Kreiss pocketed the retinal disrupter and stripped off the hood and mirror-eyed horror mask. He looked down from the trailer’s doorway at the stunned figure of Jared McGarand, balled up in the capture curtain at the side of the steps. Then he stepped past Jared and picked up a garden hose that was attached to the end of the trailer. He turned it on and sprayed water all over Jared and the curtain until all the sticky strands had dissolved, after which, he dragged Jared under the end of the trailer that was perched up on the cinder blocks. He positioned him so that his body was under the trailer, with his head just outside the metal edge of the trailer’s frame. He went over to the engine-hoisting A-frame and brought back a large five-ton hydraulic jack stand, which he positioned under the edge of the trailer, about two feet away from Jared’s head. He pumped the jack stand until it engaged the bottom edge of the trailer and then actually
lifted it. Keeping an eye on jared’s inert form, he got a four-by-four from a stack of junk lumber and battered down the two cinder-block support columns until the trailer was supported entirely on the jack stand. Then he lowered the stand until the bottom of the trailer came to rest just barely on jared’s chest, pinning him firmly to the ground.
He went back inside the trailer. In the kitchen, he got the telephone recorder to play back Jared’s calls. There was only one: to that second man. He listened to it twice, then disconnected the telephone dial intercept equipment, the recording device from the kitchen phone, the four inside speakers, and the breaker box diversion switch. He turned the lights back on in the trailer. The television boomed to life and he shut the obnoxious noise down. He gathered up all his equipment and Jared’s .45, which he had previously disarmed by unloading it, leaving one shell case with no powder or bullet under the hammer. He spotted Jared’s truck keys and wallet on the kitchen table, and he took those, too. Then he went out the back door, climbed up to the roof edge, and retrieved the sound box.
He listened for the dogs, but the woods were still quiet.
He took all his equipment and Jared’s weapon out to the truck and then took off the disposable blackout suit, under which he had been wearing khaki pants and a plain white shirt. He put on a dark ball cap with an extended brim, which he pulled down low over his face. He put on a pair of blocky black-framed glasses, which had a mildly reflective coating on the outside of the lenses. The glasses were magnifiers, which distorted the image of his own eyes while allowing him to see very well up close. He strapped a voice-distortion box onto his chest, put on a wire headset with a very thin boom mike in front of his lips. He pulled on rubber gloves and retrieved a box-shaped battery lantern from the truck. That’s when he noticed the cover on the license plate.
He swore and bent down to examine it. It was not the plate cover that had been there originally, although it was very damn close. It was too new-looking, the metal too bright. He got out a Phillips screwdriver and took off the plate and its cover frame. He separated the plate from the frame and examined the back of the frame. He found the two stub antennas at once. Son of a bitch, he thought. This is a surveillance tag: Based on those antennas, it probably responds to a satellite interrogation signal. He looked down at the rear bumper. Gets its power from the plate light by induction. There were four rubber buttons glued onto the plate mounting to insulate the plate frame from the truck’s frame.
He stood up. So he’d missed one. The question now was whether or not he’d been followed here. He didn’t think so, but he’d better make sure. Jared wasn’t going anywhere.
He slipped into the woods and made a big circle out to the road, where he looked for any signs of vehicles. The road was empty. He knew the plate tag wasn’t a device used for following someone down the road. It could give a general location when the satellite transmitted a query signal, but it was not precise enough to do block-by-block surveillance. The question was, then, When would they query it? That would determine how much time he had out here. That tag changed the equation.
He walked back through the woods to where Jared was pinned under the trailer. He hauled over two cinder blocks and made himself a rough bench. He sat down and watched as Jared started to come around. He was whimpering and trying to move, and then he opened his eyes wide when he realized he could we? move. Kreiss switched on the lantern and pointed it into jared’s face. He switched on the voice-distortion box.
“Can you hear me?” he asked. The box transmitted his words in the softly booming tones of a giant computer-generated voice, atonal and without any accent or inflection.
Jared blinked rapidly in the glare of the lantern’s beam and tried to move again, pushing himself sideways as he tried to escape the weight of the trailer. Kreiss knew that jared’s vision would be a purple-rimmed haze for a few minutes. He waited motionless, while Jared figured out where he was. Then Kreiss reached over and lifted the handle of the jack stand one notch, which settled the trailer one-eighth of an inch downward. Jared made a terrified noise and stopped struggling. Both his hands were flat against the bottom of the trailer, as if he were going to hold it up. He had to look up and back over his shoulder even to see Kreiss.
“Can you hear me?” Kreiss asked again.
“Y-yeah!” Jared said, but his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.
“Get it off a me, man. Jesus Christ! Get it off a me. Can’t breathe.”
Kreiss leaned closer.
“About a month ago, three college kids disappeared from Virginia Tech. I have evidence that one of them was at the Ramsey Arsenal. What do you know?”
Jared’s expression changed from one of fear to one of suspicion.
“Who the fuck are you, man? Why you doin’ this?”
“I know you go there,” Kreiss said.
“You and one other. I’ve been watching you. I found your traps, the ones on the creek and the other one, remember? Do you want to die here?”
Jared’s face hardened.
“Don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”
He still had his hands in the push-up position. They were white and trembling.
The trailer’s frame was making ominous creaking sounds along its full length.
“Sure about that’ Jared said, reaching for the jack handle.
“Don’t know—what—you’re talking about,” Jared gasped. The muscles in his upper arms were straining as he tried to push up against the trailer.
Kreiss lowered the trailer another eighth of an inch, and Jared would have screamed had he been able to muster the breath. He made a sound that was half wheeze, half whimper. His boots were pushing dirt around in an involuntary reflex. The trailer made some more creaking noises.