The Naked Edge

Cavanaugh started to grin, but the impulse faded as he glanced up toward the ceiling and noticed smoke seeping from it.

"No."

"What's wrong?" William aimed his fire extinguisher.

"The attic's on fire!"

He raced to a trap door in the ceiling, reached for a short rope dangling from it, and pulled. As stairs unfolded, he lurched back from flames that blocked the entrance to the attic. Coughing, he and William sprayed retardant. For a moment, through a gap in the haze, he saw the flames retreating. Yelling, he started up the steps, aiming the extinguisher. The flames kept retreating.

He climbed higher, straining to ignore the heat as he spewed retardant.

Abruptly the extinguisher quit hissing. With a curse, he threw the empty tank at the flames and turned to William. "Give me yours!"

"It's empty!"

"No!" Cavanaugh's smoke-seared throat felt as if it would burst.

The flames regrouped. Roaring, they advanced.

Now the situation was reversed--William was tugging at him.

Pushed by the growing heat from the attic, Cavanaugh took an angry step downward.

"We can't stay!" William tugged him harder.

Cavanaugh reached the landing and stared desperately at the fires in the bedrooms.

Amid the din of the flames, William said something about "other fire extinguishers."

"We don't have enough."

"You're going to need this."

"Need . . .?"

"This. You set it down."

Through raw eyes, Cavanaugh blinked at the rifle William handed him.

"Yes," he vowed. "I'm going to need this."

Chapter 22.

In the pines to the south, a man wearing a baseball cap gazed through shielded binoculars toward the smoke and flames spreading from the lodge's upper windows. "Cooking nicely, Alpha," he said into a microphone on his shirt collar. "Won't be long now."

"Beta, is your team in place?" the spotter's voice asked.

"On every side."

"They know they're to stay within cover?"

"Affirmative. No need to advance when the target'll do us the favor of leaving his cover. In the confusion, it might be hard to distinguish him from the people with him, though."

"Don't even try. Do them all."

"Repeat, Alpha."

"All. Kill them all," the spotter's voice commanded.

Across the meadow, on the eastern part of the roof, the parched wooden shingles of the lodge exploded into flames.

Chapter 23.

Cavanaugh's face was streaked with soot and sweat as he and William hurried down the staircase.

Angelo remained by the front door, peering out. "No sign of them."

Cavanaugh pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt. "Jamie? Mrs. Patterson?"

The staticky voices quickly responded that they didn't see anyone.

"What about the security monitors?"

"They're not working now," Mrs. Patterson's voice reported.

"What?" Angelo flicked a light switch on the wall. Nothing happened. The electricity had been cut.

"The fire's spreading too quickly," Cavanaugh said. "We'll soon need to leave."

"But they'll pick us off," William objected. "The basement. Can we hide down there?"

"No. The fire would suck out the oxygen. We'd suffocate. Or the building would collapse and crush us."

"The helicopter."

"Too far," Cavanaugh said.

"Hey, I'm doing my best!" William complained. "If you don't like my ideas, come up with one of your own."

At the back of the hall, Jamie heard parts of what they said. Her voice came from the walkie-talkie. "The car's closer. It's armored."

"There," William said. "What do you think of that idea?"

Smoke came down the staircase, the fire crackling on the upper level.

"If we stay here much longer," Cavanaugh decided, "we'll need to soak our hair and clothes and breathe through wet towels."

Mrs. Patterson heard in the kitchen. From the walkie-talkie, she said, "Without electricity, the pump for the well won't work. We can't get water from the taps."

William moaned.

Mrs. Patterson's sixty-year-old voice continued unsteadily from the walkie-talkie. "The toilet tanks. The only place there'll be water is in the toilets."

"Where are they?" William asked.

"One off the kitchen," Cavanaugh explained. "Another next to my office. Angelo, I'll watch the front. Go with him. Bring me a vest from the munitions closet when you come back."

Braced behind the log wall next to the front door, Cavanaugh saw the Taurus parked in front of the lodge. The passenger side was toward him. It was only twenty feet away. If he kept low . . .

Angelo returned with a soaked towel wrapped around his neck. Water dripped onto his clothes. "Here's the vest. I assumed you wanted body armor, not Kevlar."

Cavanaugh understood. Kevlar fibers were designed to block pistol bullets but were useless against high-powered rifles. Only the metal plates of true body armor could stop the latter.

He took the vest from Angelo and hefted it in despair. So much weight.

"While you're standing here thinking, you're cooking," Angelo said.

"What?"

Turning, Cavanaugh discovered that he'd been too preoccupied to realize that the fire was starting down the stairs. Flames licked the ceiling. The heat became overwhelming.

"No time. Jamie," he said into the walkie-talkie. "Mrs. Patterson. Get to the front. We're leaving. William, take my rifle."

"I don't want it." He had a wet towel around his neck, his once-beautifully tailored suit a drenched mess.

"For God's sake, do what I tell you. I need my hands free." Cavanaugh strapped on the bulky vest. "There's a round in the chamber. All you need to do is point and pull the trigger. Just don't shoot any of us."

He yanked his car keys from his pocket and pressed a button on the remote control, unlocking the doors. When he pressed another button, the engine started. He took a deep breath so hot it warned him that he couldn't wait any longer. A flaming chunk of wood crashed onto the stairs.

Go! he told himself.

Chapter 24.

Burdened by the heavy vest, he banged the screen door open, leapt off the porch and kept ru