Sedona Conspiracy

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE ^FIREFIGHT

On the drive home, Eric realized why he’d been short with Leon. The guy really did care about Nataly, and was being protective of her for good cause. Who am I kidding? he thought. A paid killer with my track record can never give her a happy life. Divorced over neglect, estranged from a daughter for the same reason, I’m a poster child for government slavery. Be honest with yourself, for once. You’ve hated your job for years, but are afraid of doing anything else. The idea of doing something in the private sector terrifies you.

Terrific. Having thought all that, he was still crazy to see Nataly, touch her, even hear the sound her voice. And he really did have other things to worry about.

His plan was to throw a pizza in the oven, boil some peas, and have some ice cream after. Nothing cerebral in the evening, some junk TV, a beer, and bed early. There was no preparation to worry about. The entire startup sequence was clear in his mind—up to a point. That point was when the green light lit up on that third panel by his right knee. Up to that point his instinct was telling him that Sparrow was going to go very fast and very high.

And then what?

Eric thought about Nataly getting ready to close her shop. She was so meticulous about everything, always ended up staying open longer than planned. It was about that time when he pulled into his driveway. He garaged the car and went in the house through the side door. He turned on the oven and left it to heat while he went downstairs to scan the surveillance videos for the day, and checked the little string still lodged safely at the top of his front door.

In fifteen minutes the oven was properly heated. Suddenly weary of pizza, Eric took two potpies out of the freezer, put them on a tray in the oven. A handful of peas and some water in a pot, and dinner was on its way. He got a beer from the fridge, opened it, and walked to the front room to turn on the TV. Just as he got there he saw Leon’s Humvee rush by the house, followed seconds later by a black van. Unusual. There were few houses beyond his, and it was getting late for hiking in the canyons. Or maybe Leon had a guest.

He turned on the television, and sipped his beer. The pies would be ready in twenty minutes. Eric checked his watch, went to the stove and turned on the burner under the peas when the pies were nearly finished.

The sudden explosions he heard were muffled, but distinct. It took him a heartbeat to recognize them as gunshots, and they were coming from the tunnel in the basement. He thought he heard someone call his name. That thought was not complete as he gripped the long-slide Colt in his hand, jerked from the shoulder holster without conscious reaction.

He leaped to the basement door and opened it. The tunnel door banged open at that instant, and someone lay crumpled in the doorway. Gunshots echoed in the tunnel, and three men dressed head to toe in black crowded their way through the doorway into the basement. They looked left and right, waved machine pistols, but neglected to look upwards.

Eric went down on one knee, arm rigid, shoulder locked, and fired seven rounds into the heads of the three men below him. The far wall of the basement splattered red with their blood. Eric scrabbled at his shoulder holster as he released the Colt’s empty magazine, then slammed another magazine home and worked the slide. There were two more shots from the tunnel, then a gurgling scream, and silence.

Eric crab-walked down the stairs and kept his aim on the tunnel door. He jumped to one side, stepped up to the door, dared a quick glance down the tunnel, then a longer look. There was no movement. Two men were crumpled by the doorway, two others in black were sprawled steps away, and there was an isolated puddle of blood beyond that.

From upstairs came the roar of a vehicle rushing past his house, and Eric remembered the black van following Leon.

Leon. Oh, shit.

And then, right where he stood, someone groaned.

Eric looked down. At first he saw only a man on his back, face masked by a solid, opaque plate, arms to his sides. But there was a third arm jutting from beneath the man’s waist, a coat-sleeve shimmering gray.

Eric rolled the masked man over, and stared with dismay into Leon’s face. There was a blue pallor to his cheeks, and his chest was soaked with blood. Leon’s eyes flickered open. He smiled weakly.

“Heard—shots. Didn’t think—got you,” he gurgled.

Eric pulled Leon’s coat aside, saw three entrance wounds there, two high in the chest, one lower, close to the heart.

“I’ve got to get you medical help quick. You’re losing a lot of blood.”

“S’okay. No pain. Just cold. Coulter did this. Wanted to kill you. Did—what I could—Eric.”

