Father Night (6 page)

All this she told Vera, and more. At first she did so haltingly, the terror like a ball of needles in her throat, but then the words began to flow more and more easily, and she began to feel an immense sense of relief.

“So, what,” Vera said when she had concluded, “you actually think this guy didn’t die?”

“That’s just it,” Alli cried. “I
know
he died. Jack was there. He went out the motel window. He broke his neck and his back. He’s dead and buried.”

“So what has you so freaked out? You being tied up, the date you were abducted, all this information is public knowledge. Anyone could have—”

“But not the chair.” Alli reached over for Vera’s iPad, brought up the images she had saved of the nudes with Alli’s face. She pointed. “No one but Jack and the cops knew that I had been tied to a chair just like this.”

“Now you’re getting
me
freaked out,” Vera said. “Let’s try to think about this rationally.”

“There’s nothing rational about it.”

Alli shivered and Vera put an arm around her.

”This one detail has brought the nightmare rushing back at me. I can’t help thinking…” Her voice petered out, as if she were afraid to articulate the terrible thoughts whirling through her mind.

Vera took a breath and let it out. “Okay, okay. I agree, this is serious. I’m on board.” She reached for her cell. “There’s someone who can help us. She’s a genius at computer hacking. If anyone can find this cocksucker, it’s her.”

Alli looked up. “Who is it?”

But Vera had already punched in the number and now held a forefinger across her lips. “Hey, it’s me.… I know, but this is important.… No, no, not me. Alli … Carson.… Hmmm, okay, but you’ll like this one, a real challenge.… I agree, let’s meet. Tell me where and when. Oh, and, Caro, I’d like to bring her.”

Alli stared at Vera as she disconnected. “Caro?”

“Yeah.” Vera looked at her in a steady, serious manner. “I’ve known for a while where your cousin is. I guess we all have angles to play.”

*   *   *

T
HE FUNERAL
home van kept up a steady pace along the highway, moving away from Sheremetyevo Airport. Boris sat glowering, having been forced to give up his weapon. Jack was suffused by an icy calm. He tried to make eye contact with Annika, but she was staring fixedly at Gourdjiev, dead asleep in his deep meditative state, helpless as a newborn.

As the car jounced around, Jack began to inch himself farther from Annika. It was imperative that he get as far from her as possible so the gunman would have difficulty keeping a constant eye on both of them. He moved carefully and in inconstant bursts timed to the swaying of the van. Even so, the increasing gap finally became apparent to the gunman, and with a wave of the Magnum’s barrel, he indicated that Jack should move back toward Annika.

Jack rose to comply, but instead of moving sideways, he launched himself at the gunman. The Magnum exploded near his left ear, deafening him, but he already had his elbow beneath the gunman’s chin, shoving it against his Adam’s apple. The gunman struck him on the side of his head, and sparks exploded behind his eyes. He relinquished his grip long enough for the gunman to regain control of the .357 and press its muzzle against Jack’s forehead.

Annika had her SIG Sauer out.

“Put the weapon down,” the gunman said, staring her down, “or I blow your boyfriend’s head—”

Jack slammed his elbow into the attendant’s side, cracking a rib. As the man lurched backward, a gunshot tore through the top of the car. Jack grabbed the Desert Eagle, slammed it against the side of the attendant’s head. His hand shot out, grabbing Jack around the throat and squeezing hard. Jamming the heel of his hand under the attendant’s chin, Jack forced the man’s head up, then, with a violent lurch forward, smashed the back of it against the wall. The attendant’s eyes rolled up, and Jack wrested the Magnum away from him, slashing the long barrel across the bridge of his nose. The attendant came at him, fingers like claws, and Jack shot him in the head. Katya gave a little cry. The attendant, leaking blood, slid down. Jack rolled him onto the floor.

Annika opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment, the intercom speaker crackled. “Is everything okay back there?”

Leaning over Gourdjiev’s body, Jack toggled a switch on the intercom box affixed to the partition. “Fine now,” he said a little breathlessly. “The bodyguard tried to make a move and I shot him.”

