John Case - Ghost Dancer aka Dance of Death

“Who the fuck are you?” Wilson asked. “Get in here.” He gestured with the gun.

Burke came through the trapdoor, moving slowly. Irina backed away.

He was halfway through when Wilson said, “Hold it.”

Burke froze.

“What’s that?” Wilson asked, and stepped on his hand.

“Cell phone,” Burke said.

Wilson reached down and took it away. Tossed it onto a chair in the corner. Beckoned Burke to come all the way into the cab. “Who were you calling?”

Burke thought fast. “Police. They’re on their way.”

Wilson nodded. “They’ll never get here,” he said. Suddenly, he frowned. “You’re the guy from Ireland. ” He laughed, incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

Burke opened his mouth, but gave up. What was the point?

Wilson just shook his head. “Irina,” he said, “please sit down. Enjoy your wine.” He gestured to a pair of Adirondack chairs that flanked a small table. On the table were a candelabra, two champagne flutes, and a bucket of ice. A telephone sat on the floor.

The woman was in a panic, Burke saw. Her eyes flew between the two men. “Is all right?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yeah,” Wilson said with a laugh. “It’s fine. This is Mr. Aherne-”

“Burke. Actually, it’s-”

“Mr. Burke,” Wilson said with an apologetic nod. He turned toward Irina. “Mr. Burke’s a long way from home.”

“Like me,” she said, with a nervous smile.

“No,” Wilson said. “Not like you. You are home. This is your home, sweetheart.”

She blushed. “But why he is-?”

Wilson cut her off with a gesture. “I’m afraid we don’t have a third glass,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting guests. It’s kind of an old-fashioned celebration. Stay up till dawn. Greet the solstice. That kind of thing.”

Burke glanced around. He took in the candelabra, the only source of illumination in the cabin. It occurred to him that Wilson might have fired the transmitter already. It was almost light outside, and out here, how would you know if the world had ended? The landscape lights had been on, but… were they still on? “Did you pull the trigger?”

“Not yet,” Wilson told him.

“Trigger?” This from Irina.

He’s going to kill me, Burke thought. But not in front of his bride.

“Is that it?” Burke asked, gesturing at the transmitter.

Wilson nodded. “You seem to know a lot. How’d you find us?”

“Ukrainebrides,” Burke replied.

Irina brightened. “You know Madame Puletskaya?”

“Yeah,” Burke said. “We’re old friends.”

Wilson glanced outside. “I think it’s time,” he said. “Why don’t you sit over there?” He gestured toward the chair where he’d thrown the “cell phone.”

Burke went over to it, and sat down.

“Do me a favor,” Wilson said.

“What’s that?”

“Just stay off the phone.” With a look of warning to Burke, he laid his gun down on a table next to the transmitter, and began to attach a cable to a laptop on the floor.

Burke watched Wilson go about his business, and thought about the people he’d seen on television, their faces deranged by loss. Loss was something Burke understood, just as he understood what the people in the courthouse must have felt when the temperature began to soar inside their skin. Burke knew what it was like to be badly burned. It was a terrible way to die. A bullet would be better.

And he was going to get one, anyway. Sooner or later.

So he stopped thinking, and came out of the chair so fast that Wilson couldn’t grab his gun quickly enough. Irina screamed, and a glass crashed to the floor as Burke plowed into the bigger man, driving him into the wall. The two men fell to the floor, wrestling. Burke had one arm around Wilson’s neck, and was punching him with the hand that held the cell phone. But he was no match for the Indian. The guy was just too strong.

Though Wilson was on the bottom, he got a hand on Burke’s neck and began to squeeze. Burke felt the air fly from his lungs, even as his thumb found the activator on the cell phone. He slammed the phone into Wilson’s neck and, in an instant, there was a staticky crackle, and Wilson began to go limp. Jesus Christ, Burke thought, it’s working! It’s actually –

Lights out.

When he came to, about five minutes later, he was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, bleeding from his good ear, which Irina had clobbered with the candelabra.

Wilson stood next to the transmitter. Irina was pointing the submachine gun at Burke, crying softly to herself. “Why is crazy man coming here?” she asked. “What does he want? Jack!”

Wilson shook his head, typing on the laptop. “He wants things to stay the way they are.”

“We call police, okay?” she asked.

“Well…”

“But he attacks you!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wilson told her. Then he turned to Burke. “That was cute,” he said. “A real surprise.”

“Thanks,” Burke replied. He brought his hand away from his ear and stared at the blood on it.

Wilson returned his attention to the computer.

Then they heard it – a thwop thwop sound, outside the tower. They turned and looked, and saw it right away: a helicopter hovering about a hundred yards from the ranch house.

Burke couldn’t believe it. It could only be Kovalenko. Or someone sent by Kovalenko. He’d given the guy enough to figure it out. Once Culpeper and the courthouse got their attention, it wouldn’t have been all that hard for the Bureau to find Wilson and the B-Lazy-B. They certainly had the resources. So the cavalry had arrived.

Too late.

“They friends of yours?” Wilson asked.

Burke shook his head. He would have laughed, but there was too much at stake and, besides, he hurt too much.

“I don’t think the helicopter’s going to be a problem,” Wilson said, typing furiously. “In about a minute, it’s going down. Everything is.” He looked out the window. “Why are they at the house?”

“Because the guy who’s running the operation is an idiot, that’s why,” Burke explained.

Wilson nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

“Why is there helicopter?” Irina asked.

“It’s the police,” Wilson told her. “They’re coming to arrest Mr. Burke.”

“Good,” she said.

Wilson turned back to the laptop. In the distance, a bullhorn began to call his name. He shook his head.

“We should tell them where we are,” Irina said.

“In a minute,” Wilson replied.

“I thought you guys were in love,” Burke suggested.

Wilson paused, and turned to look at him.

“We are,” Irina insisted, proudly.

“What’s that got to do with you?” Wilson asked.

“Nothing, I guess, but… you’re gonna kill her with that thing,” Burke told him. “Seems like a helluva way to end a honeymoon.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wilson replied. “It’s not like a bomb.”

“I know,” Burke said. “But… she’s got a pacemaker.”

Wilson stared at him. Finally, he said, “What?”

“Irina. Has. A. Pacemaker.”

Wilson blinked a few times. Then he laughed. “Good try,” he said. “Full marks.”

But Irina started to cry. “And how you are knowing this?” she demanded. “This is my secret!” Her whimpers deepened into the soft sobs of a distraught child.

“ ’Rina?” Wilson went to her side, his voice so soft it was barely audible.

“I don’t want you to know,” she said, “I am damage goods. Is why I make love with you in dark. No way you see scar. Is ugly.” She wailed. “Now you’re not wanting me!”