The Stranger Beside You (25 page)

How had he let it go so far?  He could have walked away.  They could have buckled down and found a way to survive, but there had been too much pride at stake.  He was Marcus Jones, the man behind the MJ Power Fitness empire.  He was a black man who came from nothing, a Harvard graduate, a Wharton graduate, a true American success story.  He had come too far to accept the possibility of failure, but he stepped over a line into another universe, and had done so for no better reason than pride and ego.  Now all of his worst fears were being realized.

Marcus sucked in a deep breath.  A mild breeze whispered through the forest around him.  He could smell pine and honeysuckle.  He heard a sound in the distance, a voice calling out.

Marcus stepped back onto the gravel lane.  The voice called again.  It was Sadie.  She was shouting his name.  He started running.  He sprinted across the gravel and the cabin came into view.  Sadie was on the porch, her hands at her face.  He rushed up the steps to her.  She had tears in her eyes.

“Oh my God,” she said.

“What?  What is it, baby?  What’s wrong?  Are the kids alright?”

She was struggling for breath.  She went inside ahead of him.  The television was on.  He could smell lunch cooking.

“What’s going on in here?”

Sadie pointed at the TV.  “The kids were watching a show,” she said, trembling.  “There was a news bulletin.  They said there had an explosion in New Jersey.”

Marcus stared at her, waiting.

“It happened in our neighborhood, Marcus,” she said.  “They blew up our house!”

Marcus staggered two steps back.  “It has to be a mistake.”

“I saw it,” she insisted.

“I saw it too, Daddy,” Marcus Jr. echoed.

The other kids were nodding also.

“What are we going to do, Marcus?” she demanded, her tone hardening.  “Those monsters will not stop until they find us.  They’ll hunt us like animals, and they will not stop until either they get their money or we are all dead!”

He knew that she was right.

“Tell me, damn it!  What are we going to do?”

But all he could hear in his head was the sound of Mr. Z’s voice saying,
your life will become a living hell.

•  •  •

It was an emergency meeting.  Special Agent Price had to jump through hoops to find a way to meet with Mr. Z.  

“Both of them are still alive,” Price said.

“That’s impossible.”

“The autopsy reports are fake.”

“What about the two bodies?”

“I think they used homeless people.  Cops find nameless dead bodies every day, so I think they borrowed a couple of fresh corpses and threw one into the river and another one under the train.  The bodies ended up so disfigured that a visual ID was impossible, and then the ME fabricated his reports.”

Mr. Z was fuming.  “How did you not catch this before?”

Price didn’t respond.

Mr. Z shoved a finger in his face.  “Your cover is blown.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, they suspect that we have someone working on the inside, so they’ve created their own rogue operation.”

“If Nelson and Fleming aren’t dead, where are they?”

Mr. Z was quiet a moment.  “They have to be looking for a way to shut us down.”

“The only way to shut us down is if they locate Baptista and flush him out.”

Mr. Z’s face twisted into a scowl.  “That’s it! That’s where they are.  They’ve gone to D.C. and if we don’t warn Baptista then it’s all over for us.”

He quickly took out his cell phone and dialed a number.  There was no answer so he dialed the emergency number and entered a short message. 

•  •  •

A brand new green Toyota Tundra pickup turned off a strip of rural Maryland highway onto a narrow country road.  A moment later it was driving on gravel.  The man at the wheel was enjoying the pleasant drive home.  He had purchased the truck only a month ago and had paid cash.  He loved it.  It was his favorite new toy.

The radio was tuned to a country station and he was humming along with a George Strait song when he heard his cell phone ring.  He grabbed it and read the text message.  It said:  CODE RED.

46

They ate in silence.  Sadie could barely look at her husband.  Marcus chewed his sandwich and stared at the wall.  She watched him swallow, then looked away.  There were so many things that needed to be said, and yet there was nothing to be said at all.  Both of them were numb, both of them paralyzed with fear.

