CHAPTER 53

           It is folly to consider that spending on bloated, parasitic entitlement programs occurs within a vacuum, for each expenditure will put a drain on other worthy causes, such as our defense force, which our Constitution obligates us to maintain.

        —LANCASTER R. HILL, A Secret Worth Keeping, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS; 1937, P. 18

A strong wind blew through the shattered glass, scattering loose papers from an end table into the air, and briefly turning the elegant Great Room into a snow globe. Lou rushed to the gaping window. His powerful flashlight beam could not penetrate the lingering mist, and probably would never have reached the base of the cliff even if it had. He listened for confirmation of what he knew was true, but heard only wind and waves. Dazed, he surveyed the gruesome trail of blood—all that remained here of Tim Vaill. Given the man’s neurologic damage, it was doubtful he would have ever been able to function as an agent again. And given the depth of his anguish and hatred, he had accomplished what he had come to do.

You got what you came for, my friend, Lou thought, gazing out into the night. Now you can rest.

He heard the hum of Humphrey’s motorized wheelchair approaching from behind, and turned to see the two scientists.

“Agent Vaill?” Kazimi asked.

“Gone. He died for us and took Burke with him.”

“May Allah speed him to join his beloved wife in Heaven.”

“I promise to finish my work for him,” Humphrey added.

“This isn’t finished,” Lou said. “Let’s go over the guards again.”

Kazimi repeated what he knew. Burke … Drake … Collins … Bacon … an old butler named Harris … Again, Lou added the man Ron.

“Then there’s the scientist who discovered the Janus strain,” Kazimi said. “I don’t know his name, and we haven’t met him yet, so I cannot tell you how much of a threat he is.”

“How disabled is this Bacon? I saw him through his study window, and it looked like he could still put up a fight.”

“Especially if he has a gun,” Humphrey said.

Was that all? Lou guessed there could not be many more left, or the cameras overseeing the horrible gunfight would have brought them in by now.

“There is someone else,” Humphrey said. “I saw him in a room filled with monitors.”

“That’s probably the one I heard on the guard’s radio—the one named Ron.”

“Big man,” Humphrey said. “Broad shoulders. Bald with thick eyebrows and a goatee.”

“Where did you see him? Where’s that room with the screens?”

“I think it’s at the other end of that passageway. Near the main castle.”

“I know that door,” Kazimi said. “I’ve never seen it open and I assumed it was just for storage.”

“That’s got to be Ron.”

Lou understood this was a significant crossroads. He had to decide whether to go deeper into the castle and neutralize all threats, or try to escape and get help. Vaill had been wrong about there being a second mole in the agency, but chances were he was right about the control Bacon’s money had over the people in Mount William—especially the police. The choice seemed clear.

“What are we going to do?” Kazimi asked.

“We’re going down that corridor,” Lou said. “If the door is open, whoever is in there, I’ll take them out.”

“That may not be the best plan,” Humphrey said. “If there is guard, he will be armed and better trained than you. He also would be ready.”

Lou thought about the number of shots he took at Burke before he ran out of ammunition, and the number he missed.

“You have a better idea?” Lou asked.

“In fact,” Humphrey said with a spark in his eyes, “I do.”

*   *   *

KAZIMI HURRIED back into the lab, and emerged with the needed things. When he caught up with Lou and Humphrey, they were already moving slowly down the stone corridor. Lou had put a new ammo clip inside the Glock.

After handing over the supplies, Kazimi returned to the lab to gather up Humphrey’s notes. Lou had given him orders to escape from Red Cliff through the guardhouse tunnel in the event anything happened to him. If for any reason Lou failed to take down Bacon, someone had to get the Janus research to the authorities.

Humphrey seemed more concerned with getting his research completed, and he urged Kazimi to stay and work with him and the other scientist.

They entered the passageway and paused for Lou to don a pair of rubber gloves and to review their plan. He had misgivings, but the thought of once again testing his mettle as a gunfighter held no appeal, either.

Not surprisingly, the door to the security room was closed.