Eric watched Leon’s life pumping out of him with each heartbeat. The base had no hospital he knew of, only an infirmary. He could call Davis, and wait half an hour for someone to come. There was no surgery in town. The nearest was in Cottonwood, another half-hour down the road. And it would take over an hour to get him to Phoenix, even if a helicopter was called.

Leon didn’t have half an hour. Eric considered his options for two heartbeats, and decided.

“I’m taking you to Cottonwood, buddy. This’ll have to hurt.”

Eric picked the man up like a baby, and Leon groaned.

The groaning stopped halfway up the stairs, and Eric felt Leon’s head fall against his back. There was an ache in his chest, a sense of futility as he carried Leon into the garage and lowered him into the back seat of the car. Leon’s skin was horribly tinged blue, and his breathing made sinister bubbling sounds. Eric had seen the signs before, in a far away war the newspapers had never heard of. He could try as hard as he could, and had to do that, but the result would be the same. Leon would be dead in a matter of minutes, and they were too far from a hospital to save him.

Eric gunned the engine, thumbed open the garage door and the gate at the same time. The tires squealed as he backed up, but one look in the rear view mirror and he slammed on the brakes hard.

Military vehicles were pouring in through the gate, and blocking his way out.

Eric opened the door so hard the hinge shrieked. “I’ve got a gunshot victim here! He’s bleeding out!” he shouted. There was a Humvee, two vans and a jeep, all in desert beige, and the sight of the man in the jeep astonished him.

It was Sergeant Alan Nutt.

Eric gaped at him. Men poured out of the vans and Humvee. Alan gave orders, pointed, and some of the men ran right by Eric and headed for the garage.

“Is the door unlocked?” asked Alan.

“Yes,” said Eric. He hadn’t even thought about locking it. “My partner has been shot up bad. He needs immediate surgery.” He opened the back door of the car.

“He’ll get it,” said Alan. Two men came up from behind him, carrying a stretcher. A second stretcher was being carried into the house.

Leon didn’t make a sound when they put him on the stretcher and carried him to a van. Eric felt a lump in his throat when Alan put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll do what we can,” said Alan.

Eric swallowed hard, and tried to distract himself. “How did you know we needed help here? You must be hooked in live to the surveillance cameras, but even so you got here awful fast.”

“We’ll talk later. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I got three of them. Leon got three others, and I know who was behind the attack. His name is John Coulter, and the next thing I’m going to do is kill him.”

“The next thing you’re going to do is fly Sparrow,” said Alan. “Get in the jeep. I’m taking you straight to the base and under guard until the flight. Give me your keys. We’ll clean up here, and lock the house for you.”

Eric gave Alan his keys. Alan gave them to a corporal returning from the house. Two stretcher-bearers were with him, and they carried a man covered with a blanket. His eyes flickered, and he looked at Eric as he passed by him.

“We turned off the stove, sir. Your dinner was burned,” said the Corporal. He took the keys, and went back to the house.

Eric nodded at the man on the stretcher. “Where did he come from? I looked in that tunnel, and Leon was the only person alive in there.”

“Guess you didn’t look close enough, sir,” said Alan, and took Eric’s elbow to steer him towards the jeep.

Eric went with him, got in the back seat of the jeep. Men were now carrying body bags out of the house. The injured man was put into the van with Leon, and the van sped away. The body bags were put into the other van, and the doors closed.

The jeep carrying Eric went out the gate, turned left, and sped towards the canyons, Eric sat in the back, counting numbers in his head.

Two injured men, and six body bags made eight people.

But including Leon, Eric had only seen seven.

At a distance, they followed the van that carried Leon. As Eric expected, the van was returning to the base. It raised a cloud of dust ahead of them once they were off pavement and bouncing on red earth and scree. When they arrived at the fenced-in hut that was an elevator, the van had gone underground, and they had to wait ten minutes for the gate to open again for them. They descended, raced along the main tunnel and passed the van parked at a cutout near the entrance to the portal bay. The back doors of the van were open, but nobody was inside.

Alan said nothing to him the entire trip, looked back at him a few times, and once reached back to pat him on the knee as if to say “It’ll be all right.”

