The Betrayer (3 page)

Opening his duffel
bag, Vitali removed his netbook computer and portable document scanner. Once
the computer was up and running, he connected it to the scanner via USB cable and
proceeded to scan both sides of each photo to his hard drive, saving them as JPEGs
and then uploading the JPEGs to the secure online storage site where he also stored
digital copies of his sex videos. After deleting the scans from his hard drive
and running a scrubber program to clear all traces of them away, he tore the
original photos into pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

He studied the JPEGs
for several more minutes, memorizing the faces of the two males and three
females, then briefly browsed through the list of his collection of videos — nearly
fifty, but he wanted more, would always want more. He thought of watching one
of his recent additions but decided against it. There would be time for that
later.

And maybe, too,
even more additions from which to choose.

Finally, he
exited the secure storage site and shut down the computer.

Leaving his
room, he made a quick surveillance run, exploring each floor of the hotel,
walking all the stairs, and making note not only of all the exits but every
dark corner as well. He even found the trapdoor that allowed access to the
roof. It was secured by a padlock, so he would need to pick up a pair of bolt
cutters, just in case, when he went out later to buy food and cigarettes. Any
brand other than Parliaments…

Satisfied that
he knew the layout of the place well enough, he returned to his room and stood
at the window over Twenty-Third. He watched with keen eyes the few people passing
silently below as the first hints of early morning light rose.

All he needed
now was to wait for the phone call at noon.

And after that,
for night to fall.

Jeremy Coyle was waiting for
eleven o’clock to arrive, his hands shaking. He had done risky things before — it
could be said that he lived for risk, had valued his own life so little these
past few years that he flirted with risk whenever and wherever possible. And though
he was familiar with danger, and the moments that preceded it, he had kicked his
many addictions once and for all and was straight now, thinking and seeing
clearly for the first time in a long time.

The downside to
all this was that he understood with real clarity what it was he was about to
do, once eleven o’clock came around and after he made the necessary phone call.

He wasn’t used
to clarity, to acting thoughtfully as opposed to blindly. Nor was he used to fear
turning in his gut like some living thing. And though seeing his hands tremble
was something he had seen before, he could honestly say that he never remembered
it ever having been because of crippling fear.

But when eleven
o’clock at last came around, he grabbed his cell phone and stood, steadying his
hands long enough to enter the number to Elizabeth’s landline.

He did so without
first pressing the three-key code that would block his own number from
appearing on her caller ID — the “star” key, followed by the “six” and “seven”
keys. It felt strange to him to omit that precaution now — a dangerous thing to
do, all things considered, and one that would likely appear to Elizabeth as nothing
less than an act of outright betrayal.

But he needed
her to pick up, and this was the only way he knew of that would guarantee she
would.

He moved to the
only window in his small living room and looked down on West Tenth Street. He
knew the quiet, tree-lined street well and saw nothing that struck him as unusual.
It had rained earlier in the evening, spring showers that were at times heavy,
but the storm clouds had moved off about an hour ago, leaving behind a clear night
sky and a city that smelled sharply of wet pavement.

The rain having
passed was his first piece of luck. He hoped it wouldn’t be his last.

One ring, two rings,
then three — he began to worry that Elizabeth wasn’t home. Or that maybe her
husband was and would be the one to pick up. It wasn’t till midway through the
fourth ring that his call was answered. He heard Elizabeth say in a soft but slightly
alarmed voice, “Jesus, Jeremy, what are you doing, calling me like this?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. But what
if I weren’t?”

“You told me a
few weeks ago he’d be out of town tonight.”

“He could have
come back early. Or not gone at all. Plans change, you know.”

“It’s
important,” he said. “I needed to make sure I got through to you tonight. Anyway,
all you have to do is erase my number. You know how to do that.”

“I thought we agreed
that we were taking a break.”

Jeremy had just
turned twenty-one, and Elizabeth was forty-two and married. She worked as a
project manager for a pricey design and renovation firm, had overseen the work being
done to a midtown restaurant where Jeremy tended bar. He didn’t hang on to jobs
for long, either got fired for one reason or quit for another. He had a strong distrust
of authority and something of a temper, even more so now that he was clean. But
he had remained at that particular restaurant long enough to cross paths with
Elizabeth. He worked the day shift, and she often sat at the bar for hours to
wait for vendors or sign for deliveries or watch over work crews. She had felt
drawn to Jeremy from the start; he was obviously a troubled young man, and he had
the tragic good looks — and emotional stability — of a nineteenth-century poet.
She’d read too much Austen in college, had had girlish crushes on Keats and
Shelley. Jeremy, because of his soft looks and wounded vulnerability, was as
tempting as candy to some women. Elizabeth, married and lonely in every way
possible, had proven to be no exception.

