Frame 232 (37 page)

HAMMOND KEPT
his speed at the legal limit as he drove the rental car
 
—secured under the same false identity as the southbound flight to Miami
 
—north on Interstate 95. He was still shaking from the Coast Guard encounter. They had ordered him to stop, and he had evaded them through a combination of raw speed and strategic maneuvering. It had been a risky decision, but it was one he would make again under the circumstances. Still, he regretted breaking the law and knew beyond any doubt that some unpleasant punishment would be part of his future.

Beside him in the passenger seat, Clemente seemed largely unaffected. If anything, he struck Hammond as energized by the recent excitement. He also continued his love affair with the iPad, his face like that of an enthused child.

Hammond looked at the old man and was unable to suppress a smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying that so much.”

“It really is most remarkable. When I was a boy, we played dominoes or chess for fun. Now there is this.”

“Both those games are on there, along with checkers, cribbage, blackjack, poker, and others. You can also read books,
listen to music, draw pictures, send e-mail, take photos, watch television . . .”

Clemente shook his head. “It is unbelievable. But I worry about children. If they have these, they will not leave their homes. They need to go outside and play in the fresh air.”

Hammond nodded. “That’s a problem, no doubt about it.” When he saw that Clemente was paging through the Internet with his forefinger again, he said, “What are you looking at now?”

“More stories about Rydell and these other killings. I would not be surprised if, as some of these sites are suggesting, they are all connected. The three victims
 
—Shevalek, Magliocci, and Kanter
 
—are of the right age and from the right places. One Mafia, one military, one business. Their hits were very professional. The Mafia man, for example
 
—his guards were taken down without a fight, and his alarm system got turned off. Then the killers just disappeared
 
—
swoosh!
 
—like smoke in the wind.”

“Now Rydell is gone too,” Hammond said bitterly, “also like smoke in the wind.”

“He is an old man like me, but I would not be surprised if they never caught him. He would have to be very smart to go so far in the CIA. I’m sure he knows many tricks.”

Hammond felt real anger begin to bloom. All the suffering Rydell had spread around during his career, including the death of a president that he was supposed to have served . . .
Look at what he’s done in the brief time since Margaret Baker’s film was found.
This made him think about Sheila again, and the nimble fingers of depression began reaching out. “I hope they do catch him. And then I hope they . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to give in to the kind of hatred that manufactured the Rydells of the world.

Clemente looked up. “Don’t feel bad, Mr. Hammond. He would deserve such a fate.”

For a brief moment there was a formless yet undeniable brand of understanding between them. And in spite of Clemente’s many sins, Hammond could not help but feel some benevolence toward him. It had been there all along, he realized, waiting for the cue to surface. “You know, you can call me Jason. You are twice my age, after all. No offense.”

Clemente laughed. “No offense taken. But only if you will call me Galeno.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“We are friends then, yes?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Friends.” He went back to the Internet and soon thereafter laughed out loud.

“What’s funny?”

“I am reading something now about the hill in Dealey Plaza by the fence, the one they call the grassy knoll.”

It occurred to Hammond that they hadn’t discussed the assassination since they left Cuba. It seemed like too sensitive a topic. But now that Clemente had introduced it, Hammond found himself eager to engage this soon-to-be-historic figure before he was in the clutches of federal prosecutors.

“That theory has been around for ages,” Hammond said.

“I know this, and it is what we in Cuba call
tonterías
 
—nonsense. The fence above the knoll was very tall. Did they think the shooter would stand on a box? There were also people there who would have seen him. No professional assassin would want to be seen. There were people in that big parking lot on the other side of the fence too.”

“But a sewer grate was there.”

“Yes, I know. I saw that on the map in my hotel room.”

“Did it also go to your storm drain?”

“No, to the river.”

“Well, that would have allowed a grassy knoll shooter to escape quietly in the confusion, no?”

“Maybe, maybe not. As I said, a smart assassin does not want to be seen regardless of his escape route. Of the four of us, only Oswald made a mistake there.”

“He did?”

“Yes, he stuck his rifle too far out the window. There were people on the sidewalk in front of the book depository who looked up and saw it. That was stupidity on his part. If he had brought it back farther, the shots would not have been any harder for him to make.”

“That’s interesting.”

“He also left the shells on the floor. How long would it have taken to pick them up and put them in his pocket? He did a terrible job of hiding the weapon too. His planning was very poor. If he had done everything right, he might have gotten away with it. And then killing that police officer, Mr. Tippit.” Clemente shook his head sadly. “Why did he have to do that? He could have just pointed his gun at the man and run off. Foolish . . . foolish.”

Hammond nodded. “Do you think Oswald was going to
 
—?” His phone cut him off. “It’s Noah,” he said, then answered it. “Hello, how are
 
—?”

“Jason.” Noah’s voice was unsteady. “I’ve got a call on hold here that I’m passing to you.”

“Who is it?”

“He wouldn’t give me his name, but . . . he’s got Sheila.”

“What?”

“I’m sure it’s the same nut who’s been tailing you all along, the one who shot Ben.”

