He pauses a full minute, weighing my words. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I’ve gone over this a hundred times in my head. I spent several hours in one of the units the other day and tried to find a way out. There was none. Victor does great work, you know that.” “You think Victor’s going to let you walk with my share? Or Sal?” “No. But I think if you’re dead, they’d each take a billion not to come after me.” “I’m not even dead yet, and the three billion you’re stealing is already down to one.”
“True,” Lou says. “But it’s still three times as much as I’ve got now. Every time I tell myself this is a horrible thing to do, I realize I can triple my take by pressing two buttons.” “What about the midgets?” “They’re on break until I tell them to come back and drive. I’m good for at least an hour.” “You’re all alone?” “All alone and getting greedier by the minute.” “Victor is monitoring everything you’re doing,” I say. “He was until I cut his live feed a couple of minutes ago.” “Don’t do it, Lou.” “I can’t help myself. I wish I could.” “Will you at least set Sam and Rachel free?” “No. It’s got to be all or none.” Rachel says, “Kevin?” “Not now, hon, I’m kind of busy.”
I know the clock is running. Every second counts. I kick off my shoes and pry the heels off. I catch Lou off guard, but he recovers quickly. He throws the switch, and the vacuum pump comes on in my cell.
Chapter 39
I pull the plastic explosives from the hollowed-out heels of my shoes, pull off my suit jacket, and remove my shirt and tie. I remove the wires from my shirt collar, where you’d normally find the collar stays. Rachel says, “Kevin!” “Not now, sweetheart,” I say. “But don’t worry. I’ll get you out in a couple of minutes.” “You promise?” I stop working for a second. I need to think it through. I take my promises seriously. I perform some calculations in my head. “Kevin?” she says. “Yes,” I say. “I promise I’ll save you.” “Thank you. I love you.” “Love you too.”
I place one of the charges above the check valve in the floor, the one that allows the air to flow in one direction at a time. I uncoil ten feet of the detonator wire I’d taken from one of my collars and push it into place.
Sam says, “Not to interrupt, but what about me?”
I stop long enough to look at him. Poor Sam, always sucking hind tit. Then again, he had sex with Callie, so he’s already gotten his break in life. “Sorry, Sam, I’ve only got two charges.” He nods and says, “Typical.” The vacuum pump is doing its job, but it is at least a minute away from affecting me. “Hey, Rachel?” I say. “Yes?” “Tell me when your pump comes on, okay?” “Uh, it’s been on about thirty seconds.”
Shit! “Really?” “Really. Is that okay?” I try to sound cheerful. “That’s perfect,” I say. “See you soon then.” “Okay.” “Can’t hardly wait,” she says.
I grab the cooler, lift the lid, and check for the little hole in the hinge I’d told Victor to install as a last resort, the one that covered the blasting cap. I find it, run the detonator wire through it, and wad up the balance of the wire to create extra friction. I slam the lid shut, creating enough energy to set off the chemical reaction.
The blast is instantaneous, and everything I’m about to tell you takes place in a half second. But here’s how it works: When the chemical reaction begins, C-4 decomposes to release nitrogen and carbon oxides. The gases expand over 26,000 feet per second, applying trauma force to anything in the immediate area.
That’s why I used such a small amount of C-4, just enough to do the job, not enough to blow myself to hell.
A C-4 explosion has two phases. In the first phase, the initial explosion blows the check valve open, rendering the vacuum pump ineffective. This phase creates an extreme low-pressure area at the point of origin which blows the gases outward, lifts me off my feet, and hurls me toward the back wall. In phase two, a millisecond later, the gases rush back into the partial vacuum, creating a second, less-destructive inward energy wave, sufficient to implode the Lucite walls, one of which knocks me to the floor and nearly renders me unconscious. My ears are ringing from the explosion, but I manage to hear something that sounds like Rachel’s voice. “Oh my God, Kevin, are you all right?” Rachel says. I’m not—not yet. But my speakers are blown, so how the hell can I hear her? “Kevin? Kevin!” “His name’s Donovan Creed,” Sam says. “Fuck you, Sam!” Rachel says. Then she shouts, “You’re all right! Thank God! I see you moving!”
I am all right, but why am I able to hear everyone? Lou must be on the run, must have turned on the speakers throughout the garage so he could hear what was going on as he made his escape—unless he’s coming after me with a gun to finish me off!
No. Lou wouldn’t take that big of a chance. He knows the trucks have pump-action shotguns in the cabs.
I work my way out of the cage, not an easy thing to do with a thick wall of Lucite on my back. I look around. Unfortunately, I can’t find the rest of the plastic explosive. It has been knocked from my hand. I could probably find it eventually, but I’ve also lost the second detonator wire.
I have to save Rachel, but I have nothing to work with.
She picks up on my expression. Her eyes grow wide with terror. Wait, I think. The truck!
I jump into the cab of Rachel’s truck, roll down both windows, and fire it up. These things aren’t built for speed, and it takes me most of the parking lot to get above twenty miles an hour. By then, I am closing in on the far wall quickly. I make a hairpin turn and manage to miss the wall. But that’s not what I’m hoping for. I’m trying to flip the truck onto its side. I get the truck turned around and head back in the direction we’d started in, only now I am up to thirty. I cut the steering wheel, trying to jackknife the cargo area. Two of the wheels come up slightly, but the truck rocks back into place.
Damn!
I turn again, heading back to the far wall. I cut the wheel sharply one way and then the other. Finally, the truck lurches. I slam on the brake, and it continues pitching over onto its side. While bracing myself for the impact, I pray Rachel will survive the crash.
The truck rests on the driver’s side with the passenger side straight up. I grab the shotgun from under the seat, push it through the open window, and climb out after it. I jump to the parking lot floor, grab the shotgun, and run to the back of the truck to make sure Rachel is alive.
She is!
I motion her to make her way to the back of the truck. She does. I motion her to stay there. Then I walk back to the side where the bottom of the truck is exposed and find the check valve. I pump a shell into the chamber, back up a few yards, and fire into the valve at an angle, hoping not to catch any shrapnel from the ricochet. The valve blows open. I take a deep breath. Rachel is safe.
I turn my attention to Sam. He’s lying on the floor unconscious. But at least he’s lying at the far side of the check valve. I know I don’t have enough time to flip his truck. I pump another round into the shotgun, climb under the truck, place the barrel against the check valve, and wedge the shotgun into place.
I can only think of one way to pull the trigger without getting seriously injured or killed from the shell rebound.
I remove my belt and wedge the buckle under the trigger. It doesn’t quite reach the side of the truck, which means it’s still too dangerous. I take off my pants, tie one leg around the belt, and hold on to the end of the other pant leg. I climb onto the narrow ledge on the side of the truck and pull the pant leg as hard as I can. The shotgun fires. I jump down and climb under the truck to inspect my work. And see a nice-sized hole where the check valve used to be. If Sam is still alive, he’ll be okay soon.