In the two
months since he’d quit, they talked on the phone every day, sometimes several
times a day, sometimes for hours, even met for coffee now and then, when she could
get away. She was an elegant woman, with long chestnut hair and steady blue
eyes, and he wanted her from the moment they met, craved her in a wild way. Sexually,
yes, but it was more than that, too. For her, their friendship, as risky as it
was, filled a gaping void in her life; Jeremy needed her, and in a way that she
wasn’t needed at home. Hadn’t ever been needed. It was all as simple as that.

But recently they’d
begun to stray further and further into dangerous territory. Flirting, playful
confessions, hand-holding in public but out-of-the-way places — and there was
something in the way he took her hand and looked at her, something in his gray
eyes.

The hunger
of a boy who had lost his mother too early
.
The pain of a young man who
blamed himself for his father’s death.

The pull he had
on her was palpable. Having too much to lose, though, Elizabeth had put on
the brakes, called for a time-out, but not before they — it was she who initiated
it, actually — had crossed a line that should never have been crossed.

That damned
photo
.

“Like I said,” Jeremy
said, “it’s important.”

There was a lingering
pause, then: “What’s going on?” Her voice was softer.

“That man I was
telling you about, I’m meeting with him tonight.”

“Why?”

“He says he has
something to show me.”

Her tone changed
instantly. “Don’t go, Jeremy.”

“I have to.”

“I think we
should talk about this first.”

“There’s
nothing to talk about. Anyway, I need to leave now if I’m going to make it.”

“Where are you
meeting him?”

“Downtown.”

“Pick a place
nearby, a coffee shop or something, and I’ll meet you there beforehand. I can
be there in an hour.”

“There isn’t
time. Anyway, I didn’t call for this, Beth. I didn’t call so you could try to
stop me.”

“Then why did
you?”

“I need you to
do something for me.”

“What?”

“If anything happens,
I need you to tell my sister everything I’ve told you.”

A sigh, then: “I
can’t do that, Jeremy. I can’t accept that responsibility.”

“You said you
still wanted to be my friend. I’m asking you this as a friend.”

“You should
just tell her yourself.”

“She wouldn’t
believe me. I’m the crazy one, remember? When I have the proof in my hands, then
they’ll have to believe me.”

“Wait for me
there. Okay?” He knew by the way she was speaking that she had gotten up and was
moving around in a hurry. He’d never seen her bedroom but for some reason always
imagined it as lushly furnished and dark.

“I have to do
this,” he said.

“You don’t,
though. That’s the problem. You were just a kid. What could you have done?”

She knew more
about the night his father was abducted than anyone. He’d told her things he’d
never told another — not the police, not doctors or therapists or any of the
women who had come and gone in the years since. She knew things even his own family
didn’t know. Maybe the fact that Elizabeth had held out and kept their
friendship from boiling over into an affair was what allowed such an intimacy
to grow between them. He felt safe with her, in a way he’d never before known. Other
women had been much weaker than she, had given in to their need for him
quickly, only to leave him just as quickly when his intensity, which was what had
first attracted them, proved too much to handle.

“I need to go,
Beth,” he said.

“Wait for me, Jeremy.
I can be at your place in an hour.”

These words,
and the way they were spoken, served to instantly weaken his resolve. He was surprised
by them, that she had spoken them. What didn’t surprise him was his reaction to
them.

He said
nothing, though. She must have sensed his vulnerability.

“I’m getting
dressed right now,” she continued. “Wait for me there. Please.”

He saw that in
his mind, saw her scrambling to gather clothes, putting them on as she kept the
phone wedged under her chin. She’d confessed to him once that she could never
come to his place because she wouldn’t last five minutes alone with him. He
thought now of blowing off the meeting and waiting for her. Would she offer
herself to him to keep him from leaving? Would she undress herself for him, while
he watched, let him do all the things he wanted? All the things that they had
both confessed to wanting — late one night over the phone, she in her home up
in Westchester, he in this West Village apartment, thirty miles between them,
thirty miles keeping them safe.

