The Devil's Anvil (13 page)

I helped her into the vest, then cinched the Velcro straps at the sides. She looked tiny, the vest riding up almost to her throat. She test-thumped her chest. Grimaced. ‘I felt that.’

‘It only stops the bullet from penetrating; it doesn’t do an awful lot to dispel the kinetic force. There are better vests on the market, but I’m afraid these were all I could lay my hands on at short notice.’ I moved behind her, adjusting the vest, lengthening the straps over her shoulders so it settled a little lower down. The vest was designed to offer most protection from a bullet to the centre mass. If a round struck her in the throat or gut, or even under the arms, then it would be ‘Goodnight Irene’.

Billie went to a mirror and admired herself. She grinned unabashedly, enjoying the dressing up. It took her a moment longer to realise the severity of having to don protection, and she sobered rapidly. ‘How long am I expected to wear this thing?’

‘Until I know it’s safe enough not to.’

‘When will that be?’

How long is a piece of string?

12

A sound roused me from sleep. It was faint, distant, and came and went as the mountain acoustics played with it: the thrum of an engine. The road past Baker’s Hole wasn’t private, and this wasn’t the first car to pass in the last couple of hours. On those occasions I’d woken from my slumber too, listening as the vehicles passed the farm and continued along the lake’s shore road and further into the hills. I wasn’t immediately concerned at this latest sound, but I got up from the settee, piling the blankets at one end. I was still wearing my jeans and Homer T-shirt, and I quickly pulled on my boots and began lacing them. A bulletproof vest identical to the one Billie had taken upstairs with her was propped at the end of the settee. Ordinarily I went without protection, choosing manoeuvrability over the safety blanket of heavy Kevlar, but I had to make a good example if I expected Billie to wear hers. I slipped into the vest – as I had on those other occasions when cars approached – and pulled the Velcro snug. Out of habit I checked my SIG, then placed it at its carrying position at my lower back. I pulled on my jacket to conceal the vest and gun as I approached the front window. Billie had drawn the drapes earlier, but standing to one side I could see through the gap between the curtains and frame, without anyone outside spotting me. My angle allowed me to look towards the road, but in the wrong direction from which the vehicle approached.

While I’d prepared, the engine sounds had grown louder and more consistent now that there were fewer obstructions. The pitch of the engine changed as the car slowed. It was still out of my line of sight, so I went quickly through the living space and into the kitchen. I left off the lights, but there was some faint illumination cast by the LED from the microwave cooker’s display panel. It wouldn’t pick me out to anyone watching from outside. Staying in the shadows, I moved round the table and positioned myself so I could look out of the window at the side of the building. A few hundred yards away there was a dim glow in the mist. The engine sound stopped. A moment later the dull glow blinked out as the headlights were switched off.

I thought briefly about Noah and Adam, if it was in fact either of them in the car, perhaps moving to a better vantage point to watch the farm – but I doubted it. I had that prickly sensation up my spine and I could taste iron in the back of my mouth.

Judging distance was difficult in the mist, but I guessed that the car had come to a halt a couple of hundred yards before the entrance to Billie’s farm. Having driven by there earlier, I knew that a wire fence separated Billie’s property from the road, but it was an insubstantial thing and wouldn’t prevent anyone from climbing over it. They need only then cross an untilled field to approach the back of the house. There could of course be an innocent explanation why someone would stop their car there, perhaps to relieve themselves by the roadside or to make a phone call, or something equally mundane, but it wasn’t a chance I was going to take. I headed upstairs and softly rapped on Billie’s bedroom door.

She mumbled something, and without waiting I slipped inside, just as she reached for her bedside lamp.

‘Don’t turn it on,’ I whispered.

‘What?’ Billie’s eyes were huge – I could see the whites reflecting the glow of a digital alarm clock. Just about then she possibly regretted allowing a strange man to stay in her home with her.

‘There’s someone outside,’ I explained. ‘Don’t alert them by switching on the light.’

Billie sat up in bed, holding the sheets around her. My eyes were adjusted to the darkness and I could see that she had worn a sweatshirt to bed. ‘Where’s your vest?’

‘I took it off; it was too uncomfortable to sleep in.’ The bedclothes slipped away as she swung out her legs, clad in leisure pants. She pushed her feet into a pair of slip-on pumps. The vest was on the floor.

‘Put it back on,’ I said.

She paused, staring at me in the darkness. Likely she believed I was overreacting, but that was fair. Perhaps I was. But perhaps I wasn’t. She bent for the vest.

‘When you’re ready, go to the room we talked about.’ I didn’t wait for her to agree to my demand, because she might argue. Leaving her like that gave her no option. Earlier I’d discovered the studio where she painted, in the corner of which was a walk-in closet. At the back of it a concealed trapdoor allowed access to a crawl space under the eaves. It wasn’t an infallible hiding place, but it would slow any searchers down before they discovered her. I went downstairs, where the kitchen door and windows were all locked – part of the routine of securing the house before we’d gone to sleep – and headed to the front door. I was confident that nobody could have got from where they’d parked the car to a position where they’d see me exit in the short space of time I’d been upstairs. Pulling the door to behind me so that it locked, I moved around the blind side of the house, then jogged across the yard to the barn. I skirted it, so that I was still out of sight of anyone who could now be approaching across the field from the road.

The mist offered me cover. The same could be said for anyone approaching the farm. The advantage I had was that I was expecting them; they wouldn’t be expecting me, and certainly not outside. I moved from the barn to an old stockade now bereft of livestock and crouched alongside a rusty trough. A corner post and the trough helped disguise my shape in the mist. Glancing up I noted that the sky was cloudless, and stars twinkled back at me. No moon though, it was yet to rise. I wasn’t in danger of being picked out by an errant moonbeam. I waited, breathing steadily to calm my pulse, my chin dipped against my jacket collar. I ensured that I breathed into the fabric, because my breath was condensing and might also give me away to an alert watcher if I allowed it to plume like a smoke signal. I took out my SIG, held it against my thigh. Waited.

