Pieces of the Puzzle (19 page)

Scott looked to Glen, expecting the response to come from him but it didn’t. Instead, it came from John. “Janet was a liability
a long time ago. You knew that. You said you understood.”

Scott raised his hands to his head and shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

Helen turned back to Scott, kicked him in the groin. As he went down, she kneed him in the face. “Poor little, Helen, poor
little, Helen! Not good enough to love, but good enough to screw. Always good enough for everybody to screw. How’s it feel,
Scott?” She kicked him again. “That’s for May.”

Scott shouted, “I didn’t have anything to do with May’s death!”

Helen kicked him. “Liar, you weren’t getting the message. That’s why May had to die.”

Scott backed away into the wall. Helen came at him, kicking and punching. “For Mark and Kevin!”

Scott defended himself but didn’t fight back. “Who? You’re insane!”

She shouted, “Newsflash, Helen’s insane!”

Scott looked at Glen just as she came at him again. “Why?”

John stepped toward Helen, grabbed the back of her neck, shouted, “Enough.” He turned Helen to him, then he turned to Glen,
his gun still pointed at Scott, “I’ve delivered. Your turn.”

Glen threw a duffle bag at John’s feet. “Everything you asked for is there.”

John glared. “I don’t believe you.” He leaned down, unzipped the bag and started rummaging through the contents, his gun pointed
at Glen now. “No double cross this time?”

“That was an act, do you think we were entirely alone? Had to look real, dotted I’s and crossed T’s. And if I remember correctly,
you’re the one who took it too far. Hell of a jam you left me in …” Glen paused, looked to Scott, continued. “The handheld’s
in the bottom of the case. Touch the screen and it will come on. You’ll have direct access to your records and accounts over
wireless. It’s all there.”

John searched through the duffle bag with one hand, when he stood he was holding a small handheld PC. He handed the device
to Helen.

“What, don’t trust me? They’re your accounts, why don’t—” Midstream Glen stopped, turned, lunged away just as the device exploded
in Helen’s face, the blast knocking her back into the door and taking John with her. Glen rolled, fired, pumped the shotgun,
fired again. The second shot hit John in the chest, stunning him momentarily despite his protective vest. John started firing
as fast as he could pull the trigger. Glen pumped the shotgun, fired. John didn’t move afterward.

Glen rolled back, pointed the gun where Scott should have been, only to find Scott was gone. He shouted, “Scott, this isn’t
over. This isn’t over!”

He stood, looked around, threw his hands up in the air. He started talking to himself, went over to the duffle bag and picked
it up. He looked around for the box. When he couldn’t find it, he grew angry, started shouting. Suddenly enraged, he kicked
John to make sure he was dead, then leaned over to feel for a pulse.

He kicked Helen’s body the same way he had kicked John’s.

The body twitched and moved. Glen leaned down next to Helen, checking for a pulse. He pumped the shotgun, turned to look behind
him, making sure no one was around, then fired. The shotgun blast blew chunks out of the wall.

He leaned down, checked Helen’s body again. Satisfied, he repositioned John’s body, then placed the shotgun next to John.

He wasn’t worried about fingerprints, the gloves he wore took care of that. He removed his overcoat, stuffed it into the duffle
bag, then slipped out the door, holding the bag.

Outside sirens were screaming and someone was on a loudspeaker asking people to move back as Honolulu P.D.

cordoned off the entrance to the adjacent parking garage. Glen slipped into the crowd. As he walked, he looked around, half
expecting Scott to be somewhere in the growing throng.

Casually, he walked over to the closest emergency vehicle.

Took a badge out of his pocket and flashed it to a paramedic.

“Were you the first on the scene?”

The paramedic shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s a mess.”

“Did you see anyone run through those doors over there?”

Glen pointed to the door he had just come out of.

The paramedic shrugged again. “Like I said, I don’t know. It’s crazy.”

A nearby police officer came over, apparently hearing the conversation.

Glen showed the officer his badge, introduced himself as Jacob Henderson FBI and asked, “Were you the first on the scene,
captain?”

“Sergeant, and no, not me.” The officer pointed to a group of patrolmen. “They arrived first. They’re briefing the captain.
Hell of thing to happen next to the station. Looks like two fatalities.”

“Two, you sure?”

The officer keyed the mobile handset that was clipped to his shirt. “2-5, I’m at the scene.” A response came back over the
radio. The officer turned his attention back to Glen. “Yeah, that’s what they’re saying over the radio.”

Glen bobbed his head, said, “All right, thanks.” He started to turn away, then turned back. “You didn’t happen to see three
individuals run into that parking garage?”

The officer shook his head. “No, I just got here. Do you want me to check it out?”

