Dead Simple (23 page)
Authors: Jon Land
B
laine, Liz, and Johnny Wareagle had flown to a small airport outside Harrisburg and then picked up the trail by car. They had left Sal Belamo back at the farm, on the chance that Maxwell Rentz would come looking for revenge.
laine, Liz, and Johnny Wareagle had flown to a small airport outside Harrisburg and then picked up the trail by car. They had left Sal Belamo back at the farm, on the chance that Maxwell Rentz would come looking for revenge.
After obtaining Red Dog’s intended route from Hank Belgrade, Blaine had approximated the most likely places where the tanker could have taken a wrong turn and matched them up with the map provided by Maxwell Rentz of William Henry Stratton’s planned trek through Pennsylvania. He then used an extremely detailed geological map of the region to narrow the search further by pinpointing old coal-mining veins large enough to accommodate a massive tanker and a Civil War heavy convoy.
One way or another, Buck Torrey must have done pretty much the same thing before he set out after the lost gold. Then, like Stratton and the Devil’s Brew, Buck had disappeared. Find them, Blaine hoped, and he would find Buck.
But it wasn’t going to be easy. The Valley and Ridge region of central Pennsylvania was unusually rugged land, dominated by lazy hills that had been stripped of their minerals. This entire piece of the world looked as though it was dying a slow, lingering death. The farther west they searched, the uglier and meaner the land became, marked by the occasional town and the dry, pockmarked surface of a landscape that might have been a foreign planet.
They had been back and forth across this area in vain, and Blaine was starting to figure all his efforts were going for naught, when Johnny Wareagle leaned forward suddenly.
“Up ahead on the right, Blainey,” Johnny said. “Something’s going on.”
E
ven with the tow truck in their possession and in place, it had taken Jack Tyrell and the others several hours to clear the opening and dig the tanker out enough so it could be winched from the mine. As planned, Earl Yost had kept one of the troopers alive to issue regular reports, until he tried to escape and Weeb Yost shot him. Tyrell feared more troopers would soon be dispatched and knew he had to prepare for that eventuality.
ven with the tow truck in their possession and in place, it had taken Jack Tyrell and the others several hours to clear the opening and dig the tanker out enough so it could be winched from the mine. As planned, Earl Yost had kept one of the troopers alive to issue regular reports, until he tried to escape and Weeb Yost shot him. Tyrell feared more troopers would soon be dispatched and knew he had to prepare for that eventuality.
The fact that the dead troopers were all big men had provided the germ of the idea. He, Othell, and the twins put on the dead troopers’ uniforms, while Lem Trumble squeezed his huge frame into the tow truck driver’s overalls. The blood from Weeb Yost’s wounded shoulder kept soaking through his uniform top, and Tyrell solved this by having him wear a jacket over it, which also concealed his sling. Dressed that way now, they would seem like public servants doing no more than their jobs. Tyrell even had the two cruisers that hadn’t been shot up too badly parked just down the hill to add to the illusion, hoping anyone who passed by wouldn’t notice the bullet holes.
Just before noon, Jack Tyrell walked through the freshly cleared opening with the winch cable in hand and attached it to the tanker’s chassis.
“Start the winch,” he yelled up to Othell Vance.
“You better come up here, Jackie,” Othell replied at once.
“I will. Soon as I make sure the line’s secure.”
“Better come up now.”
B
laine drove down a narrow curving road cut out from the surrounding hillsides, pockmarked by the coal mining of years past.
laine drove down a narrow curving road cut out from the surrounding hillsides, pockmarked by the coal mining of years past.
“What are they doing here?” Liz asked, when the state troopers came clearly into view. They were tending to a tow truck parked on a sloped ridge that was inaccessible to anything but a four-wheel-drive vehicle.
“The better question is why did they bring a winch with them?” Blaine followed, meeting Johnny Wareagle’s stare.
He pulled their car to a halt between the two police cruisers, had barely exited the car just ahead of Liz when a black trooper approached them from the ridge.
“I help you folks?” he asked, his feet kicking up clouds of dust as he slid down the last stretch of the way on his heels.
“I think we’re lost,” Blaine said, faking a worried expression and a lumbering gait. The way he had moved before Buck Torrey worked his magic.
“You’re somewhere you don’t want to be, mister.”
“I’ll say,” Blaine agreed, clumsily unfolding a map as he extended it toward the trooper. “Last I knew, we were here.”
The trooper had just started to lean forward when Blaine jabbed the pistol into his gut.
“Cops don’t wear work boots,” he noted, eyes half on the ridge, where he saw two other pairs of eyes, glaring down out of the sun. “And those chips in that cruiser’s windshield came from bullets, not road debris. Why don’t we walk up the hill? Talk about who you boys really are. Take it easy and act like you’re leading us, or I’ll shoot you right here.” He kept hold of the map to obscure his drawn gun, as they started up toward the ridge.
“This is about to become the worst day of your lives,” the trooper said, glancing at Liz and Johnny Wareagle.
“We’ll see,” Blaine said, and prodded him forward.
