The Instruments of Darkness: A Thriller

Chapter XCII

Ellar Michaud had learned the value of patience and stillness very early in life. His father, Normand, was a mean son of a bitch who never failed to return from a walk in the woods without a couple of fresh birch sticks with which to whip his children for any infractions, real or imagined, so it was better not to draw his attention. Their mother, Ivie, had limited herself to applying ointment to the marks after the beatings and reminding her offspring—as if any reminder was necessary—of the importance of not crossing their father. Both were now buried in the family plot to the north, but Ellar hadn’t visited the grave since his mother’s interment four years after her husband’s. He didn’t hate them, they and their attitudes not counting as unusual for that time or place, but neither did he spare much thought for where their souls might be residing. Aline missed them, though, especially her mother. It was Aline who continued to maintain Ivie’s herb garden, filled with plants that had once doubled as abortifacients: wild carrot, wormwood, common rue, centaury, pennyroyal, and more.

Ellar had monitored the comings and goings at the encampment, hoping that everyone would settle down and go to their beds, leaving him to work without the danger of being spotted, but activity was continuing well into the night. It looked to Ellar like the interlopers were getting a big shipment ready, their vehicle pool now swollen by a couple of old sedan deliveries. Occasionally, one of the group would head off to grab a nap or a cup of coffee, but the work never stopped. If Ellar waited any longer, dawn would come and he’d have missed his chance.

With that in mind, Ellar had made his way to the far side of the encampment. He was armed with a Hi-Point C9 pistol and a scoped Armalite AR-10 tactical rifle, along with the Bushmaster knife he always carried. Pinette and the main group were currently about sixty feet to his right. They had set up a couple of portable lights, under which they were separating guns and equipment into piles, checking and double-checking the parts and mechanisms before storing them in tarps or smaller crates as required. The wind was blowing in their direction, so Ellar would have to work fast. As soon as he began spreading the skunk essence, it would carry to them, and they’d begin searching for the source. He’d need to be good and gone before they found it.

Ellar set the two bottles of essence beside him before opening the Ziploc bag with the dead skunk. Although he’d been anticipating the stink, it made his gorge rise, but he doused it with plenty of Rickard’s nonetheless. He left only the tail untouched, so he could pick up the skunk without tainting his gloves. When the job was done, he pulled the animal from the bag and tossed it into the trees behind him. It landed with barely a sound.

Ellar then sprayed the skunk essence on the surrounding grass. Rickard’s was usually applied with a pipette, but Ellar didn’t have time for that. He needed a lot of skunk and he needed it fast, but he stopped dousing as soon as the smell hit him full in the face. Even with a scarf over his mouth, he was struggling not to puke. He resealed the bottles and put them in the bag he’d used for the skunk, just to avoid any chance of their being found later and the ruse being discovered. He was already scurrying back the way he’d come when he heard a shout of disgust from the group by the lights.

“Skunk,” someone said.

“Maybe more than one,” said another voice. “Goddammit, that’s bad.”

Ellar didn’t bother looking to see if Pinette had sent anyone to investigate. It was enough that they’d registered the smell, until Pinette spoke up.

“You sure that’s skunk and not a leak from one of the tanks?”

Ellar paused. He couldn’t do his work if one of Pinette’s people was dispatched to check the propane. He wouldn’t even be able to move in the direction of the tanks for fear of being seen. Ellar saw a man walking toward the spot with the skunk, and heard the first voice speak again.

“No, it’s a skunk for sure. It’s stronger over here. Jesus.”

Ellar knew that their olfactory functions would soon be so screwed up from the essence that they’d be unlikely to pick up any additional odor from the propane. He reached the main tanks without incident, squatted behind the largest, and removed the two incendiaries, constructed from sealed cardboard tubes filled with a mixture of potassium chlorate and sugar. Using the tip of his Bushmaster, Ellar made a hole in the end of each tube to add the detonator: a tiny vial of sulfuric acid. The vials were sealed with 316L stainless steel screwcaps of his own construction, because the acid would eat through anything else.

He removed the steel lid from the first vial and replaced it with the thicker of two cork stoppers. He inserted the vial into the holes he’d made before turning the device upside down so the acid immediately began to dissolve the cork. When it reached the potassium chlorate-sugar mixture, it would ignite a powerful and very hot fire. Ellar had timed the dissolution rate on the cork and knew he had about eight minutes. Finally, he located the valve on the nearest tank and used the Bushmaster to cut an incision in the length of connecting hose. Instantly, he smelled gas.

Ellar slipped back into the trees and worked his way toward the two smaller tanks next to a trio of camper vans. There he repeated the procedure, this time using a cork timed for two minutes. He checked his watch. Four minutes had elapsed since he’d primed the first incendiary, which meant a gap of roughly a minute between the first and second explosions. He didn’t know how much damage the initial blast would cause, as he couldn’t boast a wealth of experience at turning propane tanks into bombs. He guessed it would be enough to destroy at least one of the camper vans and kill anyone unfortunate enough to be sleeping inside, as well as start a good fire; but it would also drive the rest of Pinette’s crew back while they tried to figure out what was happening. With luck, that would put them well within range of the second, larger explosion. It wasn’t a perfect killing box, but it would suffice.

Ellar grabbed his duffel and ran for the cover of the woods. He wanted to find somewhere safe from which to watch the conflagration. He didn’t want to miss the show after going to the trouble of setting it up. He was almost at the trees when his right foot was yanked from beneath him, causing him to land awkwardly in a pile of branches that cracked loudly beneath his weight.

Unfortunately, so did his left arm.