The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(86)

There was a keypad alongside the gate. The driveway beyond snaked to the right, hiding whatever might be at the end of it.

Carl and Larison scanned the surroundings. Diaz rolled down the window and looked at Schrader in the rearview. “What’s the code?” she said.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” he said. “I mean, shouldn’t I talk to Sharon or something? She always tells me not to talk to anyone when she’s not there.”

“Do I seem like I’m lying?” Diaz said.

Schrader shook his head. “No.”

“Good. Because I’m not. And we’ll talk to your lawyer after for sure. But we have to take care of this first. So tell me the code, okay?”

He recited six digits. Diaz punched them in. The gate swung open. She rolled up the window and they drove through.

They followed the winding driveway for almost a minute before the house came into view. It was enormous, some sort of French chateau style, surrounded by manicured lawns and topiary. Livia found it both hideous and entirely fitting.

Larison looked at Schrader. “You don’t have a key. Are we going to need another breach charge? Or is there an easier way in?”

“The garage,” Schrader said. “There’s a keypad by each bay. The same code as the front gate. Use the far one, it’s for visitors.”

The garage had six bays and was attached at ninety degrees to the house. “Back up,” Livia told Diaz. “Off to the side, not right in front of the door. We’ll need to clear the garage first. And if there’s someone in there, you want to be out of the way and pointed in the right direction. Engine running.”

Diaz positioned the van. Carl shouldered the medical pack, and he, Larison, and Livia got out. There was a light breeze and the air smelled of salt water and fallen leaves.

Livia and Larison stood at the sides of the bay, guns out, while Carl held the Wilson in one hand and punched in the code with the other. There was a mechanical whine and the door started to rise. Carl tried to move in front of Livia, but she wouldn’t budge. “Behind me,” she said.

“Damn it, you know I hate that.”

“Hurry.”

He grumbled, but did as she said.

The door reached the top and the mechanical whine stopped. Larison nodded to her. Simultaneously, they swung around each end of the garage, guns up. Carl was right behind her.

Other than five fancy cars so gleaming Livia wondered if anyone ever drove them, the garage looked deserted. They squatted to check, then moved through to make sure. When they were satisfied, Carl went out and waved to Diaz. She backed in the van and they closed the garage door as soon as it was inside.

They got Schrader out. “Now can you untie me?” he said.

Carl looked at Livia. She nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to cut those flex-ties off you. I really hope you’re not going to do anything dumb. None of us wants to shoot you, Andrew. You’ve been through plenty already.”

“I’m not going to do anything dumb. But I need the bathroom.”

“That’s fine,” Carl said. “One of us will escort you.”

“I have to go number two.”

“As I said, Mr. Larison will escort you.”

Larison shot Carl a look. Carl smiled.

“That’s gross,” Schrader said. “I don’t want someone watching.”

“Hold it in if you want,” Larison said. “I won’t complain.”

Schrader shook his head. “I can’t.”

Larison glared at Carl. “Then let’s get it over with.”

Another keypad, and they were inside as vast a kitchen as Livia had ever seen. Stone floors, high ceilings, top-of-the-line appliances. But like the garage, it was too spotless, and somehow soulless. A space designed to impress, but not really to live in. “If we run into a problem,” Livia said to Diaz, “get behind something solid if you can. If you can’t, then get low and get out of the way.” She turned to Schrader. “That goes for you, too.”

“Why would there be a problem?” Schrader said.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Diaz said, “there are a lot of people looking for you.”

There were fewer obstructions than in the garage, and the kitchen took them only a minute to check. They proceeded into a hallway as long as a bowling alley.

“You always leave all the lights on?” Carl said, sweeping left and right with the Wilson.

Schrader looked up as though noticing all the recessed lights for the first time. “I don’t know. I think so.”

Partway down the hallway was a bathroom. Larison took Schrader in. While she waited, Livia glanced around. Marble floors, wood paneling, leather sofas in case, what, someone got tired traveling down the endless corridor and needed to sit? The notion of one person living in a place like this disgusted her. She didn’t begrudge people success. But when she thought about how little there had been in the village she had grown up in, and how happy she and Nason had been, at least before what her parents had done . . . she couldn’t help but find this sort of excess both sickening, and a sickness.

After a few minutes, Schrader emerged from the bathroom, Larison behind him. Larison glared at Carl, wrinkled his nose, and said, “Expect payback.”

Carl laughed. “This was payback. For you mocking me for having to ride a damn three-wheeled motorcycle.”