Nelson DeMille - Plum Island

I saw no flashlight ahead, just total blackness of the sort you get only underground. No human eyes could adjust to this darkness, so if Tobin were here, he'd have to turn on his flashlight to get me in his gun sights. And if he did that, my shot would go directly along his beam of light. There would be no second shot in this situation.

The rainslicker and rubber boots were making squeaky noises so I removed both along with my life vest. Clad now in a fashionable leather shoulder holster, jeans, sans underwear, and a fleshing knife stuck in my belt, and a dead man's wool socks, I began walking in the pitch darkness, stepping high to avoid rubble or debris, or whatever. I thought about rats, bats, bugs, and snakes, but I pushed those thoughts right out of my head; rats and stuff weren't my problem. The problem was anthrax in the air behind me, and a psycho with a gun in the dark somewhere in front of me.

Hail Mary … I've always been very religious, actually, very devout. It's just that I don't talk or think about it much while things are okay. I mean, when I was lying in the gutter bleeding to death, it wasn't that I called on God just because I was in trouble. It was more like it just seemed a convenient time and place to pray, what with nothing else going on at the moment… Mother of God …

My right foot stepped on something slippery, and I almost lost my balance. I went down into a crouch and felt around near my feet. I touched a cold metal object. I tried to move it, but it wouldn't budge. I passed my hand over it and finally figured out that it was a rail embedded in the concrete floor. I remembered that Stevens had said there had once been a narrow-gauge railroad on the island that delivered munitions from the ships in the cove to the artillery batteries. Obviously, this was a rail tunnel that led to an ammunition storage room.

I continued on, keeping my foot in contact with the rail. After a few minutes, I sensed the rail bending to the right, then felt something rough. I knelt and felt around. There was a switch here, and the rail split and veered right and left. Just when I thought Tobin and I were nearing the end of the line together, there's a damned fork in the road. I remained kneeling and peered into the darkness in both directions, but I couldn't see or hear anything. It occurred to me that if Tobin thought he was alone, he'd have his light on, or at least he'd be treading heavily and noisily. Since I couldn't see or hear him, I made one of my famous deductions, and deduced that he knew he wasn't alone. Or maybe he was just too far ahead of me. Or maybe he wasn't even here… pray for us sinners …

I heard something to my right, like maybe a piece of concrete or a stone hitting the floor. I listened harder and heard what seemed like water. It occurred to me that this tunnel might have cave-ins with this rain… now, and at the hour …

I stood and walked to the right, guided by the rail. The noise of falling water got louder, and the air got better.

A few minutes later, I had the sense that the tunnel had ended and that I was in a bigger space — the ammunition magazine. In fact, my eyes were drawn upward and I could see a small piece of dark sky overhead. Rain fell through the hole and onto the floor. I could also make out a sort of scaffolding rising up to the hole, and I realized that this was the ammunition elevator where the shells were hoisted to the gun emplacements overhead. This, then, was the end of the line, and I knew that Tobin was here, and that he was waiting for me… of our death. Amen .

Fredric Tobin didn't seem in a hurry to announce his presence, and I waited, listening to the dripping ram. After a while, I almost thought I was alone, but I could feel another presence in the room. An evil presence. Really.

Very slowly, I moved my left hand to my waist and pulled out the fleshing knife.

He knew, of course, that it was me; and I knew it was him and that he'd led me into this place that he intended to be my tomb.

He also knew that as soon as he made a move, or a sound, or flipped on his flashlight, I'd fire. He understood that his first shot in the dark had better be his best shot because it was going to be his only shot. So we both stood frozen, cat and mouse, if you will, each trying to figure out who was the cat.

The little prick had nerves of steel, I'll give him that. I was prepared to stand there for a week if I had to, and so was he. I listened to the rain and wind outside, but avoided looking up at the opening in the ceiling because that would rum whatever night sight I'd developed.

I stood there in the damp, cavernous room, the cold working its way through my socks and soaking into my tire arms, chest, and back. I felt a cough coming on, but fought it dawn,

About five minutes passed, maybe less, but not more. Tobin must now be wondering if I'd backed out quietly. I was positioned between wherever he was and the entrance to the tunnel behind me. I doubted he could get past me if he lost his nerve and wanted out.

Finally, Tobin blinked, figuratively speaking; he tossed something like a piece of concrete against a far wall. It echoed in the huge ammunition room. It startled me, but not enough to draw my fire. Stupid trick, Freddie .

And so we both stood in the dark, and I tried to see through the blackness, tried to hear his breathing, smell his fear. I thought I saw the glint of his eyes, or of steel, reflected in the dim light of the opening in the roof. The glint came from my left, but I had no way of judging distance in the dark.

I realized that my knife might also reflect a glint of light so I moved it to my left side, away from the dim light source overhead.

I tried to see the glint again, but it was gone. If I saw it one more time, I decided, I'd rush toward it and do a knife number — lunge, slash, parry, stab, and so forth until I came into contact with flesh and bone. I waited.

The more I stared at what I thought had been the glint, the more my eyes began to play tricks on me. I saw these sort of phosphorescent blotches dancing in front of my eyes, then they took form and turned into gaping skulls. Wow . Talk about the power of suggestion.

It was hard to breathe quietly, and if it weren't for the sound of the wind and water overhead, Tobin would have heard me, and I'd have heard him. I felt another cough coming on, but again fought it down.

We waited. I assumed he knew I was alone. I also assumed he knew I had at least one pistol. I was sure he had a pistol, but not the.45 with which he'd killed Tom and Judy. If he was carrying a rifle, he'd have tried to kill me out in the open from a safe distance when he realized John Corey was on his tail. In any case, a rifle was no better in here than a pistol. What I didn't count on was a shotgun.

The roar of the shotgun blast was deafening in the enclosed room, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. But as soon as I realized I wasn't hit, and as soon as my brain registered the direction of the blast — about ten feet to my right — and before Tobin could dive for another firing position, I fired my single round right where I'd seen the muzzle flash.

I dropped my pistol and charged, lunging and slashing blindly to my front, but I didn't come into contact with anything and didn't trip over a body on the floor. Within a few seconds, my knife scraped the wall. I stopped and stood frozen.

A voice, some distance behind me, said, "I guess you had only one shot left."

I surely didn't reply.

The voice said, "Speak to me."

I turned slowly toward the voice of Fredric Tobin.

He said, "I think I heard your pistol hit the floor."

I realized that each time he spoke, he had moved. Clever man.