What happened to lori, p.26
What Happened to Lori,
p.26
Crouching behind the bush, Grim realized this plan was as stupid, if not stupider, than every other stupid thing he’d ever done.
Grim’s bowels twisted like snakes, and his palms sweat enough to prune his fingers.
Grim had witnessed an enhanced interrogation in Iraq, while working the private sector. It had been ugly, and hadn’t produced any viable intel. The insurgent was a real piece of work; he placed landmines around a school. And Grim hadn’t touched the guy.
But he’d been there. Complicit.
Listening to the screaming. The begging. The crying.
He turned his head and spat.
Dawn came, the sun breaking through the canopy in golden streaks, like warm, reaching fingers.
Ten minutes passed.
Fabler slept.
Twenty minutes.
Still sleeping.
Grim texted Presley.
I thought he runs every morning @ dawn.
Presley replied.
He does. He sleeping?
Y
The sun continued its slow march across the sky.
Grim checked the time.
7:05am
Sneak in?
Her reply came fast.
NO! Floor squeaks bad.
And then, finally, Fabler sat up in bed.
Grim immediately texted Presley.
He’s up!
Then he swiped back to the bedroom camera.
No Fabler.
He checked the other cameras one by one.
Living Room.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Back door.
Empty.
Front porch.
Empty.
The only room left was the second bedroom, and Presley had switched off that camera.
He texted her.
Can’t see him on cameras. Must be in your room.
What we do?
We wait.
KADIR ○ 7:22am
Almost two hours ago they’d followed Presley and the ex-cop into the woodsy center of Wichita, and then stayed back and watched as the pair parked the Bronco off-road and hiked into the trees.
“They going hunting?”
“I dunno, Doruk.”
“Maybe it’s a picnic. You ever go on a picnic, Kadir?”
“You need to be quiet. I’m thinking.”
“Can’t you track his phone?”
Kadir’s organization had ins with many telecommunications companies. He simply had to call a number to locate a phone.
Presley had obviously been using a burner phone, impossible to track. But the cop, Pilgrim, turned out to be a credit-card paying citizen registered with one of the Big Ten telecom companies. It took four minutes for Kadir to get his GPS coordinates.
They waited in the car until Pilgrim stayed still for a few minutes, and then drove as close to the blip as they dared.
And then, more waiting.
“Can you see him?”
“No.”
“Can I have the binocs?”
“He’s a hundred meters east, and there are twenty five billion trees between us and him. You won’t be able to see him, Doruk.”
“So why are you looking?”
But Kadir couldn’t mention it to Doruk, because he’d want to see.
“Shut up. It won’t be long now.”
“How do you know?”
“I can feel it. I can feel it in my guts.”
PRESLEY ○ 7:29am
She texted Grim again.
No sign?
No. Do we go in?
He’ll hear.
What if we go in fast?
Presley didn’t get the meaning, and sent Grim a question mark.
I knock on door & u taze him.
I say wait.
We can wait. No prob. But how long can Brooklyn wait?
Presley frowned as she texted.
K. I’ll knock. Cover me.
I should knock. U cover.
I have armor. & I never trained with taser.
Presley put the weird mask on over her face, in case things got serious, then marched around the house. She considered the DoubleTap in her ankle holster.
Presley’s phone vibrated.
B careful.
FABLER ○ 7:32am
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to the phone, but your call is important to me, unless you’re a telemarketer, then it’s not, and you need to remove my number from your list. But if you’re someone I like, such as my adoring husband, leave me a message at the beep.
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to the phone, but your call is important to me, unless you’re a telemarketer, then it’s not, and you need to remove my number from your list. But if you’re someone I like, such as my adoring husband—
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to the phone, but your call is important to me, unless you’re a telemarketer, then it’s not, and you need to remove my number from your list. But if you’re someone I like—
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to the phone, but your call is important to me, unless you’re a telemarketer, then it’s not, and you need to—
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to the phone—
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to—
Hi, it’s Lori—
Hi, it’s—
Fabler raised the phone over his head, ready to throw it against the wall in the soundproof secret room and then pull out his DoubleTap and put it to his temple and see if he could fire both rounds.
But Fabler didn’t throw the cell phone. And he didn’t pull his DoubleTap.
That phone, Lori’s phone, was a sacred vessel, holding the only audio recording of his wife. If he never saw Lori again, he wanted to be able to punish himself by hearing her voice.
As for shooting himself…
Fabler, who’d always prided himself on being the toughest, hardest, most fearless guy in the room, had a secret he hadn’t told a soul.
He’d spent much of his life trying to prove to himself he wasn’t a coward. Tried to face every fear he had. And for the most part, he faked his way through fear.
But you can’t fake your way through suicide. You either had the guts, or you didn’t.
