No Cry For Help (22 page)

CHAPTER 59

They travelled in Crow’s vehicle, a white Yukon Hybrid borrowed from Cheveyo.

Ronson had been given thirty seconds to wash and change clothes before his hands were tied behind his back and he was forcibly bundled into the vehicle. Crow chose to sit beside him in the middle row of seats, the business end of his shotgun pressed into the man’s side.

“If he tries to escape,” Crow explained to Wallace, “I’m angry enough about JoeJoe to pull the trigger. You might hesitate and that’s all the time a guy like this needs to fuck us both up.”

Wallace hadn’t argued.

From the driver’s seat, Wallace glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Ronson’s eye.

“What can we expect at Gallagher’s place?” he asked. “It sounds remote.”

“Yeah, the Sarge don’t like civilians much. Never has. He liked to say that if you weren’t following orders, specifically
his
orders, you were just in the way.”

“What about security?”

Ronson attempted to shrug, but his bonds were so tight that he could barely move his shoulders. He wet his lips instead.

“He’s a paranoid son-of-a-bitch, always has been. But the only time I was ever invited to his new place was when he first started construction. He held a small beer-and-barbecue lunch to show off the view. Carly and Katie were there. Bone and Desmond. The only one missing was Shep and this was before . . . well . . . before he blew himself to fucking pieces. Poor bastard. Anyways, I didn’t see any electronics and Gallagher didn’t ask for my advice. If he wanted to secure the perimeter, I’m pretty sure he would have asked for my input.”

“What about weapons?” asked Crow.

Ronson grinned. “Oh, there’ll be weapons. Count on it. Gallagher always kept an arsenal.”

Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t we find weapons in your house?”

“Me and guns are over, man,” said Ronson. “Don’t get me wrong, I could probably still shoot the ball sack off a housefly if I needed to, but I’m just as happy to never hold steel again. Let me rot my chops in cyberspace. Less painful for all concerned.”

“What about this other soldier?” asked Crow. “The black one.”

Ronson rolled his tongue into his cheek and his eyes flickered across Crow’s face. “What did he do to your boy in Canada?”

Crow had trouble masking his anger. “Sliced his throat without blinking. He was also planning to gut me like a fish before we were interrupted.” His eyes locked on Ronson. “Just like your friends in the desert.”

Wallace flinched.

Ronson swallowed uneasily, but nodded as though he expected nothing less.

He said, “I’ve never seen anything like him. I’ve told you that Sergeant Gallagher can be mean, especially if he doesn’t like you or you go off task without permission, but Bone is a stone cold killer. Whenever we got in a tight spot, it was usually Bone who pulled us out.”

Ronson shook his head, remembering. “One time we were pinned down in a foxhole in the middle of fucking nowhere and that black ghost just up and disappeared. Then, before we knew it, the enemy starts screaming. Made the hair stand up on the back of our necks to hear it. By the time we scrambled out of that hole and reached their camp, every last one of them was dead. Bone was just squatting on the ground, picking his teeth with his knife and covered from head to toe in blood. He scares everybody except the Sarge.”

“We should kill him first, then,” said Crow.

Ronson snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“You think he’s unkillable?”

Ronson shook off the question. “I didn’t say that. He’s human, I think, but it’ll take more than you to do it.” He chuckled. “To put it in perspective. Sergeant Gallagher and I were being held by al Qaeda in a secure bunker in the middle of an Iraqi village. The situation was so FUBAR that the entire United States military had thrown up its hands. But you know what? Even when it looked hopeless, the Sarge kept saying over and over that Bone was coming. I mean, I figured he was just trying to give me some hope to keep me alive, but he really believed it. And when that door burst open, I thought I was dreaming. Bone, Desmond and Shep did what the most powerful army in the world was afraid to: Kicked major ass and said to hell with taking names.”

Ronson laughed on the brink of hysteria. “And what do you have?” He jerked his head in Wallace’s direction. “He needed a goddamn bus to kill a woman and child.”

Wallace’s face instantly flushed with anger and his hands gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned pure white.

“You son of a bitch,” Wallace growled. “I don’t know what this is about, but I didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t even read the goddamn story.”

THE BUS
groaned and tipped further over the edge of the Lions Gate bridge. A heavy bolt snapped and the bike carrier shuddered, making the car slip deeper into the abyss and straining its tentative hold to the breaking point.

The woman’s terrified gaze locked on Wallace.

“Save my daughter,” she pleaded. “Please.”

