Robert Crais - Taken

“I don’t know! Orlato and Ruiz and I, we left with the bodies. The others, they were to hold him for the Syrian.”

Pike pressed the gun hard into Haddad’s forehead.

“A prisoner?”

“Yes!”

“Was the Syrian going to kill him?”

“I don’t know! These men, they told me the Syrian thinks your friend is a federal agent.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three hours! Maybe four!”

“When was the Syrian coming?”

“I don’t know!”

“Five minutes? Five hours?”

“I don’t know! I can take you to the house! Maybe they still wait!”

Pike studied Haddad, then lowered the gun.

“Yes.”

Stone returned, and shook his head.

“No IDs or credit cards on the stiffs. Thirty-two hundred in cash. I took it. Registration shows the Caddy belongs to a Joan Harrell of San Diego. None of these shitbirds looks like a Joan.”

Haddad said, “Everything is stolen. He has thieves who get cars and trucks for him.”

“Keys?”

Stone held up the keys.

“Yeah, man. Good to go.”

“Drive.”

“We’re taking Mr. Green Teeth?”

“He knows the way.”

Stone ran hard for the Escalade.

Pike clipped the plastic binding Haddad’s ankles, but left his wrists bound. Pike pulled him to his feet.

Haddad said, “You are not killing me?”

“Not yet.”

The big Escalade thundered up in a cloud of dust. Pike pushed Haddad into the back seat, and climbed in behind him.

Stone powered away even as Pike closed the door. Driving hard. Pushing. They bounced over brush and rocks, and neither of them gave a damn if they tore the Escalade apart.

Haddad said, “This is not the way.”

Stone said, “Shut up.”

Pike said, “Faster.”

They ran hard toward the mountains, driving without lights. They had to move fast or Cole would be lost.

It was full-on dark when they reached Pike’s Jeep, covered by brush in a low wash, two-point-two miles away. Pike pulled Haddad from the Escalade, proned him in the dirt, and wiped their prints from the Caddy while Stone cleared the brush. They rolled on in less than three minutes, Pike driving the Jeep, Stone in back with Haddad, the Escalade abandoned. They crept across the desert by starlight and moonglow that made the brush glisten.

Thirty-eight minutes later, they approached a small ranch-style home on a street of similar homes at the outskirts of Coachella, California, the most eastern of the desert communities. Two-car garages, rock lawns, clean sidewalks, streetlights.

Haddad said, “This one. On the right.”

“Cole is inside?”

“When I left.”

Stone said, “You better not be lyin’.”

It was nine-oh-five P.M. Early. Every house on the street showed light and life except this one. It looked like a corpse.

Stone said, “Shit, it’s fucking deserted. That place is black.”

“The windows are covered with dark plastic and wood.”

“So every light in the house could be lit, and we wouldn’t see it?”

“Yes. Or hear what goes on. The windows are all like this. We screw them shut so the pollos can’t open them, then cover them with the plastic and wood.”

Pike glanced in the rearview.

“Civilians?”

“I don’t understand.”

Stone jabbed him with the rifle.

“Women and children, dipshit. A family. You got innocent people living in there, or just dead men like you?”

“No one lives there. The house was empty.”

Stone said, “Who pays the bills? Water? Power? This shit ain’t free.”

“Maybe the Syrian. He gives us the address. We come, make it ready with the boards and plastic, and bring the pollos.”

Pollos. Spanish for “chickens.” As if the people they murdered weren’t human.

Pike circled, and approached the house from the opposite direction. He slowed as they passed.

“How many guards were with Cole?”

“Two. Washington and Pinetta. If the Syrian is here, one or two more.”

Pike thought, five guns.

Stone said, “Were you and your turd friends supposed to come back after dropping the bodies?”

“Yes. We have to clean the house, and get our things. Washington and Pinetta were going to leave with the Syrian. Ruiz was angry we had to clean.”

Stone moved the M4.

“Shut up. No one gives a shit about you having to clean.”

Pike continued to the first cross street, turned around, cut the lights, and pulled to the curb with a face-front view of the house. Pike locked eyes with Stone in the rearview.

“Three-sixty.”

Three-sixty meant circle the house.

Stone passed the M4 to Pike, and slipped from the Jeep. Pike watched him go, wondering if Cole was in the black house. He wondered if Cole was alive, or dead, or dying as they sat on the quiet street. He wondered if Haddad was telling the truth.

“You and your crew come back, how do you enter?”

“We park in the garage, never the street or the drive. We pull into the garage and close the door before we get out. This way the neighbors don’t see. The Syrian tell us this. He say never park on the street or the driveway.”

“There’s a door from the garage into the house?”

“Yes. Into the kitchen.”

“You need a key?”

“Orlato had it.”

Pike took out the keys Stone found in the Escalade, along with a garage remote. Haddad affirmed the remote would open the garage, and told him which key would unlock the door.

Pike tucked the key and remote away, then told Haddad to describe the floor plan. The house was a cookie-cutter three-bedroom. Kitchen, dining room, living room on one side of the house; master bedroom and two smaller bedrooms on the other, the two smaller rooms sharing a bath. The pollos had been kept in the smaller bedrooms.

Stone returned as Haddad finished the description, and slipped into the Jeep as quietly as he left.

“They wrapped it, man. I can tell there’s light inside, but I couldn’t see or hear anything.”

Pike broke down how he wanted to hit the house, then looked at Haddad.

“Do exactly what I said. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

Pike put the Jeep in gear, cruised lightless directly to the house and turned into the drive. He drew his. 357 as he slid from the Jeep. The rising moon put more light on them than Pike liked, but no one moved on the street.

Pike took Haddad by the wrists and pushed him to the left side of the garage door. Stone went to the right, and Pike clicked the remote without hesitation. As the door rumbled up, Stone immediately slid under. Pike pushed Haddad down, and crawled under with him. By the time Pike was under, Stone was set up to the right of the kitchen door, and Pike clicked the remote again to lower the door.

Haddad stopped.

“No cars. They are not here.”

Pike pressed the. 357 into Haddad’s ribs and pushed him to the door.

“Speak when I tell you. Open the door.”

Pike held tight as the key fumbled into the lock and Haddad opened the door. Haddad was at the door because the men inside would expect him. If they saw Haddad when the door opened, Pike would have an advantage. If Pike drew fire, he would fall back to open a field of fire for Stone.

The door opened to a well-lit empty kitchen.

Pike whispered.

“Say it.”

Haddad called loudly.

“It is Haddad. We are back.”

Pike listened for a three-count, heard nothing, then pushed Haddad into the kitchen and immediately pulled him to the left. Stone crossed the kitchen at combat speed, gun up and good to go, cleared the entry, and disappeared into the house.

Pike tracked Stone’s progress by ear, pinning Haddad to the floor until Stone called from the back.