Charity's Passion (25 page)

Hours go by uneasily, and finally Justin's phone buzzes in his pocket.

"Garrett," he says so we'll all know that it's important.

They don't talk long, seconds really. When he hangs up and slides the phone back into his pocket he looks more alive and alert.

"A woman just showed up at the mailbox. She wiped off the chalk and made a call from her cell," Justin tells us.

This is it, exactly what we were looking for. Everyone gets ready now and the whole room is pumped full of new energy.

Lena can tell that I'm about to bubble over with furious anticipation. "That feeling you have right now, that emotion, you need to harness it and hold on to it. Don't let it fade."

I don't understand. "Why would it fade?"

"Marker's no fool; this isn't his first time," she says. "He'll be very patient. He knows Franco has something for him, something he wants and needs badly, but he also knows Franco is only doing this for his little girl. Marker will sniff the air first."

Malcolm speaks up now, "When he does leave the theater, we don't move."

This is all so hard to comprehend. There's a little girl's life at stake.

Malcolm continues, "We can't move in until we have confirmation that he's with Franco."

What? Why?
"Why?"

"Because he is a vengeful monster," Justin says in a voice that permeated with contempt. "He doesn't trust Franco. He will wait someplace nearby where he can see if anyone makes a move on the girl. If he sees that—she's dead. That theater is going to be wired, and it's not safe for anyone especially Emma."

I don't know how I didn't see that.

"So we don't go in until we confirm Marker is with Franco; it's the safest thing for Emma. When we do go in all eyes need to be open. We don't know if he's recruited help or set some traps and we'll have to disable anything we see as soon as we see it. If Franco fucks up, I don't want to be a fish in a barrel."

We wait.

My feet are tapping the floor like staccato gun fire. Emma's eyes keep floating in my mind to keep my fire burning. I don't care if I have to wait all night—eventually I'm getting in there.

Justin is impressing me. I know him; this has pissed him off beyond words. He wants to rip through the walls with his bare hands and yank Marker's tongue out through his throat, but he's keeping himself under control nicely.

"Here we go!" One of the other soldiers shouts. His face is lit up by the monitor.

We crowd around to see for ourselves. One person has emerged from the blackened doors, locking them behind himself.

There is a stiffness to him, an uneasiness that you can read in his body language. He looks both ways up and down the street, suspecting everyone, and then walks away.

Holy shit, this isn't easy! This is the moment we've wanted for months. We should be rushing him right now and tossing him into the back of a van as we beat the shit out of him. It's right here, happening right now, and we have to let him go.

Emma needs us to let him go.

But if we lose him because this, our whole trip across the world will have been for nothing. He won't come back here again. Marker will be back in the wind, and Justin and I will have no end to our worry.

I feel like tearing my hair out.

Another hour passes with me doing laps around the room, stopping only to stare out through the window at the dark theater. The building looks desperate now, not understanding why we aren't coming to help.

Finally Justin's phone buzzes again. He doesn't have to tell us it's Garrett this time; his eyes tell us all we need to know.

He hangs up as quickly as he'd answered. "We're a go!" He barks.

Our little room is suddenly alive. Weapons are quickly checked for the last time, ear pieces are stuffed in and tested as we move for the exit in one fluid motion.

No one speaks after the sound check. There's no need—we all know our parts.

One of our men stays on duty at the monitors; the rest of us go out to the alley then begin to slip out into the street like normal people. Malcolm crosses the street first, finding a nice place to loiter by the doors and wait for our signal.

"Clear," Justin says low but firm.

Across the street, Malcolm waves a short flat wand around the doors. It detects even the lowest electrical voltage, searching for an alarm.

"It's armed," He says flatly.

We knew it would be, but at least it's not connected to any company, we're sure of that. That means it will be a local system; we're only concerned if it has internet capability, where it could alert out via email or text to Marker when it's tripped.

"Cut internet," Justin orders.

Our man inside is on that. Malcolm goes back to his inconspicuous corner by the door. When we get the word, Malcolm will pick the lock as we cross the street, hopefully timing it to join up with him just as he gets it open and we can all vanish inside.

Should it be taking this long?

People pass by us in small groups that seem to be growing. I'm certain there are more cars now as well.

"The internet is down." That effectively disarms the doors.

No one moves, maybe they don't even breathe. That wasn't our signal, not yet. Justin is watching the street traffic and waiting for a break. The anxiety is wafting around us like an L.A. smog.

What the fuck now?

A black BMW stopped directly in front of us. They really need to move before I whip out my Sig and tap it on their window to give them the hint.

Two people inside, a man and woman, are arguing back and forth, hands flailing.

My insecurity is screaming at me that Marker is going to finish up with Franco while we're standing out here like stiff dicks at a nude beach.

"Patience everyone," Jason says. "They're almost done."

I don't know how he knows that, but seconds later the car moves on. And fucking hallelujah, there's no one on the walk for at least forty yards.

"Go!" Justin snaps quickly.

Lena and the other agent step off the curb about ten yards from Justin and I. Malcolm has slid back in front of the doors, working on the lock.

I'm practically dragging Justin by his hand, and Malcolm still manages to finish before we get to him. He's like lightening with a lock pick.

He waits for us all to get there before pushing the door open and stepping in ahead of us. As each of us moves inside the dark space we are taking out our weapons and assuming defensive stances around the lobby.