Glen put his arm around the officer’s shoulder. “Why don’t you do that. Take some back up with you just in case.” He took
a picture out of an inside pocket, handed it to the officer. “One of the men I’m looking for. He’s wanted for a triple homicide
in Florida. He’s the one I suspect in the car bombing. Catch him, and you’ll be well on your way to lieutenant. Do we understand
each other, sergeant?”

All too eager to please, the officer hurried off. Glen nodded and turned away, satisfied.

Kapalua, Hawaii

Thursday, 27 January

“No, no coffee,” he said, “it gives me the jitters. A glass of fresh guava juice would be nice. Could you find me a morning
newspaper?”

The waiter hurried off, returned a few minutes later with the juice and a paper.

Glen took a sip of guava juice, then unfolded the paper. His eyes homing in on the headlines:

Killer At Large, Victim Count Rises

He chuckled softly at the picture of Scott Madison Evers in the middle of the article and took another sip of juice.

He took a pre-paid express mail envelope out of his pocket, unfolded it, and set it on the table top. He stuffed the paper
and a box into it then took a pen out of his shirt pocket. He hastily wrote an address, and was sealing the envelope when
the waiter returned.

“Anything else I can do for you, sir? Would you like to order your breakfast now?”

Not looking up, Glen said, “No, that’s all… Wait, a moment if you please. Can you mail this for me?”

The waiter nodded. “This is the Ritz-Carlton, sir. We have a post drop in the lobby.”

Glen handed the envelope to the waiter. The waiter grinned and paused. Glen said, “Sign whatever tip you want to Room 305.
I’m not paying for it after all.”

“Enjoy your stay on Maui, sir, Saturday’s ceremony will be spectacular.”

“Spectacular indeed,” Glen said to himself as his eyes went to the waves breaking on the rocky shore line. He took another
sip of guava juice as he watched the mass of workers prepare the courtyard for the ceremony.

A few minutes later the waiter returned, asked, “Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Not looking up from the paper, Glen said, “No, that’s all.”

The waiter sat in the chair across from Glen, asked “Are you sure?”

Shocked at the audacity of the waiter, Glen stood and threw down the paper. He was about to say something, but then abruptly
sat back down.

The waiter said, his voice changing as he spoke, “You know, I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few days. Mostly I
asked myself: Why me? Why not some other poor schmuck? That’s when I realized there isn’t just one box, there’s two—ours and
theirs.”

Glen didn’t speak, didn’t move.

“Get a new act, Glen, the old one’s tired.” Scott leaned over and whispered. “If all this goes back to your days with Harry
Johnson, you’re the one who’s over his head, so let’s just say it like it is, okay? I want my picture and my name out of the
papers. I want it released as a mix-up, deep cover agent gets misidentified as killer, some such, you think something up,
you’re good at it.”

Glen’s face went white but not because of what Scott said just then, rather what Scott had said before. “How do you know there
are two?”

“Because there are. Two boxes make the pair. It’s tit for tat—with you it always is. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else
about your toys that fell into the wrong hands. Do we understand each other?”

“You don’t understand, you’re taking this all out of context.”

“What context would that be? The one where you use information as barter or as a weapon?”

“The boxes were supposed to create a stalemate. Each side had their box. Each box blocked the other and was useless without
the other. No one else was supposed to get the boxes or know they existed.”

“No one else was supposed to get the A-bomb either.”

“The God code was supposed to be self-restricting. One key can’t be used without the other and the keys can’t be duplicated.”

“I know how key encryption works: two keys are required to open the treasure box, but why in the world would anyone create
such a treasure box and who would be so arrogant as to believe that if such a thing existed and was discovered that it wouldn’t
be the number one priority of every psychopath who had an ounce of technical know-how?”

Glen grinned, told himself that nothing Scott said mattered.

“Keep your voice down. We’re having a nice conversation, aren’t we? Nod your head and smile, security will walk away.” Scott
turned to see what Glen saw. Glen smiled again, stood. “Shall we walk to the beach?”

***

“Give me back the box, Scott. When it goes back in place, all this ends. A cancels B, B cancels A, even if someone else has
the code. It’s that simple—that’s the failsafe.”

“You’re an arrogant son of a bitch, so sure of yourself that you’re out here in broad daylight sipping juice and reading the
paper. If I could see through your disguise, what makes you think they can’t?”

Glen put his hand on the stone wall, looked out at the waves breaking on the beach for a moment before he turned back to Scott.
“Ever see those rats that run around mazes? … Funny thing, those rats never really know when they’re out of the maze. It’s
just a bit of food at the end that makes them think they’re out. Put the food in the middle of the maze and hell, they’ll
think they’re done and they don’t care about the maze, only the prize.”