The driver said nothing. Jack looked at Annika. The car slowed, turned off the highway, into a vast industrial open space filled with lines of corrugated metal warehouses.

Jack hunched toward her. “Who are these people?”

“I have no idea.”

“They were clever enough to get to these funeral home workers, so they had to have known about the plan. Can you explain that?”

Annika shook her head.

“It’s possible, then, that they know we’ve faked your grandfather’s death.”

“Impossible.”

“Which is what you would have said about suborning these men not ten minutes ago.” Jack peered out the window. “We must be going into one of the warehouses.”

The van lurched to a stop. They heard the front door slam, saw the driver running for a side door in the warehouse.

“I’m guessing he didn’t believe me,” Jack said.

Boris, clambering out the back, fired a shot at the driver. The driver whirled, knelt, and returned fire. Boris staggered back as he disappeared into the warehouse. Jack and Annika ran to Boris, who had been shot in the right shoulder. It was a flesh wound. They helped him back into the van, where Annika signed to Katya to take care of him.

Jack indicated the warehouse. “We’ll get our answers in there.”

Annika eyed the building. “Think this through, Jack. We can’t leave my grandfather and Katya. They’re too vulnerable out here.”

“We need to know who has infiltrated your grandfather’s plans. Otherwise, they’ll surely try again before we can get to the airport.”

She frowned, then nodded. “All right. I’ll take care of it while you drive Dyadya and Katya to a safe location.”

“I’m not going to let you go in there by yourself.”

“Who else is going to do it? Boris is wounded and Katya doesn’t drive.”

“Annika—”

“Every moment we stand here arguing, my grandfather is at risk.” Her carnelian eyes had turned steely.

He nodded, reluctant still. “I’ll take him to my plane.”

“That’s the first thing I thought of,” Annika said. “But if we’re being observed, then we’ll lead the enemy directly to our only source of escape. We can’t risk that.”

Annika glanced back at the van, where Dyadya Gourdjiev lay, still as death. When she turned back to him, she said, “There’s a place you can take him where he’ll be safe, at least temporarily.” She gave him an address.

Jack hesitated. “What about you?”

“I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“Driving what?”

She pointed to a parking lot at the other end of the industrial park. “Any car I can break into.”

*   *   *

N
ONA
H
EROE
rose from the sweat-damp bed, rolled away from Leonard Bishop’s naked body, and, spangled in the night glare of Washington’s parkway lights, picked her way to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet, her head in her hands, as she relieved herself.

There was still time to walk away from this swamp, she told herself, but that meant abandoning the career she had made for herself, the years of hard work she had put in. She could pack up and move away, perhaps back to her native New Orleans, and remain out on the streets, but to what end? The place was so corrupt a good cop stood a better chance of demotion than rising up the ranks. Besides, she would never feel the adrenaline rush the kinds of cases she encountered here gave her.

She had wanted so badly to tell Alan Fraine about her compromised position, but each time, she had shied away, too humiliated to share her misery even with her friend. He was also her boss and, as such, he would be bound to protect her. But how? Bishop was Alan’s boss; he held everyone at Metro in his hand. The only way was to find someone who was more powerful than Bishop and willing to wield that power to free her. But even if she found such a person, whatever he would ask for in return would be too high a price to pay.

The funny thing was that several times she was certain that Alan wanted to say something to her, but he never did. But he had begun to watch her in a different way, as if he were reevaluating her. And once, when she entered his office to hand in a report, she saw her file jacket open on his desk. Then it struck her that she wasn’t confiding in him, and she began to wonder whether something basic in their relationship had changed. Did they no longer trust each other? If so, they didn’t belong working together. Maybe it
was
time for her to get out of D.C., find a new life, and—

She looked up to see Bishop standing in the doorway.

“Don’t you knock?”

“Not in my house.” Grinning, he went to the shower and turned on the spray. Steam filled the room. He pulled her to her feet, his eyes running up and down her body, then he shoved aside the shower curtain.

Nona found that her mind had retreated to its paralyzed state.

Bishop pulled her to him, laughing. “Time for round two.”

