Stranger

Forty-nine

I watched Boy through the binoculars. Disguised in rags, carrying a backpack on his shoulders that reached all the way down to the back of his knees, he limped ’round the fake house that comprised the bunker. I could see that he wore one shoe. His head hung down, exhausted.

“The kid’s acting the part well,” I said.

“He loves Michaela like a sister.” Tony crouched beside me. “He’d give his life to help her.”

Zak crawled through the leaf mold, keeping below the bushes. “Anything happening yet?”

“Nothing.”

“Boy’s been hanging ’round there for two hours now. Are you sure this bunker guy can see him?”

“He can see him, all right,” I whispered. “He can hear, too. My guess is, he’s sitting there watching Boy to make sure this isn’t some kind of stunt. So keep your voices down.” I glanced at Zak. “Is Ben ready?”

“He’s about a mile down the road with the Jeep.”

“Any sign of hornets?”

“None that we’ve found, but that’s a big forest out there. You could hide a whole army; no one’d ever know.”

We crouched there beneath the bushes just inside the forest fringe. I watched Boy sit at the main entrance to the bunker. He’d done as I’d instructed. He’d made an act of finding what you’d suppose was simply a big country house in the forest. He’d examined the fake doors painted on concrete walls, looked at the astroturf grass. Then he’d sat down, his head hanging down as if he was too tired to take another step. Every now and again a squall of rain came from dark skies. Trees groaned and hissed before the coming storm like restless animals. It was as if they sensed something big was breaking.

I kept my eyes fixed to the binoculars, seeing Boy’s dirt-smeared face. In my mind’s eye I was seeing Michaela, too. When I left the cabin that morning her face had a white, unnatural look, as if it were made from the same waxy stuff as candles. She breathed steadily, but she still hadn’t fully regained consciousness from the attack the day before. In fact, she seemed to sleep more deeply now. I found myself asking myself how you know when someone has slipped from natural sleep into a lethal coma. It scared me more than I dared to admit. Zak had done a good job of the suturing, however. After cutting a little of her hair away from the scalp he’d neatly stitched the flap of torn skin back. That had stopped the bleeding. The rest now, as they say, was in the lap of the gods.

Minutes crawled to midday. I began to wonder again about the steel trap door on the annex roof through which Michaela and I had escaped. That would be the easiest way into the bunker, but I was certain Phoenix would have gone across to manually close it. What’s more, it was locked from the inside. If I did risk climbing up onto the annex roof that would alert Phoenix that we were up to something. And that trap door was a substantial piece of metal; I’d never be able to open the thing.

Tony pushed aside a backpack to make himself more comfortable.

Zak fanned himself with the Stetson. “Treat the bag with some respect, bud. We don’t know how stable that stuff is.”

Like he was moving a sack of eggs, Tony gently shifted it farther from him. “Greg, you sure you know how to use it?”

I didn’t take my eyes from the binoculars. “I’ve bundled half a dozen sticks together with a detonator and ten feet of fuse. When I tested it earlier the fuse burned at two seconds per foot.”

“That’ll be enough?”

“Once you light it you’ve got twenty seconds to get clear.”

“Give or take a few seconds,” Tony added. “So make sure you move fast once it’s burning.”

Zak gave a grim smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll move fast enough. They don’t call me Mr. Greased Lightning for nothing, you know.”

Tony chuckled. “When did they ever call you that? We have to hold lighted cigarettes to your toes to get you out of bed in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I knew they were letting off steam to ease the tension. The truth was, all this hung on Boy getting it right the first time. If he fluffed it we got no second chances. And I knew we didn’t have enough dynamite to blow a hole through those three-foot concrete walls.

“Man, you’re so slow you’ve got moss growing on the soles of your boots.”

“You’ve got moss on your dick. The only time you use it is to prick the pastry.”

Both crumbled into snorting laughter. Tension was eating them. They were letting it out the only way they knew how.

Tony flicked Zak’s bald head with his finger. “Yeah, remind me to buy you a brush and comb set for Christmas.”

Zak grinned. “You won’t do that twice.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah… I’ve got a cute little kitten in my coat pocket. Try that again and I’ll squeeze its throat until its eyes go pop.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, and what-”

“Guys,” I breathed. “It’s happening.”

Suddenly they were alert again, staring forward through the bushes. Boy had climbed to his feet. He tilted his head to one side as he hoisted the backpack onto his back.

Zak whispered, “I hope those weld joints hold, Tony.”

“They will.”

I watched Boy. He seemed to be listening to a voice. I angled my head, too, but couldn’t catch anything. Then I saw Boy nod.

“He’s heading toward the annex,” I whispered. “That’s what Phoenix told us to do last time.”

“So it’s working?”

“Pray that it is.” I stared through the binoculars at the annex building that was disguised as a large garage. “There’s a door operated by pneumatics, I guess. Boy will have around twenty seconds to do his thing.”

Boy made a good act of plodding exhaustedly toward the annex. The backpack looked like a dead weight on his back. I guessed he wasn’t playacting that part of it. The bag contained nothing but a welded steel frame that fitted tightly into it like a hand in a glove. Tony had spent half the night making the thing. Now, pray God it was strong enough.

“There it goes,” I whispered. “See the bunker door opening?”

“Hell, it must be a foot thick,” Zak breathed.

“As soon as he wedges the bag in the doorway, move. And for God’s sake keep off the lawn. There are landmines under the grass.” I glanced at Zak. “You happy carrying the dynamite?”

“I’ll do it. Don’t worry about me.”

I nodded. “Once we’re in, Phoenix will do whatever he can to make life hard for us. There’ll be no light, so use the flashlights. He’ll probably hit us with water. Even a lot of noise.”

“If those are his only weapons we’re laughing.”

“Just say a little prayer he’s got nothing else. Wait; Boy’s almost there. Get ready. But keep down until we know the door’s jammed. OK?”

Without rising from the cover of the bushes I pulled the strap of the rifle over my shoulder and checked that the. 45 automatic was still strapped to my hip. At either side of me Zak and Tony checked their weapons. Tony sported a submachine gun with spare ammo clips taped together, while Zak carried a pair of sawed-off shotguns. He also hoisted the backpack containing the bundles of dynamite over his shoulders.

Hell, there was so much to check. Flashlights, ammo. I patted my pockets, feeling a rising panic. I’d forgotten the goddam cigarette lighter to ignite the fuses. Shit, you idiot, Valdiva, you fucking class A idiot, you should -Thank Christ. I felt hard tube shapes in my shirt pocket. I’d placed a pair of lighters there earlier. But pulling this off was like the plate-spinning trick you see at the circus. You have to make every little element of the plan work. Anything forgotten, anything mistimed, it all went crap.

“Any second now,” Zak whispered.

Still playing the weary refugee, Boy made it to the bunker. I saw him stop to listen again to a voice we couldn’t hear. No doubt Phoenix was giving the same instructions Michaela and I’d received in the same soft, whispering voice. Boy nodded again, then limped to the open doorway. As he entered he slipped the heavy bag from his shoulders. This time lightning-quick he spun ’round and jammed the bag lengthways into the entranceway. A second later the big armored door slid forward, as if to seal the aperture. It made it a third of the way, then stopped. It slid back. Shut again. But it couldn’t slide more than a third of the way across. An alarm began to sound from the bunker.

“He’s done it.” I scrambled to my feet and repeated the earlier warning: “For God’s sake keep off the grass. Touch that and you’ll go fucking sky high.”

The two followed me along the path to the bunker entrance.