“And what if he isn’t a willing partner?”
“Then he’s probably dead.”
“Or being questioned… questioned roughly…” The rabbi shuddered. “My wife lost one brother… I’d hate to think that we’ve come this far only to leave another one behind. But you know better.”
No one spoke.
Decker finally said, “Show me the warehouse.”
Jonathan took the flashlight and they walked toward the destination. Neither spoke as muck squished under their shoes. Five minutes later, the giant barn became visible because light was coming from a lower window. It was typical in structure-a large parabolic shape that peaked in a roof gable-but someone had modified it for its use as a warehouse. The great door and apron, traditionally used as a passageway to let the animals in and out, had been replaced by a set of double doors that led out to a concrete driveway and loading dock. On either side of the doors were windows stacked three stories high, the lower right window being the illuminated one. Above the great door should have been the sliding doors, but they had been boarded up. The hay doors on the upper level looked to be intact.
The rain was starting to pick up. Neither man appeared to notice.
“What does it look like inside?” Decker asked him.
“Shelves filled with boxes.”
“More than one level?”
Jonathan tried to re-create a mental image. Both he and Decker were whispering. “Most of it is on one level with very high shelving. Wide aisles because the guys use a forklift to bring the merchandise up and down. But there is a second level with shelves as well. It’s an open loft, I believe.”
“Probably the original hayloft.”
“I suppose. Should we call the State Police for help?”
“I can’t get a line out. Even if I could, I’m sure Merrin or one of his cohorts has a multiband radio that picks up cellular calls.” Ideas turned over in Decker’s brain. “Do you know what room corresponds to that lit window?”
“Haven’t a clue. But it’s not near the entrance I was talking about.” Jonathan stared at the barn. “That door is on the left side. Right below an outside spiral staircase.”
Each one waited for the other to act. Then Jonathan made a decision, moving toward the structure. “I want to do everything I can.”
Decker followed. “If you can say that after what happened in the van, you’re dedicated.”
“Or stupid.”
“Sometimes it’s one and the same.”
The rain was falling at a steady clip, blocking out the noise made by their shoes trampling over brush. Decker tightened the hood on his waterproof jacket. His hands were encased in nylon gloves. By the time they reached the door, it was pouring. They ducked under an awning as the rain beat tom-toms on the cloth. Decker reached for the door-locked of course. He pointed the flashlight’s beam between the metal escutcheon and the doorframe.
“It’s a latch bolt,” Decker said.
“Which means?”
“I can probably open it with a credit card. The point is… do I want to do it?”
“You may only have one bullet,” Jonathan told him. “But they don’t know that. Besides, the lit window is on the opposite side.”
“Someone may be guarding the doors. He’ll hear me as soon as I try to spring the latch.” A long hesitation. “Well, there’s a quick way to find out.”
Shoving Jonathan against the wall, Decker covered his brother’s body with his, then quietly tapped the door.
Nothing.
Another gentle rap failed to produce any response.
“Take off the plastic from your shoes.” Decker was doing the same thing. “It makes too much noise.” After the plastic bags had been removed, he handed Jonathan the gun. “Cover me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do you see anyone else around?” Decker took out the credit card and gently maneuvered it between the bolt and the catch. A moment later, the doorknob rotated without any hindrance. “I’ve got it. Kill the light. Let’s hope the alarm doesn’t trip.”
Jonathan turned off the flashlight. Decker began to turn the knob… millimeters at a time. Finally, he pushed on the handle and the door crept inward.
Slowly… slowly… slowly.
The door freed itself from the frame.
Nothing sounded.
“The alarm’s off,” Decker told his brother.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Don’t know, but it’s a safe bet that Chaim’s inside.”
Slowly, slowly, slowly, Decker pushed the door inward.
Inch after inch.
A quarter of the way open.
Then halfway.
When there was enough room for them to squeeze through, Decker grabbed his brother, pulled him inside, and silently closed the door.
Darkness was the welcome mat. Even after his eyes adjusted, Decker couldn’t make out anything distinct. The interior was a vast space of specters and phantoms, of giant shadows and black holes. Rain slithered down the tall windows, dripping like open veins of black blood. A flash of lightning from afar, a clap of distant thunder. Neither man moved or spoke. A few moments passed; then Decker heard blurred background noises-a hint of human speech. It was hard to tell because of the clacking of the rain.
He took several steps in the direction of the sounds. An unwanted smell reached Decker’s nose at the same time his sneaker caught on something, pitching his body forward. He barely recovered without making noise. He looked down, then bent down to study the solid object at his feet.
The corpse was fresh. Decker studied the face and decided he had never seen it before. But everything about him said cop: the way he dressed, the type of haircut, the furrows in the face, the roughened hands and fingernails, even his gut. He appeared to be in his forties.
“Someone took care of the guard for us.” Decker stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jonathan nodded quickly.
If timing was everything, theirs was exquisitely off. As soon as Decker turned, he saw him. Jonathan saw him, too, judging by the sound of his gasp. The kid had evil in his eyes, and cold steel in his hand. He had probably heard them come in. He smirked, his face radiating glee at the prospect of killing, of snuffing out human life. Decker reached into his empty pocket, realizing too late that Jonathan hadn’t given him back the snub-nose. The seconds became protracted as he watched the teen lift the weapon. Decker felt the horror of his last breath, his own fear mirrored by the terror on Jonathan’s face. Too far away to take down, and not enough time anyway. As Satan aimed, Decker looped his arm around his brother’s neck, taking them headfirst to the floor and into a puddle of newly spilled blood.
Waiting for the hit.
But nothing happened because the boy’s head was suddenly whipped back. Going down in slow motion. The fingers releasing the grip of the weapon, the gun falling from the hand, the knees buckling, and the neat round bullet hole in the forehead. A shadow appeared with outstretched arms, first catching the gun, then the body. Dressed in black, he silently lowered the corpse to the cement floor. He put a finger in front of his lips, then extended a latex-gloved left hand. In a single swoop, Decker was pulled to his feet. The face was covered with black makeup streaked with perspiration. The entire body reeked of sweat. The right hand was still holding the purloined gun.
After Jonathan was on his feet, the shadow beckoned them with an index finger, then turned his back, expecting them to follow. Wearing a black backpack, he walked soundlessly and assuredly until he came to a half flight of stairs. He scaled the steps, then nodded for Decker to come up, which he did, helping his shaking brother up onto a platform. It was no bigger than three feet square with an overhead clearance of about four feet. They were compressed, but Decker quickly understood the usefulness of the spot; it had an unobstructed view of the warehouse. His thighs bunching as he squatted, Decker scoped out the area.