The End Game (16 page)

24

I came to with a jolt as Lendowski shoved me into the back seat of his Explorer. Deutsch followed me inside, pushing me upright so I wouldn’t choke to death.

It must have been only a couple of minutes, but it felt like hours.

Somehow my head felt absolutely clear—like on those rare occasions when your body is allowed to wake up when it’s ready, rather than when your smartphone demands it. But it was much more than that. A lucidity I’d never experienced, as though I were at once inside the moment and outside it, looking in.

Maybe this is going to work after all.

Multiple signals hit me at the same time:

My wrists weren’t cuffed. Deutsch was right-handed, but she was sitting to my left, directly behind Lendowski. I smelled like a bum. I was about to make things ten times worse than they already were.

Deutsch was thrown backward as the Explorer lurched into drive. She muttered a curse under her breath and fastened her seat belt.

I allowed my head to loll forward.

My left wrist felt Deutsch’s forefingers as she tried to find my radial artery.

“His pulse rate is too damn slow. Hurry!”

The vehicle bumped up the ramp and screeched out onto Broadway.

I focused on my breathing, ensuring it was as shallow as I could make it without becoming light-headed.

My temperature had dropped, but I was so soaked in sweat there was no way Deutsch could know this.

I gave thanks that Lendowski had decided not to use the siren. Traffic was sparse on the snow-dusted streets and the icy sidewalks were empty. All a sound-and-light show would have done was attract attention.

We sped south past City Hall Park, my left hand slowly edging its way toward Deutsch’s sidearm.

When I looked up to check she hadn’t noticed, it wasn’t Deutsch I was staring at, but a skinned corpse with pale blue eyes. Its limbs abnormally elongated. Gills either side of its chest and what looked like a long boney fin pressing into the seat from its flayed back. Brackish water seeped from the gill slits.

What the—?

I scrunched my eyes shut till my eyeballs ached. When I opened them, I was looking at Deutsch again.

The drug was supposed to make you relive scenes from your past lives. Supposed to—because the only one who had told me they’d experienced it firsthand was the cartel boss El Brujo, admittedly not the most reliable of attestants given how warped his brain had to be after a lifetime’s kaleidoscope of drugs. If it actually worked, I’d been hoping for something more along the lines of finding myself in Renaissance Italy or maybe even a romp as a Templar during the Crusades.

This was . . . different. It seemed to be taking me much farther back, maybe to some kind of primordial state of existence—or it was just mining the deepest, dormant trenches of my imagination.

I went through my options, hoping the crazy-ass visions would abate for a few minutes. I could point a gun at Deutsch, but there was a sizeable chance Lendowski would simply call my bluff, which would do me no good at all as I had zero intention of seriously harming either of them.

Aim at Lendowski first and Deutsch was liable to attempt to reclaim her gun, which could get very messy indeed.

I needed the vehicle roadworthy, but I quickly realized I had no option but to crash it.

Something was tugging at my ankle. I looked down into the footwell. A mess of disgusting super-sized leech-like creatures—only leech-like because they appeared to be covered in thick fur—were crawling over each other in a mad rush to attach themselves to my legs.

The urge to stamp down on the sickening aberrations was so strong that I actually felt my right leg lift off the floor, before I wrested control back from my reptilian brain and returned my foot firmly to the Explorer’s carpet, from where the leeches had retreated.

This was going to get worse before it was going to get better. Plus we were closing in on the hospital. It wouldn’t be long before we got there.

Screw it.

It was time to make my move.

As Lendowski swung the vehicle left off Park Row into Spruce Street, I balled my right hand and drove it hard into Deutsch’s stomach, simultaneously grabbing her regulation-issue Glock 23 with my left and, in one continuous motion, swinging it full force against Lendowski’s head, knocking him out cold.

He slumped forward. The Explorer bounced up onto the sidewalk between a couple of trees and slammed into the side of the Pace University building.

Deutsch was almost upright again, but I already had her cuffs—which she wore cop-style—off her belt.

“Hands. Now,” I ordered.

“What are you—?”

“Now, Annie.”

Her eyes burned into me. “You’re making a big mistake. Sean, listen to me—”

I cut her off. “I’ve got no choice.”

For a moment, her pride got the better of her. I could see it in her eyes—fight was getting the better of flight—but her expression quickly changed to one of reluctant acceptance as she held out both hands. I clamped one of the cuffs on her right wrist and kept firm hold of the other end.

“Out.”