T
wo more men dressed as troopers were waiting when Blaine reached the top of the ridge. Liz and Johnny instinctively moved to either side of him and his prisoner. The tow truck had been backed up close to a mouthshaped opening in the earth, its winch cable having already been swallowed, attached to something out of view.
wo more men dressed as troopers were waiting when Blaine reached the top of the ridge. Liz and Johnny instinctively moved to either side of him and his prisoner. The tow truck had been backed up close to a mouthshaped opening in the earth, its winch cable having already been swallowed, attached to something out of view.
One of the troopers, wearing a hat that sat unevenly atop his head, faked a smile and narrowed his eyes.
“Something wrong, friend?”
McCracken let him see the gun pressed into Othell Vance’s ribs. “You don’t make a very convincing cop.”
“Shit, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in the longest time.” Jack Tyrell swept the hat from his head and let his hair fall back to his shoulders. “I never liked pigs anyway.”
Their eyes met for the first time, and Blaine felt his pulse quicken. He remembered the hate and madness in those eyes all too well. The man before him had appeared bald then, an excellent disguise that might have worked if Blaine hadn’t been keeping a mental image of his eyes for what felt like a lifetime now.
“Wait a minute,” the man in front of McCracken said, taking a single step forward. He stopped and rotated his right hand before him, inspecting the jagged scar that started at the back of his hand and extended through his palm. Then he fixed his gaze on Blaine again. His mad eyes seemed to glisten as he smiled. “Hey, long time no see.”
“Not long enough,” Blaine said to the man who had taken over the Washington Monument seven months earlier.
“
I
got to hand it to you,” said Jack Tyrell, “the way you blasted your way inside the Monument. I thought about that, you know. I just didn’t think anybody besides me was crazy enough to try it.”
I
got to hand it to you,” said Jack Tyrell, “the way you blasted your way inside the Monument. I thought about that, you know. I just didn’t think anybody besides me was crazy enough to try it.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Anyway, I owe you a favor.”
“Really?”
“See, back in Washington I was ready to end things. Push that button and say hello to eternity.”
“More like hell …”
“But thanks to you, I didn’t. Without you being around then, I wouldn’t be able to set things right now. That puts me in your debt, friend, which is why I’m going to let you go.”
“How’s your hand?”
“Not what it used to be.”
“Little is.”
Jack Tyrell smoothed out the ground before him with his work boot. “I guess you’re not leaving.”
“Nope.”
“You come here for me?”
Blaine shook his head. “You’re just a bonus.”
“So how you wanna play this?”
“Let’s start with you keeping your hands where I can see them,” Blaine
said, rotating his gaze from the speaker to the man on his right, who looked like an albino. “How many others, Indian?” he asked Johnny.
said, rotating his gaze from the speaker to the man on his right, who looked like an albino. “How many others, Indian?” he asked Johnny.
“Two,” Wareagle responded, scrutiny of the ground in search of footsteps complete, his own gun in plain view as well now.
Tyrell laughed, slapped his thigh. “Now I’ve fucking seen everything … . . Come on, what do you say? We walked away even before.”
“I didn’t walk away.”
“You can today.”
“Not until I finish what I started.”
Tyrell laughed again. “Short of that, you got any idea how to work out what we got here?”
“Have the other two men with you show themselves.” And Blaine edged a little closer to the opening where the winch had been lowered, dragging Othell Vance with him.
“Since you didn’t come here after me, I’m thinking maybe you’re here for the same reason I am,” said Tyrell.
“I’m looking for someone else.”
“Maybe I seen him.”
“Big guy. Crew cut. Belly like he’s seen his share of beers.”
Tyrell nodded very slowly. “Yeah, I seen him.” He cocked his gaze toward the opening. “Fucking pain in the ass is down there.”
Blaine turned toward Liz, relieved that she hadn’t moved. “Call him up here.”
“Like to, but he’s not exactly in a position to listen. He’s, like, dead.”
“You kill him?” Blaine asked, feeling his heart begin to hammer.
“Uh-huh. Didn’t have a choice.”
Blaine stole a glance at Liz, hoping she wouldn’t react rashly before he and Johnny were ready. But she looked almost eerily calm, which made him fear her next move even more.
“You got one now,” Blaine told the long-haired man.
“You arresting us?”
“I look like a cop?”
“No more than I do.”
“There’s your answer.”
“Question,” Jack Tyrell followed, “is where we go from here.”
Blaine yanked Othell Vance in a bit closer. Just to his right, Liz held her pistol raised and ready, while Johnny’s looked like a toy in his hand as he continuously swept the ridge, waiting for either of the other two men to appear.
“That’s up to you at this point,” Blaine told him.
“Yeah,” said Jack Tyrell. “I guess you’re right.”
