Free Near Enemy by Adam Sternbergh Page A

minivan.
    Shit. But I don’t say that to Mark, of course. What I say is.
    Sure.
    Then hope the minivan’s still parked where I left it in Chinatown.
    Great. I also wanted to let you know that the A/C you ordered is finally here. I’ll stay and help Persephone set it up this morning before I go, but then I’m heading back to the city.
    I say sure. Of course. The A/C. The one I ordered for Persephone. The one they put on back-order at the store where they wanted her address for delivery. Which I never gave them.
    I ask Mark.
    Wait. Tell me again. Who’s there?
    The A/C guys. They’re just pulling up.
    I tell Mark.
    Get her out of there now.

15.
    Later, Persephone tells me what happened.
    Her version. Right before she stops speaking to me.
    Mark Ray never gets a chance to tell me his version of what happened.
    Because, by that point, he can’t speak to anyone anymore.
    Persephone’s version:
    Pickup truck inched forward, pitching slightly, rocking over the rutted road, then pulled to a stop behind the cabin.
    Engine stills.
    Two men in the front seat. One riding in the pickup bed in back.
    Woods silent.
    Both doors swing open. Two men in the front disembark. Both burly. But one’s burlier. Wear matching gray coveralls and work boots. With gloves on. Despite the heat.
    Number three, same outfit, hops out of the truck’s bed and joins them.
    They don’t speak.
    Just get to work.
    Work boots crackle over last fall’s dead leaves as the second man circles at a jog around the back of the cabin. Not being particularly stealthy. No real need to be.
    The third man heads for a window on the side of the cabin. Cups his gloved hands on the glass to peer inside.
    Cabin’s dark. Looks empty.
    The first man, the burly one, walks straight up the porch to the front door and knocks.
    No answer.
    Knocks again.
    Still nothing.
    So he tries the knob.
    Door gives.
    And in he goes.
    Mark’s waiting in the dark, revealed now in a broad square of bright sun as the door swings wide, and he steadies himself, grips the shovel handle tighter, takes a breath, then unleashes his best home-run swing.
    Burly guy parries with a forearm easily.
    Wrests the shovel free.
    One punch.
    Mark’s out.
    Second man’s already circled round back of the cabin and slipped through the rear screen door into the kitchen. Scans the room.
    Empty.
    Emerges into the livingroom. Signals all-clear to the first man, who’s standing over Mark.
    Third man joins them and takes his post, on watch at the front door while the other two sweep the house. Only one floor, so this won’t take long. First the guest room. Then the bedroom. Then the bathroom.
    Find nothing.
    The first man, the burly one, stops and pulls his gloves off. Rolls his sleeves up. Absentmindedly rubs his forearm, where he took the shovel hit.
    Takes a moment to think.
    No way they could have missed her. Maybe she slipped out the back door into the woods.
    Running. With a kid.
    Won’t get far.
    Then the second man whistles. Waves the burly one over. Leads him back into the kitchen.
    Points to a cupboard. Recently repositioned.
    All the plates and mugs jostled.
    Together they silently lift the cupboard and place it gingerly to one side.
    Then take a look at the wall behind where the cupboard was.
    Find what was hidden there.
    Cellar door.
    Second man swings the cellar door open and heads without hesitation straight down into the darkness, taking the steps two at a time.
    The first man, the burly one, hustles quickly back out through the livingroom past the third man and out the cabin’s front door. To cover any exits. Figures there might be a storm door leading up from the cellar around back.
    Trots lightly down the porch steps, very nimble for a big man.
    Then looks up and sees the headlights, bright even in daylight.
    Highbeams.
    Squints.
    The pickup truck’s running.
    Puts a hand up to shade his eyes.
    Could swear he sees a woman at the wheel.
    Persephone.
    Foot.
    Pedal.
    Floor.
    The airbag erupts