Lewis Perdue: Perfect killer

"Do you have a better idea?"

"No," said Harper.

Then came an unknown voice in the darkness that sucker punched them both.

"I do."

"Oh, man, take a look at this."

The laptop screen showed rack after rack of wine.

"This must be the holy of holies," Tyrone said. "Millions of dollars' worth." "And he never drinks it." Jasmine shook her head. Tyrone clicked around. "There must be ten… no, fourteen cameras in this room." Other than for different labels and neck capsules, most of the views looked mostly the same. The only ones different showed the elevator area and, the other, a brightly lit room with a view overlooking Napa Valley. The image showed the smoke rising from the hills behind them. A few more degrees down tilt and we'd be on this one," Tyrone said.

Jasmine looked over at the fire, then up at the window she figured must be the one on-screen.

Tyrone clicked back to the service elevator as the doors opened. He and Jasmine stared silently as guards escorted Stone and Kilgore out.

"Where's Rex?" Jasmine asked. Then a moment later: "I don't suppose you can save the video stream, can you?"

"I think maybe so. Why?"

"Great evidence."

Tyrone pecked at the keyboard.

"I'd like to make sure if anything happens… " Her voice cracked. "If something happens, I will nail that bastard's butt to a tree."

"Uh-huhmm," Tyrone said slowly "Please remind me not to get on your bad side."

Jack Kilgore and I sat cross-legged on the cool tiles of General Braxton's wine cellar. Giant, polished wooden racks reached halfway to the twenty-foot ceiling. They stretched the length of the space like library shelves, organized into rows and aisles running from the elevators at the back to a set of double glass doors at the front.

Two security guards stood behind us, and a third stood by the double glass entry doors guarding our walkie-talkies, firearms, and the rest of our gear piled on the floor. They all had semi-automatic pistols drawn.

We waited in the silence, listening to our own breathing and scanning the priceless wine I doubted I would ever taste.

Suddenly, a loud hammering and crashing rocked the side of the wine cellar to my right, somewhere beyond the carefully crafted, lovingly oiled tropical-hardwood racks.

"Damn!" Rex cursed amid the rattling of wine bottles; the rack to our right shuddered. From beyond the rack came the dull breaking noises of full wine bottles smashing on the tile floor.

The guard in front of us raised his pistol and followed the noise.

Then from behind: "What the hell?" Kilgore and I turned at the same time and saw one of our guards, pistol drawn, running toward the source of the noise. He disappeared around the far end of the racks nearest the elevators.

Then came a faint hiss and profound screams. Two wild gunshots followed. Above my head, geysers of red wine and glass erupted. I hit the floor; bottles exploded to my left. The guard behind us looked toward his partner. Kilgore struggled to his feet.

"Hold it!" The guard aimed his pistol at Kilgore. I seized his moment of distraction to swing my right leg around. I caught the guard's ankle in midstride, cutting his feet out from under him. He careened into the rack, snapping the neck off a wine bottle with the side of his head.

Amid a cascade of other bottles dislodged by his impact, the guard fired a single shot, then hit the floor hard. His shot hit the tile; the slug shattered and seeded the air with shrapnel. An instant later, the glass doors developed a web of spider cracks; to the right of the door, blood appeared on the guard's forehead. His hand went up instantly to explore the wound as the blood trickled down into his eyes.

I wrestled myself up as Kilgore kicked the fallen guard's pistol away.

"Brad!" Rex's voice sounded from beyond the wine racks.

"Rex?"

"Over here!"

Kilgore and I ran toward Rex as well as anyone can run with their hands cuffed at the small of their back. We bypassed the stunned guard on the floor, came around the corner, and nearly tripped over a guard on his knees, swaying back and forth as he screamed and rubbed at his face. The smell of bear repellent surrounded him and brought tears to our eyes. His gun lay on the floor and I kicked it.

At the far end of the long wine rack, Rex and Dan Gabriel manhandled the guard with the wounded forehead to the floor and bound him with his own cuffs. Rex then squatted dawn, using the wine racks as cover, and peered toward the double glass doors. Gabriel picked up the man's pistol and ran toward us.

About halfway between me and Rex, I saw an old man I assumed was Frank Harper holding unsteadily to the sides of a jagged hole in the wall. He looked back and forth, following the action, smiling broadly and making deep approving nods. The head movements made him look like an elderly bobblehead.

"Jack!" Gabriel said as he slapped Kilgore on the shoulder, then me. You must be the Stone guy who started it all. Let's get you out of those cuffs." Swiftly, he grabbed the cuffs from the bear-sprayed guard and ratcheted them on the man's wrists. Then, without taking his eyes off the end of the long wine rack, he dug through the guard's pockets, retrieved the cuff key, and handed it to me.

"Unlock Jack for me, will you?"

I quickly unlocked Kilgore's cuffs, and he returned the favor.

"Bogey at your end!" Rex yelled. Then we heard him fire his pistol. Bottles exploded beside me. I lunged for the fallen guard's nearby pistol faster than Kilgore and came up with it at the ready. I fired a shot through the rack of wine at a shadow on the other side. More red wine and shattered glass.

I ducked as the man fired back. I was close enough to read the label on a bottle of 1897 Chateau Margaux when it erupted like a grenade. The air hung thick with the pricey aroma of collectible claret laced with the acrid notes of smokeless gunpowder. I'm pretty sure it's not a wine nose ever described by The Wine Speculator.

Then more wine bottles went off like roadside bombs as the man fired wildly at us.

Kilgore moved to the end of the rack nearest the elevators. He pulled a bottle from the rack and pantomimed that he would throw it over the top as a distraction. He motioned me to join Gabriel at the other end. I ran carefully, to avoid slipping on the spilled wine and glass. My running steps drew more shots; more classified first-growth Bordeaux wine turned to glassy slush.

As soon as I joined Gabriel, Kilgore lobbed the bottle over the top.

When it hit the floor, Gabriel and I came around and saw the third guard, his face covered with blood, whirling toward the shattering of the wine bottle.

"Drop it! We don't want to hurt you," Gabriel shouted.

The guard froze, but did not drop his gun.

"Don't do anything stupid!" Rex yelled from across the cellar, where he had run to get out of our line of fire.

Kilgore motioned me around. I followed his direction and positioned myself so I had a third clean line of sight.

"Come on," Kilgore said more calmly now. "You are totally triangulated. Any one of us has a clear shot. Don't do anything foolish you might regret."

During his indecisive moment of silence, I felt my heart beating and listened to the dripping of wine. Then like lightning from a clear sky, came a voice I had heard many times on television.

"One might say the same of you, Jack!"

Clark Braxton's voice preceded a soft-crepe thunder that filled the cellar with the shuffling of SWAT-clad troops with M16s, soft-rubbersoled boots, and perfectly secured gear that had made no sound at all.

"Let's play our cards," Jasmine said as she turned away from the laptop screen. Tyrone hesitated, transfixed at the vision of Braxton and his body-armored security guards. Jasmine grabbed his sleeve and dragged him out of the pickup's cab. "Let's get airborne."