William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“What if he’s been caught?”

Travis tried to comfort her, even though her words only echoed his own thoughts. “Henderson is probably slowing him down.”

“Henderson should know his way around the block if he’s such a big FBI hotshot.”

“Maybe he’s been behind a desk too long.”

“I suppose.” She shuddered involuntarily. “Eerie-looking guy, though. Did you see that scar on his face? Gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah. Well, you can’t judge a book by its cover.” Travis was about to spin off a few more reassuring platitudes when he heard the barely discernible sound of approaching footsteps—a tiny crunching of leaves, an almost inaudible rush of air. It was coming from behind him, away from the house.

Travis’s hand involuntarily went to his gun. He cursed himself bitterly. And just what did you think you might do with that gun, Byrne?

To his relief, he saw Curran trudging up the hill, Henderson a few steps in front of him. “How’d you get behind me?” Travis asked.

“Years of practice,” Curran replied. “So how’s it look? Did you see any security?” Curran and Henderson exchanged a meaningful look. “You could say that.”

“A burglar alarm system?”

“True, they do have that. An electric touch-and-sound-sensitive system wired to every door and window in the house. Very sophisticated. Noise detectors, motion detectors. The works.”

Travis swung his fist in the air. “Damn.”

“Don’t sweat it. The flaw with any system that big is that it requires a lot of power. I found the power source and cut it off. It’s useless.”

“So they’re all in the house without power now?”

“What do you take me for? I didn’t shut off all the power. I just cut the line feeding the security system. They’ll never know the difference.”

Travis’s eyes brightened. “That’s great. So we can just waltz on in.”

“We can, assuming you can avoid the guardpost, the security cameras, the magnetic card gate, and the bodyguards.”

Travis’s chin fell. “Oh. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Moroconi’s here. Henderson ID’d his silhouette in an upstairs window.”

“Then I was right!” Travis thought for a moment. “If we can’t get in, how did Moroconi?”

“My guess would be that he was admitted voluntarily. He seemed to be chatting with someone. And by the way, I never said we couldn’t get in.”

“Then you think we can?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“Okay,” Cavanaugh asked, “how do we get past the security guards?”

“There are only two of them.”

“I’m not that handy in a fistfight,” Travis hedged.

“That’s not the critical issue,” Curran replied. “Frankly, I could take them both down myself. The issue is time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I could take them both out, but not before one of them triggered an alarm. Or called for help. That’s why I need you.”

“Wait a minute,” Cavanaugh said. “If you can take out the burglar alarm, why can’t you take out the phones?”

“I could, but the security guards might notice and they’d know something was up. I’ll take the phones out once we’ve taken care of the guards.”

“Why don’t we just sneak past them?” Henderson asked. “You and I did it when we scouted the grounds. All those bozos are watching is the road in and out of the house.”

“We probably could get past them,” Curran answered. “But what if they notice a disturbance in the house after we break in? They’ll get reinforcements, then come rushing in with big guns. And we’ll be history. No, we need to take them out before we go inside.”

“What if you do take these two?” Cavanaugh asked. “What about the bodyguards inside? What about the magnetic card gate? What about the security cameras?”

“One thing at a time,” Curran replied.

Travis and Curran approached the guardpost, one on each side, using the dense trees, brush, and darkness as natural camouflage. The post was basically a small shack with barely enough room for two men to sit. There were Dutch doors on both sides—top halves open, bottom halves closed. Presumably, one man covered incoming traffic while the other covered the outgoing. Both roads had a gate blocking the lane that could be raised by the guards.

Curran crept up to the Dutch door on his side, then sprang up to his full height. “Excuse me.”

The guard nearest him jumped, startled to see a man suddenly appear in the doorway. “What the—” His hand moved toward the gun in his holster.

“Whoa! Calm down.” Curran held out his hands reassuringly. “I don’t want any trouble. My car broke down about a mile up the road and I can’t get it started.” He showed them the grease he had smeared all over his arms and face. “I thought maybe you’d have a phone.”

The guard glanced at his partner, who shrugged. “I suppose that would be all right.” He unlatched the bottom part of the Dutch door.

The instant the door was unlocked, Curran grabbed it and slammed it back into the guard. He doubled over the top of the door; Curran slammed it back again. The guard fell backward, knocking his partner against the control panel.

On the other side of the guardpost, Travis saw the other guard’s hand groping for an alarm button. He leaped over the Dutch door and grabbed the man’s hands. He heard Curran’s fists connecting with some part of the other guard’s anatomy, but he didn’t stop to see what or where. His job was to make sure his man’s hands didn’t make contact with the control panel.

Suddenly Travis’s guard bent forward and rammed his head into Travis’s gut. Travis fell back with a shout. The guard dove for the control panel. In the midst of this sudden flurry, Travis saw Curran land another fist on his target. He was doing fine, but the guard was proving too resilient. Curran would be done soon, but not soon enough.

Travis grabbed his guard around the neck and jerked him away from the control panel just as the man’s thumb was about to make contact with a large red button. He thrust the man’s head downward; his chin struck the metal panel. He fell onto the floor, apparently unconscious.

Travis heard another punch and saw Curran’s man fall to the ground in a similarly unconscious state.

“I can’t believe it,” Curran said. “You put your goon away before I did mine. How’d you do that?”

“Vitamins,” Travis said, gasping for air. “Now take out the damn phones.”

70

8:43 P.M.

TRAVIS GRABBED THE GUARD by the back of his neck and shook him. He still didn’t rouse.

“Nice job you did on him,” Henderson commented. “He’s out cold.”

“That had more to do with the solidity of the control panel than the strength of my fists.” He shook the man again. No reaction.

“Let me try,” Curran said. He stood behind the guard, wrapped his arms under the man’s shoulders and around his neck, then jerked him violently upward. Travis heard the guard’s neck crack. His eyes shot open.

“Who the fuck—” The guard looked around furiously, then groaned. His head fell to one side.

Curran lifted the man’s head and motioned for Travis to begin the inquisition. Travis searched back in the far recesses of his mind to his police days. Interrogation 101. Play on the suspect’s insecurity. Make him uneasy, unsure. Don’t let him know what you want. Let him wonder—

Oh, the hell with it. “Where’s your security card? Punk,” he added for dramatic effect.

The man stared at Travis, still semidazed. “My what?”

“Your entrance card. The little magnetic gizmo you stick in the box at the door so you can get into the house.”