Fabler didn’t.
Seconds passed.
Fabler didn’t move.
So the DoubleTap remained in his ankle holster, and Lori’s cell went back on the shelf, and Fabler, surrounded by redheads, stroked Lori’s ear and sat on the floor and drew his knees up to his chin and hugged them to his chest, rocking back and forth, tears streaking down his face.
GRIM ○ 7:32am
He sighted down his Vortex Strikefire Optics, keeping the green dot a meter ahead of Presley as she walked up the side of the house.
Safety off. Round chambered.
Grim stood up, about to shout at Presley as she raised her hand to knock on the door.
THE WATCHER ○ 7:32+am
Lucky.
Unlucky.
Plusses.
Minuses.
The variables have increased, but by a calculable amount.
The equations still work.
He watches the monitors and ponders his choice.
The Watcher smiles.
“It is not a glitch. It is a feature.”
PRESLEY ○ 7:32am
A feeling stuck in Presley’s mind like a string of beef jerky caught in the teeth.
She took out her cell and texted Grim.
Knocking is bad idea.
He replied a moment later.
It’s all bad idea. Abort.
Got a fix?
No.
Check his bed.
I checked bed. Not there.
Is his bed made?
No.
Presley’s twinge of uncertainty became full-blown fear.
Presley texted fast.
Abort.
Then she turned to get the hell out of there—
—and something flew into her mask and hit her in the eye.
She smacked at it—a bug—slapping herself in the face.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
GRIM ○ 7:32am
Grim chanced a look at his cell, and Fabler appeared out of nowhere in the hallway, running full tilt, a rifle in his hands.
Grim didn’t bother texting. He shouted.
“He’s coming! Run!”
FABLER ○ 7:32am
Fabler heard a sound, coming from outside.
He brought the KRISS to bear, close ready, and sprinted out of the secret room, slamming the panel closed behind him, getting to the front door in seven steps and throwing it open and gaping at the white figure with the giant, grey head standing there.
Fabler fired.
GRIM ○ 7:33am
Forty meters away, behind a tree, Grim watched Presley through the scope.
Seeing Fabler answer the door wearing boxer-briefs, holding an automatic rifle, surprised Grim.
Seeing Fabler raise the rifle and shoot Presley in the chest ranked among the biggest shocks of Grim’s life.
PRESLEY ○ 7:33am
The door opened a moment after Presley heard the footsteps, and while she’d been prepared for a tense conversation, she hadn’t been prepared for Fabler, practically naked, pointing the KRISS at her and then firing twice.
The .45 slugs hit her ceramic trauma plate like a swing from a baseball bat, and Presley dove to the side, trying to tuck and roll, but fear turned the practiced move into a face-first slide.
On instinct she brought up her leg, reaching for the ankle holster, but Fabler was on her, stepping on her knee, aiming at her head.
GRIM ○ 7:33am
Grim put his finger on the trigger.
FABLER ○ 7:33am
He almost reached for her, ready to make sure she was okay and beg for an apology and explain everything even though she wouldn’t believe him, but two simultaneous thoughts stopped Fabler.
And—
PRESLEY ○ 7:33am
As she stared up into the barrel of the KRISS, focusing on it until the muzzle became impossibly huge and Fabler’s crazed face appeared blurry and a hundred meters away, time slowed down to a trickle, each millisecond a stretched duration of oddly reflective lucidity.
GRIM ○ 7:33am
Grim squeezed the trigger—
—and pulled the shot, aiming too high, firing over Fabler’s head and putting a round into the side of the house, knocking out a chunk of wood.
FABLER ○ 7:33am
Fabler ducked, a lifetime of training overpowering his wishes.
Fabler stood up straight, making himself an easy target, scanning his property line.
As Fabler absorbed the information that Grim and Presley were a team, his death wish flittered away.
And Fabler had a damn good idea what it was.
PRESLEY ○ 7:33am
Body frozen, mind active, waiting a lifetime for the shot to come, Presley focused on her daughter’s face, wanting Brooklyn’s sweet smile to be the image she took to eternity.
Then a shot shattered the silence.
But not a death shot. It came from far away.
The gunfire snapped Presley out of her reverie and training kicked in. All the drills, all the grappling, all the repetition of the last few weeks, it took over Presley’s body like a demonic possession, and she grabbed the barrel of Fabler’s KRISS, pushing it aside and punching him in the inner knee with the other hand.
He jerked away, and Presley held his rifle and allowed his momentum to pull her up, onto her feet, rearing back her fist again and smashing it right into the bastard’s nose.
Neither released the gun, and then they tumbled backward, through the doorway, into Fabler’s house.
KADIR ○ 7:33am
“Is that a gunshot?”
“Go check.”
“Me?”
