Nightstalkers (37 page)

Forrenzo didn’t leave his back door open. Mac pulled out his set of picks and tossed the tumblers. This took longer than usual as Forrenzo didn’t go cheap in the lock department.

“We’re in,” Mac said, opening the heavy steel door.

And promptly got slammed back as a burst of automatic fire hit him in the chest, pounding into his body armor. Kirk dove to the floor, firing over Mac’s falling body.

Nada heard the muffled sound of automatic fire and knew the charade was over. He raced to the house where Scout and Emily waited, handing weapons out as they ran into the garage, piling into the SUVs as the doors opened. They peeled out into the street and over to the golf course, tires tearing up the perfectly manicured grass. As Scout had said, a gaping dark hole beckoned in the sand trap, a trap door and a pile of sand to the side.

Nada led the way, the others following.

They got to the end of the tunnel where Mac was sitting with his back against the wall and Kirk was framed in the doorway, weapon at the ready.

“What happened?” Moms demanded.

“Mac took a couple of rounds to the chest. Nothing got through the armor, but he’s pretty beat up.” He jerked a thumb into the basement of the house. “Forrenzo had an AK-47 rigged to fire if the door was opened from the outside. I blew it apart.”

Doc was kneeling next to Mac, peeling open his body armor. Ugly welts were already forming where the rounds had impacted. Mac ignored Doc and struggled to his feet.

“Let’s blow this son-of-a-bitch up,” Mac said. “My experience is that there shouldn’t be any more booby traps inside the house. People don’t like to trip over something in the middle of the night in their own house and kill themselves.”

Moms issued orders. “Kirk, stay with Mac. You too, Doc. The rest, clear the house, make sure we’re not taking any people with the house and Firefly. Watch out for Forrenzo if he’s still alive and in here. He’ll be armed and won’t hesitate to shoot.”

They moved into the basement. A concrete wall was in one corner with a large vault door on it. Forrenzo’s stash of who knew what instruments of death. Roland looked longingly at it, but stayed on task.

Mac and Kirk moved in, headed for the first support column as Roland took point up the stairs, Nada, Eagle, and Moms following. They reached the door to the main level. Nada pointed at himself and indicated number one, then at Roland for number two.

Nada crouched down as Roland kicked open the door. They went in, Nada low and Roland, with one hand on Nada’s shoulder, high. They quartered the room, a classic room-clearing technique as taught in the Killing House. Moms and Eagle followed, over-watch, scanning up and then hard to the sides.

In the basement, Mac was staring at a steel bracing going up to a crossbeam, slightly puzzled, explosive charge in hand.

“What’s wrong?” Kirk asked.

“It’s not right,” Mac said. He began tapping on the column, ear pressed up against the side.

Above them, first floor cleared, they made it to the second floor with no sign of Forrenzo or anyone else.

“Why isn’t the Firefly attacking us?” Nada asked as the paused in the wide hallway. The interior of the house was full of paintings, sculptures, and other items the newly rich acquired to prove to themselves and others they were rich. Or else they liked art.

“We’re inside the security system,” Moms said. “The Firefly has got to be in it, not in the actual house. Like Mac said, security is oriented outward, not inward.”

In the basement, Kirk pulled out his knife and scraped away at the side of the pillar. “Doc, get out of here.” He keyed his radio. “Moms, withdraw, withdraw, withdraw. Confirm? Over.”

There was nothing but static. He looked up and saw that the steel sheathing covered the insulation. Forrenzo had shielded the room to prevent imaging from penetrating and also for giving him a tempest-proof area to work: secure from listening devices and taps.

Mac’s digging yielded what he feared. A series of wires. “Kirk, go upstairs and get everyone. ASAP. They need to get down here and get the hell out.”

As Doc hurried out the tunnel, Kirk took the stairs three at a time, ignoring the shooting pain from his broken ribs. He looked about the first level as he keyed his radio. “Withdraw, withdraw!” he called out over the radio.

“Withdrawing,” Moms’s voice said, and the thunder of boots running reverberated through the house. The team came down the stairs in a hurry, but orderly.

Kirk was staring at a bronze of a Native American on a rearing horse, a lance in one hand.

“Crazy Horse,” Roland said as he ran by.

Kirk fell into the rear and they made it into the basement. Moms waved for everyone to hit the tunnel and came up to Kirk.

