Page 31 of The 9th Man

“Me. Just now. You’re welcome to use it anytime.”

She tossed him an exasperated smile. “Anyone ever mention you’re a bit of smart-ass?”

“All the time.”

They stepped inside and approached the stack.

Luke heard a faint, intermittent clicking and froze.

So did Jillian.

“What the hell?” she muttered.

He turned, realizing the sound was coming from beside the door and up, near the ceiling, where a shoebox, sealed with black duct tape, hung half suspended by a wire.

Jillian said, “You don’t think it’s a—”

“If it was, we’d already be dead.” Another thought popped into his head. “I thought you said your grandfather wasn’t tech-savvy.”

“He wasn’t.”

“You still have that knife from last night?”

He’d left his in London along with his Beretta.

She fished it from her back pocket and handed it to him. He walked over and reached up, cutting the wire and freeing the shoebox. The sound he’d heard was coming from within. He scored the tape, keeping the box shut, and lifted off the lid. Inside, nestled in form-cut foam, rested a cell phone attached to an external power pack.

“So the door opens,” he said, “which upends the shoebox, which sets off the phone’s accelerometer, which then wakes up and calls. Problem is the battery is nearly dead. Not enough power to trigger the phone. Only enough to trip the switch on and off.”

He yanked the wires from the battery pack.

The clicking stopped.

“That lock being relatively new and oiled and this burglar alarm shows this was an important place. I assume your grandfather wasn’t able to travel?”

“Not in the six months I was there. He could barely walk.”

“So he wasn’t able to maintain this place. That had to be a problem for him. Seems your grandfather was full of surprises.”

His tone was lighthearted, but Jillian’s frown only deepened. “Why would he do all this?”

He turned his attention to the cache.

“Let’s find out.”

13

LUKE DECIDED SINCE THEY WERE ALONE AND THINGS WERE QUIET, Acursory search of each box seemed in order. Two contained what looked like photographs, souvenirs, knickknacks, and military keepsakes. Personal mementos. The third box contained only a military rucksack. One of the smaller models. Nylon. ACU camo-colored, camouflaged exterior. He’d worn one for years. He opened the top flap and saw it was empty.

Odd.

Wedged behind the boxes, though, lying against the outer wall was a long, black Pelican case with a thick Lexan exterior, heavy-duty hinges, and three reinforced clasps, the middle of which had a keyhole.

He tried the center clasp. Locked. “I’ll need your knife.”

She handed over the blade and he used it to work the lock open. He then flipped up the remaining two buckles and lifted the lid. Inside was a rectangle of white canvas tarp. Jillian carefully folded back the layers until what lay beneath was laid bare.

A rifle.

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