Wallace forced his eyes to look away and carefully pulled his crushed foot out of the tangle of twisted metal where his brake pedal used to be. His trousers were sliced open from the knee down, exposing flesh, bloody and raw. He could even see bone, white amidst the throbbing purple of torn muscle and yellow fat. But despite the alarming pain, the tibia hadn’t snapped.

Gritting his teeth, he unclipped his safety harness. Gravity pulled him hard against the oversized steering wheel, but the belts had done their job. His chest wasn’t crushed. He could breathe. He was alive.

Wallace turned to stare back at his passengers. They were crying, frightened, bruised and battered, but they were all alive and their injuries appeared minimal.

“Move to the back,” he ordered. “Open the rear exit door and help each other get out.”

Forty faces stared back at him. They were frozen. In shock. Nobody moved.

Wallace peered through the crowd, separating wheat from chaff until he spotted a young Indo-Canadian businessman near the back. The cut of his suit suggested he could be a junior manager, but the shaved head and stainless-steel earring said he hadn’t yet given up his identity for a company car.

Wallace pointed a finger at him and raised his voice. “You, sir. You’re in charge. Get that exit door opened and help these people out of the bus and onto the bridge. Help is on its way, but I need you to do it now.”

It took a second, but the young man quickly accepted the challenge and headed to the rear of the bus. He glanced at the instructions printed beside the red emergency handle and gave it a yank in the correct direction. The door swung open and, as if the air was suddenly filled with pure oxygen, the other passengers snapped awake and began to scramble towards escape.

“Don’t panic,” Wallace yelled after them. “Look out for each other and everyone will be okay.”

With his passengers safely departing out the rear, Wallace returned his attention to the front.

The bus’s massive windshield had shattered in the crash and been ripped away, leaving nothing but strips of flapping rubber to mar the view. Beyond the long hood and the dangling car, there was only dark sky and darker water.

Wallace fought his panic and tightened his focus. He locked in on the woman and child. They badly needed help and he was all they had.

“I’m coming,” he said. “Hold tight.”

Wallace inhaled deeply before climbing out of his seat and over the dashboard. A powerful wind whipped at his uniform as he lay on his stomach and slid headfirst out the broken windshield.

“I KNOW
it was an accident,” said Ronson, “but that doesn’t—”

Ronson’s words became trapped in his throat as Crow wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed. Ronson’s eyes bulged and his face molted from veiny red to deathly blue. Crow showed no signs of letting go.

“We still need him,” said Wallace, although his heart wasn’t fully vested in his words.

Crow continued for a few seconds longer before letting go.

The ex-Marine rocked forward, gasping for air, his chest wheezing.

“Fuck,” he cried. “You’ve got issues, man.”

“Don’t you get it?” Crow hissed. “Why do you think the city gave him a goddamn medal? Nobody died. He rescued both the girl and her mother just seconds before their car dropped into the sea. He’s a genuine A+ fucking hero.”

“That’s not possible,” said Ronson. He sat up straight again, his throat as scarlet as a baboon’s ass. “Gallagher told us
—”

“He lied,” said Wallace.

Ronson paled. “Why would he do that?”

Wallace stared straight ahead. His voice was low and cold. “That’s something we’ll be sure to ask.”

CHAPTER 60

In the kitchen, Alicia sat on one of the chairs and held her two boys close. She kissed their muddy cheeks and made comforting cooing noises in their ears. The older boy was shaken but awake; he trembled and mewled, while his younger brother sniffled and whimpered.

Gallagher was sickened by the sight. Weakness was a disease and children had to be taught at a young age how to stand alone, how to listen and obey without question. For these two, it was already too late.

Discipline hadn’t begun soon enough and irrational fears had been allowed to fester.

There are no monsters in the woods. Switch off the light and go to sleep.

If we want to eat, we kill. Animals aren’t pets.

Nightmares are for babies. You’re not a baby, Katie.

Gallagher shook his head, chasing noisy memories away.

He focused on Alicia. She refused to look at him.

Women were like that.

When a man is angry, he’ll never lower his gaze. But women liked to hide the knife until your back was turned and they were sure its point would stab deep.

A man had never wounded him so.

Alicia’s face was bruised; her lips bloody and swollen where his ring had cut her.

He wouldn’t apologize, but still he wished he hadn’t lashed out. He never wanted to hit. Never planned to choke or punch or kick.

He had marred her beauty, that pale skin and golden hair . . .
she was so much like his Carly
.

He had noticed the resemblance the first time he saw her. In that photo. The photo with him. The false hero.