A soft scuff to my left brought me round.

I’d miscalculated the direction from which the person would approach the farm. They’d taken a more circular route across the field – perhaps growing confused in the mist – and now approached from a wider angle. Taking things slow and easy I lowered myself to my haunches. Ten feet out a figure moved past, wraithlike, featureless. I could make out enough to determine it was a burly male figure, and his attention was on the back of the house, not on my position. Something glinted wetly in the blanketing mist. Whether it was a weapon or a breaking-and-entering tool didn’t make much difference, it spoke of ill intent as much as his stealthy approach. I could easily have moved in on him from behind, stuck my gun in his back and ordered him to drop it, but I wasn’t positive that the intruder was alone. A single car could comfortably hold up to five individuals, and I was certain that the man would not have come without help. This wasn’t about spying on Billie’s home, waiting for her supposedly dead husband to do a Lazarus, but something else. As Agent Cooper had feared, Procrylon had decided that the best way of finding Richard Womack was to lean on his wife.

A clatter came out of the mist to my right. It caused the first figure to halt, to crouch down as the man scanned for danger. He must have been in a position to spot his colleague through the mist, because he gave a wave of his hand, his palm down, demanding caution. I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern movement in the direction he’d gestured. I made out another form, but this one was too distant to decide if it was man, woman or beast. I fully expected it to be the former.

Try not to kill anyone, Cooper had cautioned me. Up until now I’d managed not to. But I now wondered how to play this. It was apparent from their approach that these interlopers meant to grab Billie while she was unaware. They’d come during the night, probably armed, and it was highly likely they intended forcing their way into the house to grab her from her bed. Could I stop them without using lethal force? And if I did, then what would be the consequences? My immediate belief was that they’d only return, and in greater numbers. My instinct was to drop them, then sink them out there in the lake. Leave Procrylon wondering what had become of their attack dogs while I moved Billie somewhere more defendable, and with more backup.

But I couldn’t just go in shooting. What if these people were no more dangerous than Noah and Adam had proved and I made a huge mistake? It was time, I thought, to hang on and see how things played out before resorting to the kind of violence I had used on other occasions.

I watched the nearest man drop to a crouch. He responded exactly as I would have if caught out in the open when hearing the noise. Another car engine purred as it made its way along the valley towards the lake. The guy looked for his pal in the gloom, and then reached for something on his belt. He pulled out a cell phone and hit buttons. The screen glowed, but he didn’t speak, so I guessed he was sending some prearranged message instead, perhaps giving the all clear.

While he was distracted I moved away, concealing myself in the creeping blanket of mist as I headed along the side of the house to the front. Happily, I noted that the house was in full darkness, and there wasn’t the faintest sound of Billie moving within. By now she should be hidden in the crawl space. From beyond the house came the sound of the engine as the latest vehicle approached. I had to consider that this car would pull directly into the yard at the front of the house: those guys lurking out back were only there should Billie make a run for it. They weren’t my immediate concern. Earlier I’d moved my rental car into the barn, alongside Billie’s little blue Jetta and a stack of galvanised steel barrels. Her battered old Chevrolet pick-up was parked in the yard. To all intents and purposes anybody making only a casual perusal would suspect there was no one but Billie at home. I hoped to keep things that way until I had a better idea of the new visitors’ intentions. I hurried across the yard and stationed myself at the back of the pick-up, and had to bob down as a vehicle swung off the road and down the short track to the farm. Its headlights made the mist milky. I had no clue what kind of vehicle it was yet or how many occupants were inside. Part of me hoped that Rink had arrived early, but I knew it wasn’t him. He would have called ahead to warn me.

As the vehicle pulled into the yard, it turned to avoid hitting the pick-up, and from behind the headlights materialised a large, bottle-green van. Two figures sat up front. There was no way to see into the cargo area from my position, but I doubted there was anyone inside. I took it that the van’s purpose was for transporting Billie out of here beyond sight of any prying eyes. The muscles in my jaws bunched. The van stopped and a moment later two men got out. Both were in their thirties, of wiry build, with that bearing that picked them out at a glance as ex-military. The driver was wearing spectacles, perched on a nose that looked as if it had been broken a few times over the years. His skin was pale and blotchy. His pal was similarly coloured, with the same short-cropped fair hair. His nose had been broken too, but not as profoundly as the first man’s. They looked enough alike to be brothers.

They didn’t draw any sidearms as they first peered up at the house, then in silent agreement headed directly for the front door. It didn’t mean that they weren’t armed, only that they didn’t deem it necessary to show their hand yet. I was conscious of the gun in my hand as I watched them from over the back of the pick-up.

Drop the fuckers!

My instinct was to do just that, but I stayed my urge to put out their lights before they could threaten Billie. I waited, trusting to our plan to keep her safer than if I got into a firefight with these men. Yes, it went against the grain somewhat, but perhaps patience did come with age as Rink often cheekily pointed out.

They stepped up on the porch and paused. Then the one with spectacles craned round and looked directly at me. He couldn’t see me clearly for the mist, because I could barely see them now, but I had the benefit of my night vision being more adapted than his. He had just got out the van where the backwash from the headlights and the display on the dashboard would have affected his. I didn’t move; if he did spot me he would take my form for just another bit of the old pick-up. I realised quickly that he was simply checking out the truck, calculating. He turned back and said something too low to hear. His pal stepped forward and tried the door handle. I was glad that I’d remembered to drop the latch, so that it locked behind me when leaving the house. Their actions next would determine how intent they were on finding Billie.