Blaine watched as the man whipped a nine-millimeter pistol from behind his back and dropped to the ground in a roll that kicked up a stubborn dust cloud. The cloud hampered even Johnny’s vision as he opened fire
on the albino, who ducked behind the cover of a rock slope. Blaine let go of his hostage and started shooting, angling himself toward Liz after a stray bullet clanged off her gun and stripped it from her grasp. She dropped to the ground and crawled for the pistol. But Blaine could see her path would take her square into the line of fire coming from the tow truck now.
on the albino, who ducked behind the cover of a rock slope. Blaine let go of his hostage and started shooting, angling himself toward Liz after a stray bullet clanged off her gun and stripped it from her grasp. She dropped to the ground and crawled for the pistol. But Blaine could see her path would take her square into the line of fire coming from the tow truck now.
Blaine dove atop her, firing through the open windows of the tow truck at a gunman on its far side. Then he let loose a barrage under the tow truck’s cab. He heard a loud grunt, followed by the thud of something heavy falling to the ground. The black man dressed as a state trooper scurried away, leaving Blaine to focus his aim on the long-haired man. But a second albino lunged into his field of vision and began blasting away with a submachine gun. The bullets, stitching a wild path through the air, were enough to provide cover for the long-haired man’s dash to cover behind a nearby rock formation.
Johnny had just gotten a bead on him when a huge man, with a face like raw meat, opened up with a shotgun as fast as he could chamber the shells. The man’s ankle, bloodied from Blaine’s bullet, kept him from moving fast and enabled Wareagle to dive beneath the ridgeline, small plumes of earth coughed up in his wake.
The second albino’s fire, meanwhile, continued to pin Blaine down, bullets chewing up the earth around him, until Liz separated herself and groped about for her pistol. She grabbed and fired it in the same motion, chasing the gunman back.
There was a sudden blur of motion as Johnny Wareagle dashed between her and the gunmen, clacking off shot after shot, seeming to twist into the kicked-up clouds of dust to confuse their aim. Blaine seized the opportunity to dart out with Liz to the far side of the tow truck for cover.
“Who are they?” she posed, bullets chiming off the truck’s frame.
“The leader’s someone I was hoping to meet up with again,” Blaine muttered, eyeing the winch cable, which disappeared down into the mine. He turned his gaze back to the truck and its twin tires mounted at the rear, then glanced at Liz, who had just snapped a fresh clip into her pistol.
“It looks like you got your wish,” she said.
B
laine climbed into the cab, keeping low, thankful to see the keys waiting in the ignition. He guessed that whatever the winch was attached to down in the cavern must be heavy, heavy enough anyway to keep the truck from tearing forward if left in low gear.
laine climbed into the cab, keeping low, thankful to see the keys waiting in the ignition. He guessed that whatever the winch was attached to down in the cavern must be heavy, heavy enough anyway to keep the truck from tearing forward if left in low gear.
Blaine found a mallet under the driver’s seat and wedged it down against the accelerator, then turned the key. The engine raced instantly, grinding, even before he switched the truck into gear. The truck lurched but held fast, the double rear tires spinning madly, a heavy cloud of debris kicked behind them from the dusty, dried-out gravel.
McCracken snaked quickly out from the cab and joined Liz, who was
firing his gun now, her own exhausted. He motioned for her to follow him downhill, toward the mouth of the cavern. They sprinted together into the cloud of dirt and stone obscuring their flight, then dropped down an elevated, leveled grade into the mine.
firing his gun now, her own exhausted. He motioned for her to follow him downhill, toward the mouth of the cavern. They sprinted together into the cloud of dirt and stone obscuring their flight, then dropped down an elevated, leveled grade into the mine.
The two had barely regained their feet when Johnny Wareagle slid down after them.
“Jesus Christ,” Blaine muttered, wide-eyed as his gaze fell on a sleek tanker truck that had been dug out of the ground.
“What is it?” Liz wondered.
“Devil’s Brew,” was all he had a chance to reply before gunfire poured down after them.
Wareagle jerked open the passenger door of the tanker. The decomposing body of a soldier, still in uniform, dropped toward him, and Johnny pushed it to one side out of their way, noting the anomalous absence of a corpse behind the wheel.
“Under the seat!” Blaine called to him.
Johnny had already located the pair of M-16s held tightly in slots in the cab, a standard fixture on all military transports.
“Go, Blainey!”
Wareagle drew out both rifles and fell in behind Blaine and Liz as they charged away from the cavern entrance. The light from the opening vanished quickly, leaving them with only the key-chain flashlights both Blaine and Johnny were never without. Johnny walked backwards, keeping his eyes—and the M-16s—trained on the far end of the cavern, on the chance that any of the gunmen might pursue them.
They found the bodies of what must have been the real state troopers and the tow truck driver a little farther down. Blaine ran his flashlight about the cavern, recognizing it as an old abandoned coal mine from the handcart tracks built into the floor and the way the walls had been shored up with wood. An inviting place to take refuge from a storm, just as he had told Hank Belgrade.
He had just aimed his light into the darkness before him, wondering how large this particular mine might be, when something grabbed hold of his ankle. McCracken swung his light and gun together, the beam catching a half-mad face stretched into a grin.
“’Bout time you showed up,” said Buck Torrey.
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