Wake the Devil (30 page)

R
achel Lawrence used CPR and managed to get Jack’s heart started again. She rode with him to the hospital and, assisted by another surgeon, she performed the surgery that saved his life. By her estimate, he had been dead for nearly a minute.

When he awoke in the recovery room, Jack managed to croak out a question.

“The witnesses . . . Dwayne . . . out of danger?”

Rachel moved to the side of his bed and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Dwayne didn’t make it, Jack. I was too late to save him. I’m so sorry.”

Jack shut his eyes and said a silent prayer for the young man before the drugs took hold and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

For the next three days, indistinct images came and went: Dan Pappas’s scared face looking down at him, Noah Ritson and Beth standing by the bed. It was like being in the audience in a theater and watching a play about his life.

At the end of the fourth day, he regained consciousness. Beth, with the blessing of the department, had been there nearly the entire time going home only to feed Marta. She told him Dwayne Stafford had been laid to rest near his childhood friend, Ed Mundas. Nearly the entire Atlanta Police Force and most of the local FBI agents had attended the funerals. In the last week, Atlanta had lost five officers. The city was in shock.

She also told him she had met Dwayne’s fiancée, Melissa Sue, who sent her best wishes for a speedy recovery. In view of the circumstances, Rachel’s testimony before the grand jury had been postponed until the following month. By his ninth day in the hospital, Jack was restless, irritable, and ready to leave.

*

Shortly before checking out of the hospital, he received a visit from Janet Newton, who advised him Carmine Donofrio was in negotiations with the Sandman’s attorney. The man who had been posing as Todd Milner was found still unconscious when first responders reached the safehouse, and he was safely taken into custody without further incident. Janet didn’t know what the Sandman and his attorney were bargaining for. The deputy director let on that the powers that be weren’t particularly happy with her and were hinting at a possible reassignment to the Bureau’s field office in Omaha, Nebraska.

By far the most interesting news was that no one had been able to establish the Sandman’s real identity. Both DNA and fingerprints had turned up nothing. The man seemed to have dropped out of the sky. She further informed him that governments in five countries were pressuring the Justice Department to return him to them so he could stand trial. For lack of a better name, he was being referred to as Prisoner John Doe.

“I have a question,” Janet Newton said. “How did you know he’d taken Milner’s place?”

“A few things never made sense, and I began to suspect Milner after the confrontation with Courtney in New York. From the beginning, it was obvious Courtney had help. Not only did he know about the APD’s safehouse, he managed to transport two bombs to New York on extremely short notice. A private jet was the only way to accomplish that. When I checked the available charter services, the only flight that morning besides Beth’s was ours, so someone on our plane had to have brought the explosives. Security at private airports is incredibly lax. It’s virtually nonexistent when the FBI is involved. I mean, who checks a federal agent’s suitcase? Most importantly, only a limited number of people knew Rachel Lawrence would be in New York that day to perform surgery. Our imposter was one of them.

“I have no idea what to call him now, but when I saw Milner about to shoot Thomas Courtney in Battery Park, it threw me. I examined the vest myself and noted there were four bullet marks, but they were spread out, which meant hollow points. More misdirection.”

“We don’t use hollow points in our assault weapons.”

“Exactly.”

“Then there was more misleading evidence we found. I’d already begun to suspect Milner wasn’t on the level after the explosions, so I decided to test my theory. Using Scotch tape, I checked under his seat when he went to the restroom during the flight back. I found what looked like more of those coral grains. Just one or two, but they were enough to ask Ben Furman to confirm it. Our impostor said he’d never been to South Florida. It was the same with Gabe Alonso. I looked at his travel records and they were clean. Remember, the coral grains were found in Alonso’s car. If he didn’t track them back, it meant someone else had.”

Janet folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the side of his bed.

Jack continued. “The clincher was Lenny Walpole’s shoes. Either he got them from Thom Courtney or his partner. But according to Scotland Yard, Courtney wasn’t in the country when Alonso was killed. That left one person, the partner.”

“Which left you with Todd Milner because he was the last one to see Gabe Alonso alive when he went to New York to check on him,” Janet said.

“Bingo,” Jack said.

The director shook her head. “That wasn’t much to go on.”