After the meltdown in front of the television, Sadie had disappeared into the kitchen to finish lunch and to pull herself together.  She hadn’t wanted to go through that in front of the kids.  She was tired of thinking, tired of running.  All she really wanted was to make all the bad things go away.  Marcus had been left to perform damage control.  The children needed reassurance because they were a little freaked out.  When lunch was ready he let them eat in front of the TV.  He finished his egg salad sandwich and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.  He was already exhausted and could suddenly barely keep his eyes open.  He stood from the table and yawned.

“I’m going to lie down for a minute,” he said, and staggered toward the bedroom door.

She still could not bring herself to look at him.

47

Miami, Florida

Gunshots rang through the house.

Connie Sheldon had been asleep on the floor.  She awoke with a start when she heard the first shot ring out.  She twisted her body to one side and then the other, but couldn’t see anything because of the bag over her head.  She couldn’t move because the strangers in her home had bound her arms and legs. 

There were more gunshots.  She tried to call out to her children but couldn’t speak because of the rag stuffed inside her mouth.  She knew at least one of her children was dead, and probably more.  She had pleaded with her husband to not borrow the money.  She had told him they could be happy living a more modest lifestyle.  They could simplify.  They could adjust, but they had become prisoners of affluence.  Scotty had told her that he had worked too hard for far too long to take a step backward.  She could vividly remember when the last of the banks had turned him down, how the depression had hit him like a locomotive.  He sank deep into despair and started drinking too much.  And then, just when she believed things couldn’t get any worse, he found that stupid website.  That was when the nightmare really began.

She tried to sit up.  She heard shouts coming from downstairs and someone running and more gunfire.  It sounded like a warzone.  The house had gone quiet for most of the past two days.  What might that mean?  What had they done with Scotty?  She needed to see him, to know he was okay.

Finally, the gunfire ended and the house filled with silence.

Connie waited in the stillness for what seemed like forever then someone was at the door.  Fear pulsated in her chest.  The door opened and she heard footsteps coming toward her.  Suddenly the bag was pulled from her head and she found herself looking up into Scotty’s face.

He was covered in blood and was trembling.  She could see that he had been shot several times.  He used a kitchen knife to cut the plastic ties from her arms and legs.  She pulled the rag from her mouth and threw her arms around him.  Then Scotty collapsed.

“I killed them,” he said, gasping for breath.  “Both of the men downstairs.  I shot them and they’re dead.”

She pressed her hands to his wounds, her eyes wide with panic. 

“I’ve got to call for help!”

Scotty shook his head.  He smiled up at her.  “It’s too late.”

She could see him fading.  “Scotty…please, no!  Please don’t close your eyes!  Please…please hold on!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “All I ever wanted was to give you the world.”

She held him and felt his body relax.  Then Scotty Sheldon died in his wife’s arms.

48

 “My husband works unusual hours,” the woman in the sundress explained.  “He has a long commute to the city, but because of his shift, he only works four days a week.”

“What does he do?” Daphne asked.

“He’s a government employee,” she answered with a certain measure of pride.

She had invited them in for a glass of iced tea.  She excused herself to the kitchen to prepare the drinks for her guests.  Tom and Daphne loitered in the living room, glancing around at a lifetime of tchotchkes and framed family photos.  Tom noticed a small pile of mail on an accent table beside a leather recliner.  He kept one eye on the kitchen door as he rifled through the envelopes.  Each of the letters and bills were addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Baptista.

He put his mouth to Daphne’s ear and whispered, “The name is Baptista.”

Tom glanced out a side window.  He had a clear view of the barn.  His instincts were telling him they were close, but nothing about the Baptistas or their home seemed to imply any connection to Mr. Z or even hint of danger.  Daphne glanced at him and shrugged. She was feeling it too.  Tom wanted to check out the barn.

“Why would anyone at a hair salon in Virginia be calling a barn in Maryland?” he whispered, echoing Daphne’s earlier thought.

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Can you distract her?”

She looked at him like he was crazy.

“I’ve got to take a look around out there.  That’s our only chance.  I have to see what’s in there.”

“There’s no way.”

“Think of something.”

A second later, Mrs. Baptista returned carrying two glasses filled to the rim with tea and ice.  “It’s unsweetened.  Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“So what brings you all the way out into this neck of the woods?”