But it wasn’t going to be all right. Eric knew a mortal wound when he saw one, and had heard the last words of dying men. Leon had been shot defending a man who’d treated him like shit on more than one occasion, and now that man was feeling badly about it.

They were approaching the main parking area, and the jeep slowed. Eric leaned forward, and said loudly, “I saw the van back there. Is there another clinic nearby?”

Alan turned, but didn’t look at him. “It’s upstairs. There’s another set of elevators.”

The jeep stopped. Alan got out; pulled the seat forward for Eric to follow him, and the jeep sped away.

Alan smiled wanly. “Guess we had to throw your dinner in the trash. Aren’t you hungry?”

Eric thought. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Me too,” said Alan. “Second shift is just finishing up in the mess. Let’s see what they have.”

They went to an elevator, Alan punched the button for level two, and the doors closed.

“You’re taking good care of me, Alan,” said Eric.

“Thanks. Just doing my job.”

“You forgot your clipboard.”

Alan smiled. “Yeah. Didn’t need it this time.”

“Oh, I thought taking notes was your job.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.

“I do whatever needs to be done, sir. Let’s eat.”

They turned left out of the elevator and walked a few yards to the mess hall. A few men in fatigues were sitting at long tables, talking after their meal, and mess was still open. Alan had his tray filled with meat, potatoes and veggies. Eric followed suit, and added a sliver of apple pie. They both got coffee at the end of the line, and sat down at a table away from the other men.

They ate quickly, and it was Eric who finally broke the silence.

“There are several questions I’m not asking, Alan, because I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know the answers. After tomorrow’s test I might be a bit more demanding.”

“I understand, sir. This has been a rough day for you. If you feel overwhelmed by it and can’t sleep tonight I hope you’ll tell us. You have to be on top of things early in the morning. The flight can be postponed if you’re not ready.”

“I’m paid to be ready, Alan,” said Eric, “and eventually I will get the answers to my questions.”

“Yes sir, I’m sure you will.” Alan met Eric’s steady gaze, held it, and Eric knew he was not talking to a soldier who made his living writing notes on a clipboard.

“You ever been in a firefight, sergeant?”

Now Alan smiled. “I think you know the answer to that one, sir.”

“Well keep me alive until the flight test, and maybe your job will get easier.”

They finished eating, and bussed their dishes. Alan took him back to the elevators, and they went up three levels. There was a long hallway with closed, numbered doors. Alan went to number ten, unlocked the door, and handed the key to Eric. “Someone will come for you at oh-three-hundred, sir. There’s a beer and some snacks in the fridge.”

“Thanks. See you in the morning?”

“I expect to be there, sir. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Alan turned, and walked away.

The room was simple, but not Spartan. There was a TV and a CD player, a selection of music from rock to classical, a few magazines, including Sedona Monthly. He opened the lone beer in the fridge, but left the cold meats and cheese he found there. Music, or sound of any kind, didn’t appeal to him at the moment. He sat down on a sofa, sipped his beer and read the Sedona magazine. There was an ad in there for Nataly’s shop. He suddenly wanted to call her, but there was no telephone. He wanted to tell her about Leon. He wanted to tell her how lousy he felt, how much he missed her, how much he loved her, and—

Whoa!

The thought remained. My God, I’m in love with her. I have to tell her before she pushes me away.

He resolved to call her right after the flight test.

Eric finished his beer and went to bed near twenty-one-hundred. There was absolute quiet in the room. Eric could hear the rush of blood with each pulse of his heart. He tried not to think about Leon, and failed. He imagined himself sitting with Nataly, her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, smelled pine, and she looked up at him with eyes a man could drown in.

He slept. Twice he came awake enough to know he was in a dark room. He’d been talking to Nataly, and John Coulter was there too, laughing about something that made Nataly angry with him. The Golden Man had appeared. Eric had asked him a question, but the man just smiled and didn’t answer. Eric felt uneasy about that, an uncomfortable pit-of-the-stomach reaction that could have been fear. Nataly appeared again, and kissed him, and then he said how much he loved her. She frowned and didn’t answer him, and then he felt something worse than fear.

He felt despair.