Page 34 of Nightshade
THE SEAS WERE flat and the reflection of a crescent moon lit Stilwell’s path across the black water. It took him fifteen minutes on the Zodiac to get from the sheriff’s dock in the harbor to the point behind the desalination plant where Tash’s phone had last come up on the tracking app. He ran with no lights and throttled down when he cut in toward the plant from a thousand yards out. He raised binoculars to his eyes and searched the shore. The location he got from Tash’s phone would not be exact. He needed to find a target. But Spivak—and Tash—could be anywhere on the point.
The exterior of the plant was well lighted, and there were several small structures surrounding the large blue storage tanks and the forest of piping and filtration systems that delivered fresh water to them. Most of the sheds and trailers were dark, but behind the window of one small structure, he saw the bluish-white glow from an electronic screen. It was a metal-sided trailer that sat on five-foot stacks of cinder block, a hedge against flooding from the occasional king tide. Between these legs were sections of breakaway lattice. Stilwell counted six steps up to a landing. The front door had a small square window through which the glow was visible. Stilwell held the binoculars on the trailer for several seconds but saw no movement. He understood that it could simply be a computer left on after the day’s work stoppage, but most untended computers had timers that put their screens to sleep.
Stilwell decided that he needed to check out the trailer.
He was three hundred yards offshore now. He goosed the throttle to get some momentum and a few seconds later cut the engine for a silent approach. When the craft slowed a hundred yards out and started to drift, he dropped an anchor over the side, waited for it to catch, then cleated the line. He was wearing his dive team wet suit. He slung a waterproof backpack over his shoulders, pulled down the diving mask from his forehead, and slipped over the side of the craft into the cold, dark water. He felt the cold stab into his ears and chill his scalp. He kicked his legs and headed toward shore.
Ten minutes later he walked out of the surf and picked his way up the rocky shore toward the asphalt-paved apron surrounding the plant. There was no fence or other impediment to a waterside approach.
An old wooden equipment shed stood on the outer edge of the asphalt. Stilwell made it there first and used it as a blind to take a guarded look around its corner at the trailer he had been watching. Again, he saw no movement but decided it was still his target. He checked his watch. He had ten minutes left in the hour he had been given.
He slung the backpack to the ground and unzipped it. He removed his dive mask and stripped off the wet suit, leaving it on the ground like a snakeskin. From the backpack he pulled out black jeans, a shirt, and shoes and quickly dressed. He got out his phone and a folding knife and shoved them into his pockets, then took out his gun and tucked it under his belt at the back of his pants.
The target trailer was forty yards away across open asphalt. Stilwell moved to the other corner of the shed to see if he could chart a path with less exposure. He saw that it was a much shorter run to the nearest water-storage tank and from there a quick run to the far end of the trailer.
Stilwell took a deep breath and took off for the water tank. He covered the ground quickly and, without breaking stride, followed the huge tank’s curving sidewall halfway around its circumference. He didn’t stop. He kept momentum and sprinted across the final ten yards to the end of the target trailer. He huddled against the latticework and waited, listening for the door opening or any other sign that he had been spotted.
All he heard were the waves hitting the rocky shore.
He looked through the latticework to try to see under the trailer, but it was too dark. He tugged at it and found it loose, the wood rotting from long-term exposure to the sea air.
He gripped the lattice with both hands, pulled a section of it loose, and carefully laid it down on the asphalt. Again he waited to see if his actions had drawn attention but heard only the sound of the waves. He peeked around the corner at the door to the trailer. It remained closed, the glow from the window steady.
Stilwell ducked into the dark space under the trailer. It was crowded with rusting pipes and other debris. Looking up at the underside of the trailer floor, he checked for any other way in, but it was too dark to see. As he started to back out, a cell phone rang. The second ring was cut short as someone answered. He heard a muffled male voice from above. He could not make out the words but the call was a reminder that he was out of time.
He ducked out from under the trailer and pulled the gun from his belt. He checked down the side of the trailer. He was facing the stairs with the door to the right on the landing. He could not see hinges on the door, which told him it opened inward. That was a good break.
Stilwell ran to the stairs and took them two at a time. At the top of the steps, he leaned his weight back against the wooden safety rail, raised his left leg, and drove his heel into the spot just above the doorknob. The wood splintered with a loud pop and the door burst open. Stilwell’s momentum carried him forward and he went in, gun up and in a combat crouch.
His eyes swept left to right, and Spivak was there, standing in the middle of the trailer. He was bare-chested and both hands were at his waist, frozen in the act of unbuckling his belt. On the desk next to him was a handgun, visible in the light from a laptop screen. The two men stared at each other for a split second before Stilwell fired.
Spivak’s head snapped back and he dropped to the floor. It was only then that Stilwell saw Tash on a cot at the far end of the trailer. She was gagged and her hands were above her, tied to the metal frame at the head of the bed.
Stilwell moved toward her, checking Spivak as he passed. The shot had struck him above the right eyebrow. An instant kill shot. Spivak’s eyes were still open.
Stilwell moved on to Tash and gently pulled the gag down over her chin.
“You’re safe, Tash,” he said. “You’re safe.”
As soon as she was free of the gag, a shriek came from her mouth, and tears burst from her eyes. Stilwell worked the knots to free her wrists.
“He’s not going to hurt you,” he said. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
He got one of her hands free and moved to the other.
“He said, ‘Time’s up,’ and started taking off his clothes. He was going to kill me after.”
“I know, I know,” Stilwell said soothingly.
He couldn’t break the last knot. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the knife, knelt, and carefully cut through the binding, all the while trying to shake the image that had charged into his head of Spivak on top of Tash on the cot.
Once Tash was finally free, she slid off the cot onto the floor and put her arms around Stilwell’s neck in a viselike lock. Her body shook with sobs.
“I’m so sorry,” Stilwell said. “This is on me. All on me.”
He held her as tightly as she held him.
“I need to get you out of here,” he said.
“Not yet,” she said.
She refused to release her grip and kept her head buried against his chest.
“He played your message to me,” she said. “You said you loved me. I knew then that you would come.”
Stilwell kissed the top of her head.
“There was no way I wasn’t coming,” he said.
She finally released him and raised her head to look over his shoulder at Spivak’s body on the floor. Stilwell stood, pulling her up with him.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I need to call for backup.”
Stilwell kept an arm around her as they approached the body to go to the door. He saw the laptop. The screen was split by two camera views. One was a view of the boat ramp and a nearby picnic table and trash can. The other was on the entrance to the boatyard. It told him that the approach on the water had been the right move.
At the desk, Tash suddenly stopped.
“Wait,” she said.
There was a cardboard box on the desk containing tissues. She pulled one free and used it to pick up the gun. She then leaned down and put it on the floor next to Spivak’s body.
“You shouldn’t—” Stilwell started, then stopped.
He nodded and they proceeded to the door, still holding on to each other as though nothing could ever split them apart.
Before they got there, the sound of a cell phone ringing stopped them. Stilwell looked back at the body on the floor. He could see light from a phone protruding from the left pocket of Spivak’s pants.
Stilwell went back, grabbed the tissue that Tash had used, pulled the phone free, and put it on the floor. It said Unknown Caller on the screen. He hit the Accept button and put the call on speaker.
The caller said nothing. Stilwell thought he could hear the faint sound of music in the far background.
“Baby Head, I know it’s you,” Stilwell said. “Your man is dead… and I’m coming for you next.”
There was silence on the line for a few seconds and then the caller disconnected.