*   *   *

A
LAN
F
RAINE
popped a fistful of Bugles in his mouth. He was almost out; next would come the potato chips. He shivered in the dark, even though he was well bundled up. The chill of night seeped its way into the dim interior of his car. His stomach rumbled; he was hungry despite, or possibly because of, the crap he’d been eating since ten
P.M.
That’s when he’d taken up station opposite Leonard Bishop’s house.

He hadn’t been on a stakeout in years; he’d forgotten just how long and boring it could be. There were times when he wondered whether he had made the right decision. He could have gone into Chris’s business. His twin brother had founded and now ran International Perimeter, a top-tier private security firm, whose client list looked like a who’s who of giant S&P 500 companies. Nevertheless, IP’s largest client was the U.S. government, whose seemingly endless appetite for war had made him a fortune.

Chris, on the cusp of becoming a billionaire, was Alan’s polar opposite. He was outgoing, gregarious, a hard-party maniac, a man who made his presence felt in every room he inhabited. People naturally gravitated to him, and it was true that, because of this, IP had the smartest and most highly skilled agents in the insanely competitive field in which IP prospered. Chris was, in short, both the toast of D.C. and the most envied CEO in his field. Alan could have had a piece of IP had he wanted to work for his brother, but he didn’t. In fact, despite the legendary intimacy shared by twins, Alan Fraine would have liked nothing better than to be as far away from Chris as he could possibly get. The truth was, Chris’s lifestyle embarrassed him. He was like the Hugh Hefner of D.C. Alan didn’t think decent people should act like that. Chris called him a Pilgrim, by which he meant Alan was straitlaced, without a sense of fun. He didn’t exactly hate Chris and he certainly didn’t envy him, sucking at the teat of the federal government. But, no doubt about it, Chris raised the hackles on the back of his neck, especially when he would gift Alan with five-figure checks for his birthday, Christmas, New Year’s, even, once, for Valentine’s Day. As if Alan were a poor relation. Alan used to tear up the checks, but Chris was so hurt, he soon gave it up, depositing the checks in an account he told no one about, not even his wife. He used to be ashamed of the money, until he hit upon the notion of donating a bit at a time to certain charities he carefully selected.

He yawned mightily, rolled his aching shoulders, and stretched his cramped muscles. At first he had felt guilty following Nona, but now he was glad he had followed his instincts. Something had been up with her, something out of sync, something wrong. Several times during the day he had been certain that she was going to tell him, but in each instance she stopped short. This hesitancy, more than anything else, had set off alarm bells in his head, which was why he had decided to follow her after work.

Nona and Leonard Bishop! The idea of the clandestine liaison made his blood boil. It made no sense. Why would Nona hook up with Bishop? Fraine knew she detested the man. At least, that’s what she had told him. Had she been lying to him? Did she have an entire life she held secret from him? Trouble was, he didn’t like the answers he was getting.

His salty fingertips found their way to the bottom of the Bugles box. There were still a couple left. He threw the box onto the footwell and stomped on it as if it were Leonard Bishop’s head.

*   *   *

A
NNIKA SLID
herself through the side door to the warehouse. The interior was illuminated only by a horizontal line of narrow windows up near the ceiling, their panes so dirty the light that filtered through was as gray as ash.

The concrete floor was covered with old stains, but bare—no crates or pallets or containers of any kind. A forklift was stashed in one corner, shrouded in gloom. The air was stale, as if the front door hadn’t been opened in some time. In the dim light filtering through the filthy windows, she could make out a car along with the hulking silhouette of the forklift. There was no sign of the driver, but she knew he must be here somewhere. She wondered if there were others who had been waiting for him to drive the van inside.

She reached the corner where the forklift rested. She peered up into the dusty cab. The moment she did so, the headlights snapped on, blinding her in their glare.

*   *   *

“H
OW IN
the world do you know Caro Carson?” Alli asked Vera as they got out of the car Vera had driven to the meet. “She’s been dead to the world for the last fifteen years. Her father’s been searching for her for forever.”

“He just didn’t know where to look.” Vera shook her head. “Bad joke. I knew Caro when we were very young. She was about four years older than I was, but she took an interest in me, God alone knows why. She treated me like a little sister, protecting me and all that. Then she just … vanished.”