Humphrey maneuvered his wheelchair to face it, while Lou, pistol in his waistband, pressed his back against the wall to Humphrey’s right. In one hand, he held Vaill’s listening device. In the other, he gingerly cradled a beaker half full of the concentrated sulfuric acid that Kazimi had retrieved from the lab.

The headphones fit snuggly. He put the microphone up to the wall and listened.

“Bacon, it’s Jessup here,” Lou heard a man say. “Burke is dead. One of the intruders I reported about carried him through one of the big windows in the Great Room. They’re both gone. I’m back in my office now. No sign of the other guy or the two scientists. They were all there a few minutes ago, but now they’ve all vanished. Remember, the cameras have blind spots, and there are only a few of them down at that end.… So, what do you want me to do?… Yes, boss, I’ll stay right here and keep my eye on the screens. But if you want me to go after them, just say the word. Yes, sir. Yes. I understand. Protect the scientists at all costs—especially the one in the wheelchair.”

Lou put the listening device away and tightened his hold on the beaker.

He was surprised at how calm he was feeling compared to his state of utter panic staring down through the trapdoor opening in the stone house. He sensed it was from having watched Vaill give up his life the way he had. Witnessing that kind of selflessness had its effects.

A single deep breath, and he nodded to Humphrey that it was time.

Humphrey took the extender arm from its hook on his wheelchair and used the custom-made contraption to knock on the door.

Even without the listening device, Lou could hear scuffing from within. He imagined the goateed security man peering through the peephole. It was a good idea not to go for a gunfight, but now Jessup had to open the door wide enough for Lou to make his move. That would depend on Humphrey. The door opened a sliver, then a bit more.

“I need to talk with you,” Humphrey said, his enunciation even weaker than usual—on purpose, Lou was certain.

“What did you say? What in the hell do you want?”

“I need to talk to you now!”

“Fucking gnome,” the man muttered.

The door opened enough to emit the barrel of a pistol. Then it opened some more. Finally, it opened enough.

“What are you doing here, creep?” the man snapped. “Get back to work. You’re supposed to be in—”

Lou pushed away from the wall, whirled behind Humphrey, and threw the beaker of sulfuric acid, aiming at what he imagined would be Jessup’s face. It was a perfect strike. The glass smashed against the bridge of the security guard’s nose, shattering on impact, and sending him stumbling back into the room.

Immediately, there were piteous screams and the sizzle of frying skin. Jessup dropped his gun and pawed at his eyes. The air instantly turned sickly with the odor of singed hair and searing flesh. A noxious billow of greenish-yellow smoke began to fill the room.

The shrieking continued.

This was nothing Lou had wanted to do—nothing he enjoyed doing. But Red Cliff and the people within it were extremists who espoused a philosophy of pain for those less fortunate than themselves. And Cap was in serious trouble because of them.

In his years in the ER, Lou had only taken care of one acid-to-the-face injury. It was a woman who had taken out a restraining order on an abusive boyfriend. If he worked in medicine for a thousand years, Lou would never forget the sight of her face. He knew this man’s eyes were burnt beyond use, and it was doubtful anyone would ever take him out of prison to give him a face transplant. But injured as he was, he would survive because his burns, though terrible, were not mortal.

Chilled by the sounds and sickened at the smell, Lou took out his Glock and aimed the weapon at Jessup’s forehead. The situation was approaching unbearable. He stared down at the scorched and charred remains of what was once a human face. His gun hand began to waver as his thoughts swirled with images of all that had happened since his run in the Chattahoochee forest with Cap.

“Maybe in jail you’ll find new meaning to your life,” he said, holstering his weapon.

Backing from the room, he closed the door, sealing Jessup inside. Even with the heavy portal shut and a foot of stone wall between them, Lou could still hear the man’s agonized moans.

“Where to now?” Humphrey asked.

“Now you go back to the lab and help Kazimi gather up all the notes and data he’ll need to make a working antibiotic treatment.”

“What are you going to do?” Humphrey asked.

“I’m going to find Doug Bacon and put an end to One Hundred Neighbors once and for all.”