Chapter Seven
PREV. PAGE PAGE THREE OF FIVE
The lanky guy stretches and leans back, letting the morning sun bathe over his face. For just a second he seems to look across to the car, he seems to smile at Armstrong and Murray sitting there in their car watching him, before he reaches down for the bag at his feet. He then hoists the bag over his shoulder, turns around and begins to saunter his way up to the front door.
Murray drops his glasses and winces. “Do you think he just made us?”
“It doesn't matter. We go in right after him.”
The lanky guy open the front door and stumbles into the house, letting the screen door flop closed behind him. Armstrong lifts his radio.
“Extraction GO.”
Several cars appear from within alleyways and around corners, rushing towards the house. It always amazes Armstrong how quickly the backup can be brought together on a job like this, considering how long he and Murray had been staked out. That was the reach of his employers, the extent of their resources, and Armstrong feels a surge of pride and maybe a little fear at the thought of this. Then he guns the engine and the Vic speeds across the street and up onto the front lawn of the bungalow. The car skids to a halt after knocking over a few sunflowers, and the two agents jump out of their respective doors with their guns drawn.
Armstrong curses the tall grass as he and Murray cross over to the porch. Lots of things could be hiding in grass like this, snakes and other things... Booby traps. They make it to the porch without incident and meet up with three other agents – Lawrence, Adams and Reno. All three acknowledge Armstrong with quick nods. Another group of agents has slipped around the sides of the house. The men on the porch lean back against the walls on either side of the door, guns pointed at the floorboards. Armstrong listens intently for a moment. He lifts his left hand and motions for the men to wait.
Between the agents, behind the screen door, the front door has been left slightly open. No sound comes from within, no movement. The men remain ready and calm as they wait. Except for Murray. He shifts quickly back and forth, head darting in front of the bay window, trying to look in past the curtains.
Reno spares a glance at Armstrong. Armstrong turns to Murray, and is about to say something, when there is a crash of broken glass from within the house, followed by shouting voices.
“All right, let’s go!” Pulling back the screen, Armstrong steps in front of the door and kicks it in. Adams and Reno rush through the opening, guns pointed, shouting. Armstrong and Lawrence follow, then Murray.
The men comb through the front hallway and living room, announcing their presence with loud shouts of “Government Agents!” The rooms are empty of both people and furniture. The sense of the house being abandoned has extended into it's interior – layers of dust cover everything, the mouldy carpet seems to crunch underfoot and except for the torn wallpaper the walls are completely bare. They find no signs of life, no clothing, no bags or boxes. Nothing.
They meet with the second team in a dilapidated kitchen that stinks of rat droppings and ammonia. The cupboards are bare not only of food but of their doors. The kitchen sink has collapsed into the counter, is in fact half buried into the rotting linoleum of the kitchen floor, in a way that somehow seems inexplicably violent. Another agent, Louis, approaches Armstrong.
“Ground floor cleared, sir.”
The kitchen seems to heat up as a tepid orange glow pulses around them. Armstrong eyes a refrigerator with it's door open on it's hinges, as if he will find the people he is looking for in there. But of course it's pretty obvious where they must be.
Armstrong turns around and spots the basement door just before the hallway.
And that is when he first hears it.
Murray drops his glasses and winces. “Do you think he just made us?”
“It doesn't matter. We go in right after him.”
The lanky guy open the front door and stumbles into the house, letting the screen door flop closed behind him. Armstrong lifts his radio.
“Extraction GO.”
Several cars appear from within alleyways and around corners, rushing towards the house. It always amazes Armstrong how quickly the backup can be brought together on a job like this, considering how long he and Murray had been staked out. That was the reach of his employers, the extent of their resources, and Armstrong feels a surge of pride and maybe a little fear at the thought of this. Then he guns the engine and the Vic speeds across the street and up onto the front lawn of the bungalow. The car skids to a halt after knocking over a few sunflowers, and the two agents jump out of their respective doors with their guns drawn.
Armstrong curses the tall grass as he and Murray cross over to the porch. Lots of things could be hiding in grass like this, snakes and other things... Booby traps. They make it to the porch without incident and meet up with three other agents – Lawrence, Adams and Reno. All three acknowledge Armstrong with quick nods. Another group of agents has slipped around the sides of the house. The men on the porch lean back against the walls on either side of the door, guns pointed at the floorboards. Armstrong listens intently for a moment. He lifts his left hand and motions for the men to wait.
Between the agents, behind the screen door, the front door has been left slightly open. No sound comes from within, no movement. The men remain ready and calm as they wait. Except for Murray. He shifts quickly back and forth, head darting in front of the bay window, trying to look in past the curtains.
Reno spares a glance at Armstrong. Armstrong turns to Murray, and is about to say something, when there is a crash of broken glass from within the house, followed by shouting voices.
“All right, let’s go!” Pulling back the screen, Armstrong steps in front of the door and kicks it in. Adams and Reno rush through the opening, guns pointed, shouting. Armstrong and Lawrence follow, then Murray.
The men comb through the front hallway and living room, announcing their presence with loud shouts of “Government Agents!” The rooms are empty of both people and furniture. The sense of the house being abandoned has extended into it's interior – layers of dust cover everything, the mouldy carpet seems to crunch underfoot and except for the torn wallpaper the walls are completely bare. They find no signs of life, no clothing, no bags or boxes. Nothing.
They meet with the second team in a dilapidated kitchen that stinks of rat droppings and ammonia. The cupboards are bare not only of food but of their doors. The kitchen sink has collapsed into the counter, is in fact half buried into the rotting linoleum of the kitchen floor, in a way that somehow seems inexplicably violent. Another agent, Louis, approaches Armstrong.
“Ground floor cleared, sir.”
The kitchen seems to heat up as a tepid orange glow pulses around them. Armstrong eyes a refrigerator with it's door open on it's hinges, as if he will find the people he is looking for in there. But of course it's pretty obvious where they must be.
Armstrong turns around and spots the basement door just before the hallway.
And that is when he first hears it.
DESMOND CHAPTER SEVEN