Lamont cried out and went down. A cold wind blew in through the shattered windows, bringing tendrils of fog and the salt odor of the ocean, mixed with the pungent smell of burnt powder.
One of the men on the patio was twisting on the ground in pain. Nick put two more rounds into him. He stopped moving.
Nick swiveled to cover Ronnie, bending over Lamont.
"I'm okay." Lamont took a painful breath and looked down at a hole in his shirt. "Sucker hit the armor."
"Take two aspirin and call me in the morning," Ronnie said.
He helped Lamont to his feet.
"We'll keep going," Nick said.
They passed a formal dining room with a long, polished table and entered another hallway leading toward the far end of the house.
The next room was the kitchen. Nick got down on one knee and glanced around the corner. A prepping island and grill took up the middle of the large room. Shining, copper bottomed pots and pans hung from a rack above it.
He ducked back as bullets splintered the frame of the door.
Ronnie reached down, drew out a grenade and lobbed it through the door. The explosion ripped the fancy cookware from the ceiling and sent shrapnel flying into the high-end appliances scattered about the room. Nick looked around the corner again. No more shots came from within.
They moved past two more empty rooms toward the end of the house, where it formed a right angled L at the end of the patio. Light came from around the corner. Music came from somewhere ahead. Someone was humming along with it.
Nick looked around the corner into a large room that took up the entire end of the house. A rack of computer monitors lined a wide shelf on the far wall, displaying images of the grounds. Someone was seated in a large, leather chair, his back turned toward the entrance. He had a glass in one hand. The other was moving in time to the music.
Then Nick realized he was looking at an image of himself looking around the corner on one of the monitors.
"I wouldn't advise coming any closer," Haltman said.
He swiveled his chair around.
"Why don't you all come out where I can see you?"
Nick and the others stepped out. Lamont watched the hall for more trouble.
"Let's see," Haltman said. "You're Carter, aren't you? And that brown looking man with the big nose must be the Indian."
Ronnie raised his weapon and stepped forward.
"You really shouldn't take another step, you know. Allow me to show you why."
Haltman set his drink down and picked up a piece of paper. He held it up to show them it was only paper, nothing more. He crumpled it into a ball.
"Watch carefully," he said.
He touched a button on the arm of his chair. Instantly, the opening filled with narrow, crisscrossing beams of red light.
He tossed the ball toward them. Just before it reached them, it burst into flame. The ashes dropped to the floor.
"Lasers," Haltman said. "My own design. Effective, don't you think?"
"Give it up, Haltman," Nick said. "There's nowhere for you to go."
"Nowhere for you, either."
"Nick," Lamont said. He gestured with his rifle.
Ten feet down the hall they'd just passed through, a second grid of red laser beams blocked their return. They were trapped.
"Do I have your attention?" Haltman asked.
"What do you want, Haltman? You know it ends here."
"Want?" Haltman's eyes were wild. "There's nothing I want from you except to watch you die. Like you watched my brother."
He giggled.
"Asshole is stoned," Lamont muttered under his breath.
"Your brother was a traitor and a murderer," Nick said. "He got what he deserved."
"Yes, you would say that, wouldn't you?"
Haltman picked up what might have been a television remote control, except it was larger and seemed to have more buttons than normal.
"I now call your attention to the central monitor on the top row," he said. He clicked on a button.
The picture on the monitor changed from a camera overlooking the front gate to an overhead satellite view of a broad expanse of snow covered ground. Tiny dots on the ground might have been buildings.
"You are looking at the Eastern Ukraine," Haltman said.
He clicked another button. A second monitor lit next to the first.
"Romania. What do you see, Carter? Oh, wait a minute, let me zoom in."
The images expanded as Haltman entered another command. As the lenses zoomed in, Nick recognized what he was looking at.
THAAD missile installations, the new deployments of America's latest system, set up as part of the highly touted European Shield.
"What do you think would happen if those missiles were fired into Russia?" Haltman said. "Please, humor me."
"You know damn well what would happen," Nick said. "It could start a war."
Haltman held up the remote.
"I designed the guidance system. I left a little something in the programming, just in case it might come in handy some day."
"What are you talking about?"
Haltman waved the remote back and forth.
"Do you see this button here? The big red one? I really couldn't resist making it red. If I push this button, all of those lovely missiles will take to the air. Can you imagine their surprise in Washington? In Moscow?"
"He's serious," Ronnie said.
"That's right, Tonto, I'm serious."
"You know I can't let you do that," Nick said.
"Right now you're probably thinking of shooting me and worrying about the lasers later. But that won't work, you see. I thought of that. Perhaps you've noticed that I haven't let go of this controller since I picked it up. If I let go, the missiles will launch. If I press the red button, the missiles will launch."
He smiled at them.
"My, my, whatever will you do?"
Outside the estate, Selena had heard every word as she sat in the car. Now she spoke into her microphone.
"Nick, don't show any sign. It sounds as though he's got you penned in with some kind of electronic trap, is that right? Cough once for yes, twice for no."
Nick coughed.
"I'm coming. Stall him."
Cough.
Her MP-7 was on the passenger seat next to her. She rolled down her window, started the engine, switched on the bright beams and pulled out onto the highway. She picked up speed, came to the entrance to the estate, and swung a hard right onto the drive.
Selena put her foot down on the accelerator. The outer chain-link fence appeared out of the mists. She kept her foot down, ducked, and drove the truck at speed into the double gates. They flew open with the sound of tearing metal, ripping off a fender and one of the headlights.
It was a quarter-mile from the outer gate to the stone wall. The drive was a dark, straight line cutting across the manicured grounds around it. She kept her foot down on the accelerator. The car shook, the steering wheel vibrating in her grip. A loud, screeching noise came from the engine compartment. Steam rose from the radiator. The battered vehicle would never be able to break through the heavy iron gate in the wall ahead. Haltman's guards would be at the guardhouse waiting for her. By now, they had to know she was coming.
Whoever designed the estate had made a mistake. The guardhouse was placed outside the wall instead of behind it, where it would have been protected. The lights in the guardhouse were on. Four men with submachine guns stood in front of the gate. They began shooting at her.
Selena ducked as bullets from the guns smashed through the windshield. She grabbed her weapon from the seat, opened her door and rolled out of the speeding truck. The ground was soft from rain, but still hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Knife-like pain wracked her injured thigh. She rolled, clutching the MP-7. The suburban hurtled toward the wall and smashed into the gate, scattering the men firing at her.