“We probably could get past them,” Curran answered. “But what if they notice a disturbance in the house after we break in? They’ll get reinforcements, then come rushing in with big guns. And we’ll be history. No, we need to take them out before we go inside.”
“What if you do take these two?” Cavanaugh asked. “What about the bodyguards inside? What about the magnetic card gate? What about the security cameras?”
“One thing at a time,” Curran replied.
Travis and Curran approached the guardpost, one on each side, using the dense trees, brush, and darkness as natural camouflage. The post was basically a small shack with barely enough room for two men to sit. There were Dutch doors on both sides—top halves open, bottom halves closed. Presumably, one man covered incoming traffic while the other covered the outgoing. Both roads had a gate blocking the lane that could be raised by the guards.
Curran crept up to the Dutch door on his side, then sprang up to his full height. “Excuse me.”
The guard nearest him jumped, startled to see a man suddenly appear in the doorway. “What the—” His hand moved toward the gun in his holster.
“Whoa! Calm down.” Curran held out his hands reassuringly. “I don’t want any trouble. My car broke down about a mile up the road and I can’t get it started.” He showed them the grease he had smeared all over his arms and face. “I thought maybe you’d have a phone.”
The guard glanced at his partner, who shrugged. “I suppose that would be all right.” He unlatched the bottom part of the Dutch door.
The instant the door was unlocked, Curran grabbed it and slammed it back into the guard. He doubled over the top of the door; Curran slammed it back again. The guard fell backward, knocking his partner against the control panel.
On the other side of the guardpost, Travis saw the other guard’s hand groping for an alarm button. He leaped over the Dutch door and grabbed the man’s hands. He heard Curran’s fists connecting with some part of the other guard’s anatomy, but he didn’t stop to see what or where. His job was to make sure his man’s hands didn’t make contact with the control panel.
Suddenly Travis’s guard bent forward and rammed his head into Travis’s gut. Travis fell back with a shout. The guard dove for the control panel. In the midst of this sudden flurry, Travis saw Curran land another fist on his target. He was doing fine, but the guard was proving too resilient. Curran would be done soon, but not soon enough.
Travis grabbed his guard around the neck and jerked him away from the control panel just as the man’s thumb was about to make contact with a large red button. He thrust the man’s head downward; his chin struck the metal panel. He fell onto the floor, apparently unconscious.
Travis heard another punch and saw Curran’s man fall to the ground in a similarly unconscious state.
“I can’t believe it,” Curran said. “You put your goon away before I did mine. How’d you do that?”
“Vitamins,” Travis said, gasping for air. “Now take out the damn phones.”
70
8:43 P.M.
TRAVIS GRABBED THE GUARD by the back of his neck and shook him. He still didn’t rouse.
“Nice job you did on him,” Henderson commented. “He’s out cold.”
“That had more to do with the solidity of the control panel than the strength of my fists.” He shook the man again. No reaction.
“Let me try,” Curran said. He stood behind the guard, wrapped his arms under the man’s shoulders and around his neck, then jerked him violently upward. Travis heard the guard’s neck crack. His eyes shot open.
“Who the fuck—” The guard looked around furiously, then groaned. His head fell to one side.
Curran lifted the man’s head and motioned for Travis to begin the inquisition. Travis searched back in the far recesses of his mind to his police days. Interrogation 101. Play on the suspect’s insecurity. Make him uneasy, unsure. Don’t let him know what you want. Let him wonder—
Oh, the hell with it. “Where’s your security card? Punk,” he added for dramatic effect.
The man stared at Travis, still semidazed. “My what?”
“Your entrance card. The little magnetic gizmo you stick in the box at the door so you can get into the house.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, right. Hold him tight, Curran.”
Travis proceeded to search him. He followed standard police procedure; it was all coming back to him. He patted down the man’s outer body, then came up on the inside of his legs and arms. In the man’s shirt pocket, he found a piece of plastic about the size of a credit card with an electromagnetic strip on the back. “This it?”
Curran glanced at the card. “Probably. Let’s sneak up to the house and give it a try.”
The man sneered. “It won’t work, you assholes.”
“Did you hear that?” Travis said. “He says it won’t work.”
“What did you expect him to say? Be my guest?” Curran tightened his grip around the man’s neck. “So why won’t it work, chump?”
The man grimaced. “You ain’t as smart as you think you are.”
“I think he’s referring to the voiceprint ID,” Cavanaugh suggested. The man’s immediate reaction told them she was right. “I’ve seen this equipment in operation before. You pop in the card and the machine asks you a few questions. Your voiceprint has to match the one the machine has on file.”
“If he thinks that’s going to stop us, he’s in for a big surprise,” Curran said. In the blink of an eye, he released his grip around the man’s neck, whirled him around, and shoved him back against the guardpost. He held two fingers about an inch from each of the man’s eyeballs.
“You see these fingers?” Curran asked. His voice was soft but dark; his expression was menacing. “Do you know how long it would take me to avulse your eyeballs? In case you don’t know, that means to pop them out of their sockets.”
The man shook his head slowly. He was staring at the two threatening fingers.
“About three seconds,” Curran answered. “Believe me. I’ve done it before.”
The guard’s head was trembling. “You’re a fuckin’ lunatic.”
“You know what? You’re right.” An evil leer crossed from one end of Curran’s face to the other, transforming his boyish features into an eerie satanic mask. He rested his fingertips on the man’s eyelids. “Two seconds left.”
The guard’s entire body shook, but he kept his mouth shut.
Curran pressed down on his eyelids. “One second left. And then—pop! go the eyeballs.”
“Chrissake, don’t do it!” The man’s chest was heaving; he was on the verge of crying. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Good.” Curran whipped him around again. “I’m going to tie you up now. Then we’ll lead you to the front entrance to the house. We’ll stick your card in the slot, and then you’re going to say whatever it is you’re supposed to say. You’re not going to scream or yell for help. You might bring help, but not in less than three seconds. If you so much as peep, you may as well start shopping for a Seeing Eye dog. Understand?”
The man nodded nervously. Sweat dripped down both cheeks.
“By the way,” Curran asked the guard, “has anyone else come calling today?”
“Yeah. Some other guy. I was told to let him in. ’Bout an hour ago.”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know his name. Honest I don’t.”
“Medium-size, dark-haired guy? Ugly face?”
“That’s him.”
Curran glanced at Travis. “Your client’s presence is confirmed.” Curran wrapped a heavy cord around the man’s wrists and shoved him toward the house. The others followed behind, careful to stay near the trees and in shadows.