Father Night (19 page)

A stainless-steel toilet was attached to a wall beside a tiny sink. A door gleamed dully, so it must be metal, she surmised. A slot at eye level to allow someone from the outside to observe her. In the opposite corner, at the junction of the wall and the ceiling, was a small video camera. So she was being constantly observed. Some kind of a prison cell? All at once, panic filled up her chest as if she were going down for the last time. She was drowning, her nightmare past returning in a terrifying déjà vu. She felt unmoored, alone, adrift, helpless. She shivered violently, hearing Herr’s voice in her head, as she did in her nightmares, worming its way into her cortex, as if he had never died, as if in some superhuman effort he had cheated death in order to stalk her, as if he had not finished with her, as if he were about to inflict more damage to her psyche.

She heard a sob escape her, and she bit down on her bottom lip, drawing blood. It was no use. This wasn’t a dream. It was real. She was imprisoned again, and there was no way out. She felt as if she were losing her mind. Doubling over, she began to gag, miserable and despairing.

And then, in the deepest mire of her terror, she thought about Jack, about all he had taught her, all she had painfully learned about herself, and she felt the breath rush back into her lungs. She took a step back from her panic until she could hold it at arm’s length, so that it no longer engulfed her.

Think,
she told herself.
Think rationally.

She remembered Herr—or the man who looked like Herr—disguised as Waxman, her hand-to-hand with him, then fleeing virtually into the real Waxman’s arms. What happened next? Her thoughts darted in and out of her grasp. Waxman had pointed his walking stick at her. The next moment she had felt paralyzed. And she had seen him walking without a limp.

And then, with a wave of despair that threatened to engulf her, she remembered Dick Bridges, who had tried to save her. She had no way of knowing whether he was alive or dead, but the fact that she was here and not safe in Bridges’s care made her fear for his life.

She was certain that she had developed a sixth sense that allowed her to spot the minute tics and flaws in human behavior, gaining her an edge when looking for truth and lies. But somehow Waxman had fooled her completely. Maybe she had become complacent, figuring her sixth sense would automatically warn her. Tears of rage and frustration blurred her vision, scalded her cheeks.

“Arrogance is the province of the young,”
Sensei had told her over and over. But had she listened? It was her arrogance, her total disregard for the rules of safety and caution, that had led her into this situation. Her obsession with Herr had blinded her, and now she was paying the price. All the worse if Bridges had been harmed trying to protect her from herself.

That was when she felt the cool breeze like a kiss against her cheek and, arching her neck, saw Emma standing in the shaft of light that slowly crawled across the floor of her cell. She was colorless, translucent, as if she were made of glass bricks.

“Emma?” she whispered. “Emma.”

Emma stepped closer. This was not the first time she had seen Emma’s—what?—ghost, anima, spirit, electrical energy?—the definition would depend on your belief system. Alli knew that Emma appeared to Jack regularly, that he had thought he was going mad with grief until she had come to Alli as well, not as often and not for very long. But she was here now.

“You’ve found me, Emma.”

I will always find you, Alli. You know that. I love you
.

Now Alli did cry, the tears rolling freely down her cheeks. “I love you, Emma. I have from the moment we met.”

I know. I’ve always known.

“Emma, where am I?”

You know I can’t tell you. I’m not a Get Out of Jail Free card. That’s not how it works.

“Tell me how it works.”

My current state is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.

“But you’re here for a reason.”

I’m never anywhere without a reason. Otherwise, I’d simply float away.

“Don’t do that, Emma. Please.” Alli could no longer tolerate the pain and she rolled back on her left side. “Can you help me?”

I am doing what I can.

“I don’t understand.”

Yes, you do. Think, Alli.

“Think about what? I’m trapped in a cell, bound hand and foot. I can’t even move.”

Alli blinked and Emma was gone. A sharp scraping sound filled the cell, and the door swung open, revealing her captor.

*   *   *

W
HEN
J
ACK
and Annika appeared in the ringmaster’s car, Kurin was standing at the window, watching Huey calm Romulus. Remus stood docilely by, her trunk swaying like a metronome.