She exited the vehicle and I followed her out the same side.

“Help me with him.”

I took Lendowski’s handgun out of its holster and tucked it into my trousers, then we dragged him from the driver’s seat and propped him against one of the trees.

From the corner of one eye I glimpsed a wild-eyed ape sitting in the tree, dark blood oozing from its mouth as it chewed on the lump of torn flesh it was holding in one hand.

Although I was still just about able to distinguish between reality and my increasingly disturbing visions, with each passing minute I could feel more of my awareness pulled toward the world of the drug and away from the here and now.

I shook my head violently as I clamped the open end of Deutsch’s cuffs to Lendowski’s left wrist, grabbed his phone, his badge holder and his wallet, then turned to Deutsch. “Your cell.”

She handed it to me as I returned Lendowski’s wallet to him minus the bills. I kept his FBI creds, figuring they might come in handy since I didn’t have mine any more.

“Sean, don’t do this.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you do.

“I didn’t kill him, Annie.”

“Then let us find the guy who did. Like Nick said, we’ve got to have each other’s backs.”

“The people I’ve pissed off, maybe
they
killed Nick. And they’d go through all of you to get to me. I can’t risk that.”

I saw surprise light up her face regarding what I said about Nick’s death as I said it. “It’s our job, Sean.”

“It’s my fight.”

I turned away from her, amazed that she was still willing to engage with me after what I’d just done.

Although there was little chance she’d be able to drag Lendowski more than a few feet, I went back to the Explorer and retrieved the cuffs from the glove compartment where I knew Lendowski kept them.

I cuffed Deutsch’s left wrist to Lendowski’s right so that the two of them encircled the tree, then removed his tie, balled it up and stuffed it into her mouth.

“Sorry about the punch—and about this.”

She shook her head in resignation.

I climbed into the Explorer, hoping it still drove.

There was a crunching, shearing sound as I reversed away from the concrete wall, down off the sidewalk and back onto Spruce, then a wet squeal of tires as I sped away.

25

I guessed I had minutes before the shit hit the fan. I had no idea how long my current state would last, and no clue whether the next phase would be a hundred times worse. My body appeared to be following my commands even though it felt like I was moving in slow motion. If I was indeed moving as slowly as it appeared, I’d be back in custody before dawn.

That was the worst case scenario. What I was hoping for was that I threatened both the FBI and the CIA with such monumental embarrassment that they’d try to keep a lid on my escape, at least till morning, when everyone had been interviewed and a decision had been made about who to blame. I also bargained on Corrigan staying out of the way—at least till it looked like they weren’t going to find me on their own. I had a whole lot to do before then.

I stripped the batteries from both phones and dropped the pieces out of the window as I turned right onto Gold, passing Lower Manhattan hospital, our original destination, then turned right onto Fulton. I could see 1 WTC up ahead, its shimmer brilliant in the darkness.

The Explorer skidded in the snow as I turned into a blind alley. I killed the engine, climbed out and checked the back, looking for anything I could use to cover my vomit-stained clothes. I was grateful for the cold weather as I laid eyes on his winter parka, along with a spare suit he kept in there and a holdall for his gym stuff. I also saw his flashlight in there and grabbed it too.

Parka on, hood up, suit, flashlight and both FBI-issued Glocks stuffed in Lendowski’s holdall, I started to walk back down Fulton Street. I knew there was a twenty-four-hour parking garage about five hundred yards south of Gold Street and I was hoping that I’d be able to hotwire at least one of the cars left there overnight.

I jogged up the ramp of the multi-level building, scanning to the left and right for a car old enough not to be controlled by a computer. As I moved my head, everything started to warp and buckle—like my field of vision was spread across a sheet blowing in the wind. Leeches were squirming under the cars. I heard a pounding sound behind me. I turned to see the feral ape from the tree. It was bouncing something off the bonnet of a Toyota Corolla. I moved closer, edging around the vehicle, and saw my father’s severed head, its blood-matted hair gripped in the ape’s hand. His eyes—still open—looked exactly as they had when I found him sitting at his desk with his brains blown out.

My instinct was to continue on, but somewhere from deep within came the urge to take the head from the ape—to stop it inflicting any more pain. I felt myself moving toward the Corolla as the ape continued to smash the head against the bodywork, its movements growing ever more manic. I was less than five yards out—close enough to see the individual hairs on the ape’s skin—when instinct won. I turned and dragged myself away, heading for the up ramp.

