Дэвид Балдаччи - No Man's Land

No one was going to take that away from him. He had come from nothing and there was no way in hell he was going back there.

He pulled into the garage of the beach house and saw her car parked in the next bay.

Well, this had better be good. He was a busy man.

He opened the door into the house.

A moment later everything went dark.

* * *

Quentin slowly opened his eyes and saw his knees and then the floor.

He raised his head slowly. The pain shot through his skull with just this simple movement. He felt like he might be sick.

Then something grabbed the back of his neck and jolted him straight up. He cried out with the pain before his gaze came to rest on Rogers.

“What the hell are you doing?” he screamed.

“You took your time getting here. Myers called you last night.”

“What the hell business is it of yours?”

“I have some questions for you.”

“Questions? For me ? You’re a fucking bar bouncer.”

Rogers tightened his grip on the man’s neck just enough to see the slight bulge in Quentin’s eyes.

Quentin swung a fist at Rogers, who easily deflected it.

“Questions,” said Rogers again. “And you take another swing at me, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Quentin’s gaze fell on Myers, who was seated across from him and tied to the chair she was in. “You bitch! You set me up.”

“He was going to kill me, Josh,” said Myers pitiably.

“Great!” spat Quentin. “Now this psycho’s going to kill us both!”

Roger cuffed him on the jaw. “Shut up.”

Quentin howled in pain until Rogers gripped him by the chin and twisted him around so they were eye to eye.

“Questions. You answer them, I don’t kill you.”

“Bullshit. You think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t want you. I want her.”

“Who?” said a bewildered Quentin.

“Claire,” answered Myers. “He wants Claire Jericho.”

Quentin took a moment to process this and then a wary look came into his eyes. “You want to kill Claire? Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Josh, don’t be crazy,” barked Myers.

“Shut up, Helen,” snapped Quentin. “I’m not giving up my life for hers.”

Rogers looked at Myers. “It’s your only way out.”

“And you won’t kill us if we deliver Jericho to you?” said Quentin.

“That’s what I said.”

“But we can identify you,” pointed out Myers.

“I’m not going to be around.”

She looked at his pale face. “Those scars. Are…are you dying?”

Rogers didn’t answer her. He turned back to Quentin. “Where is she?”

“Not so fast,” said Quentin. “If I’m talking about my life, I need to have some assurances.”

Rogers gripped Quentin’s neck harder.

Quentin gasped, “Look, if you kill me you’ve got no shot at her.”

Rogers relaxed his grip. “Where is she?”

“She’s in one of two places. Chris Ballard’s place near here. Do you know where that is?”

Rogers nodded.

“Or at Building Q at Fort Monroe. Do you know it?”

“Intimately,” replied Rogers. “But which one?”

“I can find out. It’ll take one phone call.”

Rogers was about to say something, but Quentin added, “You can listen in. I’m not screwing around with my life, okay?”

Myers said, “Quentin, please don’t do this.”

He ignored her. “But she has security. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“That’s not your problem, it’s mine.” Rogers held up Quentin’s phone, which he’d taken from his coat jacket. “ Text her. Tell her you need to meet her here.”

“I’m not sure she’ll–”

Rogers gripped Quentin’s neck again. “Be persuasive.”

Rogers watched as Quentin took the phone, gave his message a few moments’ thought, and then started to type.

When he was done he looked at Rogers for approval.

“Send it.”

Quentin hit the send button and Rogers took the phone away from him. “Now we wait,” he said. He looked over at Myers, who was quietly sobbing. “Look, if Jericho shows up I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because you’re going to kill her.”

Rogers looked puzzled. “What do you care?”

Myers didn’t answer.

PULLER, KNOX, AND Shepard were under the table in the café. Puller and Knox had their guns out. Shepard was screaming hysterically.

The café, which had been quiet moments before, had erupted into chaos as the customers screamed, ran, jumped, and shoved trying to escape.

Puller reached a hand over and gripped Shepard’s shoulder. “You’re okay,” he said in a calming tone. “The shooter’s gone. You’re okay. Do you understand me?” He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

She finally quieted and gave him a jerky nod. “Okay.”

“I want you to stay right here. The cops will be on their way. You’re safe, okay, Anne? You’re safe.”

She gave him another nod and then a tight smile. “You…you saved my life.”

“I’m glad I was here.”

“Me too.”

“We’ll be back.”

Puller and Knox reached the front door of the café. Puller did a turkey peek through the opening, found it clear, and they raced out into the street.

“How did you manage that?” she asked.

“I saw the shooter reflected in the mirror at the back of the café.”

A woman was squatting down on the pavement crying. She saw Puller and Knox with their guns out. She put up her hands and said, “Please, don’t shoot me.”

Puller whipped out his badge. “I’m a cop. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“Did you see the shooter?” asked Knox.

She pointed to her left. “Down that alley. Tall guy in a black hoodie with a rifle.”

Puller and Knox raced off, turned the corner, and headed down the alley. They could hear police sirens in the distance. It was well dark now and Puller was listening to the pounding footsteps ahead of him.

They reached another street, turned left, and raced down it. They saw a shadow of movement dart down another alley.

They reached the opening, paused for a few moments, and then entered. They kept going, following the steps ahead. But when they stopped, so did Puller. He held up a hand for Knox to do the same.

Puller was in full combat mode now. And he wasn’t liking what he was seeing.

He looked back at the other end of the alley. In the dark there wasn’t much to see. But he had senses honed to such a fine degree that he could see what others couldn’t.

“What is it?” Knox said in a whisper, hunkered down next to him.

Puller shook his head slightly. He could no longer hear the sirens. The police must have already reached the café.

It had been risky. Done in a public place. And the shooter letting himself be seen in the mirror? A rookie error? Or a calculated maneuver?

Because here we are, blocks away from the scene, in the middle of a dark alley with both flanks exposed.

Puller pulled out his second M11 from the holster in his rear waistband. He leaned into Knox. “Trap,” he muttered. “Keep your eyes and ears open and your pistol ready.”

She looked behind and then up ahead. “The woman back on the street?”

“Part of it,” said Puller in a tone so low only she could hear. “Most people aren’t that observant when shots are being fired. Should’ve seen that. She led us right here.”

“What do we do now?”

“We move.”

Keeping low, he led her twenty more feet down the alley, even as they both now heard footsteps behind them.

They were in a pincers trap that Puller knew well because he’d used it many times in combat. Whoever was back there had some military or at least paramilitary training.