It was suddenly all very real now. Noah had been here, standing right where she now stood.
When did he do this? It had to have been many years ago, probably on a day when she was in school and there were no charters on the schedule. She recalled that, among his many tools for boat maintenance, Noah had a miniature acetylene blow torch. He sometimes used it to braze pieces of copper tubing. He would have used the torch to cut through the grate above, and then made the same descent she had. It would have taken only a few minutes to weld the box in place.
“Okay,” she said aloud, as if speaking to her father’s ghost. “What’s the magic number?” She cycled through birthdays: hers, Mercy’s and Noah’s late November birthday. A four-digit combo was out. What else?
He had left it with Mercy. Could it be an important date that only the two of them shared? If that was the case, her only option would be a brute force attack, trying successive combinations until she finally hit on the correct one. If she started at all zeros and the number was in the 900s it would take her close to an hour. It might not even be a date.
Think. Noah wanted the right person to open this if the need arose. He left precise coordinates so it could be found in case of emergency…
“Duh!” She quickly set the combination to 9-1-1 and heard an internal mechanism click. The box opened to reveal a small leather-bound notebook inside a large Ziploc bag, and nothing else.
Jenna opened the bag and then the book. She thumbed through it, instantly recognizing Noah’s precise printed letters. It was a journal. She didn’t read any of it. There would be time for that later.
The book was too large to fit in a pocket, so she put it back in the bag, stuffed it into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back and covered it with her T-shirt. She drew a deep breath and mentally centered herself, putting her dojo habits to use in the real world. She moved to the steel rungs and began climbing.
The ascent went quickly, partly because she did not take the time to test her footholds, but also because the impending confrontation, like the last day of summer vacation, was something she dreaded. It was the exact opposite of the old saying about watched pots never boiling.
She maintained her calm focus by counting down the rungs. When she got to fifteen, she could see the faces of her tormentors, silhouetted in the ambient light, staring down at her. When she got to eight, Carlos called out.
“Unless you’ve got a wad of ten thousand dollar bills in your pocket,” he said in a low menacing tone, “I think I’m about to be very disappointed.”
She climbed a couple of rungs higher before giving the answer she had mentally rehearsed. “The money isn’t here. It’s in a bank account. Cayman Islands.” She thought that sounded pretty plausible. “My dad hid the account number here. I’ve got it now.”
Carlos did not look convinced. “Give it to me.”
She reached into a pocket and found the strip of paper on which Noah had written the coordinates for the silo. It was still damp from her plunge into Boca Chica Channel but she succeeded in taking it out intact. She waved it for Carlos to see. Then, she took another step and held it up like an offering.
Carlos reached out to snatch the paper from her fingers, but as he did, she let go of it and encircled his wrist with her hand. His face registered surprise, but she only caught a glimpse as she yanked down hard on his arm.
As he started to fall toward her, she let go and pressed herself flat against the smooth concrete wall. There was a tug of friction as his body slid past hers, but she held on tightly, and an instant later, Carlos was gone.
20
Jenna exploded out of the silo like a missile, leaping toward the stunned figure of Raul. He was too far away to be pulled in. She knew that trick wouldn’t work twice, but she had something different planned for the younger Villegas brother.
She landed on the iron-clad floor, coiling like a rattler getting ready to strike, and then she unleashed all her energy in a kick aimed at Raul’s head. Even as she moved, she saw him struggling to draw his gun, just as she thought he would. She corrected her aim at the last moment, striking his right shoulder. Raul spun around, unbalanced. The pistol flew from his hand.
Jenna did not stop. She had committed to this course of action the moment she had started climbing out of the silo. She would not stop. Not to catch her breath. Not to assess the results of her attack. Not until Raul was…
Dead?
Yeah, dead.
She felt no guilt about that. She had already sent Carlos to Hell, and that didn’t bother her at all. She felt about as much remorse for Carlos as she would for a roach ground beneath her heel. Truth be told, it was a rush. It was like she’d been given an invitation to a secret and very exclusive club. Noah had been in that club. Something told her that Ken was not the first man he had killed. Noah might not have wanted her to join the ranks of killers, but he’d prepared her for it, perhaps knowing this initiation might be unavoidable.
I’m a killer now. I passed the test, and I’m ready to do it again. Raul, your brother’s holding the door for you.
She advanced, throwing a pair of mid-body punches that rocked Raul back again. With each strike she shouted her kiai, using the sound to focus her energy and intimidate the man. Despite the attack, he stayed on his feet. She might have been able to punch through boards and bricks, but Raul was probably twice her weight, and flesh yielded whereas planks and cinder blocks cracked. Punches, she realized, weren’t going to do the trick. She took another step forward and with another shout, spun into a roundhouse kick, aimed low to sweep him off his feet.
Her foot struck his calf, a few inches below where she had aimed, and she rebounded away, struggling to recover her balance and irritated with herself for missing. It wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, but it did erase any advantage her surprise attack had given her.
Raul snarled at her. She could see in his eyes that he was now little more than an enraged animal. His fury would allow him to tap into reserves of near-superhuman strength. If he got close enough to grab hold of her, she might not be able to break free. She took a step back, forcing herself to stay calm and focused.
He charged but she stepped aside, whirling around to deliver a powerful blow to his already pummeled kidney. It was enough to knock him off his feet. He went sprawling on the metal plates that covered the silo. A few feet to the left and he would have plunged into the hole.
Jenna didn’t think he would be fooled into such a reckless advance a second time. She backed away, glancing around for a weapon. She didn’t know where the gun had gone but the tire iron lay just a couple steps away. As she reached for it, Raul scrambled back to his feet and charged again.
A math problem flashed through her head: R is moving toward J at 15 m.p.h. J is trying to reach a tire iron 5 feet away. Will J reach the tire iron before R kills her?
It was a chance she couldn’t take, and at the last instant, she veered off. Raul had indeed learned his lesson, and he pulled up short, facing her, taunting her with curses and threats, reverting to some kind of primal threat display. “Me cago en la madre que te parió! Think you’re tough, chica?” He motioned to his body. “Think you can take this?” He spat at her. “You’re nothing but a puta. A scared little puta.”