Answer.”
“Could be. I dunno. We just got back.”
“Shoes. Right foot first. Take’m off.”
Boris toed off his right shoe first, then his left.
“Fight or make noise, you die. Tell me you understand. Answer.”
“I understand.”
“Go.”
Pike steered Boris into the dark beyond the kitchen. The absence of furnishings made navigating the space easy, but also magnified sounds. Pike kept Boris close, and moved softly. A hall off the family room led to the servants’ stair, so Pike steered Boris along the hall. Boris tensed when they reached the landing, so Pike sandwiched his pistol between them. He pulled Boris closer, and thumbed back the hammer until it locked in the cocked position. Pike wanted Boris to feel the Python cock.
He whispered again.
“Clear?”
Nod.
Pike nudged him onto the stairs.
“Up.”
The stairs creaked as they climbed. Halfway up, Spot’s voice echoed from far behind them.
“Hey! You gonna clean this up? Hey!”
They reached the top floor landing, and another long hall, the hall leading past bedrooms to the grand staircase. A single wall sconce glowed weakly, lighting the landing, but leaving most of the hall dark. Pike counted four doors, all closed, two on each side of the hall, but the nearest door, the first door on his right, was draped with a heavy piece of carpet. The carpet had been nailed above the door, and hung like a curtain. Pike had seen carpet covering doors and windows in high-conflict regions from El Salvador to Sierra Leone, and knew its true purpose. Carpet was used to muffle screams.
Spot called again, downstairs and farther away.
“Are you sick? Damnit, where are you?”
Pike stopped Boris at the carpet.
“Isabel?”
Boris nodded.
“Anyone else?”
Boris shook his head.
Pike assumed he was lying.
Spot called, louder now. Closer.
“This isn’t funny! Asshole!”
Pike touched the Python’s muzzle to Boris’s jaw, and whispered again.
“Push aside the carpet. Open the door. Slow.”
Boris followed directions, and pushed the door open.
Isabel lay curled on her side in the far corner of the dimly lit room. Zipties held her wrists behind her back, and duct tape bound her ankles. She was naked except for a bra and panties, and a blue nylon bag pulled over her head, but Pike knew she was Isabel.
Spot called again, his voice approaching the servants’ stair below.
Whisper.
“Tell him you’re coming down.”
Boris shouted.
“I’m coming down.”
As Boris shouted, the door across the hall opened, and a shirtless man with a pistol stepped out. Boris heaved backward, slamming Pike into the wall as the shirtless man raised his gun.
The .357 boomed as loud as a bomb.
The shirtless man stumbled, and cracked off two wild shots—BAMBAM. The bullets punched into Boris as Pike fired again—BOOM. The shirtless man fell, and Boris collapsed.
Isabel called out, but Pike barely heard her. A raging hum filled his ears, drowning her voice and creaks from the servants’ stair behind him.
Pike kicked the shirtless man’s gun aside when something heavy slammed his back and knocked him forward. Pike dropped to the side, and saw Spot on the landing. He stood in a two-hand combat stance, aiming a weapon. FLASHFLASH. Yellow-white flashes strobed from Spot’s gun, and a second sledgehammer slammed his chest. Pike staggered and fired—BABOOM. Spot twirled across the landing like a dancer, and slid down the wall. Pike sank to a knee, and then to a hand. His eyes watered. He could not breathe. The tone roared.
Go.
Move.
Get her.
Pike forced himself up, and took a position in Isabel’s door. He fed the Python a speedloader, and watched for pop-up gunmen. His arms felt leaden. Breathing hurt. He thought he might be bleeding to death, but he didn’t have time to die. Pike strained to hear if others were coming, but heard only the tone.
Clear the area.
Get her to safety.
Move.
Pike shouted over his shoulder, hoping she heard.
“Stay down. Lie flat on the floor.”
His voice sounded hollow, as if a desert wind had stolen his voice.
Pike moved down the hall. He cleared each room in turn, finding sleeping bags and personal gear, but no gunmen. He finished in seconds, and fell back, gun up and ready. Pike quickly searched the dead men, and snapped photos of each. He took their wallets and phones, and checked their weapons. A .40 and a 10. Spot’s pistol was the 10. Pike left their guns, and hurried to Isabel.
“I’m here.”
Isabel twisted, trying to roll toward him.
Pike knelt beside her and pulled the nylon sack from her head. Her lips moved, but her voice was a mumble.
Pike shook his head, and touched his ear.
“Can’t hear. Be my ears. Listen. Is someone coming?”
Isabel listened, and shook