Chris let the hard drive continue to run while he manually turned off the monitor, so anyone who happened to lay eyes on the computer wouldn’t immediately notice anything unusual.
Chris braved the stench to approach the hostage. “Who are you?”
“My name is Mohammad,” the hostage said.
“That’s original.”
“Really, I’m Mohammad. Mohammad Haq.”
“Who do you work for?” Chris asked.
“Freddie Mac.”
“What do you do at Freddie Mac?”
“I’m a computer programmer,” Mohammad replied.
“How do you know Little Kale and the Grave Man?”
“They invaded my home and took me prisoner,” the man said. “I don’t know anything else about them.”
“So if I call Freddie Mac, they’re going to know who you are, but you’ve gone missing?”
“Yes!” Mohammad said.
“Then you can stay here until Freddie Mac tells me that.” Chris closed the box.
“Please, don’t close the lid,” he begged. “Please.”
Chris looked up Freddie Mac’s phone number on his phone and called. They put him on hold first. Figures. Then when the operator picked up, she transferred him to human resources, who put him on hold again. Finally, a human resources rep answered the phone, but she said she couldn’t give out personal information. Chris discreetly ended the conversation.
He turned to the closed box and said, “I’m having trouble verifying your story. You got any evidence better than your word?”
“I work for Hezbollah!” he shouted. “I keep this safe house for Hezbollah, and Grave Man wanted to use it for him and his men, but when I didn’t cooperate, he put me in this box. Grave Man works for a guy named Kalil, but Kalil has never been here.”
Chris opened the lid. “What about Professor Mordet? Has he been here?”
“I don’t know anything about any Professor Mordet.”
Hannah stood with an eye on the window. “A brown Range Rover just pulled in the driveway.”
“It’s him,” Mohammad exclaimed. “Grave Man!”
Chris hurried to the window. “What does he look like?”
“His hair is grey — beard, hair on his head,” Mohammad said. “Even his skin has a greyish tint.”
“How many men are with him?”
“Two or three.”
Chris whispered in Hannah’s ear. “We’ll stay hidden downstairs until they’re all inside.”
She nodded.
“Maybe we can take Grave Man alive.”
“What about me?” Mohammad asked.
Chris walked over and aimed his rifle at Mohammad. “Shut the hell up.”
Hannah smiled. “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I like it.”
Chris hurried down the stairs, two at a time. At the bottom, he took a position behind a love seat flanking the sofa, and Hannah posted behind the other love seat on the opposite flank of the sofa.
The sound of car doors closing jolted Chris’s heart with a burst of speed, and adrenaline saturated his arteries. Moisture emerged from his palms, and he worried about his rifle slipping in his hands, so he gripped it tighter. His breathing came warmer and faster. He took a deep breath in an attempt to control himself. He visualized popping up from the couch and aiming.
The doorknob rattled. Someone inserted a key and turned it. The door squeaked open. He waited for it to close. But it didn’t.
Do they sense something? They seemed to be waiting. For what? Grave Man and his men were quiet. Something is wrong. Chris popped up from behind the couch.
Grave Man and two beefy guys with pistols, who looked like bodyguards, had entered the house and aimed their pistols at Chris. Another person stood behind Grave Man and hadn’t entered the house yet.
The bodyguards fired first. One of the rounds hit the love seat, and another snapped somewhere above his left ear. All he could do was focus on survival. The noise of the bodyguards’ pistols inside the house was loud, but Chris didn’t have a sound suppressor, and his rifle was louder. He fired as soon as the first bodyguard appeared in his sights. Chris’s shot tore into the pistol side of the bodyguard’s chest, and his pistol dropped to the ground. The second bodyguard squeezed off another round, and Chris felt its heat on his neck. Chris shot him in the middle of his chest, but the second bodyguard hung on to his pistol. But before the second bodyguard could fire again, Chris popped another hole in his chest and fed him a bite of hardwood floor.
The first bodyguard frantically reached for his lost pistol, and Hannah’s rifle blazed, knocking him down.
Grave Man and his third bodyguard did a desperation dance in the doorway: Grave Man tried to exit as Third Bodyguard tried to enter. One of Chris’s rounds struck the doorframe, but the other two hit Third Bodyguard, who remained standing and looked down at the bullet holes in his chest.
Grave Man made a sprint for his Range Rover. “Moving forward!” Chris shouted to Hannah, hoping she heard and wouldn’t shoot him by accident. He trusted that she would make sure the downed bodyguards stayed down. Chris sprang to the door, and his shoulder smashed into Third Bodyguard, knocking his swaying body out of the doorway.
Grave Man was closer to the driver’s side of the Range Rover than Chris, so Chris made up for it with a hail of bullets through the driver’s side of the window. The glass exploded. “Stop!” Chris commanded in Arabic.
Grave Man jumped away from the vehicle. His feet were planted solidly on the ground like a tree trunk, and he held up his arms like branches in a breeze.
With his right hand, Chris continued to aim his weapon at Grave Man while gesturing with his left hand. “Get down! On your stomach! Hands behind your back!”
Grave Man dropped to the ground and did as he was told.
Chris slung his rifle on his back, pulled some zip ties out of his pocket, and secured Grave Man’s hands behind his back. Then he frisked Grave Man from head to feet — and retrieved a cell phone. Chris jerked him to his feet and pushed him toward the house. “Walk!”
Grave Man stumbled at first but then steadied his legs.
Chris escorted him inside, where his three bodyguards had fresh bullet holes in their skulls. Hannah had ensured they wouldn’t cause more trouble. As Chris prodded Grave Man up the stairs, he became reluctant. “What’s wrong,” Chris asked, “you don’t like where we’re going?”
Grave Man didn’t reply.
Chris made him lie down in the stinking master bedroom next to the box and zip-tied his feet. “We’re going to play a game,” Chris said. “It’s called trading places. These are the rules: you tell me where Little Kale and Professor Mordet are, and I don’t put you in the box. If you don’t tell me where they are, you go in the box.”
His arms trembled, but he didn’t speak.
Hannah assisted Chris in helping Mohammad out of the box. His legs wobbled and were too weak to stand. Chris and Hannah steadied him, guided him to the wall, and sat him down.
Mohammad spat at Grave Man and shouted an Arab insult: “My shoes are better than you!”
Chris looked at Grave Man. “Now it’s your turn.”
Grave Man’s trembling intensified. “I don’t know anything about Little Kale or Professor Mordet, I swear!”
Chris motioned for Hannah to grab his head, and Chris reached down for his legs.
Grave Man kicked his bound feet and thrashed his head.
Hannah used her fist as a tenderizer for his face, knocking him out. They picked up his heavy, limp body and dropped him on his back in the box. With his hands zip-tied behind his back, his arms would quickly become uncomfortable. The stench had dissipated somewhat, but it still made Chris gag. He didn’t know how Hannah could stand it without choking.