He had only wanted to talk to her. To find a voice that wasn’t full of anger and fear. Someone who could see beneath his scarred and blistered skin to the place where his heart still beat.

Carly had stopped looking. Stopped trying to understand. She had told him to his face that she wished al Qaeda had finished the job. She became a traitor who deserted him when he needed her most.

After the crash, just as he finally had a chance to confront her, to bring her home again, she took Katie and vanished from the hospital without a trace.

No note. No goodbye. Nothing.

The only thing he knew for sure was that she couldn’t have done it alone. She had help. She must have. And there was only one person she would have trusted: a fucking bus driver who reached across a watery abyss. He made her a ghost, just the same as if she never made it off that damn bridge.

Gallagher had searched for months, but Carly had learned well. She stayed completely off the grid. Never contacted the driver, nor anyone from her former life. For all he knew, she was no longer even on the continent.

The driver, however, was easy to find.

As was his wife
.

Alicia welcomed him into her life with the click of a mouse. All it took was for him to create a Facebook account under a false name and a friendly female face with an interest in a hobby called felting. It had been so easy, he didn’t even need Ronson’s help.

In this chatty cyber world, Alicia shared her daily excitements and frustrations, the little secrets her husband was too busy to pay attention to, her dreams and desires. She even posted snippets of poetry. Sappy little verses about loss and longing that never seemed to rhyme.

He came to know her intimately; to understand her better than the bus driver ever could.

She yearned for something new. Something adventurous. A life away from kids and housework where each day was different, exciting and bold.

She called out for someone to stop the world, just for her.

In short, she had yearned for him.

“WHAT ARE
you going to do with us now?”

Gallagher lifted his head and stared across the table, suddenly aware that Alicia was talking to him again.

He placed his hands on the table, showing they were empty, and tried to look pleasant. It wasn’t an expression he was good at.

Bone stood beside the sink, silent and observant.

“I have a proposal for you,” said Gallagher.

Alicia’s face was tense, her eyes wary, but still she showed remarkable strength.

She was worth saving
.

“I’m listening.”

That was good. That was a first step
.

“I’m willing to let your boys go. In the morning, after you’ve cleaned them and fed them and said your goodbyes, my . . .” he looked over at the sink, trying to decide on just the right word. He needed one that emanated a sense of trust. He had always considered Bone to be a soldier, but that word didn’t hold the same weight with civilians. “. . .
friend
will return them to Canada.”

The boys whimpered again and clung tighter to their mother, but Alicia’s eyes never wavered from his own. She was listening, understanding. Connected.

“In exchange for me?” she said.

Gallagher nodded. “You stay here. With me. You do what I ask with full obedience and have no contact with your husband or your sons ever again. In short, you become dead to them just as my wife and daughter are now dead to me. If you do that, no harm comes to them. That’s my vow.”

Gallagher’s eyes flicked over to Bone. His expression was blank, betraying nothing. The perfect soldier.

Alicia swallowed. “Where
is
my husband?”

“At home. He couldn’t find you and gave up trying.” Gallagher tried to sound sincere. “I’m sure it was difficult, but life goes on.”

Alicia shook her head. “You don’t know my husband.”

Gallagher fought against a sudden ignition of anger, hiding it behind a furrowed brow.

“I know men,” he said bluntly.

“Not this one.” Alicia’s voice broke with emotion and her eyes filled with tears. “He can surprise even me.”

Gallagher slapped the table with such force the boys jumped and went completely silent.

“You forget that I know you.” Gallagher’s voice became a growl. “I followed. I listened. I understood. I know when the boys drove you crazy and when your husband let you down. I know when you felt lonely, disappointed and frustrated.”

Alicia snorted with disgust. “You saw snippets. Silly things I felt like sharing with people I thought were my friends. You don’t know me at all. Not even close.”

Gallagher rose to his full height and fingered the massive handgun stuck in his belt.

“If that’s the truth,” he said, fighting for control, “then there’s no point making the deal.”

Alicia pulled her boys tighter to her bosom and stared defiantly into Gallagher’s cold, dead eyes.

“No,” she said. “There’s not.”

GALLAGHER FLARED
his nostrils and sucked in a deep breath, but his response was cut short by a sharp electronic squeal. It was followed instantly by a series of continuing low-level chirps.

He spun to face his soldier. He hadn’t moved from his place by the sink and the only sign that he even noticed the alarm was the hint of an ungenerous smile upon his lips.

“Arm yourself,” Gallagher commanded. “Somebody’s at the outer perimeter.”