“Evidence doesn’t lie. The only time we get in trouble is when we misinterpret it. Sherlock Holmes once said, ‘When you eliminate all other theories, whatever’s left, no matter how improbable the answer, has got to be the solution.’ I began doing just that, until I decided to check Milner’s shoes, or whatever his real name is. That was the smoking gun, for me at least. It’s also why I sent Beth to Arizona. You told me the real Todd Milner had recently transferred from there. I couldn’t believe anyone would be audacious enough to impersonate a federal agent. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Janet Newton shook her head.

“Courtney also didn’t know Beth Sturgis was going to Stone Mountain the day she nearly slid over the edge. But ‘Todd’ did, because she told him. Kind of a stretch to think the killer decided to go back to the scene of the crime and hang around. That works In the movies, not real life. Milner passed the information along.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith in you.”

“You were under a lot of pressure. What about my request?”

“May I ask why you want to speak with the prisoner?”

“Let’s say I’m curious.”

“That I can believe, but I’ll need more. Donofrio doesn’t like you.”

“Hard to imagine,” Jack said. “If you must know, the Sandman sent me a note through his lawyer saying he’d like to meet.”

The surprise on the deputy director’s face was apparent. Jack reached into a drawer in the little side table next to his hospital bed and handed it to her. The writing was neat and precise.

The deputy director shook her head. “That’s one sick puppy. Are you sure about this? I mean, with your health and all?”

“I’ll be fine,” Jack said. “Can you arrange it?”

“When do you want to see him?”

Jack told her.

The deputy director looked out the window and didn’t speak for a time. “How could I have let all this happen?”

“You didn’t. It was planned a long time ago. Months to a year, probably. You’ve been on the job, what? Less than thirty days? Basically, you inherited a mess. You couldn’t possibly know everyone working under you in that time. No one in your position could. Like I said, his plan was not only audacious; it was genius. He was just biding his time to get the witnesses alone.”

“You think he tortured Gabe Alonso to obtain the passwords and contacts he needed to infiltrate us?”

“I’m sure of it. Alonso’s body bears that out. Nobody could have foreseen what happened.”

“You did,” Janet said.

“I figured it out. There’s a difference. All the planning originated with ‘Todd’ or whatever his real name is.”

Behind Jack’s head was a monitor showing a continuous readout of his vital signs. Next to the bed was a metal stand with a bag of wheat-colored liquid and a tube that ran into his forearm. Janet Newton watched one drop make its way along the tube, then leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

“I’ll let you know when the arrangements are made.”

Maybe in another time and in another life things might have turned out differently between them. When she left the room, the scent of her perfume remained.

T
he Sandman was waiting when Jack entered the room. One eye was still bandaged, and one side of his face was purple. It was hard to tell which of them looked worse. Prisoner John Doe was sitting in a chair, his arms loosely shackled to a belt that ran around his waist.

“Good of you to come, Jack. How’s the leg?”

“Hurts. How’s your face?”

“Hurts.”

“And your side?”

“Same.”

“I’m glad the knife didn’t do more damage. We had a hell of a time, didn’t we?”

“Is that what you call it?”

“For lack of a better expression. You enjoyed yourself, though, didn’t you? You felt alive when the game was on. Am I right?”

“You wanted to see me?” Jack said.

“As much as you wanted to see me. I felt I . . . owed it to you. We’re very much alike.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose.

“Come on, Jack. You know it’s true. I wanted to give you the opportunity to ask your questions. In return, I have a few of my own. Call it a quid pro quo.”

“Fair enough.”

“Right now you’re trying to place where my accent is from. Mid-Atlantic. California. Someplace in the midwest, perhaps.”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are. But a little mystery in any relationship is a good thing.”

“Have you been in the business long?”

“About fourteen years. You?”

“Close to the same,” Jack said. “What about Leonard Walpole?”

“Not my idea,” the Sandman said, “but exactly what he appears to be, a harmless druggie. Basically, a puppy who wants to please.”

“And he really believed Thom Courtney’s story about making a movie?”

The Sandman turned his palms up. “From what I could see, Lenny is inclined to believe anyone offering a helping hand.”

“Which you made sure was held out to him.”

“Of course.”