“You got all the explosives in place and wired it already?”

Mac didn’t turn from what he was doing, but briefly waved his wiring pliers at his rucksack, which still bulged with explosives. “The house is already wired. Forrenzo wasn’t going to leave any evidence if he had to bolt out of here. I’m amazed the Firefly didn’t blow it down on top of us. Still could. Go!”

Moms ran to the tunnel door. She paused, looking over her shoulder at Mac hard at work, then followed the rest of the team. She stumbled out into darkness, where the team had gathered in the sand trap.

“What’s going on?” Nada asked.

“The house is—” Moms began, and then there was a series of muffled concussions followed by a rumbling sound.

Looking back, the entire Forrenzo house shivered, then began crumbling inward, roof first, then outer walls.

“Mac!” Roland ran back into the tunnel.

“Roland, stop!” Moms called out, but it was too late.

A blast of dust and debris came jetting out of the tunnel a few seconds later.

Thirty seconds later a dust-covered Roland came out, once more carrying a protesting Mac in his arms.

Moms breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The last of Forrenzo’s house crumpled inward.

Nada was watching carefully, along with Eagle.

“There!” Nada pointed. A Firefly lifted out of the rubble and then slowly dissipated.

In the lab, Burns and the four Ivars paused. “They’ll be on their way soon.”

The Ivars got back on task.

Burns checked his watch. The original Ivar had been gone too long. The kid was too terrified to not follow orders.

Which meant something had happened to him.

Burns went to the door and opened it. He stepped into the dark hallway, an emergency exit sign at the far end the only source of light.

He pulled out his cell phone and hit quick dial.

It was answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

“Mister Forrenzo. Please come to the University of North Carolina. The physics research building. Call me when you arrive outside. I will meet you.”

“I want—” the Russian began to protest, but Burns hit the off button. He opened the steel door and laid his cell on the ground, wedging it open so it could still get a signal.

“Faster!” Burns yelled.

Roland laid Mac down, and Doc got to checking his latest wounds, which mostly seemed to be his old ones aggravated and some scrapes and bruises from being blown down by the blast in the tunnel. And the bruises from the AK rounds.

“We did it,” Roland said. “We got ’em all.”

Mac lifted his head. “He had the entire basement lined with incendiaries. Whatever was in that vault will be nothing but melted scrap.”

There was a muffled explosion. “Secondary ignition,” Mac said. “It’s going to burn now.”

“Looks like Fireflies aren’t suicide bombers,” Nada said. “It could have gotten all of us in there if it had set off the charges.”

Two figures appeared out of the darkness: Scout and Emily.

“I told you to stay at the house,” Moms said, but there was no disapproval in her voice.

“Did you get it?” Scout asked.

“We got it,” Nada said.

A fire chief’s Blazer came roaring up and Cleaner got out on his prosthetics. “Hell of a gas explosion,” he said. He looked them over. “Need medevac?”

“I think we’re good for now,” Moms said.

Cleaner looked dubious, but got back into the Blazer and headed for the fire.

Emily knelt next to Mac. “Are you all right?”

“Just banged up a bit,” Mac said, struggling to a sitting position. “I could use a cold one.”

“I think we all could,” Moms said.

Emily went to her cart and opened the cooler and passed out beers—and a soda to Scout.

Mac lifted the beer, wincing as he did so. “To the Nightstalkers.” He tilted it toward Scout and Emily. “And Assets.”

Everyone lifted their drinks to the toast. Except Kirk. He was staring at the house, shaking his head. An intense blaze was now roaring straight up.

“What’s wrong?” Moms asked Kirk.

“Crazy Horse,” Kirk said.

“That was a nice bronze,” Roland agreed. “And I bet he had some good stuff in that arms room.”

Kirk turned from the house and looked at everyone. “We’ve been chasing Crazy Horse.”

Scout was the first to get it. “Fetterman. He chased the wrong thing. The real battle is somewhere else.”

“But—” Nada began, but then Kirk held up his hand with the PRT on the wrist and pressed a button. Ms. Jones’s voice came over the net.

“Support got into Doctor Winslow’s phone. Just before the Rift opened he was communicating with a student of his named Ivar. He was directing Ivar to place dampers on a computer at his lab. A computer that had a copy of the Rift program on it.”