Майкл Коннелли - Dark Sacred Night

“What will Tranquillo say? He wants me alive. You’re going to take that from him?”

The man stood frozen, the gun still pointed at Bosch.

In his early life Bosch had spent fifteen months in Vietnam. Not a day went by in that time that he didn’t hear helicopters. It was the background music of the war. Hiding in the elephant grass, waiting for a dustoff, he had learned early how to read their sound for distance and location. He could now tell that the airship flying above them was spiraling in increasingly larger circles.

His guard moved back to the door and looked out. He sensed what Bosch had, that the helicopter was making a wider turn. Then the sound changed again. It became muffled and Bosch knew the craft had flown behind the crest of the mountain. The shed was out of its sight.

The man with the gun turned and looked at him for a long moment, deciding what to do. Bosch knew he was deciding his life. He kept their eyes locked.

The man suddenly turned and pushed the door open further. He looked out and up toward the sky. The sound of the chopper was still distant.

“Sali!” Bosch yelled. “Ahora!”

He hoped it was “Go now!” or something close.

The man shoved the door all the way open, filling the shed with blinding light. He slid the gun into the waistband of his pants and moved back into the corner where a green motorbike was leaning against the rusting steel wall. He jumped on it, kick-started it, and then shot through the open door.

Bosch’s eyes adjusted and he exhaled. He listened. The airship was coming around on another turn, clearing the mountain and getting louder.

With the interior of the shed now brightly illuminated, Bosch shifted his position in the cage, studying every corner and joint for weakness. He knew it was impossible to know if the airship was looking for him, simply conducting a training exercise, or just circling over a coyote. It was true that his abductors had made a mistake last night in not checking him for a phone until they were transferring him from a van to the Jeep, but Bosch knew he could not rely on anyone to save him but himself.

He had to work quickly and find a way out of the cage. It was only a matter of time before the man on the motorbike came back.

Ballard waited for Bella Lourdes by the Coyote Street gate to the fire road leading up into the hills and the abandoned animal training compound. She was looking at the aerial photos Heather Rourke had texted her and deciding whether it would be better to approach the compound on foot or by attempting to drive a vehicle up the rugged fire road.

The compound was not far up and was in an open area that would prevent an unannounced approach by car. She decided she would go on foot and call in the airship if a show of LAPD force was necessary.

When Lourdes arrived, she had a partner with her. She identified him as Detective Danny Sisto and, recognizing Ballard’s concern, vouched for him as someone Bosch himself would implicitly trust. Ballard accepted her assurance and brought them both up to date on the situation. She showed them the photos from the airship’s flyover.

“Okay, I think I know the connection here,” Lourdes said.

“What?” Ballard asked.

Lourdes looked at Sisto for confirmation when she spoke.

“A couple years ago, there was a big Animal Control bust up here,” she said. “This place was like a training center for animals used in film and TV but it had been abandoned for years. The SanFers discovered it and they were running cockfights and dog fights up here. Animal Control got wind of it and shut it down.”

“I remember that,” Sisto said. “It was a big story. I think you guys were part of it.”

This last part he said to Ballard, meaning that the LAPD had joined Animal Control in shutting down the illegal activities at the compound. Ballard remembered nothing about the events or the media attention it got. But the confirmation that this was a place the SanFers knew about and had used previously was important. She knew they were in the right place.

Sisto pointed at her phone, which still had an aerial shot of the compound on the screen.

“We’re going to search the structures, right?” he asked. “Do we have a warrant? This is still private property, abandoned or not.”

“We don’t have time,” Ballard said.

“Exigent circumstances all the way,” Lourdes said.

Looking at the photos, they identified two trails in addition to the fire road that led through the brush and up to the compound. Before they headed up separately, Ballard called Rourke, explained the plan, and told her to stand by. The airship was still on the ground at the nearby LAPD training facility and Rourke assured her that it was ready to respond.

Ballard disconnected and looked at Lourdes and Sisto.

“Okay, let’s go find Harry,” she said.

Ballard had chosen the most direct route to the compound — the fire road. She stayed close to the tall brush that lined it but had the easier climb and the quickest time to the clearing where the compound was located.

At the final bend before the clearing, she started to hear a loud banging sound coming from the direction of the compound. It was intermittent. Five or six heavy impacts and then silence. After a few seconds it would start again.

Ballard pulled her phone to call or text Lourdes but saw she no longer had cell service. She had left the rover in the car since she wanted to keep this operation off the air. Each of them would have to approach on their own now, not knowing the progress of the others.

Ballard reached the clearing, pulling her gun and holding it at her side as she approached the first of two rundown structures. She turned the corner of the front building and saw Lourdes emerge from a trail to her right. There was no sign of Sisto.

Ballard was about to signal Lourdes over so they could clear the first building, when the banging started again. She could tell that it was coming from the other, smaller building set at the back of the clearing. Ballard pointed toward it. Lourdes nodded and they moved in the direction of the sound.

There was a wooden door on rollers that had been slid open four feet. It gave Ballard and Lourdes an angle on the inside of the shed but the structure was rectangular and its full interior could not be seen from outside.

As they got within a few feet of the opening, the banging stopped.

They froze and waited. It didn’t start again. Looking at the open door, Ballard spoke loudly.

“Harry?”

After a moment of silence:

“In here!”

Ballard looked at Lourdes.

“Hold cover. I’ll go in.”

Ballard entered the structure gun up. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and then she turned to her right. The far wall of the shed was lined with rusting kennels, two stacked rows of four. Bosch was sitting in the third cage on the upper row, knees pulled up to his chest in the small space. Through the steel fencing, Ballard could see that his hands and ankles were tied. There was blood on his shirt and a laceration on his upper left cheek, just below a swollen eye.

Ballard swept the rest of the space with her weapon to make sure.

“It’s clear,” Bosch said. “But they’ll probably come back soon.”

He raised his bound feet and kicked at the door of the kennel, creating the banging sound Ballard had heard from outside the shed. His fruitless effort to break free and escape.

“Okay, hold on, Harry, and we’ll get you out,” she said. “What’s your status? Do we call an RA?”

“No RA,” Bosch said. “I’m good. Couple of bruised ribs, my legs cramping like hell. I probably need stitches under my eye. They didn’t want to beat me up too bad before Tranquillo got here with his dogs.”