“Haven’t you received several other calls from people claiming
 
—?”

“I
talked
to her, Jason. She’s with him right now.”

“How did she sound?”

“Upset, very upset. But . . . he wants you. I need to transfer the call.”

“Was there any caller ID?”

“No.”

Hammond took a deep breath. “Okay, go ahead.”

Clemente, noticing his strained expression, said, “What is wrong?”

Just before switching to speakerphone, Hammond said, “It’s the man who kidnapped Sheila Baker. He’s got her with him now.”

There were two clicks followed by silence, and for a bone-freezing moment, Hammond thought the call had been lost.

Then
 
—“Mr. Hammond?”

The voice was exactly how Hammond always imagined it would be
 
—on the surface, calm, even polite. The sound of a man capable of producing the illusion of decorum and etiquette whenever he chose. But even this well-used talent could not entirely eclipse the corruption beneath, the sadism and irrational self-love that lay at the core of his being. “I’m here.”

“Good; very good.”

“And what should I call you?”

“You can call me Birk, but we really don’t need to get into names, Mr. Hammond. We’re not going to become friendly.”

Hammond could not have agreed more. The notion that this was actually Rydell flashed briefly through his mind.
No,
too young. This is Rydell’s lapdog. The asylum inmate who’s been after us all along.

“Then what
are
we going to do?” Hammond asked.

“We’re going to make a deal.”

“Can I assume it involves my friend? The one you kidnapped?”

“That’s right.”

“And what are the terms?”

“Well, I’m all finished with her. She has served her purpose.”

The implications made Hammond feel murderous. He forced himself to ease up on the accelerator. “If you have harmed her in any way, I will make you regret it.”

This came out in a calm, measured tone and without a trace of humanity. Even Clemente looked stunned.

Birk immediately tried to regain the upper hand. “Do not threaten me, Mr. Hammond.”

“Let me speak to her.”

“You are not calling the
 
—”

“Let me speak to her.”
Hammond enunciated each word as if teaching a primer class in the English language.

There was a long pause, during which he inwardly prayed he had not gone too far.

Then Sheila spoke, her voice wobbly. “Hello?”

“Sheila? It’s Jason.”

“Hi.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay, for the most part.”

She sounded weak, feeble.
Broken,
Hammond thought, then forced the word down until it was out of his mind.

“Has he hurt you in . . . in any particularly bad way?” He couldn’t bring himself to name specifics.

She sniffled. “No, no, he hasn’t.”

“Okay. I’m going to do everything in my power to get you back, all right?”

“Sure.”

Then Birk’s voice again
 
—“Now you know your little damsel is fine.”

Hammond’s fist tightened on the steering wheel. “And what is it you want? What’s our ‘deal’?”

“As I said, I am finished with her now. I could so very easily kill her and put her body someplace where it would never be found. But upon further consideration, I believe she would be more valuable to me alive, to be used as a bargaining chip.”

“To bargain for . . . ?”

“Half a million dollars.”

Hammond said nothing.

“Are you still there, Hammond?”

“Yes.”

“And you heard the amount?”

“I heard it.”

“I want it all in cash, naturally. And in bills no smaller than fifties. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

In the background, Sheila yelled, “Jason, no! Don’t give him the satis
 
—”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”
Birk screamed, away from the phone. Hammond tensed, waiting for the follow-up sound of a physical strike. When it didn’t come, he let out a long breath.

“Half a million,” Birk continued, “in fifties and hundreds.”

“Where and when?”

“There is an abandoned shipyard in D.C. on the Anacostia
River at the end of Third Street. Go to the main building tonight at eleven. Use the side entrance, white door. You will bring the money inside and leave it on the floor. And make sure your other friend comes along too.”

“Other friend?”

“The one you’re currently traveling with. I know who he is, and I know
what
he is.”

“Why does he have to be there at all?”

“So I can see both of you in plain sight. I don’t trust you
 
—or him.”

Hammond looked at Clemente, who nodded.

“Okay, we will both be there.”

“Once you drop off the money, you can take the girl and go.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“That’s up to you. Again, I’m done with her. Now I’m looking for a payoff. So if you want this to be simple, then it will be simple. But let me be clear on one very important point.”

“What’s that?”

“If you deviate from this plan in any way
 
—if you come armed, if you alert the authorities, if you make any attempt to trip me up, I
will
kill her. I have done this before, and I am very good at it. Don’t think of trying to be a hero, because I will make sure you don’t get that chance. Am I perfectly clear, Hammond?”

“You’re clear.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah.”

And Birk was gone.

The money was Birk’s idea. His handler had been unspecific in his instructions. “Just get all three of them together in the same place,” he had said. “I don’t care how. Get them together, and kill them all.”

Birk had every intention of carrying out his orders, but he wasn’t going to toss away a golden opportunity to indulge in a little extortion at the same time.

He had thought carefully about the amount. He decided that something outrageous
 
—say, $5 million
 
—could cause several problems. First, Hammond might not be able to come up with the money quickly enough. Second, for that kind of number, he might resist. But half a million, Birk figured, was nothing to a guy like him.