Empty Is the Grave Read online

  Three

  The moon peeked through a wispy cloud, illuminating the path in front of her.

  Without discussing it, Chloe and Switch had both bypassed the crumbling buildings and walked around the prison.

  The building watched from the hill behind them as they followed the paved path down.

  Moonlight shone across the choppy black waters that stretched as far as she could see. The brisk wind whipped up the trail, pushing her back as if telling her not to go any further.

  Maybe it knew something she didn’t.

  The trail wound around a corner, rocky terrain rising to her left.

  What was on the other side?

  Wouldn’t it be cool if it was a nice, flat rock where they would leave their art for all the passing ships to see?

  She left the path and picked her way across the boulders.

  By the time she reached the top of the small incline, her breath came in short puffs.

  Switch stepped up beside her.

  A beach, comprised almost entirely of rocks of various sizes, angled gently down to where the ocean crashed against the shore.

  It was kinda pretty.

  If the whole island wasn’t so creepy, anyway.

  “McCloud’s Beach.” Switch’s voice carried on the wind that whipped pink strands into her face.

  “What?”

  “This is McCloud’s Beach. Named for Shorty McCloud.”

  She looked over at Switch, who quirked a half grin.

  “What? I can’t know the local legends?”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “My dad was a history buff. Brought me here before…” Switch’s jaw twitched.

  Switch had never mentioned his dad. Normally, she wouldn’t ask, but he’d been the one to bring it up. “Before what?”

  “Before he died. Car accident.”

  Yikes. No wonder he hadn’t mentioned it before. “Sorry.”

  The moonlight wasn’t bright enough to reveal his face. “It was a long time ago.”

  “So, uh, what’s the legend about this McCloud dude?”

  “Supposedly tried to make his escape through a tunnel. He was last seen on this beach, jumping into the ocean. No one ever saw him again, but they say that the ocean crushed him against the rocks just around the corner. Some people say they’ve seen his ghost running toward the ocean, still trying to escape.”

  A shiver raced up and down her back.

  Was it true?

  She wasn’t sure if she believed in ghosts, but if they were real, wasn’t this just the kind of place they’d hang out?

  Switch cleared his throat. “We probably oughta move on. Not gonna leave our mark talkin’ about ghosts, huh?”

  He was right. Although quite honestly, the only place she wanted to move was off this island.

  Something about it felt wrong and she’d learned long ago to trust those feelings.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Well, they couldn’t stand here all night.

  After several long seconds, Viktor continued moving forward, slower this time.

  As anxious as he was to see if this tunnel panned out, it wouldn’t matter if they were caught. He had no desire to end up like Sergei.

  Seconds dragged into minutes as they trudged further through the darkness. It felt like maybe they were going downhill, but the darkness made it hard to tell.

  His flashlight beam reflected off dull steel.

  A door. Rust colored the hinges, but the knob looked clean.

  Maybe even new.

  He dropped down and examined it.

  Yeah, it was a new doorknob, all right.

  The big question was why anyone would go to the trouble to put a new doorknob on an old door in an underground tunnel that wasn’t supposed to be in use.

  Stepping aside, he gestured to the knob.

  Nikolas pulled some instruments from his pocket and dropped to his knees.

  One of Nikolas’ most valuable skills was getting into places he shouldn’t. While Viktor could pick the lock, if he had to, Nikolas would do it in half the time.

  If they were lucky, the door wouldn’t be alarmed. If it was… well, he’d deal with that when and if it happened.

  Viktor aimed the flashlight beam at the lock.

  Less than a minute later, the lock clicked.

  Nikolas grinned up at him. Viktor nodded, but said nothing.

  From this point on, they needed to be as silent as possible, just in case the enemy was nearby.

  He crouched down and inched the door open.

  The heartbeat roaring inside his head made it hard to hear if anyone waited on the other side.

  At least he didn’t hear any shouting voices or pounding footsteps. But it was the quieter sounds that concerned him more. Like the slide on a gun or the click of a switchblade.

  Knowing it might mean a bullet to the brain, he inched his head around the door.

  Darkness. Complete and absolute darkness.

  The tang of the sea filled the air and wind whistled.

  The room obviously had an opening to the outdoors, but no light penetrated.

  Well, it was unlikely anyone was sitting in the dark.

  The beam from his flashlight illuminated the small area in front of him, enough for him to see boxes. Row after row of them. Stacked four high and running the length of the room from the door to the wall on his right.

  To his left, large wooden crates were stacked almost as tall.

  No sign of anyone living.

  The flashlight beam caught a switch on the wall beside him. He flipped the switch.

  Fluorescents flickered on overhead.

  A narrow break between the boxes and crates created a walkway and connected the door to the rest of the room.

  He studied what little he could see of the space. Compared to the narrow, low-ceilinged walkway, the room felt cavernous. It appeared to be a natural cave of some sort, with a jagged rocky ceiling and rough, uneven floor.

