Reiff gazed back through the window at what could only be described as squalor. Blocks and blocks of run-down buildings. Dingy and in disrepair, with papers and debris scattered along the sidewalks below patches of graffiti. Dozens of large, street-facing windows appeared dirtied and abandoned, with others boarded up. A few infrequent storefronts looked open but bereft of anyone resembling customers.
“What the hell happened?”
The older man squinted as he drove. “They didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Waterman slowed the truck as they approached an area of road construction, where tall, skinny orange pylons littered the street in front of them. Sections of yellow construction tape could be seen, but as they drew nearer, Reiff saw the area more clearly. Much of the upturned pavement appeared abandoned. Discarded. With the pylons haphazardly positioned. Some were on the ground, and all connected to nothing more than tattered remnants of faded construction tape.
“This probably isn’t the time.”
“Time for what?!”
Waterman frowned. “A lot has happened, John.”
“Is all of Flagstaff like this?”
Waterman turned to look at him. “It’s not just Flagstaff.”
Once out of the city, Waterman’s voice came through the walkie-talkie. “How’s our injured man doing?”
The driver of the truck grabbed his handheld unit and handed it back to Rachel. “He’s okay,” she replied. “Struggling to breathe but stable.”
“Good. Can he last a couple hours?”
The situation was now manageable, leaving Rachel to look to Masten, who closed his eyes in pain but nodded. “As long as we end up at a hospital.”
“Understood. Give me back to Wayne.”
She complied and passed the walkie-talkie back over the seat, where her ponytailed driver took it. “Where we headed?”
“Kingman,” answered Waterman. “The Blue Door.”
“Roger that.”
Behind them, Waterman noticed Reiff watching him and handed his old friend the walkie-talkie. “Encrypted with a range of only a mile or two. Perfect for short, confined communication.”
“Why do you need ‘confined’ communication?”
“Arizona is a nontracking state. But it doesn’t mean they don’t still do it.”
“Who?”
At that, Waterman smirked. “You haven’t been asleep that long.” He then turned and looked Reiff over. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I’m fine. What do you mean by ‘a lot has happened?’”
His focus back on the highway, the older man said, “Tell you what, we’ve got two hours to Kingman. Get some rest, and then I’ll explain everything. Believe me, you’re going to want to be well rested.”
A single set of footsteps echoed eerily through the long hallway, reverberating off the featureless walls with each step. Slowly. Carefully. Until both shoes came to a stop and remained still.
After several long seconds, a soft ruffling was heard, followed by a series of short electronic tones. Dialing. Then another short pause before Nora Lagner spoke.
“Reiff is gone. And he took Masten with him.”
She continued to survey the scene in front of her. Two men were alive—dazed, but rising to their feet—while three others appeared dead. The two she had hired, and one of Duchik’s mercenaries, lying motionless in the hallway in pool of blood, seeping from a wound she could not see.
“How long?”
“Ten minutes. Maybe less.” She turned and looked at the blood-smeared wall at the end of the hallway. “He’s hurt.”
“How bad?”
“There’s a mess on the wall. Like a bullet went through him. He might be dead.”
On the other end of the phone, Duchik fell silent as he thought. They wouldn’t have taken Masten if he was dead. But depending on where he was hit, he could be in need of medical attention.
“How much blood is on the floor?”
In the hallway, Lagner squinted and peered closer. “Not a lot.”
Duchik clenched his teeth in frustration. “Get the video footage and bring in the cleaners. Wipe anything that could tie us to Reiff or Masten. Bodies, data, everything.”
“And then?”
“Then restage. As planned.”
He ended the call.
Duchik had considered the possibility of Masten surviving. But there wasn’t a scenario in which the man ended up with Reiff. Fortunately, though, while Masten knew a little, he didn’t know enough. It would have been better if he were dead, but in the end, it wouldn’t derail anything.
On the other hand, if Masten was alive and Duchik could find him, it would most likely lead him to the others.