A Gambling Man David Baldacci (reading eggs books .TXT) 📖

accident when I tell you what I have to.”

Archer stopped on the shoulder and stared at the man. “What are you talking about?”

“I made two phone calls from the hospital. One to Connie. She’s fine. The other call I made was to Midnight Moods.”

“Why’d you call there?”

“The thing is, Archer, we have to assume that Armstrong knows all that we know, okay? So knowing what we know, what does the guy do?”

“Well, if he thinks we’re coming after him, he might want to get some leverage over us.”

“That’s exactly right. Now, Connie is the only person in this town I really care about. But like I told you, she’s safe.” He stopped and stared expectantly at Archer, who, to his credit, had seized on where Dash was going halfway through his last sentence.

“They have Liberty. You called Midnight Moods and she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry, Archer.”

Archer drove the car back on the road. “No, Willie, you’re wrong there. They’re going to be the ones who are sorry.”

The rain started to fall a quarter of the way up. Halfway up they could barely see out of the windscreen. The fog was so thick, fledgling day had been turned into night.

Archer was gripping the wheel so hard his forearms were growing weary. All he could think about was Liberty and what they might be doing to her right now. Especially Hank and Tony.

He suddenly realized something. “Wait a minute, what’d you find at the hospital?”

“Exactly what I hoped to find. Now don’t ask me anymore. Just concentrate on your driving,” he added as a curve shot up.

Archer had to brake and cut the wheel hard to navigate it. The edge of the Delahaye came perilously close to a thousand-foot drop.

“You scared?” he asked. “I don’t mean by the ride up. But when we get there.”

“Well, I’m not stupid, Archer, so of course I’m scared. How about you?”

“Yeah, but it’s neck and neck with anger in me.”

“Channel both to your advantage. Armstrong won’t be alone and there’s hostages, so it’s complicated.”

Archer fought the storm two thousand feet higher. The farther up they went, the worse it got. Finally Dash said, “Slow it down, Archer. From what Beth told us, the place is right at the end of that road.”

“Okay.”

He turned down the road, and then stopped the car.

“Cut the lights.”

Archer did so. They didn’t bother to try to see what was up ahead. Even God was probably having a hard time doing that this morning.

“She gave us the layout of the place,” said Dash. “We need to hit it from front and rear. Which one do you want?”

“I’ve always been partial to the back door.”

“Smart man. Me too. So seniority here dictates that you go in through the front.” Dash took a moment to remove from the floorboard what he had brought. “You ready, soldier?” he asked.

“I thought ‘liberty’ was worth dying for in the war. And my opinion hasn’t changed.”

They moved off silently into the darkened mist.

Chapter 69

ARCHER MOVED JUST LIKE HE HAD AS A SCOUT in the Eighth Army, first in Italy and then in Hitler’s Rhineland. That is, he moved like a ghost. And next to him Willie Dash did the same. They had grilled Beth on landmarks around the Cliffs, and Archer and Dash came upon one of them. It was one of the largest oaks Archer had ever seen, but either lightning had struck it years before or a forest fire had come through at some point. It still clung to the dirt, a blackened husk of electrified wood that was apparently too stubborn to fall down.

They passed that and they had three hundred yards to go before they got to the log cabin that was Armstrong’s sanctum sanctorum, according to Beth, a place he came to think and brood and plot the doom of others, Archer figured.

At that point he and Dash parted company. Before he disappeared into the mist, Dash said, “Good luck, Archer, but it won’t really come down to luck, will it?”

“No, it won’t.”

A few moments later Archer slowed his pace and looked to his left and right. No one guarding these premises would think that anyone coming by stealth would stick to the road. They would be watching the paths and trails that meandered through here like a chipmunk on a stroll looking for its next meal. So stick to the road Archer did.

After another one hundred feet he looked to his right and squatted low.

The man was neither Tony nor Hank, but he was about the same size. Armstrong apparently liked his henchmen in one size only—extra large.

Archer took a widened route and came up on the man’s rear flank as he sat there on a rickety chair behind a rock that was, apparently, his cover. He was smoking. That was his first mistake. He was nipping something from a bottle. That was his second mistake. His third and final mistake was having his .44 holstered.

He never sensed anyone until Archer introduced himself by parking the muzzle of his .38 against the fellow’s skull.

“The lady you took, she okay?” said Archer in a voice that brooked nothing but a straight answer. About two pounds of trigger pull and the mistake-prone guard was a dead man.

“Yeah, she’s okay,” the man hoarsely answered.

“You lying to me, I’ll be back. And what I’ll do to you you’ll never forget right till the moment you close your eyes for the last time, you understand me? Nod or say yes because I need confirmation.”

The man nodded.

The sharp blow from the butt of the .38 put a depression in the fellow’s head and he slumped forward, hit the rock, and slid off the side into the dirt. The fog was so thick Archer could barely see the gent a foot below him.

He took off the man’s suspenders and used them to hog-tie his wrists and ankles together.

One down, who the hell knew how many to go. But Archer would get to every last one of them to bring Liberty