Annika pulled apart the love seat’s bullet-shattered wooden slab. “What happened in here?” she said. “Are Dyadya and Katya all right?”

“Perfectly fine.” Kurin smiled as he turned to them.

“Then why aren’t you helping them?”

“They don’t need help.” Kurin looked like a different person. All the fear and subservience he had shown Stas had been replaced by his ringmaster’s confidence. He was as good an actor as anyone in the circus. “Come,” he said briskly, leading them outside.

“My God,” Annika said when she assessed the destruction the elephants had wreaked.

“No one’s getting out of that alive,” Jack observed.

Kurin nodded. “We all protect our own.”

Remus’s trunk stopped swaying when she saw them. Her enormous ears flapped and she lumbered over to where they stood beside the ringmaster’s car. Her trunk curled up, the end resting first on Jack’s head, then on Annika’s shoulder. Annika reached up and stroked the trunk.

“She already knows you,” Kurin said, as Huey led a now-calmed Romulus back to where Remus stood. The great beasts loomed over them, but there was now a serenity about both of them that soothed the humans’ still-jangling nerves.

Pointing to the car’s undercarriage, Kurin said, “The floor of my wagon is two and a half feet higher than the bottom.” He shrugged. “Emergencies arise from time to time. You never know.”

Stepping forward, he pressed the red star that crowned one of the onion domes in the Red Square Circus logo. At once, a panel opened and they could see inside. Gourdjiev and Katya lay within the narrow bay. Annika and Jack helped them out. They blinked in the light.

The old man appeared unperturbed by their close call, but Katya was clearly shaken. Annika put her arm tenderly around the older woman. While they regained their equilibrium, Jack recounted what had happened.

“So, crushed to death,” Gourdjiev said, when Jack had concluded. Giving the elephants a wide berth, he picked his way toward the remains of the two cars. “More of Grigori’s people dead.”

At that moment, Jack’s cell buzzed. Seeing it was Secretary Paull, he took the call.

“Get your ass back to D.C. ASAP.” Paull’s voice was unnaturally tense.

“The situation has blown up here,” Jack said. “I’ve got my hands full.”

“Not interested,” Paull snapped. “I need you.”

Something lurched inside Jack and a certain coolness caused him to look around for any sign of Emma. Suddenly filled with anxiety, he said, “Dennis, what’s happened?”

“Alli is missing,” Paull replied, “along with Dick Bridges and another Secret Service agent.”

*   *   *

W
ERNER
W
AXMAN
limped into the concrete cell. He did not bother to close the door behind him. Another, far larger man loomed behind him, a chair in one massive hand. When he set it down in front of Alli, she shuddered, recognizing the man who looked just like Morgan Herr.

Waxman sat down, bony hands resting on the knob of his walking stick. “So here we are again, back at the beginning.”

Alli stared up at him, mute. The tip of his walking stick flicked out and she flinched, convinced he was going to inject her again. Instead, he manipulated it between her lips, unraveling the ball of cotton and drawing it out of her mouth.

She tried to speak but her throat was dry, her tongue felt swollen. She closed her mouth, tried to gather saliva. There wasn’t much on hand.

“Reggie,” Waxman said without taking his eyes off her, “would you be kind enough to bring Alli a glass of water?”

Herr turned and, without a word, disappeared into the corridor beyond the doorway. Alli’s eyes followed him, but there was nothing to see—the corridor was featureless. Her eyes returned to Waxman, who was gazing at her with the vaguely detached expression of a taxidermist. She shuddered involuntarily.

“Cold?” Waxman said, misinterpreting. He smiled. “It will only get colder.”

Herr returned with a glass of water.

“Sit her up,” Waxman said.

Herr hauled her into a sitting position, then, bending over, tilted the rim to her lips. He stared at her while she drank greedily, tiny rivulets snaking down the corners of her mouth. When the glass was drained he took it away, but not before baring his teeth at her.

“Better?” Waxman said without a shred of sympathy.

Alli found her voice at last. “Where is Dick Bridges? What happened to him?”

“Ah, Bridges,” Waxman said, as if they were speaking about an old mutual friend. “He’s dead, I’m afraid.”

