Joseph Finder - Power Play

Neatly folded on a shelf next to the paint cans, I found something that would work: a canvas drop cloth. I shook it open, then took out Buck's knife and sliced a long rectangle.

"Could you lift up your skirt?" I said.

She looked at me curiously, then got what I was doing. She pulled up her skirt. I positioned the little Smith & Wesson revolver on her thigh, then wound the canvas strip around both the gun and her thigh, just tight enough to secure the weapon in place: a decent makeshift holster.

"I wouldn't mind an explanation," she said.

I pulled the skirt back in place. The gun was still visible through the fabric, so I made a few adjustments, repositioning the revolver closer to the inside of her thigh, where it no longer protruded.

"Element of surprise," I said. She nodded.

"Try it," I said. "Make sure you can do it fast if you need to."

While she practiced, I ran the flashlight up and down the walls, shined the beam on the piles on the floor.

Noticed the crates that didn't belong here.

A cache of spare ammo, it appeared. Russell's men had brought the crates in with them and stashed them out of sight. No firearms that I could see, though.

Then my eyes were caught by several red cylinders about the size and shape of Coke cans. Black markings on them: AN-M14 INCEN TH

"This stuff is theirs?" she asked.

"Right."

"So what are they?"

"Thermite hand grenades."

"Hand grenades?"

"Thermite. Incendiary."

"What for?"

"The Army uses them to burn things down fast. Much faster than splashing gasoline around, and a whole lot hotter."

"My God. You think that's what they're planning to do before they leave? Toss in one of those? Burn the lodge down with everyone inside?"

"That's my guess, yes. But not until the funds go out."

"Which he can't do until the power goes back on. And you fix the satellite cable."

"Exactly."

"Landry," she said. "These grenades. Are they something-we could use?"

"Maybe." I was quiet for a few seconds while I thought about it. And then I explained how.

"I'm going out," I said. "You sure you want to do this? If you're at all-"

"Of course I'm scared," she interrupted. She attempted a brave smile. "But don't worry about me. I'll deal."

"You always do," I said, and turned to leave. "I'll meet you at the back of the lodge. As soon as you see the lights go out."

"Landry," she said. "Make sure you come back."

The door to the generator shed was unlocked, of course. Inside it was hot, smelled of machine oil; the floor was a concrete slab.

I panned the flashlight across the gray sheet-metal acoustic enclosure around the generator: a Kubota eighteen-kilowatt. It ran quiet, with only a muffled thrumming.

I flipped open the generator's control panel door and studied the array of knobs. There was a power knob, a fuel valve, various gauges and digital indicators.

The two-way radio, clipped to my belt, chirped.

I froze, listened. Heard nothing.

Turned the volume up.

That was the sound of someone pressing the transmit button. But no voice followed. As if someone had started to transmit, then changed his mind. Or maybe hit the button by accident.

I turned back to the control panel. Just shutting the power off wouldn't do much good. It might throw Russell and his brother into momentary confusion, maybe even flush them out of their sheltered positions.

But just as likely it would heighten their paranoia. Russell would summon Peter the handyman, who'd try the remote start switch inside the lodge. Which wouldn't do it.

The fuel knob, though: There was an idea. Turn off the power, let the engine die, then close the fuel valve and wait a minute or two. When the power switch was turned back on, the fuel valve, too, everything would look normal. But the generator still wouldn't work.

They'd flip the remote start switch, and the generator's starter motor would turn over and over like an old car on a subzero morning. Maybe Russell would send the handyman out to deal with it. Probably accompanied by Travis, to make sure the handyman complied. Travis, of course, would be armed-they knew I was out here, too.

It would take the handyman a long while to figure out what I'd done-he'd check out the control panel, find all the knobs on, everything in the right place. A bafflement. And meanwhile, Russell would be desperate: No power meant no way to get what he'd come for.

The radio chirped again. I stopped.

"Jake."

Russell's voice, tinny and flat from the transmission.

"Time to come back inside," he said.

I stood still. Don't answer, don't let him know you can hear him.

In the background, frenzied shouts.

But Russell's voice remained calm. "I know you're out there, Jake. You really should come back. Your girlfriend's worried."

I switched off the flashlight. Turned the HT's volume down, not off. The generator remained on.

I pushed the shed door open slowly, looking to either side.

No movement out there as far as I could see.

Keeping in the shadows, I crept along the perimeter of the yard, around the back toward the maintenance shed, where I'd left her.

Even in the gloom, at a distance, I could see the shed door open, the light on inside.

She wouldn't have left the door open and the light on. She wasn't that careless.

I took a few more steps, scanning side to side, alert for any movement.

The shed was empty. Ali was gone.

The radio chirped. "It's over, Jake. She's right here. Hey, remember that Glock 18 you know so much about? Well, she's about to learn even more about it. Firsthand. The best way."

A second or two of silence, then a female voice, a torrent of words, loud and frantic and distorted.

"DON'T DO ANYTHING HE SAYS STAY OUT THERE STAY SAFE DON'T DO WHAT HE SAYS-"

I almost didn't recognize Ali's voice. I'd never heard that kind of fear in her voice before.

I grabbed the Motorola, but at the very last second willed myself to stop.

Don't answer.

He won't do anything until he knows I can hear him. Otherwise, for all he knows, he's talking to dead air.

Don't answer.

Russell's voice cut off her cries. "You don't want to test me, Jake. You know what I'll do. All I want is for you to come back inside."

He paused. I kept silent.

"Once we do the transfer, you and your girlfriend and all your colleagues here can go home," he said. "But if you don't get back in here-well, it's your choice. Like I say, you always got a choice."

The screen door hissed as I pulled it shut.

The hall was dark, but light poured out of the open door of the manager's office.

I approached silently. Even before I saw who was sitting at the desk, I caught the faint sweet trace of his Old Spice.

Geoff Latimer looked up, startled, then his face slackened in astonishment.

"Roomie," I said.

"Jake!" he said. "You-were you able to get word out?"

I came closer to the desk. Saw a list of numbers printed on a sheet of paper next to the keyboard: Hammond's bank accounts. "Couldn't get the Internet to work," I said. "You having any luck?"

He shook his head, eyes guarded.

"It must have been awkward for you," I said quietly, "when Cheryl asked you to run the internal investigation."

"Awkward?" He looked even paler than usual.

"'Who will guard the guards?,' right?"

"I don't understand."

"Stand up, Geoff," I said.

"You shouldn't be here. Russell told me to do the funds transfer, and he's going to be back-"

"Where do you inject yourself?"

"Where do I what?"

"The insulin. For your diabetes. Where do you inject it?"

"Jake, you're not making sense."