Patrick Lee - The Breach

Where the fuck had it come from? The guy had made no mention of it earlier, when he asked the fat-ass in the tractor hat about guns.

Calming, Karl stared at the hiker. The pistol was steady in the guy's hand, all things considered. In the eyes there was fear but not panic. Had anyone visible stepped into the doorway, this guy wouldn't have hesitated to kill. That wasn't quite what Karl had expected from a random civilian. Well, some people had more of the devil in them than others.

He took a step toward the man. By providence the floor directly at the threshold kept its silence. His next step-also quiet-put him where he needed to be. His left hand went to the Beretta's barrel, not touching it yet, but encircling it. His right he drew back, tensed. Travis waited. Whoever was out there could only be feet away. He considered opening fire through the wall. He could put a shot every six inches until the clip ran dry. But if he used every bullet and missed anyway-if the killer dropped too low or was farther down the hall than he sounded-then it would all be over.

Silence now. Ten seconds at least. It was worse than the creaking.

Then he felt the gun in his hand jerk impossibly downward, as if drawn by a supermagnet in the floor-but before he could even process the sensation, pain exploded below his ear, his vision flaring white. Then black. What had happened? Awareness came back slowly. He was lying on his chest, face to the floor, ankles bound together. His hands too, behind him-the bind felt like duct tape. Another loop surrounded his head, covering his eyes.

He was still in the room with Paige. Her breathing was worse; how much time had gone by?

Now he remembered the baffling movement of his gun, and the blow to his head from nowhere. Had it really happened that way, or was he remembering it wrong because he'd been knocked out?

A man spoke, the voice deep and without emotion. "Tell me where she hid it."

Travis considered the options, each so bleak he almost didn't care to choose. If he said he didn't know, and if the guy believed him, he'd turn his attention on Paige instead. Could she even be woken at this point? Maybe, with enough pain. This guy would have no qualms about administering it. On the other hand, if Travis said he knew where the thing was buried, the guy might decide Paige was of no use and kill her immediately. Really, almost every outcome he could imagine ended with both of them dead inside of an hour.

Except one-the worst one, and probably the most likely. Without a doubt, this guy had the means to contact the team in the valley. They could be here with the helicopter in twenty minutes, grab him and Paige and be far away before help arrived.

When would help arrive? How long had he been unconscious? If he could stall for time, maybe it would only be a little longer. He and Paige wouldn't survive, of course-the guy would kill them before fleeing, no question of that-but at least they'd only be dead. The lesser evil by a wide margin. Holding up the show by even ten minutes might make that possible.

"It was fun killing your friends," Travis said.

The man didn't respond.

"The little guy with the cattle prod, especially," he continued. "Then again, technically, I didn't kill him. He managed to survive. Briefly. Should've seen what happened to him then."

"I hear it was fitting," the voice said.

"No, it would have been fitting if he could have smoldered alive for three days."

"Where's the Whisper hidden? Did she bury it? She couldn't have carried it far without heavy containment, which she didn't have."

"We played catch with it for a while, then we got bored, decided to head back to town. It's probably just lying wherever we left it."

The floor strained. When the man spoke again, he was closer. "Sarcasm doesn't come naturally to a man in your predicament. It sounds like a contrivance to me, which means it has a purpose-and for now, that tells me all I need to know."

Then he lifted something-it was heavy and plastic, from the sound it made against the wall-and left the room. He was only a few steps into the hall when Travis heard the digital tones of a phone number being punched into a keypad. "He knows where it is," Karl said. "And he has the key in his pocket. For now I've left it there, to keep him confident."

Karl was standing outside the front of the restaurant, far from the hiker's hearing range. He explained his plan into the phone. When he finished, the man on the other end of the call remained silent, considering it.

The breeze had picked up since earlier, coursing down from the north through the gap where the highway transited the range. The sun, also farther north, shone blood red along the gravel ribbon.

"If your idea doesn't work," the man on the phone said, "then what you're suggesting will be a terrible sacrifice." His voice sounded hollow over the satellite connection.

"If it does work, it's worth it," Karl said. "Regardless, it's the only way to get what you want now."

More silence. Karl knew to let it play out. As he waited, he turned and stared off to the south. The hiker had guessed correctly about one thing: Tangent would send help by way of the Air Force, probably a C-17 Globemaster coming out of Elmendorf with its ass on fire, a couple Special Tactics teams ready to bail off the ramp. Elmendorf was in Anchorage, four hundred miles south, give or take. If the C-17 had lifted off within ten minutes of the call-a near certainty-it would be here within the hour. But because the hiker had told Tangent about the helicopter, Karl knew there was something else coming from Elmendorf, moving a hell of a lot faster than a cargo jet. Maybe three times as fast.

The man on the line finally spoke. "All right. Do it. When do you want the helicopter?"

Karl did the math. Even accounting for some unpredictability, the timing should be good enough.

"Go ahead and call them now," Karl said. "Tell them to take off right away."

Alone with the sound of Paige trying to hold on, Travis found his mind returning to the attack that had knocked him unconscious. He didn't think he was misremembering it now. The details were clear. The gun in his hand had suddenly pulled itself down-but not just down. Down and forward. There'd even been a twist in the motion.

As if a human hand had grabbed it.

Then, half a second later had come the blow to the side of his head, from someone who must have been standing out of sight behind him.

But how? Travis had been in this small room from the moment the big guy in the John Deere hat had led him to it. There'd been nobody here. There was no closet to hide in, and the window had been closed. How had the attacker gotten behind him, unless he'd been hiding under the bed?

Even in that case, Travis knew there was some deeper flaw in the picture. Something more fundamental. But for the longest moment he couldn't put his finger on it.

Then he remembered.

The sunlight-coming from the northwest, almost straight into the room through the window. While he'd stood there with the gun leveled at the doorway, his own shadow had been projected on the wall just inside the room, hard and sharp as a picture on a movie screen. Anyone behind him-anyone within five feet of him in any direction-would have been shown there as well. He could not possibly have missed it.

So what the hell had happened here?

In his mind he saw Paige in the clearing again, holding the Whisper, telling him humans hadn't created it. Saying it like it was the most normal thing in the world. The most normal thing in her world, anyway.

What else was normal in Paige's world? What capabilities did her enemies have? What the fuck were they up against here?

A sound broke the moment. The last sound he wanted to hear. Rotors. This was it, then. Two minutes from now, he and Paige would be dragged from the building, onto the aircraft, and then they'd be winding through the valleys at low level, probably on nobody's radar. Maybe these people would have drugs and instruments to keep Paige alive for a while, and wake her up for a new marathon of agony.