  The sound of waves breaking on rock echoed in the space.

  How close were they to the ocean, anyway?

  The ache in his thighs and calves reminded him that he’d been holding a crouch for a while. He pushed to his full height and stepped through the door.

  Everything in him wanted to pull the knife from his pocket and slice into one of the boxes, but he held back.

  First, he had to clear the room.

  Then he could see if the boxes contained what he suspected.

  Reaching the end of the row of boxes, he scanned the area. Four plastic patio chairs and a six-foot folding table sat unoccupied in the center of the room. More boxes lined the wall to his right and in front of him. A passageway, three times the size of the one he and Nikolas had traversed, took up the open space on the wall to his left.

  Aside from him and Nikolas, the room appeared to be unoccupied.

  The enemy could return at any time, though. Someone might even be in the tunnel.

  They needed to hurry.

  “See if one of those crates is open.” His whisper sounded loud in the silent room, but there was little he could do about that.

  Nikolas moved toward the closest crate.

  Pulling his knife from his pocket, Viktor headed back the way they’d come and pulled out a few boxes. He didn’t want to open one on the edge and risk exposing their presence. Better to take a few extra seconds to grab one that was buried and probably wouldn’t be discovered as quickly.

  The box he chose was surprisingly heavy.

  He slit the tape and flipped up the flaps.

  Watch boxes, lined up in a neat row, filled the box. The gold initials on the padded black boxes boasted an expensive designer brand.

  Quick calculations put the value of the box close to half a million in retail.

  Assuming these were genuine, which he highly doubted.

  He pulled out one of the boxes and flipped open the lid. An oversized gold watch face glinted back.

  The logo looked legi
t.

  Gently removing the watch, he examined it more closely.

  It was a fake, but a really good one.

  There were only a few operations in the world who could produce fakes of this quality. Each one was proud enough of their work that they couldn’t help marking the items in some way.

  He checked the etchings on the back of the watch.

  Nothing out of the ordinary. That eliminated the South American group.

  Next, he checked the clasp. No markings there either. So much for the German group.

  The band, too, was free of markings. It wasn’t the work of the Turks or Irish, either.

  The box was the last place he knew to look.

  He looked at the underside of the lid.

  A slow smile crept across his face.

  Four small red dots, one in each corner, marked the watch as the group working out of Thailand.

  They’d sure stepped up their game since the last item he’d seen from them. 99% of people looking at this piece wouldn’t see that it was fake.

  But he was in that final 1%.

  An exclamation in Russian brought his head up.

  Nikolas stood over one of the crates, the lid lying on the floor beside him.

  A fully automatic rifle rested in his arms.

  As expected. Viktor had known the second he saw those crates that they were full of weapons.

  This group had quite the operation, that was certain.

  The fact that this operation belonged to Bruce Lewis only made the upcoming takeover all the sweeter.

  It was a win all the way around. He and his group would gain not only a treasure trove of valuables, but a prime route to smuggle the goods in and out of the country.

  All served with a side of revenge.

  Maybe he’d even be able to put a bullet in Lewis before all this was over.

  “Put everything back.” His harsh whisper cut through the room. “We don’t want them to know we were here.”

  They’d come back tomorrow with reinforcements. Enough to take over the whole operation.

  It took them only a few minutes to replace everything as they’d found it.

  He brushed past Nikolas. Time to check out this hallway and see where it let out.

  It was clearly the route the smugglers used to get in and out of this cavern where they stored their cache.

  Hitting the switch as they went by, he left the room behind them in darkness. His eyes slowly adjusted to the narrow flashlight beam illuminating their path.

  The hallway went a few feet before curving to the right.

  Waves crashed, the sound bouncing off the stone surrounding them.

  The hallway curved again, this time to the left.

  He rounded the corner and ground to an abrupt halt.

  Large metal bars blocked his path.

  Beyond the gate, the moon drenched a field of rocks. Water glistened in the background.

  The silhouette of a sign was mounted near the entrance to the cave.

  He danced his light across the bars, which resembled what he would expect to see in the prison somewhere above them.

  The bars had been attached to the rock, stretching across the entire opening.

  Not even the skinniest of his men would be able to squeeze through the narrow gaps between the bars and the walls.

  A wide gate, made of identical bars, sat dead center.

  He jerked on it.

  Locked.

  No surprise. The smugglers would want to ensure no one exploring the island stumbled across their hold.

  In fact, he’d bet money that the sign warned of dangerous conditions and had been fabricated to look like it was posted by the Park Service.

  At least that’s how he would have done it.

  Nikolas moved forward and knelt beside the lock.

  Viktor trained his light on the lock as Nikolas worked.

  One second turned into ten. Then longer.

  Viktor’s jaw worked.

  Why was this taking so long?

  Nikolas was supposed to be better than this. They paid him to be better than this.

  He glanced over his shoulder. No light bounced down the hallway, so at least he could be reasonably certain they weren’t being pursued.

