Pausing a moment, he checked his left arm to be sure the wound was not bleeding again from all the exertion. He saw no signs of new blood.
The basement walls were stone, the floor concrete. Shallow windows up near the ceiling, at ground level, let in only a small amount of light because of the heavy overcast that accompanied the thunderstorm. Burke walked to the door opposite the elevator, cracked it an inch and looked out.
He found a hallway with rooms leading off each side. Moving along slowly, alert for indications of anyone around, he checked each room as he went. The first two must have been living quarters for servants sometime in the past. Another was the laundry room. Across from the laundry was a small, long-since abandoned bread and pastry kitchen, with a dumb waiter that once carried its delicacies upstairs.
A heavy wooden stairway rose near the center of the house. And at the opposite end from the elevator stood a well-supplied workshop capable of repairing garden implements and providing general maintenance for the property. A short stairway led up to a below-grade door. Using a ladder to look through a window, Burke saw outside steps of concrete leading up to ground level. After dark, that would provide his escape route.
Burke walked back through the hallway and discovered something he had missed before. In a small alcove beside the main stairway, a large bell attached to a cord was suspended over a box in the shape of a tic-tac-toe game. Each square contained a number. Burke had seen them before. It was the servants' station, where a ring of the bell summoned them to see which number, corresponding to various rooms, desired their presence. Beside the box were several metal tubes flared out on the end, speaking tubes once used to give instructions to the waiting servants.
Moving near the tubes, he could hear the murmur of voices, indicating some were still connected to rooms upstairs. He moved his ear along until he found the one emitting the sound.
"I don't give a shit about the rain," an angry, abrasive voice barked. "Somehow he's managed to get out of this damned house. Ed's been keeping watch out front. He must have slipped out the back way. He shouldn't have gotten far. Ed will take the car and drive around the area. The rest of you fan out on foot and cover the properties up and down the road. Charlie, you take the other side. There's gonna be asses kicked all over this damn county if we don't get him back in here. Move it!"
Burke smiled. If they thought he had already escaped, no one should be watching for him out back after dark.
Chapter 42
The cavernous warehouse stood on the banks of the Mississippi River at the northern edge of the city. It had been painted a dull battleship gray, an appropriate shade since functionally it was about as antiquated as those aging vessels with their monstrous guns and questionable utility. The warehouse's ceiling was much lower than most modern storage buildings, its loading docks less than the optimum height, its doors too narrow. As a consequence, the former tenants had opted for newer facilities, its owner had declared bankruptcy and an already overburdened bank had taken title. A large sign beside the road, near the access gate in the high chain link fence, told it alclass="underline"
For sale, rent or lease. No reasonable offer will be refused.
A slow moving mass of low-lying, grayish-black clouds hung over the area like a Damoclean sword, adding to the melancholy look of the deserted structure. The agent whose name appeared on the sign had received a call that morning from someone who had identified himself as an officer of the bank, instructing him to unlock the gate by noon. He was also told to unlock the ground level access door at the end where a row of high windows provided daylight illumination. Someone would be out during the afternoon to show the building to a customer who had demanded the strictest confidentiality. That was fine with the agent, who had more promising business to take care of, since he would collect his commission regardless of who made the sale.
A blue panel truck with Missouri plates and a sticker identifying it as the property of a Kansas City rental firm arrived first. The driver opened the gate and drove into the large paved area, which blossomed with a variety of exotic weeds growing through cracks in the asphalt. Closing the gate behind him, he proceeded to the building and parked inside.
Some thirty minutes later, a white truck bearing freshly-painted red and blue lettering on its sides appeared at the gate, followed by a small tan pickup. The lettering read "Lone Star Network Satellite Service." A painted replica of a dish antenna aimed skyward had been incorporated into the design. The painter had required a picture to complete the job, since he had never stolen a dish antenna.
When the last two vehicles pulled inside the warehouse, Robert Jeffries walked over to greet the occupants. Blythe Ingram, driver of the pickup, was first out.
"Have any problems finding the place, Blythe?" Jeffries asked. He was dressed in short sleeve blue coveralls bearing the ever-present "RJ" monogram.
"No sweat." Ingram shook his head, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Don't say anything about what happened on the island. I haven't told them." He wasn't too sure himself.
Jeffries looked around at the Jabberwock trio ambling across the concrete floor. "Hi, guys," he said, smiling. "I've got the rest of your mechanism in the back here." He pointed a thumb at the rented blue vehicle. "How does the truck handle on the road, Gary?"
"Easy. I've driven 'em bigger." Overmyer’s experience had included some of the Army’s largest rigs. Shrugging, he said, "She's a bit slow on the uptake. Until you get her up to speed, you'd be damned lucky to pass anybody."
Ingram folded his arms and looked across with skepticism. "He can make damned good time when he gets a full head of steam, I can tell you that. When he got too rambunctious, I had to pull around and flag him down."
Overmyer gave a defensive shrug. "You haven't had to do that much. I'm a law-abiding citizen."
"You'd damn well better be," Jeffries said with a rumpled brow. "We sure don't want any nosy cops getting around that vehicle. How far are you going tonight?"
"Indianapolis," said Overmyer.
Ingram nodded. "We want to make Toronto tomorrow night. It'll mean a really long day. You guys going to feel like driving thirteen hours?"
"I have no objection," said Richter with a shrug.
Abdalla looked out through cold, deliberate eyes. "Whatever the plan calls for."
Jeffries walked over to the panel truck and opened the rear doors. He gestured inside. "Here's your dish. All we have to do is set it on the arms in back of the truck and bolt it down. It shouldn't be too difficult. This is a mock-up of the real thing, designed for use in displays. It's made from lighter materials instead of the steel of an actual dish. I'll show you how to maneuver it around with the controls."
It took only a few minutes to install the dish, particularly with Hans Richter manhandling it as though it were a large aluminum umbrella. Jeffries demonstrated how to operate the elevation and azimuth controls, and they were soon ready to resume the journey to Indianapolis. Ingram instructed Overmyer to go ahead, that he would catch up with them in a few minutes. He had some business to take care of with Jeffries.
As the satellite truck pulled out, Ingram turned to his colleague. "I understand there's a real flap over what happened on the island. All I've been told is that Ted is no longer with us, that I'd have to chaperon the team until they could send a replacement. We're supposed to meet him tomorrow night, just across the border."
Jeffries nodded, frowning. "It was gruesome when we got back out there Saturday afternoon. Ted and Sarge were both dead. Ted was lying in the doorway of the shop, the back of his head blown off. Sarge was tied to a chair, a bullet through his heart. It looked like the Sarge was shot with Ted's gun, and Ted with Sarge's .45. But who pulled the triggers is anybody's guess. That private investigator, or whatever he was, and the black man were long gone."