Read Online Lethal Expedition (Short Story) by James M. Tabor - Free Book Online
Authors: James M. Tabor
Ads: Link
“It’s time for you to—”
“Do you know what happens to murderers in hell?”
“I don’t believe in hell.” He said this firmly, but she saw his eyes flick to one side. She had touched something.
“Everybody believes in hell. We say we don’t, but way down deep, we all do.”
He frowned. “I had planned to just hang you. Now I think not. But I don’t see what I need. Stay right there.” He went up the stairs.
There is slack in every rope
. Houdini had said that, Hallie had once read it, and while they were talking in the dark, she had been twisting and pulling against the towels as much as she could without making noise. Now she redoubled her efforts, listening to him opening drawers, shuffling contents. She heard him say, “Just the thing.”
He came back downstairs holding an ice pick.
22
President Laning reached for the handsome man’s hand to shake it, but it disappeared for an instant and reappeared holding something. The sun was behind him, it was hard to see clearly, but there was a flash in that bright painful light and she thought,
A gun
, and wanted to dive away, but it was all happening faster than she could move, faster than thought, and then something touched her hand, not a bullet but a white thing, and the man disappeared beneath a wave of Secret Service agents and another wave was washing her back to the Beast.
23
“Hanging ruptures the eardrums,” Ely said. “So we’ll have a little fun in there first. Nobody will know.” He gazed down at her. “Which ear? I guess it doesn’t matter.” He put his left hand on her head and leaned in, raising the ice pick.
With a last screaming jerk, she yanked her right arm free, grabbed a handful of his hood, and slammed his forehead with all her strength against the end of the wooden chair arm. She thought she heard something crack, his skull or the wood, maybe both. He grunted and collapsed facedown on the cement floor.
Her left arm first. Then, with both hands free, she loosened the rope and pulled it over her head. She started unwrapping her legs. Ely had been thorough—they looked like the puttees of old uniforms. She freed her right leg, started on her left. Ely groaned and moved his head. She picked it up, slammed his forehead down onto the concrete floor, and he lay still.
Freeing her left leg took longer, but finally she was loose. She stood up and fell to her hands and knees. Her legs had fallen completely asleep. She staggered up, stamped her feet, felt agonizing pins and needles, stumbled toward the bottom of the stairs.
A hand grabbed her left ankle, yanked back, and she fell forward. Ely had come around. He grabbed her other ankle. The man was stronger than she’d realized. He hauled her toward him and drove the ice pick into the back of her thigh.
24
Strong arms stuffed Laning, Paul, and the girls into the Beast, and Agent Delaney was about to order its driver to lock and go. Laning said,
“Stop,”
in that brain-snapping voice.
Addressing Delaney directly, she said, “Robert, we came here to worship, and we shall. Do what you need to, and quickly. I want to be out of this vehicle and moving toward the cathedral in three.”
The agent shook his head, stone-faced. “Madame President, my responsibility is to—”
“Make it happen, Agent Delaney.”
And they did. When the massed people saw her get out of the Beast, there was an astonished silence. Then they screamed and cheered and kept cheering long after she and her family disappeared through the massive cathedral doors.
A thousand heads swiveled to see the president and her family. Somebody clapped, and then everybody was clapping and cheering, and it lasted as they strode up the nave aisle four abreast, preceded and followed by twice the usual number of sweating agents.
Bishop Newberry, aloft in the magisterial Canterbury Pulpit, marveled at the appearance of the most powerful woman on earth in her church. The grand organ boomed, and the choir filled the
“Do you know what happens to murderers in hell?”
“I don’t believe in hell.” He said this firmly, but she saw his eyes flick to one side. She had touched something.
“Everybody believes in hell. We say we don’t, but way down deep, we all do.”
He frowned. “I had planned to just hang you. Now I think not. But I don’t see what I need. Stay right there.” He went up the stairs.
There is slack in every rope
. Houdini had said that, Hallie had once read it, and while they were talking in the dark, she had been twisting and pulling against the towels as much as she could without making noise. Now she redoubled her efforts, listening to him opening drawers, shuffling contents. She heard him say, “Just the thing.”
He came back downstairs holding an ice pick.
22
President Laning reached for the handsome man’s hand to shake it, but it disappeared for an instant and reappeared holding something. The sun was behind him, it was hard to see clearly, but there was a flash in that bright painful light and she thought,
A gun
, and wanted to dive away, but it was all happening faster than she could move, faster than thought, and then something touched her hand, not a bullet but a white thing, and the man disappeared beneath a wave of Secret Service agents and another wave was washing her back to the Beast.
23
“Hanging ruptures the eardrums,” Ely said. “So we’ll have a little fun in there first. Nobody will know.” He gazed down at her. “Which ear? I guess it doesn’t matter.” He put his left hand on her head and leaned in, raising the ice pick.
With a last screaming jerk, she yanked her right arm free, grabbed a handful of his hood, and slammed his forehead with all her strength against the end of the wooden chair arm. She thought she heard something crack, his skull or the wood, maybe both. He grunted and collapsed facedown on the cement floor.
Her left arm first. Then, with both hands free, she loosened the rope and pulled it over her head. She started unwrapping her legs. Ely had been thorough—they looked like the puttees of old uniforms. She freed her right leg, started on her left. Ely groaned and moved his head. She picked it up, slammed his forehead down onto the concrete floor, and he lay still.
Freeing her left leg took longer, but finally she was loose. She stood up and fell to her hands and knees. Her legs had fallen completely asleep. She staggered up, stamped her feet, felt agonizing pins and needles, stumbled toward the bottom of the stairs.
A hand grabbed her left ankle, yanked back, and she fell forward. Ely had come around. He grabbed her other ankle. The man was stronger than she’d realized. He hauled her toward him and drove the ice pick into the back of her thigh.
24
Strong arms stuffed Laning, Paul, and the girls into the Beast, and Agent Delaney was about to order its driver to lock and go. Laning said,
“Stop,”
in that brain-snapping voice.
Addressing Delaney directly, she said, “Robert, we came here to worship, and we shall. Do what you need to, and quickly. I want to be out of this vehicle and moving toward the cathedral in three.”
The agent shook his head, stone-faced. “Madame President, my responsibility is to—”
“Make it happen, Agent Delaney.”
And they did. When the massed people saw her get out of the Beast, there was an astonished silence. Then they screamed and cheered and kept cheering long after she and her family disappeared through the massive cathedral doors.
A thousand heads swiveled to see the president and her family. Somebody clapped, and then everybody was clapping and cheering, and it lasted as they strode up the nave aisle four abreast, preceded and followed by twice the usual number of sweating agents.
Bishop Newberry, aloft in the magisterial Canterbury Pulpit, marveled at the appearance of the most powerful woman on earth in her church. The grand organ boomed, and the choir filled the
Similar Books