As much as he
craved that — as deep into his soul the pleasure of that would undoubtedly
reach — he knew he couldn’t let himself have it.

Any night but
tonight.

“I’ll text you
when it’s done,” he said. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. If you
don’t hear from me, then I need you to let my sister know what happened.”

“And how will I
do that, Jeremy? I mean, without getting involved? How can I come forward like
that? How can I explain it to my husband? You’re putting me in a bad situation.”

It was the
first time he’d heard even a hint of anger in her voice.

“I know I am,”
he said. “I’m sorry. But I don’t have anyone else I can turn to. I don’t have
anyone else I can trust.”

“I’m walking
out the door right now, Jeremy.” He could hear the sharp echo of shoes quickly crossing
a wooden floor. “Stay there, okay? I’m your friend and I care about you. I
don’t like the sound of this guy, I told you that. You said yourself it could
be dangerous. I’ll be there in an hour. Just wait for me—”

He abruptly closed
his cell phone. His heart was pounding, his mouth and throat dry. He needed a
moment before daring to open the phone again. When he did, his hands were once
again shaking.

He thought immediately
of scoring some heroin. Of course he did. His mind still did this now and then,
still reverted to its old pattern of craving. It would be so easy for him to
find a fix. Just one phone call, maybe two. He even knew one dealer who would be
more than happy to deliver to his door. One hit and he could shut off his thoughts
as well as his feelings. Numb the fear, the guilt, his desire to be seen by one
person as lovable, even if that one person was married and would never leave
her husband for him…

Instead of
punching in any of the phone numbers he still knew by heart, Jeremy sent his
sister’s phone number to Elizabeth’s cell via text message. He made a point of
sending Cat’s personal cell number and not her office number. He realized that he
should have told Elizabeth he would be doing that; it might have alleviated some
of her fears about having to get involved in any official way. He had no desire
to destroy her life; he’d destroyed too many already.

But he didn’t
dare call her back to tell her this. He knew he could not resist her pleading
for him to wait for her a second time.

He powered down
his cell phone, in case she tried to call back, dropping it into the hip pocket
of his jeans. Grabbing his laptop from his kitchen table, he slipped it into a backpack,
then paused to consider the possibility that Elizabeth might not come through
for him. Was he asking too much of her? Or would she get halfway here and
decide that all this was a bluff, a means of manipulating her into bed? Anything
was possible. There was also the real possibility that he might get himself
killed in the next few hours. He didn’t want to dwell on that, but he couldn’t
ignore the facts, either. The
old
Jeremy ignored facts, lived a life of
delusion, not the
new
Jeremy, the clean Jeremy, the Jeremy who saw
things clearly.

And who,
unfortunately, felt fear — real fear — for the first time.

Jeremy’s father
had faced death countless times, first in Vietnam and then as an undercover FBI
agent. A
celebrated
agent, once. His grandfather had faced death on
D-day, and so had his great-grandfather, in the trenches of France during the
First World War. And Johnny had been eager to face it, couldn’t wait to join
the army and follow in the Coyle tradition of bravery and service.

But that was
Johnny. Of the two of them, he was the strong one; he was the athlete, the
champion, the one destined for greatness. He wouldn’t be afraid, Jeremy
thought. He knew no fear. He wouldn’t hesitate for a second.

But he wasn’t Johnny.

The concept of
death scared him, but out of that fear came a degree of clarity. He knew that he
needed a backup plan of some kind. Too much was at stake. He couldn’t leave a
note and risk that the wrong person might find it. Someone had betrayed his
father, someone close to the man, and if this went bad, if all his careful
planning fell to shit, then events might actually lead Cat to the very person
Jeremy most suspected.

The last man to
have spoken with their father on that terrible night three years ago.

The one man
there would be little hope of any of them ever getting to.

It took Jeremy
a moment, but then he thought of something that he could do. How he could leave
crucial information behind in such a way that only Cat would find it.

It was an old
game he and his sister had played in their childhood. Something their father
had taught them to do.

He opened a
nearby drawer and removed a notepad and pencil, then sat down at the table and
wrote a quick note. Just three things.
Only
three things — it was all he
dared to risk. Anyway, Cat would know what they meant. He had faith in her. And
she was the one who’d had faith in him the longest. She was the last in their
now-fractured family to give up on him, having held on to hope for him long
past the others.