  Yet.

  A creaking sounded behind him.

  He whipped around to find Nikolas grinning as he pushed open the gate.

  About freakin’ time.

  They crossed the threshold and he waited while Nikolas re-engaged the lock, which took significantly less time than unlocking it.

  When they reached the mouth of the cave, he turned off his flashlight.

  Moonlight bathed the landscape.

  A rocky bank stretched about forty feet in front of them, ending at a jagged shoreline being pounded by angry waves. The craggy coastline stretched a short distance, the rocks growing sparser, before meeting a length of pebbled beach.

  A motorized raft could easily dock there.

  It was likely how the smugglers got their merchandise on the island. Maybe off it. Although word on the street was that they had an arrangement with one of the tour companies and used the nighttime tours as cover.

  Either way, budget cuts in the government, with the Park Service in particular, had resulted in less regulatory presence, making smuggling much easier.

  They picked their way across the rocks, heading for the pebbled beach.

  A sharp crack shattered the night.

  Viktor dropped to a crouch. That was a gunshot!

  Another shot sounded in response, followed by a volley of gunfire.

  All coming from the direction of the buildings.

  Some of his crew had been discovered. It was the only explanation. Surely the smugglers wouldn’t risk drawing attention by attacking a couple of teenage taggers.

  It was the reason he’d chosen to bring them along. They provided a cover for his crew if they were discovered by the smugglers or the Coast Guard.

  The gunfire wasn’t near him and Nikolas. Not yet.

  He intended to keep it that way.

  Pulling out his cell, he shot a quick text to the team to pull back, then pushed to his feet. “Let’s get to the dock.”

  How many of them would show up before the boat arrived, he wasn’t sure.

  Nor would he wait for them.

  “You let the kids know, too?” Nikolas’ words came out stilted as he jogged beside Viktor.

  Viktor snorted. Like he cared about a group of misfits. They’d been a means to an end, nothing more. They were probably all dead anyway. “They’re on their own. They won’t survive the night.”

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Chloe shook the can of “Crimson Glow” and aimed the nozzle, directing the stream so that it looked like blood flowing from the side of the little immigrant boy’s head.

  That ought to get some attention.

  She’d never been super into the whole immigration debate, but any chance to make those stuffed-shirt bureaucrats look bad was worth the effort.

  And this was one of her better works, if she did say so herself.

  A loud crack caused a gasp to bubble into her throat. The crimson stream went wild.

  Dang it!

  That noise, whatever it had been, had totally ruined her work!

  Another crack, then another.

  What was…?

  Switch raced around the corner, his flashlight bobbing. Reaching her, he gripped her arm with a strength she hadn’t known he possessed. “Gunshots. Come on!”

  Gunshots?

  Someone was shooting at them?

  She knelt to collect her supplies, but he pulled her up. “No time! We gotta find a place to hide.”

  Hide. Because they were completely isolated out here on the island.

  Trapped.

  If someone wanted to take them down, it’d be easy to do, right?

  But who cared about a bunch of artists?

  She could figure all that out later. For now, Switch was right. They had
to find a place to hide.

  Another gunshot. Closer this time.

  They raced around the corner of the prison.

  Her foot caught on the uneven ground and she went down. Pain jolted up her leg as she landed hard on the rocky ground.

  Switch snatched her arm and jerked her up.

  One step had her biting back a cry. She tried to push through it, but her ankle hurt worse with each step.

  “I think I sprained my ankle.” Her whisper sounded more like a scream in the suddenly quiet night.

  Switch whipped his head from side to side before dragging her toward a cluster of trees and dense foliage bordering the path.

  He released her arm and pushed through the brush, then dropped to the ground under a leafy bush.

  Not the safest of hiding spots, but at least she couldn’t see him from the path.

  Aside from that, it was the best they had.

  She followed, kneeling beside him and pressing close to his side.

  Why, she had no idea.

  Maybe to remind herself that she wasn’t alone.

  A few more gunshots echoed. Sounded further away than before.

  With any luck, that meant the guys with guns were moving away from their location.

  Violent shivers assaulted her. Switch put an arm around her shoulders and drew her in.

  Silence surrounded them.

  She waited.

  For more gunshots. Or shouting voices. Running footsteps. Something.

  Nothing. Other than her own race car heart and frantic breathing, anyway.

  How long they sat that way, waiting for something to happen, she didn’t know. Long enough for her legs to stiffen, her arms to cramp, and her back to ache.

  She shifted slightly, but didn’t dare move too much.

  She didn’t wanna die. Not here, not like this.

  The saddest part was that no one would even miss her when she was gone.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Viktor checked his phone again before nodding at the captain.

  They were short two men.

  He’d always prided himself on not leaving anyone behind, but he’d given them ample time and two warnings.

  Chances were good they were both dead.

  From the number of gunshots they’d heard, he should probably be glad it was only two.