By the third level, I was again gasping for breath. After a couple of minutes spent doubled over, the visions again receding, I straightened up and saw what looked like an early nineties Caprice over in a far corner. If it was indeed a Caprice, then it was likely it could be trusted. It wasn’t by random choice that so many police departments chose the vehicle before it was usurped by the Ford Crown Victoria.

As I dragged myself toward the car, a searing light flashed behind my eyes. I felt like I was plummeting down a bottomless well. I tried to shake my head clear but my vision was blurred. I forced myself to keep walking toward the car.

My eyes cleared and I found myself standing directly in front of the Caprice. I smashed the rear right-hand window, opened the door, and eased myself inside.

The steering column cover came off easily and I started to fish for the ignition wires.

A shooting pain ran up my spine as I leant into the steering wheel, but my fingers had already found the right ones.

The engine sprung into life.

My pupils felt like they were the size of pinheads. My field of vision had been narrowed to about twenty degrees, but I managed to steer the car down the ramp, crashing through the barrier and out onto Fulton. I took a left on Pearl and got onto the FDR, my autopilot following the route I usually took back to Mamaroneck. Traffic was sparse, but steady and I kept my speed down and tried to drive as though I didn’t have a psychoactive drug doing cartwheels in my veins, but I quickly discovered I needed to pull over. I managed to get off the FDR at Houston and wormed my way through a couple of deserted streets before pulling into a free spot and killing the engine.

I needed new ID and a change of appearance.

I needed to get hold of Tess without putting her in jeopardy.

But first, I needed to sleep off the primordial demons running amok inside my head.

SATURDAY

26

Federal Plaza, Lower Manhattan

Nat “Len” Lendowski was having a lousy day.

Actually, lousy might be just a touch off the mark.

He was so pissed off he was looking to rip someone’s head off. Ideally, Reilly’s.

His bruised head was still hurting from where the agent had cold-cocked him with Deutsch’s gun. To add insult to injury—literally—Reilly had taken his gun and his badge, cleaned his wallet out of almost a hundred bucks and taken a spare suit he kept in the back of his car before leaving him out on his ass in the street, handcuffed to Deutsch, their arms daisy-chained around a tree. Then came the final affront: sitting in the twenty-third floor conference room at seven in the morning, on a Saturday, and getting reamed out by Gallo in front of the whole office and a couple of stone-faced CIA douches for letting Reilly escape.

“The two of you, get your butts out to Reilly’s house,” Gallo barked at him and Deutsch as he concluded the debriefing. “I don’t want to see you back here unless he’s with you. Preferably with him wearing the handcuffs this time.”

It was understandable that the last thing Lendowski needed right now was to have another bodily orifice drilled into him. But it was unavoidable. Failing to make the call would only make things worse.

As they stepped out of the elevator and made their way to the garage, he told Deutsch, “I’ll see you down there in a minute. I need to use the john.”

He watched her disappear out of the lobby, angled away from the flow of people coming in and out of the building, then pulled out his replacement BlackBerry and dialed the number.

The familiar voice picked up after four rings. “Congratulations,” the man said, his dry tone heavy with sarcasm.

“Fuck off,” Lendowski replied.

“Oh, feeling a bit precious, are we?”

“He got the jump on me,” the agent spat back. “It wouldn’t have happened if that useless bitch they’ve got me with knew what she was doing.”

“The thing is, it
did
happen, and I need to know what’s being done about it.”

“We’re going to stake out his house, but he won’t show, of course. He’s not that dumb.”

“A fair assumption.”

“We’re up on his cell, but he’s not going to use it. We’re putting up a van outside their house as we speak, in case he makes contact some other way.”

“No all points then?”

“No.”

This seemed to please the man. He said, “They want to keep it under wraps.”

“Seems that way,” Lendowski replied. “Not that it makes any fucking sense. We should have every last pair of eyes looking for his mug out there. Must have been those two Agency dickheads’ doing.”

“I’m sure your boss’s bosses don’t want this hitting the news channels either. It’s not exactly something you want to advertise. You should be grateful for that. You’d be the one on center stage.”

The comment didn’t pass unnoticed. The man had never said who he was working for, but he seemed well in tune with the community’s internal politics. “You think I give a shit?” Lendowski countered. “I just want to see that dickhead locked up.”

“In one piece?”

The question caught the agent out. He paused, wondering about that. “I’m easy on that one.”

“All right. You’d better get out there. How long’s your shift?”