So far it's silent and ominous. The empty ticket both makes my skin crawl.

It bothers me that I don't hear Emma. It shouldn't, after days of trying she would have given up crying for help, but I'm desperate for a sign that she's okay. Anything will do; even a painful moan would be better than the emptiness of our own shuffling feet.

Justin assigns his man to cover us from here while the rest of us cross the lobby toward several sets of beautiful, wood swinging doors.

Each of us grabs a handle. "On three," Justin commands. "One. Two. Three!"

We all pull our doors open and it's like a great burst of sound from a team of highly unskilled violinists. It echoes endlessly around the vast space, bouncing off the walls and the high ceiling.

Nothing moves for a moment, not us and not anything else. About the time the hair on my neck is settling back down, Justin is signaling us forward.

We step into the carpeted room silently. Within six feet are the backs of the first of many rows of seats that extend out into the darkness. The stage is washed in shadows that appear to move when you stare at them for too long.

"Turn on your flashlights," Justin says. "There's a lot of dark corners. Keep your eyes open for tripwires."

Four beams of light spread down the aisles. We're careful to hold them out and away from our bodies to reduce the chance of getting hit if someone shoots at the light, a terrifying realization for me right now.

Malcolm and Lena take separate isles down toward the stage, but Justin keeps me with him, not taking any risks he doesn't have to. We all know I won't be able to spot a tripwire; I don't have the eyes for that yet.

I'm glad to be so close to him anyway.

No one has kept up with the wooden stage floor, the boards are dull and warped. Other than that it's empty and we haven't come across any traps from Marker.

What if she's not here? What if we got it wrong?

Marker may be using the space, but that doesn't mean this is where he has Emma. My heart stumbles and stutters. I can't take so many ups and downs.

Justin motions Malcolm and Lena to go back stage. I climb up to the stage top and listen to the echo of my footsteps, hoping to provide some cover for the others if needed.

The old curtains are still hanging in furrows off to the sides with long tunnels of darkness between them. Justin and I watch the other two disappear into the back, the hungry shadows swallowing them whole.

If I wasn't watching them, I might have seen the curtains move behind me. Maybe I would have moved away before they opened like the black robe of Scrooge's ghost of Christmas' to come.

But I was watching them and with the tiniest breath of air I am consumed by the darkness between the curtains. For the second time in my life I'm am grabbed around my throat from behind, my feet pulled clear off the floor.

Someone has grabbed me and all I can see is the back of Justin as I vanish between curtains into the long darkness between them. By the time I try to scream—I'm gone.

"Charity?" Justin voice sounds serious, and so far away.

I can't answer.

"CHARITY!"

His dim flashlight doesn't reach back this far, but I remember that I'm holding one too. I whip it from side to side down the row of curtains, praying Justin sees it before it's too late.

My attempts to scream again are muffled to nasal, throat-clogged moans that hurt like a mother fucker, but they should be enough for Justin to understand what's happening.

Justin's light erupts into the space in front of us just as we burst out of the other end of the curtains into a dark prep area of the stage. In the brightness of my own flashlight I see a hand out in front of me with a gun poised for Justin to emerge in its sights.

I need to warn him.

I have to save him.

Things Justin has taught me take over. I tighten my fist around my flashlight and I whip that arm that over my head until the flashlight finds something to hit—hard!

"FUCK!" He screams in utter pain.

It was solid enough of a hit to break the flashlight and cloak to us in darkness again, but it also made his arm release me. There are only milliseconds to do anything.

"Gun!" It was the quickest word that I could get out to warn Justin.

Justin's flashlight is suddenly flipping through the air at us from the curtains and I know instantly what's happening. I drop clear to the floor to get out of the way the best that I can.

Hurt or not, the man above me sees the flashlight coming and fires off a shot at it.

That's a waste of fucking time. Justin isn't anywhere near the light, but he won't return fire, not without knowing where I am.

A loud
POP
goes off above me, but it isn't another gunshot—this he's more of a bone-cracking nastiness followed by a scream that is definitely not Justin.

Somewhere on the floor not far away I hear the distinct metal clank of a gun bouncing and sliding on the wooden stage.

Justin's flashlight has also crashed to the floor, and it's spinning in quick, dizzying little circles. It makes what happens next more macabre then it needs to be.

For a moment we are glowing in the brightness. I'm sprawled on the floor looking up at them and Justin already has this man half way over his head. Then the darkness returns as the flashlight spins.

In the blackness I hear a thump loud enough to bounce me off the floor. There's a grunt of excruciating pain and something wet splattering my face that could be blood, spit or sweat, I can't tell and I don't think I want to know.

The light hits us again and I'm starting to sit up. The man is on his back not far from me at all. Both of his hands are up defensively even though he didn't know what to defend against. Justin is crouched over him, his arm cocked and flying.

The light moves on.

Thump!

It was loud and hard. Justin's fist crushed his face in the blackness, cracking the back of his head into the stage.

There's another grunt and he begins to beg, "Stop! Please!

Thump!

Here's the light again. The man's hands are down. He's conscious, but not able to defend himself any longer. That only seems to be pissing Justin off more. He wants the fight.

This man put his hands on me. The last man that did that was never seen again after Justin got to him. Nothing less is going to happen here.

The light swirls off in the other direction again and I hear Justin's knife pulling from its sheath with a terrifying
zing
that seems to go on for hours.