Reaching out, I tested the rusty round knob. It turned, so I tried pulling. It resisted, but only because it was stuck, not locked. Slowly, trying to avoid too much noise, I dragged the barrier open by half inches.
Eye to the crack, I could see nothing. The wan daylight outside made the dim interior even darker.
Taking a deep breath I crouched, reached my fingers around the edge of the door and gave a steady pull. It ground against the concrete floor for a moment, then came free. Quickly I slipped inside and pulled it shut again with some difficulty, but left it not-quite-closed in case I had to get out fast.
I found myself behind tall cylinders, visible by looking upward to see light reflected off the steel-strutted roof’s underside. Reaching over to touch one, I found it was composed of enormous rolls of paper stacked on their ends like coins, six feet wide and twelve high. As my eyes adjusted I was able to see down the row to a gap.
I stood there a moment more, ears straining to hear anything above the faint background hum of the city outside, the breeze catching the edges of the metal building, and the spinning rattle of the ventilator balls on the roof. Voices, maybe; the burbling tones of conversation.
Three minutes.
The sirens came closer.
A low thud came to my ears then, and I turned the left to listen. My right eardrum had been burst by the bomb blast, and had never completely recovered. I moved stealthily forward toward the gap. I also thought I heard a faint cough, and then two more thuds, as of sacks of dirt being dropped on ground.
Or bodies hitting the floor?
I raised the shotgun to my shoulder and hurried to the gap, swinging around it to my left and pausing to assess. More rows of paper appeared, braced like gigantic worshippers in a church, with me standing in the center aisle. Light from the large open door the Audi had entered poured from the far end.
Gliding forward on soft-soled boots, my heart thudded and I fought the urge to sneeze from the paper dust kicked up by my footsteps. I sped to a run as I heard a car start up, its engine revving once before its tires squealed and the sonic evidence faded.
Must have been the Audi driving out the door again. I wondered why it had done that. Maybe the kidnappers had fled, warned by my pursuit and the approaching sirens.
At the end of the aisle between the giant sentinels of paper I slowed, easing out into the better-lit open space carefully, scanning across my field of vision for threats.
To my left sat pallets stacked with boxes, barrels and cans. To the front, the row of giant access doors, one of them open. To the right, an enclosed office space with windows, portable air conditioner visible on its roof, one door, and a domestic SUV, probably a Ford, parked farther in, surrounded by a spreading puddle.
On the concrete floor in front of it, three bodies.
I took two more deep breaths to calm myself and pushed them all the way out, yoga style. Then I moved forward, keeping the shotgun ready, and approached the scene of death, smelling gasoline from the puddle.
The body nearest the office door was female, and appeared to have been shot twice in the back of the head at close range with a very small caliber, probably a .22.
Reaching down, I turned the dead woman’s head just enough. I could see no exit wounds, which supported my theory. Such tiny bullets might penetrate a human skull once, but not twice, especially if, as I suspected, they were unjacketed soft lead, maybe hollowpoints. Those would expand and dump all their energy into the soft matter of the brain and then stop at bone.
The woman looked like Mira, kind of.
Except for the being dead part.
The other two had fallen, one on each side of the cargo door, each shot twice in the chest and then once through an eye, and then dragged over to the woman. I could see the marks on the floor.
The face shots looked to me as if they had been delivered last, from close range. The possibility that any marksman, no matter how expert, would make two head shots, putting bullets precisely through the standing men’s eyes, and then shoot them twice each in their chests afterward, strained belief.
So...they had been executed. They had all been executed.
On the concrete near the big door I could see the marks where the Audi had peeled out and down the ramp. It was long gone. I made very sure I did not walk in any of the blood. Glancing behind, I realized the puddle of gasoline from the SUV continued to widen, dripping from its undercarriage, undoubtedly a punctured gas tank. It had reached the bodies, and would soon surround them, soaking into their clothes.
Four minutes. I could see flashing lights approaching in the distance and the sirens were getting louder. Apparently law enforcement had decided to come in fast and noisy.
A loud ding sounded from the direction of the office door. I turned to aim the shotgun before I saw what had made the noise: a white cooking timer, the spring-powered kind. It lay on the floor in front of the office entrance, weighting a piece of paper to the concrete.
The girl is in the office, it read, and beneath: Take her and go. You have three minutes until the bomb goes off.
I looked up to see a child’s wide-eyed face behind the office window.
The girl, Talley.
I seized the office doorknob, turned and pushed. “Hi, Talley. I’m Cal. I’m here to rescue you.” I held out my hand to her.
“They said not come out.” Like a skittish animal, she held her own hands behind her.
“The bad people are dead, and we have to go now.” I gestured, come here.
That seemed to do it. “Okay. The man said you’d come.” Talley seized my right hand in both of hers, and I ignored the twinge, then she threw her arms around me and clung on.
“Really, Talley. A bomb is going to go off soon, and we have to go now.”
“Okay,” Talley said, and then started running for the nearest opening, pulling on my arm.
I swung her around and directed her toward the rear of the warehouse, retracing my steps. “This way. My car’s out back.”
The cop cars rounded the last corner in front, but by then Talley and I had made it to Molly without being seen. I hoped the cops would approach with caution. The Audi driver, if he had set the bomb, was cutting things close. Maybe he didn’t care about cops, only little girls.
Driving sedately out of the tall grass of the tank farm, I casually skirted the fence line where I could see three cruisers pulled in to the front of the warehouse. I turned away at the corner and reached for my phone.
At that moment came a whoomph, and smoke started pouring from the open warehouse door, startling the cops into ducking behind their cars. Tally oohed.
“Mira, it’s me, Cal. I have good news. Your daughter is safe.”
“You’re sure?” Mira seemed ecstatic.
“Yes, I’m sure. Listen, Mira...I’d really appreciate it if you could keep me out of this with the police. If you even want to report it.”
Silence on the other end. Then, “Why wouldn’t I report it?”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Mira. I’m just saying, as a former cop, they don’t like me much, and they like me even less when I upstage them, so I’d rather keep my distance. I’ll come by sometime this week and explain, if you want, but for now, please, Mira, just don’t mention me. Don’t lie. If you have to, just say you engaged a private investigator who managed to find your daughter. That’s actually the God’s-honest truth. Okay?”
Mira babbled. “Right, private investigator. That’s a good story. This is amazing. This is so incredible. If you hadn’t...”
I suppressed an urge to choke. “Yes, well.” Then, because I had to, I thought about the money. Best to get a verbal agreement right now. At least half the retainer seemed fair, as I had risked my life to find the girl. “About my fee. I was thinking—”