Konrath, Joe - Dirty Martini by J.A. Konrath Read Free Book Online

researching this particular phase of the Plan. Booby trap diagrams are easily found on the Internet, but he’s taken them to the next level. They’ve become works of art. Fatal works of art. The slightest scrape of skin, the tiniest tear of fabric, the smallest misstep, and you’re dead.
    So exciting. So amusing. And he has the perfect view of everything.
    He wishes he had a bag of popcorn.
    A television news truck pulls up. It’s about damn time.
    The money will be nice. But what will really keep him company in his old age are the memories of moments like this.

 

    CHAPTER 8

    T HE SPACE SUIT WAS claustrophobic, hot, and cumbersome. I found it extremely hard to focus. The jog up to the front door had a surreal quality, as if I were indeed stepping foot onto another planet.
    “Keep your eyes moving.”
Rick, through the comlink.
“Not only side to side, but up and down. Pay attention to where you’re placing your feet, and what’s overhead. You’re looking for IEDs.”
    Improvised explosive devices. Traps that released chemical or biological weapons. The things that decimated the SRT.
    I stopped before entering the doorway and poked my hooded head inside, twisting my shoulders to get peripheral views. I could see the living room to my immediate left; the sofa and entertainment center looked completely normal. Beyond it, a hallway. To my right, several doors. No signs of Alger, or any of the fallen cops.
    “Where’s the first heat signature?” I said into my headset.
    “To your right.”
Herb’s voice.
“Second door.”
    “Watch the thermals. If you see any signs of movement, let me know.”
    “Roger that. Take it slow in there, Jack.”
    I lifted up my right foot and crossed the threshold. The floor was dark wood, scratched, in need of refinishing. I noted some splinters and a screw; leftovers from the battering ram. I shifted my weight to my foot slowly, cautiously, as if I were on thin ice. It held.
    “Attention, Special Response Team, this is Lieutenant Daniels, Homicide.” I’d almost said
Violent Crimes
, but recently the suits had changed division names. “I’m coming into the house to find you. If you see someone in a big orange suit, hold your fire.”
    My words echoed in my earpiece, but had another added echo after bouncing off of my faceplate. I moved with care, as if every step counted, but the boots attached to the suit were too big for my feet and it was like walking around in clown shoes. Four steps into the hallway, my toe snagged on the base of a coatrack and I almost fell on top of my shotgun.
    I was going to kill myself before I even got to the booby traps.
    “What do you see, Jack?”
    “It’s a house. A normal, average house.”
    “It’s not normal. Don’t think that way. The IEDs will be hidden, or camouflaged. They might look like a child’s toy, or a framed photograph, or a pair of slippers. Assume that everything is deadly.”
    I took a deep breath, let it out slow. Passed through the hallway without further incident, and stopped at the second door.
    “How far into the room is the thermal reading?”
    Herb said,
“It’s about two yards in front of you. Not moving.”
    Some sweat had beaded up on my forehead, and I didn’t have a way to wipe it off.
    “I’m going in.”
    My right hand kept the Remington at waist level. My left turned the knob and eased the door open.
    I let out a nervous laugh when I saw the familiar rectangular object.
    “It’s a space heater.”
    “How many cords?”
Rick asked.
    That was a curious question. I lowered my line of vision to floor level and saw two.
    “Thermal levels increasing.”
Herb sounded as edgy as I felt.
    “Two plugs, leading to the same outlet.”
    “One is probably a motion detector, which activates a switch to increase the temperature. Certain poisons, like arsenic, become gaseous when heated.”
    “Good thing I’m wearing a mask. I can see some fumes coming off of—”
    Because I had no peripheral vision, I