn't trapped down here.

Or was I?

I went up the ladder and pushed on the trapdoor. It moved a quarter inch, but there was something really heavy on it, and I couldn't get the leverage I needed to lift it.

I went back down the ladder, checked my SIG, and then went back into the tunnel to the dogleg turn. I sent the shepherds around the corner, but nothing happened, so I followed them to the basement door. It was shut, but that black iron bar was still lying on the floor. I went up to the door and listened and then pulled gently on the edge board. The door didn't move.

What the hell? There had been no latches on the other side, no bars, brackets, or any other way to keep that thing shut except from this side.

Three powerful bangs on the other side made me jump and the dogs bark. I quickly retreated to the dogleg turn.

"That you in the box, Richter?"

It was that same throaty voice I'd heard behind the mask, sounding more like a prolonged cough than a voice.

"Good job on the screaming woman," I said. "Those are some speakers."

"Made you move," he said.

"So it did," I replied, still staying out of the line of fire in case he decided to put a few rounds through the door. "Now what?"

"Now you're buried alive," he said.

I wanted to say, No I'm not. Tony will be out here at daylight. Instead I tried to draw him out. "Why'd you shoot the biker mama?"

"She failed me," he said.

"Will you please tell me what this is all about?" I asked. "I mean, since I'm buried alive, now's the time, right?"

"I've already told you," he said.

"We've looked back. It's not true."

"True to me, and that's what matters," he replied.

"How'd you get into the house?"

"There are two bolt holes, just like you thought. Only I know where the second one is, and you don't."

"So I guess it's not the smokehouse, then."

"Remember all those bricks stacked in there? They're all oversized, handmade. Weigh about eight, nine pounds apiece. Push hard, maybe you can lift them. Except, perhaps, for that pole."

"Pole?"

"Yeah. The one that wedges the trapdoor shut. It'll move about a quarter inch, enough to give you some air when you need it, and you are going to need it. Got your dogs with you, do you?"

I still wasn't too worried. This was a big tunnel, relatively speaking, and there was plenty of air. "Always," I said. "We captured yours."

"They were useless when it really counted," he said. "You're welcome to them. I had high hopes, but you can't find good help these days."

"I've got lots of good help," I said.

"You think so?" he said, and those were the last words I heard from him.

I did try to lift those bricks, and he was right-I managed about a quarter of an inch before the dead weight of several hundred pounds pushed back. I'd tried the door again, but it still wouldn't move-and, of course, there was the pole.

You think so?

Had he done something to Tony? Had we missed a bug and somehow revealed that I'd be in the house and Tony would be alone in the cottage? I'd called Tony and he'd answered immediately, which meant he'd been awake. I'd left Frack over there, so he should have had some warning if someone hit the house.

The shepherds were worried and showed it. I'd turned off my flashlight to conserve the batteries. Daylight up above would not do anything for the absolute darkness down here. Assuming I couldn't force my way out of this tunnel, I'd be dependent on one of the guys, Tony or Pardee, who knew about this tunnel. I couldn't remember if I'd told the sheriff about this place. Carol knew, I reminded myself. Would any of them think about the tunnel if I disappeared? The only one I'd told I was going to try something had been Tony.

You think so?

That didn't sound so good.

"Okay, guys," I said. "Time to go night-night. See what happens in the morning."

I went back to the basement door and lay down on the cold earthen floor. The shepherds curled up beside me. The air still seemed serviceable, and the tunnel was at least a hundred feet long.