“And you’re telling me this now because . . .”

“I’m not a monster, Jack. Sooner or later people will start looking for retribution. It’s human nature. When that happens, the innocents tend to get run over. It would be a shame if Lenny goes to jail.”

Jack nodded and looked around the conference room. Beside the two chairs and table they were sitting at, the only other object there was a small camera in the upper corner near the ceiling. The Sandman followed his gaze and asked if they were being filmed.

“Not to my knowledge. I asked the marshals to make sure it was off.”

“And I have your word as a gentleman on that?”

“You do. Where did you find Thom Courtney?”

“Ah, dear old, confused Thom. I was wondering when you’d get around to him. If you must know, I found him in France after placing an ad in a magazine.
Soldier of Fortune
, I think it was.”

“He answered it?”

“Complete with a resume. Very impressive. My turn. Thom was not particularly recognizable when he went into the river, so how did you identify him?”

“From a stain on his shirt and the general description we had. Also, the fillings in his teeth are mostly used in Europe.”

The killer laughed to himself and said, “A shirt stain. Really?”

“Tzatziki sauce. Walpole told you that he and his friend Rick had Greek food the night before.”

“Marvelous.”

While the Sandman was processing that information, Jack realized his questions weren’t based on idle curiosity. He was compiling a checklist to avoid future mistakes.

“You said Courtney was confused. About what?”

“Reality. Schizophrenia, I think you people call it. He had whole conversations on his cellphone with a dead priest named Father Michael.”

Jack thought back to the episode at Battery Park when the agents were approaching him. Courtney had been talking on his cellphone.

“Knowing he was wearing body armor, you were the one who opened fire. But you were using hollow point bullets, which wouldn’t penetrate the vest.”

The killer’s smile was self-effacing. “You’re quite good at this, Jack. Have you ever considered switching teams?”

“Not really. Is it profitable?”

“Oh, very. After expenses, I’ll still net a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Expenses?”

“Mr. Courtney? Fifty thousand dollars went to him.”

“I see. I suppose Borov can afford it.”

The Sandman frowned. “That last question was beneath you.”

Jack shrugged. “It was more of a comment. You obviously took a great deal of time putting this together. Objectively, I’d have to say the planning was meticulous. Brilliant even.”

The Sandman inclined his head at the compliment, then said, “Six months isn’t that great an investment.”

“But sufficient to recover from plastic surgery,” Jack said.

“As you say, these things take time.”

Both men regarded each other for several seconds. It felt much longer. Move—countermove. They were already past the midgame.

“Does your lawyer think he’ll be able to work a deal with the government regarding Borov?”

“Actually, it’s a she. And she’s quite intelligent. I imagine I’ll be inconvenienced for several months. But the prosecution is looking at the larger picture. Fortunately for me, they already have a scenario
in place in their heads as to what the truth is. They want Borov so badly I imagine they’ll be quite receptive to our offer of cooperation. Negotiations are still ongoing. Perhaps when I’m free, you and I can sit down over a quiet dinner and explore an extended partnership.”

Something the Sandman said struck a chord in Jack’s mind, but he chose not to comment just then.

“Your record with partners isn’t encouraging,” Jack pointed out.

“Any successful partnership is based on mutual respect. When I say we’re much alike, I’m not merely flattering you. Kindred spirits tend to attract one another.”

Jack started to reply, but the Sandman held up a hand. “Everyone thinks your panic attacks grow out of what happened to your partner. Janet Newton shared a little bit about them with me. She was discreet, of course, but I learned enough and it fascinated me, so I began to study you. Certainly a simple explanation is possible. But if you’ll forgive my speculation, I’d say your fear goes far deeper.”

Jack nodded slightly acknowledging he heard the comment, but neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it.

“Here’s the way I see it,” said the Sandman. “You’ve never met a problem you couldn’t solve or an opponent you haven’t prevailed against and the possibility that either might happen one day terrifies you. Consider that some people define you, just as the right partner can complete you.”

The door opened before Jack could respond.

“Time’s up, Dr. Kale,” the deputy marshal said.

Jack stood.

“Come see me again,” the Sandman said. “Believe it or not, I enjoy your company. I think we’re going to spend a lot of time together.”