“I am sorry,” he said. “I could not even do that right.”
Tatiana was checking her weapon.
“Don’t shoot us like this,” I said, trying any means of delay. “At least let us up on our knees. Let us go out with a little dignity.”
All I heard was the sound of her cranking the rifle, getting ready to finish us off. I twisted around so I could look past her. When I rolled up to a sitting position, I saw something, or thought I did, in the dark corner behind her, something moving. “Come on, what do you care? What difference does it make how you kill us?”
“Exactly. You’re going to hell just the same whether you’re lying on your back or up on your knees, so say your last, and-”
She dropped her rifle. Her eyes flew open. Both hands went to her throat, and even though her mouth was opened wide, no sound came out. I couldn’t see what was around her throat, but it was killing her, and she knew it. She tried to twist around, to shove her elbow into the midsection of her attacker. She tried to kick backward. With rising panic, she tried to grab the rifle hanging by the strap around her neck. She tried everything a dying woman would try to save her life, but her legs shuddered and twitched. It took a long time for her to die, and even though she had been on the cusp of killing me, it wasn’t easy to watch. She went limp and fell to the floor. The man who had garroted her came out of the shadows. With his finger to his lips, he signaled me to be quiet.
“What…what is happening?” Harvey asked. “Who is there?”
“Harvey,” I said. “Be quiet.”
“What?”
“Shut up, Harvey.”
The attacker crouched next to the woman he’d just killed, pulling weapons and ammo from every pocket. Her radio crackled. Cyrus was calling to her.
“Unit two, unit one, come in. Unit two, come in.” There was a short space for a response, then “Unit two?” Another pause, then “Tatiana, come in.” The radio went silent.
Our savior continued digging through his victim’s gear and came out with a gas mask, and none too soon. I heard the door upstairs open, and Cyrus’s voice came floating down.
“Tatiana?”
After a pause, I heard the sound of a canister clattering down the steps and the door slamming shut. My eyes immediately began to water. I squeezed them shut and tried not to breathe in as the musty basement filled with gas. I heard things going on around me. I knew I had to get out, but I couldn’t think of anything except trying to keep that gas out of my lungs.
Harvey was hacking and coughing and sounding as if he were dying. Someone cut my restraints. I felt a weapon and a mask in my hand and heard someone yelling at me to put the mask on Harvey and take him upstairs. I was so lost I needed someone to tell me what to do.
I felt my way across the floor to Harvey and fit the mask over his face. I felt for Kraft where I thought he had been. I couldn’t find him, so I went back to Harvey. Without bothering to cut him loose, I pulled his arms over my head. With my back to him, I started to lift. My thigh muscles screamed, my hip felt as if it might pop right out of its socket, but I kept pressing and managed to stand up with him draped over my back. I staggered to where I thought the stairs might be, one hand in front, feeling my way. Halfway up the stairs, my foot caught on something. A body. It was either Red or Thorne. Two down. At least one left upstairs. I leaned one shoulder into the wall and pushed my way up, one step at a time. My hand finally reached the door. I pushed on it, and we fell through the doorway to the relief on the other side.
The two of us lay there for a few seconds. I knew we weren’t alone in that house, but I couldn’t move. Except for my ears, every orifice in my head was leaking. My eyes were tearing, my nose was running, I was drooling and coughing. I pulled myself up, grabbed Harvey, and dragged him to a kitchen chair. Then I went straight to the sink, turned on the water, and splashed my face with handful after handful. I slid down to the floor and sat with my back against the cabinet, half hacking and half crying. If I’d had a third half, it would have been dying.
It was the voices from the other room that got me moving. I pulled myself to my feet. The pistol was still in my waistband. The knife I’d used in the basement was nowhere to be found. I used kitchen cutlery to free Harvey’s hands and feet.
“Should I take the mask off?”
He nodded, so I did. I got him a damp dish towel and told him to wipe his face, then weaved my way back into the living room to see what was going on.
Kraft was on the couch, hands and feet still tied. He looked like a big cat with his face in a throw pillow, trying, no doubt, to keep his eyes from dripping out of his head.
Our anonymous rescuer was standing over Thorne, who was unconscious in a heap on the floor.
“Is he dead?”
He shook his head.
I raised the weapon and took aim. “Put your hands up and turn around.”
He didn’t say anything, but then he had a gas mask on.
“Do it.”
He did. I stepped forward and took the semiautomatic sticking out of his waistband. I popped out the mag, and it dropped to the floor. I tossed the empty pistol onto a chair. I searched him and took away everything he had scavenged off Tatiana’s body and threw it onto the chair, hoping he didn’t notice my clammy, sweaty palms. Then I took a step back. “Take off your mask.”
He did that and turned around. He seemed familiar, though there was no reason he would. I had never seen his picture. No one had.
“Mr. Hoffmeyer, I presume?”
38
IT WAS BEGINNING TO DAWN ON ME THAT BLAND WAS THE look of choice for spies, and Stephen Hoffmeyer, or whatever his name was, was no exception. He had on a white open-collared shirt, tan pants, and a well-used black leather jacket. Everything else about him was average. Sandy hair, blue eyes, average build. I didn’t know if I could pick him out of a lineup, and I was looking right at him. He did have a nice tan.
“Stay cool,” he said. “I didn’t come here to do harm.”
“What did you come here to do?”
“You have something I need. I have something you need. I came to do business.”
“Take off your jacket.”
He shrugged the leather jacket from his shoulders and let it slide down his arms. In one smooth move, he caught it in his right hand and offered it to me.
“Drop it on the floor, get down on your knees, and put your hands back on your head.”
Harvey appeared in the doorway. He had made his way down the hall, using the kitchen chair as a walker.
“What is this?” He looked, as I probably did, as if he’d been weeping for a week. “What is happening? Who is this man?”
“This is Hoffmeyer.”
“How do you know?” With one arm, I helped him to his wheelchair.
“It’s the only person it could be. Isn’t that right, Kraft?”
Kraft didn’t bother to answer. He had managed to get himself to a sitting position. I had no reason to untie him. For the moment, I had enough balls in the air.
“Check this.” I picked up Hoffmeyer’s jacket and laid it across Harvey’s lap. Hoffmeyer didn’t move, but something told me he was humoring me, letting me keep him under control. I stepped back and positioned myself so I could watch both him and the doorway.
Harvey pulled a long, flat wallet from the pile of leather and opened it. Without his glasses, he had to hold it at arm’s length to head it. “Joseph Hildebrandt of Tucson, Arizona.”
“Where did you come from?” I asked him. “Don’t say Arizona.”
“Check my bag.” He nodded to a black gym bag on the floor near the door.
I went over and got it and put it on Harvey’s lap. “Take a look.”
“What am I looking for?”