The Midnight Caller (Jack Widow Book 6) Page 23

  And no one answered him. They just shrugged.

  Then he looked down. The rock cliff was not that high off the water below, maybe ten feet or so. But he started to think about how this end of the island was high and the other was low.

  “The elevation,” he called back to the others.

  They looked at him and Widow turned left and started climbing down the rock cliff, stepping on one rock and then another until he was standing in knee-high water.

  He inspected the cliff’s wall and smiled.

  There was no wall, only a huge opening to a cave.

  “Down here,” he shouted up.

  Ali and Hardy climbed down.

  “What is it?” Ali asked.

  “It’s an underwater cave,” Hardy said.

  Widow said, “Partially underwater.”

  Widow looked at the mouth and the ocean water that flowed into it.

  He said, “It’s very deep in the middle.”

  “Yeah,” Hardy said.

  “How wide do think this is?” Widow asked.

  Hardy shrugged, said, “I don’t know, maybe twenty yards?”

  “Yeah,” Widow said.

  He ducked down and peered in. There was nothing but darkness ahead and then the mouth opened up wider and curved right.

  He stormed through the shallow water, which was the only part that could be walked on because there was a rock ledge. Then Widow realized it was not rock.

  He said, “Ali.”

  “Yeah?”

  “This walkway is manmade.”

  Ali looked and saw what he meant. It was not rock; it was metal.

  “What the hell is this?” Ali asked.

  Widow said, “It’s an underground dock for a submarine.”

  CHAPTER 67

  HARDY SAID, “A small sub could not fit through here and then hope to get back out again.”

  Widow said, “Not a military one.”

  Hardy said nothing.

  Widow said, “Ali, any chance that Farmer got himself a mini sub? The deep sea diving kind?”

  Ali said, “Anything is possible.”

  Hardy said, “Are you thinking this guy Farmer escaped the Russian sub? Now he’s here?”

  “Maybe. Not all terrorists are martyrs.”

  Hardy said, “Those things are slow moving. No way would he make it this far by now.”

  Widow said, “Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they’re on their way. Or maybe he had it retrofitted. They could have gotten their hands on one and dumped all the scientific gear out of it. Put on some extra propellers. Maybe an extra engine. A couple of thrusters. Expand the rotors.

  “Hell they could be here already.”

  Ali and Hardy said nothing.

  Widow said, “Come on. Let’s get wet.”

  They followed him down the metal walkway. Widow led the way and followed the walkway down the upper lip of the cave and on for another forty yards until it dipped up out of the water. They bent around the curve to the right and west and then they came to an enormous cavern with dim lights strung up along metal rigs.

  Off in the distance, about another fifty yards away, there was a platform with stacked equipment and a couple of utility poles. Beyond that was a set of stairs that climbed up and disappeared inside a small structure that could have been some kind of control room or something.

  Widow noticed the cables snaking up under the stairs and going to the structure.

  On the platform were two men that Widow had never seen before. They were seated on crates, talking.

  Widow saw a third one, a redhead, pacing up and down the walkway, standing duty. Even though his buddies were not helping.

  Widow saw no one else. He assumed they were inside the structure.

  The other thing that Widow saw was a black mini sub, just like he thought. It floated underneath the platform. The headlamps were lit up like bright, glowing orbs. They cast more light on the inside of the cavern than any other light.

  The sub looked empty. Although, he couldn’t see into it to be sure.

  “What now?” Ali asked.

  Widow looked back at him. He said, “I’m not here to take prisoners.”

  Ali nodded.

  Hardy nodded.

  Widow led the way. They stayed crouched low, in single formation. Widow crept along the catwalk. Staying out of the light.

  They came up on the red-headed leader first. He was walking the other way. Pacing half out of a cautious nature, Widow figured, and half out of boredom.

  He turned to come face to face with Widow. At about ten feet away, which was a shame because Widow wanted to keep the element of surprise, but he knew in such a limited space a loud gun fight was inevitable.

  He shot first.

  Widow had the M4’s stock embedded firmly in his shoulder. His butt touching his back leg. Elbow stiff, reinforcing the grip. He squeezed the trigger, twice.

  Two rounds exploded through the redheaded guy’s center mass. He flew back and rolled off the catwalk into the water. Dead.

  The other two men on the platform turned to see what was happening. Before they could lift their guns, before they even stood up, Hardy dropped them both. Two single rounds.

  The guy was a hell of a shot, Widow thought.

  Now, everything was loud. Widow jumped to his feet and charged up the walkway to the platform.

  One guy came clawing up and out of the hatch of the mini sub. No gun in hand.

  Widow did not care. He fired a round and hit the guy square in the face. Blood burst and red mist sprayed out. The guy dropped back into the sub, lifeless.

  That’s four down, Widow thought.

  Just then three more guys came running out of the structure above and saw the visitors and were met with a hail of bullets. They dropped as fast as their friends. One fell off to the side and rolled down the ramp up to the structure and the other flung over the side into the water to join his dead friend, the redheaded leader.

  The last just slumped back and landed on the ramp.

