Nowhere to Hide (4 page)

Mundie kicked as hard as he could but was helpless to roll onto his back.

“Hurry, MJ,” King said. “Pillowcase.”

King had learned that MJ was a klutz in all situations except when it really mattered, and then MJ had a steel that seemed impossible for a gangly kid who always tried so hard to act cool that he looked just the opposite.

MJ had the pillowcase over Mundie's head in seconds.

“Sit on his legs,” Blake grunted to MJ. “He's kicking too hard.”

With MJ's help, Blake managed to tighten his own belt around Mundie's ankles. Then they fought Mundie's arms and managed to tie them behind his back with shoelaces.

Only then did King relieve the pressure of his belt around Mundie's neck. He remembered when a real choke chain had been put around his neck and how close he'd come to dying.

“You guys are making a huge mistake,” Mundie said. “And trust me, you and Evans are going to pay for this. I'm calling this operation over.”

“I've got to go with him on the huge mistake part,” MJ said to King. “You sure about all this?”

“Code phrase,” Blake repeated. “If he gives us the code phrase, we'll let him go. No harm, right?”

Silence from beneath the pillowcase.

“Satisfied we did the right thing?” Blake asked MJ.

“But we just jumped a CIA agent,” MJ said.

“Call Evans,” King told MJ. “Ask him if he sent Mundie.”

King began to feel the panic attack return. This time, however, he didn't hide his efforts to pull in lungfuls of air.

“Hold on,” Blake said, looking past them at the computer screens. “Check out the drones on monitor one.”

CHAPTER 7

King leaned over Mundie and spoke quietly. “Man, I'd hate to do this to you, because MJ only changes his socks twice a week, but if you start yelling, we're going to shove them in your mouth.”

“Hey,” MJ said. “I change them—”

King made a cutting motion across his throat. Not the time to mention that he'd brought a box with clean socks and underwear from Mrs. Johnson.

“Oh,” MJ mouthed, suddenly realizing Mundie needed to think MJ had smelly socks.

“We're good?” King asked Mundie.

“Good,” he said in a quiet voice. “But I'm calling in for help. This operation is over.”

King thought it was weird for Mundie to repeat this, but events were flashing too quickly for him to give it more consideration.

“No phone for you then,” MJ said to Mundie as King moved past MJ to look at monitor one. “Not that you'd be able to dial anyway.”

MJ was the only person to laugh.

King took in the monitor view to see the roof of a mobile home with a rickety fence and an old truck parked on a driveway. Dark
SUVs were parked in front, and a dozen members of a SWAT team were moving into position around the perimeter of the mobile home.

“Got the drones on autopilot,” Blake said. “Just circling at about 3000 feet. Nobody below has a clue we're up there. Military grade stuff. Very cool.”

And very expensive
, King thought. Very, very expensive. Where did Blake get this kind of money, and why was he in this hotel room?

Blake made a few keystrokes, and the camera zoomed in close enough on one of the SWAT soldiers to see the smoked-glass cover of his helmet.

“Obviously something is happening,” Blake said. “MJ and I have been monitoring the place for a couple of days. No one went in or out. Now this. You show up, and the action starts.”

“That's our man,” MJ said. “The Kinger. Rocking and rolling. He always makes stuff happen.”

On the screen, King saw the SWAT guy tilt his head as if scanning the sky. He pointed upward and made a motion for someone else to respond.

“Zoom back,” King said to Blake. “See if anyone else is looking up at us.”

“Wouldn't be at our drone,” Blake said. “Its wingspan is only about six feet. As high as it is, it's invisible and silent. The military has controllers in Colorado, buzzing the skies of Afghanistan with drones like these. They lock in on a target, and bam, it's like a lightning bolt from out of nowhere.”

“Humor me,” King said. “The guy was looking up for a reason. It's like he's calling for a shot.”

More clicking. King reached toward the screen and pointed without touching. He knew Blake hated having anyone touch the screen. He knew it because MJ always forgot and touched the screen and Blake always elbowed MJ in the gut.

“There,” King said. “The guy with what looks like a bazooka.”

Blake whistled. “Missile launcher.”

“Where exactly is this?” King asked, thinking if it was in a city somewhere, firing a missile wasn't a great idea.

“High desert east of the Cascades,” Blake said. “The guy lives in the middle of nothing. I'll zoom out and show you how sandy and dry it is.”

“No need,” King said. “You're not concerned about the guy with the missile launcher? That's who I'd be watching. He's pointing it right at the drone's camera.”

“Probably going to fire a warning shot to scare the guy inside. To me, that's the bigger question—why are they taking this guy down? No way the shooter knows about the drone, and no way he could hit it at our altitude.”

A flash came from the missile launcher. It was eerie to watch the action because it was in total silence.

“He's shooting at something,” King said.

“Ten…” Mundie's voice reached them as he counted in slow cadence. “Nine…eight…seven…”

“Ignore him,” Blake said.

“What's on the other monitor?” King asked. “Looks like the hotel hallway.”

Four guys in suits were walking sideways, swiveling their heads to glance up and down the hallway for danger. They had their hands inside their suit jackets, as if ready to reach for pistols.

“Six…five…four…” Mundie continued from beneath the pillowcase over his head.

“Crap,” Blake said. “Our hotel hallway.”

“Three…two…one…” Mundie said. “The drone down yet?”

The first monitor went dark.

“Crap,” Blake said again. “He hit our drone. Impossible.”

