Jack pressed the call button at the gate for the fourth time, holding it down 15 seconds while he stared into the security camera. How could this be, he thought; something's wrong. With the security Jan had, the gate intercom should have been answered before he had pulled his finger off the button the first time.
Putting the car in reverse, he backed up about thirty feet and dropped it into park while inspecting the gate. It was a heavy, wrought iron assembly, set into stone pillars, and placed at the end of eight-foot-high stone fencing, running in either direction to the edge of the property. He decided he couldn't break it down without possibly setting the airbag off which would be a dangerous proposition.
Something's wrong, and I have to get there, right now. Climbing the gate was a possibility, but his recollection was that it was still a good mile to the house. Seven or eight minutes might be too long. Putting the car into drive, he pulled the wheel to the right and drove almost half a mile along the stone wall through the field between the fence and main road. At the corner, he saw what appeared to be the neighbor's barbed wire fence which ran back out to the main road. Picking up a little more speed, he barreled through the barbed wire fence, hoping the tires would survive. Then he turned left toward the ocean, driving in what appeared to be an undeveloped field of clover and weeds that ran all along Jan's fence to the sea.
The terrain of the property seemed to roll gently like Jan's did which made the steering sloppy. About three-quarters of a mile farther, the roll crested, giving him an unobstructed view of the slate blue color of the ocean, still another mile ahead. The stone wall appeared to end at the edge of the beach. As he forged ahead, the steering felt even worse, and he became concerned he'd either blown a tire or the ground was becoming too soft, leaving him in danger of getting stuck.
He gave the car a little more gas as he fought the wheel and tried to keep it pointed toward the ocean. He felt it take flight before he saw the erosion drop-off, hidden by the tall, unending grass. Pushing hard on the steering wheel, he pressed the back of his head against the headrest and waited for the inevitable. The front of the car dropped just before hitting the opposite side of the wide ditch with a solid thud; it was followed by a popping sound, rather like a 22 caliber gun being fired, as the airbag pushed out to meet him on his journey to the windshield.
It pressed him back into the headrest before deflating completely to drape over his chest and arms. A little sore across his lap where the belt dug in, he released the buckle and forced his door open, stumbling out into the soft mixture of damp soil mixed with sand.
Standing to brush off, Jack did a quick personal inventory and decided he was fine. Getting his bearings, he jogged the last fifty yards to the edge of the stone wall where he jumped onto the beach. Running about 15 feet to his left, he found three wooden steps, weathered and neglected, that would take him up the three-foot ledge to the yard. Jogging toward the house, he saw what appeared to be the security building to his left, built into the stone wall. The building was about the size of a two-car garage with polarized windows on three sides, and there was a 4x4 parked on an asphalt drive that ran along the stone wall, back toward the front gate.
On firmer footing, he ran to the closest window and banged on it, unable to see inside. As he continued around the building, constantly banging on the glass as he went by, he thought surely someone would want to know who the idiot was that had breached their security.
Turning the next corner, he got a closer look at the 4x4 with its windows down and looked left to find a grey metal door standing open. Stopping at the entrance, he listened while he caught his breath. The static rush of a police scanner, filled with snippets of conversation, was the only thing he heard. Pressing his palm against the door, it pushed in, revealing a tile-covered floor and rush of cool air as the air-conditioned interior found its way outside.
Taking a few cautious steps inside, he paused and listened once more before calling out. "Hello. I need some help. Is anyone here?" Nothing, but the drone of the scanner answered back. Taking five more careful steps he stood in what must have been the main monitoring area with several color monitors, showing different views of the grounds. A yellow light marked 'Front Gate' was flashing, probably in response to his frantic button pushing earlier.
There was no sign of life as he strode to the back of the room and pushed in on another door that was slightly ajar. Rubbing the wall on the right with his palm, he finally slid across the light switch and was confronted by the sight of two uniformed men sprawled on the floor with what appeared to be shots to the back of their heads. Forcing himself to move farther into the room, he glanced around at what appeared to be an equipment and storage area before bending over to pull a gun out of the holster of one of the dead men. Stepping on the edge of the pool of blood, he noted it was still very liquid. This couldn't have happened more than an hour ago, he thought.
Leaving the room, he returned to the monitor console and scanned the counter below the screens for a phone. As he walked forward, scanning the yard through the huge window over the counter, his hand went to the phone and drew it to his ear. Dead.
He dropped the handset and headed for the door he'd come in through, finding what he expected right beside the door. Plucking the keys to the 4x4 from the key rack by the door, he ran out and jumped in, starting the engine, he made a tight U-turn, electing to cut across the grass toward the house instead of following the small service lane.