Tom cleared his throat.  “That’s a long story.”

“Looking for someone?”

Daphne redirected the conversation.  “What kind of work does your husband do for the government?” 

“Nothing important.  He’s just a security guard at the Bureau of Printing and Engraving.  That’s where they make our money, you know.”

“Sounds interesting.”

Mrs. Baptista shrugged.  “Gordon always says it’s a paycheck, and that’s about it.”

Tom processed the new information, trying to find a way that it might fit into the larger puzzle.  A few thoughts began to take shape.  He took a sip of tea and pointed out the window. 

“When I was a kid, I loved barns,” he said, offering a nostalgic grin.  “Used to be kind of a hobby.  We would take family vacations to the country and I’d bring along my old Polaroid camera and take pictures of every barn we passed on the road.”

“How nice,” she said.

Tom wasn’t sure whether she was really buying his little made-up narrative.  She seemed willing enough to go along with it for the sake of conversation.

“Those are good memories,” he added like an afterthought.

She offered a polite smile.

“You don’t think it would be possible to just stick my head inside the barn for a minute, do you?  I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Gordon keeps it locked.”

“Sure, I understand.”

“That’s kind of his own private space.”

Tom nodded.  “Of course.”

Then she shrugged.  “But I guess if you wanted you could stick your nose against the window and take a peek.”

“That’d be great.  I’d only be a minute.  The two of you stay here where it’s cool.”  He flashed a look at Daphne. 
Keep her busy
.

Daphne responded with an almost imperceptible nod.  She took Mrs. Baptista by the arm and directed her to the opposite side of the room.  “Tell me about these knick-knacks,” she said.

“Those are frogs,” Mrs. Baptista began.  “I collect them…”

Tom glanced over his shoulder at the two women as he slipped out the door.  He hurried down the steps and onto the lawn between the house and the barn.  There was a telephone pole at the top of the driveway, and the line from the road split at the pole, one line running to the house, and the second line running directly to the roof of the barn.

That’s kind of his private space
. 

The barn had big classic doors in front.  He grabbed a handle and pulled but there was a padlock hooked through a hasp.  He bet that Gordon Baptista carried the key on him. 
Interesting
, he thought.  A barn was a place for tools and farm equipment.  There wasn’t a neighbor as far as the eye could see.  Surely theft wasn’t a major issue in an area like this.  Why keep it locked?  But still, there was nothing crazy about locking your property.  Better safe than sorry.

Tom peered through a window.  There was a glare and he could make out mostly shadows on the dirt floor inside.  He glanced back around at the house.  No one was at the window.  He hurried around the corner of the barn.  There was another window on the side away from the road.  He stood in long shadows from the overhanging branches and cupped his hands around his eyes.  There was nothing visible but horse stalls, a John Deere tractor and several bags of what he guessed to be seed or fertilizer.  There was nothing extraordinary or suspicious.

He placed both hands flat against the window glass and applied upward pressure.  He felt a little give.  The latch on the inside turned a fraction of an inch.  He lifted again and the window opened.  His pulse quickened.  He stepped away and glanced at the house.  No one was watching.

Tom hoisted himself up through the open window, scrabbling with feet against the side of barn, and dropped to the dirt floor on the inside.  The temperature instantly went up ten degrees.  He crouched in the shadows and glanced around.  Everything appeared as it had from the outside.

He glanced at his watch and gave himself three minutes to investigate.

The barn smelled primarily of hay and diesel fuel.  He walked from one end to the other, past the horse stalls and feed barrels and the John Deere.  There was nothing to see.  The barn was a barn, end of story.  He turned to leave but noticed something.  The tractor was parked in front of a door that was unpainted, old and weathered.  The tractor was blocking it so he had to climb over the seat to get a better look.  A small piece of board was nailed to the doorframe to hold the door shut.  He reached with his foot and kicked at the board to flip it down.  He missed the first time and tried again, clipping it with the toe of his shoe.  When it turned it revealed a keyhole for a deadbolt.  The door was locked.