Scott pushed away from the wall. “Screw you! When Cynthia and I are both safe and out, I’ll send you the box.”

“Scott, we’re one step away from something that’ll make the Great Depression seem like a picnic and you’re going to—”“Save
it, I don’t give a damn! Now, you can do whatever you’re going to do but I’m going to walk out of here. I’m going to get on
a plane. I’m going to get Cynthia. We’re going to disappear and you’re going to let us.”

Glen’s anger showed clearly on his face. He felt the hand of God on his shoulder as he leaned close to Scott and said in a
low voice, “Remember what happened to John Tippton in the Mid East? By the time we got to him, they’d worked him for seven
days and nights. They were giving him shock treatments by then.

I found him all wired up to these truck batteries, and he begged me to just put a bullet in him. When I wouldn’t do that,
he begged me for my gun so he could do it himself. That’ll be you, if—”“If what?” Scott mocked Glen. “Black ops have always
been your thing, Glen, only this time it was black boxes. A matched set: They had one; you had the other. Had to have something
to replace those missiles after the Cold War, didn’t you, you bastard?”

“You don’t understand. This isn’t—”“I understand, I understand all too well.” Scott took a step away from Glen. “I’ve got
one now and I set the rules. You want to see it again, you let me walk away. When we’re safe, you’ll get a special delivery.”

“What, you came back to make demands? I’m so disappointed. Here, I thought you’d be half a world away by now.” Glen raised
his hand, fingers outstretched and pointed at Scott’s face. He had a small caliber gun hidden within his hand and the muzzle
of the gun was now pressed into the eye socket next to the bridge of Scott’s nose. “I kill you now, then Cynthia and I will
have a chat. Do you think she’d like that? Do you think she’d squeal like a stuck pig? I wonder if I’d kill her after or—”Unflinching,
Scott said, “Pull the trigger, we both die.” He nodded to the security personnel that seemed to be everywhere.

“I can live with that, can you?”

“I can live with that.”

“Bullshit, you’re here to do what I didn’t. What you didn’t do with your bare hands twenty years ago either. You’re here to
kill him. Kill me and security will be in your face within 30 seconds. As a bonus, that special delivery gets delivered but
not where you want it to go.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Think so?”

“Don’t try my patience, Scott.”

Scott grinned. “I’m going to step away now. You’re going to let me.” Scott took a step back, then another. “If anything happens
to Cynthia before I return, you’ll pray they get you first.

Trust me on that.”

Glen shouted, “You’re making a mistake!”

“Am I?” he squinted, didn’t wait for a response. He already knew what Glen would say—a clever lie, a shading of the truth,
but never the truth.

He turned and ran back to the hotel. If his luck was holding, there would be a cab waiting in front of the hotel—cabbies would
do just about anything for a couple Benjamin Franklins. As he entered the lobby, he tried to remain focused on what he had
to do, and getting to the airport and then past the security checkpoints was the least of his worries.

The lobby was crowded. But these weren’t typical travelers. Tourists didn’t wear Armani business suits in 90 degree heat.
He turned to look back as he reached the glass entry doors. Glen hadn’t followed; he didn’t think Glen would. But more importantly,
it appeared no one else had either.

He turned back, opening the door as he went, nearly slamming into a woman in a red dress. The woman pulled back, put up her
hands, trying to get out of Scott’s way as he rushed out to the waiting cab. Scott stumbled into the woman, his hands going
to her waist as he stopped himself. “God, I’m sorry,” he said as he stepped away to the cab.

The woman put her hand on Scott’s arm as if to push him away. “Don’t worry about it, it happens,” she said.

Scott took a step away, stopped. The woman’s dress showed off every supple curve but it wasn’t the curves that caught Scott’s
attention or the long blond hair. It was the eyes: The eyes never lie.

As he passed the woman, he reached back and grabbed her arm. “Helen?” He said it even though he knew it was impossible, he
had seen the bomb explode in Helen’s face with his own eyes. He shook his head, closed his eyes, then opened them wide, taking
in the sight that he wasn’t quite sure was there. “Helen, is that you?”

Upset now, the woman turned back to him. “My name is Jessica, Jessica Wellmen. Please now, let go of me.”

He held on, mesmerized by the woman’s eyes, but she didn’t have to ask again. Security personnel swarmed over Scott from the
lobby and from the front of the hotel. Two guys who barely fit in their charcoal gray suits grabbed him from behind and pulled
him away.

They tossed him into the drive, near the cab, suggesting he leave quickly. He got in the cab, told the driver to take him
to the airport. He didn’t look back.