A needle pierced Alli’s heart, but she wondered whether she should believe him. After all, up to this point he had done nothing but lie to her. She wanted so badly for Dick to be alive and well, but she saw again the scene of him tackling Herr, of Waxman standing over him. Then everything had gone blank. Was Dick really dead? He must be, she reasoned. Neither Herr nor Waxman would have left Dick alive as a witness to her kidnapping. No, Waxman must be telling the truth. Dick was gone.

Waxman stared down at her. “Secret Service agents. They’re not human, not really. They’re trained to react.… Oh, but Dick Bridges was the agent who let your father die, yes?” He poked Alli with the tip of his walking stick. “So maybe you don’t care that he’s dead.”

Alli wanted to laugh at that. “What do you want?”

He cocked his head. “Yes, what
do
I want? Why have I gone to all this trouble to bring you here? To begin, we need to talk about Reggie.”

“He’s the one who created the Web site.”

“Yes, he did. On my orders.”

“Why?”

Waxman smiled. “A touch of bitter honey to trap this particular fly.”

Alli moved her head to indicate Herr. “He’s Morgan’s brother, isn’t he?”

“Better than that.” Waxman glanced over his shoulder at Herr, who was standing immobile by the doorway. “Reggie is Morgan’s twin.”

Alli closed her eyes for a moment. Morgan Herr’s twin. The worst of all possibilities. She wished with all her heart that Emma would reappear and tell her what to do, explain how to extricate herself from this nightmare.

Waxman leaned forward, his voice lowered in a whisper that had theatrical overtones. “To be perfectly honest, Herr would like nothing better than to kill you. And who can blame him? You’re responsible for his brother’s death.”

“Morgan became responsible for his own fate when he chose to kidnap me,” Alli said. “The same goes for you and the twin.”

“Well, I must say I wasn’t expecting this display of—what did they call it in the old days? Ah, yes—true grit. Tell me, are you always this feisty?”

Alli kept her voice neutral. “I’m not telling you anything.” This surely was a nightmare, but it was one she had already endured. She knew how to protect herself from anything they might do to her.

“I had expected as much.” He had the kind of smile that was all teeth. “But, rest assured, there’s a long way to go.”

“I have to pee,” Alli said from her position on the floor.

Waxman contemplated her for a moment, then he raised one hand. Herr obediently returned and, opening a switchblade, cut the three zip ties. He stood over her, watching her as if she were a beetle on its back, as she struggled to regain circulation in her limbs. She was gratified to see the damage she had inflicted on his face. As she rose, he stepped quickly back as if she were radioactive. Turning on his heel, he went back to his post.

Alli took a couple of experimental steps, but one leg, suffering through pins and needles, collapsed under her, and she knelt on one knee until it passed. Then she made her unsteady way to the stainless-steel toilet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Waxman said.

Alli ignored him, pulled down her trousers and underpants, and sat. Elbows on thighs, she stared at Waxman while she relieved herself. The strong stream ricocheted noisily against the metal. He didn’t blink and neither did she.

“You know,” Waxman said, “it’s a pity you’re on the wrong side of history. I could have use for someone like you.”

“Think how my recruitment would affect the twin over there.”

“Rivalry is competition, something I find a healthy incentive for all concerned.”

The moment Waxman rose, Herr came and took the chair out of the cell. “Enjoy your moment of peace.” He limped across the cell. “I promise you it will be the last in a long, long while.”

The cell door banged shut behind him.

E
LEVEN

C
HESAPEAKE
B
ODYWERKS
occupied three contiguous concrete buildings at 1550 Fourteenth Street NW. The facade was unprepossessing. There were six open bays filled with vehicle workstations, including lifts. Two limos and an armored money-delivery truck were being worked on when Fraine drove up. He parked and got out. Someone with a deft hand had painted an American flag over the office door.

He went in and asked one of the two women at the front desk if Andy Beemer was in.

A balding man in jeans, a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a Nationals baseball cap looked up. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“I’m a revenuer.”

Beemer had a cheery avuncular laugh. He had a head like a bowling ball and shoulders like a guard or tackle, but his milk-chocolate face looked beaten up. PAL boxing league, Fraine automatically thought, and liked him immediately.