“Open-ended,” Lendowski said with a self-mocking grunt.

“Find him,” the voice said. “And let me know the second you do.”

Deutsch waited for Tess to pick up her phone while keeping an eye on the garage elevator.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Pick up!”

It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Lendowski anywhere near her.

Tess picked up.

“Tess? Annie Deutsch. Can you talk?”

“What’s going on?”

“So you haven’t heard from him yet?” Deutsch asked, listening carefully for clues in the response.

She thought she heard a sharp little intake of breath in the brief pause before Tess answered.

“Heard from Sean? What do you mean?”

“He gave us the slip last night.”

The intake, and the break, were more significant.

“How?”

Deutsch wondered about that question. Was Tess Chaykin genuinely surprised? Or was she just playing the part? Given what she knew about Tess, given what she knew about what she and Reilly had been through, it wouldn’t surprise her if Tess had something to do with his escape. She’s been to see him, after all—although under Deutsch’s supervision. It would reflect even worse on Deutsch, she knew, if Tess had used that meet to somehow help Reilly pull it off.

She filled Tess in on what happened, briefly, then, aware that Lendowski might appear at any moment, got down to the reason for her call.

“He’s going to call you, Tess. You know it and I know it. Somehow, he’s going to make contact. And I can’t stress enough how important it is that you do the right thing here. You need to try to convince him to hand himself in—”

“You know he’s never going to do that,” Tess interjected.

“I know. But you have to try. Hard. And you have to be seen to be trying, Tess. We’re talking aiding, abetting—you know the drill. I want to keep him safe. But I want to keep you safe too. I also want you to put me in touch with him. Just me. Tell him to call me. Give me a chance to talk to him, see what he wants. Maybe broker a deal for him to come in. Will you do that for me?”

Standing by the counter in the kitchen of her house in Mamaroneck, Tess went quiet as she chewed over Deutsch’s words.

“I can tell him,” she finally offered. “I don’t think it’ll do much good.”

“You have to try,” Deutsch said. “Please. For his sake. Get him to talk to me.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. You have my number.”

After she ended the call, Tess steadied herself against the counter. She felt a dizzying cocktail of elation and dread as the ramifications of what had happened sank in.

Reilly was out. He was free again, which, on its own and unencumbered by the bigger picture, was a huge relief—only the bigger picture was massively worrying. He was a fugitive, a suspected murderer, with all the considerable resources of law enforcement on his trail.

Her legs felt like she’d just run a marathon, but she still found herself padding through to the front of the house and tilting the slats of the plantation-style shutters so she could peer out the living room window at the street outside.

It was quiet. This early in the morning, especially on a crisp cold day like today, was when Westchester County was—for her—at its peaceful best. She took in the deserted lane, quite a change from the ERT circus it had hosted the day before. Stalwart patches of snow dotted the front lawn while a thin dusting of it clung obstinately to the bare branches of the big oak tree by the driveway.

The surveillance team was, no doubt, on their way.

She stood there in silence, enjoying the calm before the storm. The kids and Tess’s mom were asleep—no school on Saturday—blissfully unaware of the drama the day would inevitably bring. She’d need to tell them, of course; she’d need to look at their faces and watch as each word she uttered chipped away at their innocence and replaced it with fear and worry.

As she watched a lone starling hop along a low branch, she became aware of a ball of anger inside her gut, and she could feel it growing at an alarming rate no matter how tightly she tried to subdue it.

The anger she was fighting right now felt oddly similar to what she had experienced when her marriage to Doug—Kim’s father—had first begun to unravel, even before the inevitability of his subsequent affair and the divorce that quickly followed. You didn’t need your partner to screw someone else in order to feel betrayed, and the way she felt about Reilly’s total inability to let go of the past, or at least be honest with her about the intensity with which it was consuming him, was uncomfortably mirroring how she’d felt about Doug, back when she still cared.

It was a bizarre irony of human nature that only love could underpin such extreme feelings of anger and betrayal, and that was the big difference in the two situations. By the time she found out about Doug’s affair, she had already fallen out of love with him, his deception simply providing the end of a chapter and the promise of new horizons, rather than the beginning of a chapter filled with circular resentment and claustrophobic bitterness. This was very different. Despite the anger, she was more in love with Reilly than ever, which only made all the conflicting feelings churning inside her harder to calm.

She wondered where he was, how he was doing, and what he was thinking right now.

Yes, he’d definitely be in touch.

And she couldn’t wait to see him.