  Widow did not wait for more to come tumbling out of the structure. He ran up and took cover behind a wall to the opening. Hardy followed and Ali stayed close.

  Widow peeked in. The space ahead was crammed, but empty.

  Widow said, “Stay back for a minute. It’s small in there. Let me go first.”

  Hardy nodded.

  Widow handed the M4 to Ali and went ahead with the HK45 instead. The space was too close-quartered for an assault rifle.

  The space beyond was dark and did not lead to a control room at all. Instead there was a small hall that opened up into a large room with sofas and old armchairs and some radio equipment that looked like the last time it had been turned on was during WWII. Off to one side was a string of long drapes hanging from the ceiling like they were hiding a stage.

  There was a coffee table near the sofas and an ashtray with two cigars, still smoking.

  A guy was sitting on the sofa. He was in bad shape. His face looked like he had been beaten within an inch of his life.

  He wore a ripped-up Russian uniform. He was a submariner, Widow figured.

  He stared at Widow, said nothing. Widow was not even sure if he could speak.

  But his eyes were wide open and flicking to the left.

  Widow rolled into the room, turned to the drapes and paused. He figured someone was hiding behind it. And there was. He saw shoes underneath.

  And a man jumped out. He fired an M9 Beretta at Widow. Widow suddenly felt bad for the guy. He was almost sure that the guy had never fired a gun before in his life. Only he was in the CIA, he must have.

  The guy saw that he had missed completely. He did not readjust his aim to shoot Widow because Widow was looking back at him with the HK45 dead on target.

  The guy dropped his gun, which told Widow who he was. Probably.

  Widow asked, “Are you Farmer?”

  The guy nodded and started to speak.

  Widow did not let him. He squeezed two times. He put
one through the heart and one through the guy’s head for good measure.

  Farmer tumbled back into the curtains, moving to one side, grabbing onto the other with his dead hand. His corpse pulled it down and off the ceiling. Widow looked beyond it to a stairwell that led up into the ground above.

  Eva was nowhere to be seen.

  Widow turned back to the man on the sofa. He walked over to him and asked, “Are you Karpov?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s Eva?”

  Karpov started to sit up and must have been dizzy because he collapsed back over.

  “Don’t get up. Where is she?”

  “He took her. Up,” Karpov said.

  “Don’t worry. Stay here. My friends will get you. I’m going after her.”

  Karpov said nothing.

  Widow ran to the stairs and climbed.

  CHAPTER 68

  THE STAIRS LED UP OUT of the cave and to a wooden hatch that was so cracked and splintered Widow could see daylight. He was worried that it was a trap. That maybe the man in black waited for him above with that SIG Sauer he had seen earlier.

  Widow took a deep breath and with one fluid, fast action, he thrust himself upward, shoved the door open and took aim, scanning in every direction. No one was there.

  He saw lots of daylight and broken brick walls.

  He pulled himself up and out. He was in an abandoned building. He walked out of it and saw he was back in part of the town, only this part was surrounded by trees. There was no dirt road. He presumed it must have been an off-shoot site.

  He came out of the building, kept his back to the wall.

  “Where are you?” he called out. There was no answer.

  He started to look through the buildings and then he looked down and saw footprints in the dirt and grass blades stomped down. Widow turned to follow them.

  The footprints led into a two-story structure with an old door hanging off rusted hinges. Widow entered and swept from left to right with the HK45. He saw nothing, but there were more footprints in the dust leading up the stairs. He followed slowly, carefully. Checking the nooks and corners. Checking the hidden areas as best he could. At the top of the stairs there was a hallway with three open doorways. Past bedrooms, he presumed.

  He walked down the hallway, following the footprints.

  They led to the last room on the right, across from another room.

  Widow was no fool. He had spent sixteen years as an undercover cop where bad guys would have killed him if they knew who he really was. So he was a cautious guy. Cautious enough. He checked the other two rooms before entering the last one. They were empty.

  He stopped at the wall and hugged it before stepping into the doorway.

  Like the other buildings, the roof on this one was mostly blown away. The sun was bright at the angle he was at. It beamed down through huge holes and was almost blinding.

  Widow called out, “Eva?”

  She did not answer, not with a reply. Instead, he heard her making all kinds of noise. She must have been gagged. He peered in and saw her seated on a lone old desk chair. Her hands were zip tied in such a way that it looked like she was stuck to the chair. The zip ties went between her wrists and one of the chair’s metal arms.

  Widow looked around, fast. No one was there.

  He saw an open closet. It looked empty. There were holes in the floor big enough to fall through. He studied them. No one was down there either.

  There was a window behind her. No glass. He saw trees beyond it and nothing else.

  Widow entered the room, confused. Where was the man in black?

  He walked over to Eva, slowly. She mumbled and squirmed. The chair’s bottom was jammed into a hole in the floor like it was practically bolted there. She was flailing, trying to get free.

  Widow said, “Okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

  He got behind her and looked at the chair’s leg. He reached his free hand around her and pulled the gag out of her mouth.

  Eva shouted, “HE’S BEHIND ME! OUT THE WINDOW!”

