Read Online Doc Ford 19 - Chasing Midnight by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online Page A

three competing organizations, plus an unwelcome group of antagonistic outsiders. The chaos that followed was starting to assume order as Vladimir continued to describe what happened when the power went out and after guests realized their cell phones weren’t working.
    “That is when people start to get scared,” the man told me. “All over lodge, I hear them talking, saying, ‘Try reception outside, try near window.’ I hear people bang into chairs ’cause not enough candles. Everyone nervous. Then in loud voice, a man—someone in bar, I think—this man, he yell, ‘Hey, Internet is out, too! What hell shitty trick is Kazlov playing?’ What if emergency? Someone could die.”
    It was then that a single shot was fired. The shot came from nearby, maybe outside, but more likely from one of the lodge’s guest rooms. A pistol, Vladimir told me. Small caliber.
    I waited while the bodyguard took several seconds to catch his breath before he added, “That is when whole night go to shit. People start yelling, they go crazy. They panic, they run. How many people left lodge, I don’t know. Mr. Kazlov disappear just before hippie group arrive—important business. It take me a while to know he still not return to dining room. That when I go little crazy, too.”
    Looking at me through shadows, Vladimir sat straighter to make his point. “See why I call it ‘crazy’? Power out, phones not working. Of course everyone is afraid. This is not accident. Hear what I say? It is not accident! I should have understood sooner, but… but…”
    Vladimir was beginning to pant, and I noticed he no longer bothered to slap at the horde of mosquitoes—one of the first symptomsof shock in Florida on a summer night. So I torqued the bandage tight, knotted it and helped the man lie down.
    I was thinking that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to isolate Vanderbilt Island from the outside world. Was the perpetrator so brilliant that he had anticipated the hysteria he had created? Vladimir had implied as much. Or had he just gotten lucky?
    The word “brilliant” didn’t fit the gunman who was now getting impatient. I could tell because he was using the flashlight again to search the tree canopy above us. I watched the angle of his light change as he shifted positions. The gunman was coming toward us, I realized.
    As I got to my feet, Vladimir said, “Can’t move yet. Lose too much blood. I rest, maybe sleep. Then go.”
    The man was lying on his back, knees drawn up. I knelt and touched my fingers to his neck. His pulse was rapid and weak. He was shivering, too, on a night so warm the air had weight, like steam.
    I said, “If you go to sleep, you’re not going to wake up.”
    Vladimir made a vague reply with his hand. “Five minutes,” he said. “Too tired. Bring me water. I am very thirsty. Bring doctor, too.”
    The man was drifting into delirium, so I tried one more time. “How do you know there’s a bomb? Someone told you. Goddamn it, there are innocent people in the lodge who have nothing to do with your little war.”
    The man made a grunting sound of impatience. I had to ask the question again before he finally admitted, “A few minutes after Mr. Kazlov leave party, he send me text. He say someone he know intercept e-mails. There may be device on island that kill everything at midnight—”
    I interrupted, “Midnight? You’re sure?”
    The man nodded. “Information, he say, come from close friend, but not confirmed. This just before jamming start.”
    “Which friend? The same one who told you Kazlov had been shot?”
    “We have many intelligence sources. No need to say name of his friend.”
    It was someone on the island, apparently, or the man would have no reason to conceal the identify.
    I said, “Damn it. Why didn’t you tell me this right away?” because it was ten p.m.
    Vladimir stirred for a moment and lifted his head to look at me. A moment of clarity, it seemed.
    “Does not matter intelligence