David Dun - The Black Silent

"I can't believe someone just called in to tell us where Ben Anderson is."

"It's detailed," Khan said. "They told us exactly where and they told us he came in that Blazer from the resort. We know Chase and Haley Walther took that vehicle. There's really nobody good over there yet. You better take your guys and go."

"James is going to spill her guts. I was just about to inject her and the mere thought of the chemicals was disintegrating her will. I had the instruments laid out and she was going to become hysterical just looking at them. I can't stop now."

"You do what you want. I understood that what we're doin here is finding Ben Anderson. What does it matter if you can break his assistant."

"Damn it. The timing sucks," Frick said.

"This Nisky place isn't far at all. Down near those three bays."

"Did you give the address to the guys?"

"One of them knows right where it is."

"I'll go over there for two minutes. If it's another wild-goose chase, it's the asshole Chase all over again. Listen, if we jump every time he gives us a false trail, we'll never get anything done."

Frick hung up without giving him a chance to reply. Ripping off his hood, he called for two men out on the road, who were already apprised. "Stay away from that woman," he growled at Rafe Black. "I mean it." Then he realized that he should shoot her up with a pentathol cocktail. He hesitated, then jumped in the truck. He would be fast.

He leaned out the window. "You assholes be sure no one steals her. This could be a trap." They all nodded.

Frick's mind was sinking into a warm, sensuous place and he was enjoying a certain feeling that came over him when he was about to start a job. Odd that the feeling came even when things were going to hell.

Sam kept calm, the only alternative to reckless rage. He had to work fast. Whoever was doing this-no doubt Frick himself-would be back shortly. Sarah was crying, even before the binding had started. She had been cuffed tightly to the chair, feet and hands.

Quickly he unwound the rope, which had been unmercifully tight. There was a weird ball gag in her mouth and he removed that. Then he picked up the entire chair with Sarah in it and walked out the door, down the beach trail, and through the shrubs. Sarah was a svelte woman; so despite his physical limits, he was able to carry her. His pumping adrenaline gave him strength he didn't know he'd had. In fact, he felt no pain at all as he walked out onto the beach, with Haley somewhat amazed at the chair business.

"Be quiet," he said, once on the beach.

Sarah managed to calm herself, at last convincing herself that she was in the middle of a successful rescue.

She was more or less in possession of her faculties. Haley tried to cover her with more clothing, against the cold November air.

"We can't leave without getting those files," Sam said. "Coming back will be impossible. You row down the shore. If I can make it to the beach with files, I'll bring you into the beach. If not, I'll do the best I can."

"Check the garage. I'm thinking those files are in the filing cabinets in the garage. Go right out of the kitchen, into the hall, then into the garage," Haley said.

Sam hobbled back across the beach and into the kitchen, recklessly hoping that Frick would come back so that he could kill him on the spot-or die trying. Quickly he slipped into the garage and, using a penlight, found the cabinets. They were locked.

Risking a lot, he flipped on the garage lights and observed metal storage cabinets standing along the wall. He turned the light off, went to the cabinets with a penlight, and began searching. The first had boots and rain gear, but the second had tools. He took out a small pry bar. Against the wall he found a pipe and fit it over the pry bar. With the added leverage he easily snapped the lock bars on the file cabinets.

Two entire file drawers dealt in one way or another with methane. Quickly he took a huge armload of files and ran out the garage's back door. Limping as best he could, he made his way to where Haley had rowed.

From behind he heard shouting at the house. Someone had discovered that Sarah was gone.

Rachael and Lew Stutz sat in a small conference room in the downtown Seattle offices of the Washington State Police. Apparently on a holiday weekend, the best they could do was provide a lieutenant, John Glendale, a blond fellow who did not seem to smile easily. He was young, thirty-five at most, and appeared earnest and sincere. Lew, the coast guard lieutenant, sat in with them. "Do you have any firsthand information about the shootings?"

"No," she said. "But Haley Walther and Sam witnessed it. I trust them completely, and I'm here to ask you to believe these people through me."

"And you want me to accept that an ex-police officer in the employ of the Sanker Corporation is going around killing people for a fountain of youth-pharmaceutical?"

Rachael suspected that was a question best unanswered.

"I'm not trying to be harsh," Glendale said, "but I've got to marshal the cold facts." He turned to Lew. "She really roped you in, huh?" For the first time Glendale smiled at the coast guard officer.

"Right or wrong, I'm a baptized true believer," Lew said.

"Okay," Glendale said. "I'm going to start calling people. Starting with Special Agent Ernie Sanders."

"He's probably on a plane," Rachael said.

"I'll leave messages. I'll call his colleagues. I'll go up the line here and get my ass shot off. I'll even call over to the attorney general and see if there is anybody on call tonight.

I'm in. We'll see where this takes us. But no way do I have authority yet to send anybody anywhere or to intervene, uninvited, in the county's case."

Rachael tried hard not to smile. It was more than she'd hoped for. no one was around. Yes, the Blazer was there at the Nisky home, but was probably left hours before. They had broken into the house and one man was still poking around.

Frick had seen enough after two minutes. Khan had swallowed the bait too easily.

As he ran into the beach house, he realized that he wasn't hearing anything. He pulled his gun, but was reckless in his anger. He forced himself to go more slowly.

In the kitchen the chair was gone and the line was on the floor. His instruments were just where he had laid them, the ball gag on the floor. He charged out onto the back porch, then again thought better of running to the beach and into a bullet. Stepping back inside, he started searching the house while he got on the radio.

"Get in here!" he screamed, not caring who heard him.

A quick run through the downstairs revealed nothing. It seemed unlikely that Sarah's rescuer would have stuck around. By the time he got to the back door, the three men had arrived.

"You"-he pointed at a burly, mustached man-"down the beach, to the left, patrol back and forth. If you find anyone, you call, check in every five minutes. You, the same to the right. Howell, you come with me. They had to have used the road."

Suddenly Frick stopped. He sent Howell on alone and reentered the house. He had three men here, and more on the way from San Juan to Lopez. His best hope was letting them search in the various directions until they caught a sign of Sam, Haley, and Sarah James.

Then he'd join them. More important than getting them was getting the goods. That meant keeping up with McStott, whom he trusted less and less as the night wore on.

He called Khan for an update, realizing that he had to keep a grip, keep moving and not become distracted over a bad turn of events.

"That was a massive screwup," he began. Explaining in some detail how stupid they had been; how it had all been a ploy to rescue Sarah James. Khan listened and said nothing.