  But it was too late. A second later, a razor-sharp garrote shot over Widow’s face and came tightening around his neck.

  CHAPTER 69

  THE MAN IN BLACK’S garrote was deadly. He had never messed up with it before and he had no intention of messing up this time. He had stepped out the window to hide on the ledge, but he also wanted the leverage because his target was a big guy.

  His plan was to pull back and half drop over the ledge as best as he could to let his weight and gravity pull the target back to the window and strangle him that way. A perfect plan. At least it should have been. But he miscalculated the wire and Widow’s neck and Widow’s HK45.

  The HK45 was jammed between the razor wire and Widow’s neck.

  Widow saw the wire at the last second and had jerked upward and shoved the gun between the wire and his face and neck.

  The HK45 was twisted and turned and pointed left away from his face. Which was good because a hair more inward and one shot would have blown a hole in his face.

  The man in black was strong, not stronger than Widow, but at this angle and the way the guy was pulling him back and out the window, he had the advantage.

  Widow struggled to try and pull him forward while the man in black wrenched backward.

  Widow could feel his legs buckling. He could feel his shoulder muscles cracking and throbbing from pulling forward.

  He did not want to fire the gun so close to his face. And even if he did, what good would it do?

  He tried to move, to shift away and try to get free. But every move he made, the man in black was right there with a countermove.

  He struggled and wrenched from one side to the other. The garrote wire was etching through the gun’s hard shell. What was he supposed to do?

  Eva struggled and bounced and tried to get free. She could help him if only she could get free.

  That was when Widow decided the best thing to do was not to fight. The best thing to do was to give in. He felt the man in black push off the wall outside the window with his feet, trying to pull Widow back to get him in a better strangling position.

  So Widow shifted to the right and then spun left and jumped backward. His feet pushed off the floor with all of his power and he took the man in black off guard and plowed into him. The two of them went back into the air, out the window, off the ledge, and into the trees.

  They bumped into each other and both feel to the hard ground below. Two stories. No enough to kill them, but enough to break bones.

  Widow landed on his left hand and felt two of his fingers twist and break. The pain hit him all at once. And instinctually he let go of the HK45 which went flying into the man in black’s face, snapped back at him by the garrote.

  They both lay on the ground for a moment. Widow in pain from his broken fingers and the man in black with the wind knocked out of him and a bloody nose that could have been from hitting the ground or from the HK45 nailing him in the face.

  Widow did not care. He just wanted to get up.

  He dug down deep and shoved himself up on his good hand and stumbled onto his feet. The man in black was up next, going for his SIG Sauer, Widow presumed, because he reached under his jacket to the shoulder holster. Only he came out with nothing because the SIG Sauer was up on the window ledge. And it was not alone.

  The man in black and Widow both heard a voice.

  Eva shouted down, “Hey!”

  She was leaning out of the window. She was free from the chair, only not really because the arm hung off the zip tie around her wrists. She had managed to pull the old rusted arm off. She held the man in black’s SIG Sauer.

  She called down to Widow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “What about the missile?”

  “Don’t worry. It didn’t explode,” he said and he looked at the man in black who looked shocked. And it dawned on Widow. They had thought it did. They had all thought they succeeded
in starting World War III.

  Widow said, “Karpov gave up the wrong passcode. Farmer entered the wrong one. The missile was nothing more than an oversized paperweight.”

  Eva asked, “Is my father okay?”

  “He is.”

  She asked, “Want me to shoot him?”

  The man in black’s eyes sprang open. Blood trickled out of this nose.

  And Jack Widow said, “Do it!”

  Eva squeezed the trigger and for the second time in a day, Widow had blood sprayed across his face and neck and shirt.

  The man in black’s face was mostly still there. Mostly.

  The corpse dropped to its knees and slumped over forward.

  Widow called up to her. He said, “Let’s get out of here. My hand is killing me.”

  CHAPTER 70

  THREE DAYS LATER, Widow waited outside of Admiral Kiley’s office with the desk sergeant, who was Widow’s favorite person at the moment because she had brought him two cups of coffee, Styrofoam cup, back to back, as he waited.

  The only thing feeling good was the coffee because so far he was getting the silent treatment from the admiral who had been in his office with Ebert for fifteen minutes. Widow did not answer to them anymore and they had told him he was a hero. But he still had to wait like everybody else.

  Finally, Ebert opened the door and said, “Widow.”

  Widow stood up. He was in new clothes, black jeans still, but he wore a white sweater over a white t-shirt, which matched the cast on his left hand, also white. The hospital on Norfolk Navy Base was pretty good. They fixed him right up. One day, no waiting there, and they had set his bones and cast them up. He was supposed to keep his left hand above his heart for some reason. He had been given a sling to wear, which he elected not to.

  Widow stood up from his chair and took his coffee with him. He walked into Kiley’s office and shook hands with him and then with Ebert.

  Kiley said, “Widow, you did a fine thing for us. A fine thing. Your country is grateful.”

  Widow said, “I appreciate that.”

  “Have a seat then.”

  Widow looked down at the chair and said, “I won’t be here long enough to sit.”