“You guys have nowhere to hide,” Mundie said. “Now we're about to rock and roll my way. My guys should be busting down the door in ten…nine…eight…”

CHAPTER 8

“Okay,” MJ said in a high-pitched voice. “What we do is light the room on fire. It will set off a smoke detector and—”

“MJ!” King said. “We'll be
in
the burning room.”

“Six…” Mundie said. “Five…”

King was irritated. Not scared. Not mad. He should have been scared and mad. But the countdown thing was getting old fast. He was so irritated he had no sense of panic. Not much could go worse at this point.

King leaned over and tugged his right shoe loose. He peeled off his sock and rolled it into a ball. He took the few steps toward Mundie's prone body, rolled the man on his back, and ripped the pillowcase loose.

Sure, they were about to get taken down by suit guys for something that King had no clue about, but King wasn't going to listen to Mundie anymore.

Mundie saw the sock and snapped his mouth shut.

King imagined he heard someone call Mundie's name. Then he realized he
had
heard it.

Mundie was wearing a nearly invisible earpiece. Which meant he was probably wired for sound going out too. That's why he'd said he was calling the operation over.

King visualized the room number on the door, from when he'd stood with Mundie, waiting for MJ to swing it open.

1010.

King leaned in, putting his mouth close to Mundie's face. King spoke in a low growl.

“Hurry, guys. Don't mess up. Room 1009.”

“At the door,” Blake said. “At the door!”

A high-pitched scream reached them from another room. The scream grew louder and more indignant.

“King,” Blake whispered from the monitor. “They hit the wrong room!”

Mundie opened his mouth, and King was ready for it. He jammed his sock deep, and Mundie made a gagging sound.

“How's that taste?” MJ crowed.

King made another slicing sound across his throat to urgently cut off MJ and then bounced over to Blake and tapped Blake's shoulder, motioning for quiet.

On the monitor, the suit guys were back in the hallway, milling with confusion. A big woman in a nightgown followed them into the hallway and began beating on the suit guy nearest her.

King pointed at Mundie and whispered. “No noise. He's wired. I think he called them in after we tackled him.”

King tiptoed back to Mundie and made sure the sock was in place.

Mundie's eyes were wide with rage. King gave it some thought and realized he probably had gone an extra day or two with the same pair of socks. Not fun to be Mundie right now.

King leaned over and pulled the earpiece loose and held it close to his own ear.

“Mundie, come in,” a disembodied voice said. “Come in—we need direction here.”

King's guess had been accurate. He had no idea why Mundie was doing all of this and why he needed four suit guys to back him up, but
King did have a sense of what the suit guys were up against. This was an expensive, upscale hotel. They couldn't go from door to door, kicking each one down. Who knew how many other large, indignant women were ready to attack?

“Mundie?” came a voice from the earpiece. “Mundie? You switched us to 1009. Wrong room. Back to 1010?”

King lifted Mundie's suit jacket open and saw the wire. It led to a small microphone clipped to the inside suit pocket.

King crouched and said in another low growl. “I've got you on monitor. Two rooms down. Other side. Move.”

Mundie managed a quiet muffled grunt of rage behind the sock.

King smiled at him and gently patted Mundie's face. At this point, King felt no remorse at what he'd done to Mundie. Whatever was happening, Mundie had tried to set up a trap.

If he and Blake and MJ could get out of the hotel, maybe his two friends could help King understand what was happening.

“They're using a room key again,” Blake whispered from his surveillance position at the monitor. “Someone must have given them a master to all the doors.”

And another loud scream. Then howling of outrage.

“Mundie!” the voice yelped into the earpiece. “What are you doing to us?”

King went back to the monitor. Sure enough, the guys in suits were back in the hallway. The first big woman hadn't left them alone, and a second woman, equally large, was out in the hallway too. She was armed with an umbrella. After all, this was Seattle.

The monitor showed the guys in the suits fleeing to the fire escape at the end of the hallway. The two women gave each other high fives, and once they were sure the hallway was clear, each ducked back to her own room.

King knelt back down beside Mundie and yanked loose the mike. He twisted the wire and snapped it, careful to make sure nothing happened to the earpiece.

“Mundie?” a voice said into the earpiece. “Mundie? Mundie?”

“Looks like we have a little time for a chat,” King said to Mundie.
“You can't talk to them, but I'll be happy to listen to what you have to say. Want the sock out?”

Mundie nodded.

King pulled it.

Mundie drew some air in. King saw it coming. The man was going to shout. King popped the sock in again, thinking maybe it had been three days with the same pair of socks, not two.

King stood.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said to Blake and MJ. “He's not going to talk. Maybe you two can tell me what's going on. But not here. We have to get away from this room.”

“Maybe,” Blake said, pointing at the hallway monitor. “Maybe not.”

King went back to the monitor and looked for himself. A man was walking down the hallway, straight for room 1010.

Evans.

CHAPTER 9

MJ ran to the short hallway of the suite and opened the door for Evans.

King stood right behind MJ and held his finger over his lip to indicate silence.

“No thanks,” King said for Mundie's benefit. “No maid service right now.”

King elbowed MJ to keep MJ quiet. Then King put his finger on his lip to indicate silence again.

Evans nodded and stepped inside and shut the door.

King held up two hands, palm outward, instructing Evans to wait.

Evans nodded again.

King marched back into the suite and put the pillowcase back over Mundie's head. No point in letting Mundie know Evans had arrived.