by Jake Devlin
“Bastard!”
“Yeah. But we gotta get going.”
“Right, right. Wait. What's this?”
“What's what?”
“Brochure here. Bilder-something; blood's covering the rest.”
“Well, bring it along.”
“Eww. Lemme wipe it off first. Done.”
“Okay. Check the hall.”
“Clear.”
“Let's go.”
“Pervert!”
“C'mon, Lin; time's a'wasting.”
“Right. Coming – wait. Hear that?”
“Now that I did hear. Shit. Go, go, go!”
“They sound hungry.”
“Run!”
“Running.”
“Halfway there. Ow!”
“What?”
“Go ahead. Damned rib.”
“Can I help?”
“No, no, no. Go! Right behind you.”
“Almost there.”
“Oh, shit! Here they – ow!”
“Come on, around the corner. Got ya covered.”
“Whew! He's a big one!”
“Crap! Jammed again. Damn! Okay. Ah, got him!”
“Good shot, Lin.”
“King of the Jungle, my ass!”
“I'll take the next one. Got her.”
“That should slow down the rest.”
“Nope.”
“Leaping lizards!”
“No, Lin; leaping tigers.”
“Right; tigers.”
“I'll get the one on the left.”
“Right.”
“No, left.”
“Right – I mean okay. I'll take the one on the right. Got him.”
“Got mine, too.”
“What the hell? Is he running a freaking zoo? Dogs, hyenas, lions and tigers” --
“And bears?”
“Oh, my. Can we take out all three of 'em?”
“Let's find out. One down.”
“Two.”
“Shit! Just wounded that one.”
“Crap! Jammed again.”
“Lemme – ah, got him. Whew! Now let's get outa here.”
“Wait. Hear that?”
- 85 -
June 18, 2013
7:39 p.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“I offered to disappear him, but he was so depressed that he refused. He told me about his wife, his kids, his image as perhaps the most ethical lawyer in his state, and his shame and the humiliation he would feel if he resigned after only six months in his new job and tried to go back to his old life. And he told me that he knew this day would come because of what he knew and what he'd done. He even talked about how the attorney-client privilege had been used to shut him up. Then he cried and said he was ready.
“So we drove out to Rock Creek Park, parked his car and walked down by the water, where he asked me to pray with him, which I did, keeping my eyes open, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Then he asked me to give him his gun, allow him the freedom to do the job himself, and he put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.”
“No final words?”
“Just 'Keep the journal safe. Someday there may be a use for it.'”
“And did you?”
“Keep it safe? Of course. When I reported that the job was done and where they could find the body, I never mentioned the journal, and nobody asked about it.
“But when I saw that his body had been found in Fort Marcy Park in Virginia, not where I'd left him, I knew something much bigger was going on, and I skedaddled back to Paris with Mike, Janice and Gordy the very next day and hid the journal in the safest place I had at the time.”
“Is it still there?”
“Nope. We've digitized it, encrypted it and scattered copies in scores of our offices around the world. The original is in the vault at our main office.”
“Ah. Good insurance.”
“But with what we're hearing about 2016, that journal may find a use at some point.”
- 86 -
May 25, 2014
1:10 p.m. local time
Bonita Beach, Florida
“So how'd it go, Gordy?”
“Fine, Ro, fine.”
“What'd they want, anyhow?”
“Oh, just to clear up some stuff.”
“About your kidnapping?”
“Yup.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing much; just some questions they still had.”
“A year and a half later?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, c'mon, Gordy, it's me; spill it.”
“I thought you didn't want to replay it all.”
“Not with them. I had a bad feeling about that lieutenant, couldn't wait to get away from him.”
“Ah, he was okay once we got past the bluster. And you know Sgt. Dooley's an okay guy.”
“Yeah, Tom's mostly okay. So tell me.”
“You're sure you want to hear it?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay – oh, they also had some questions about how I dealt with those three kids last March, wanted to know what martial arts training I've had.”
“Okay.”
“And I told them about Dorothy's teaching me some stuff, and that what I did to the kids just came sort of instinctively, no actual training.”
“And?”
“And the lieutenant pressed me on that, told me he was sure I'd had more than that, from what he saw on the cell phone video.”
“And?”
“And he said it looked like I knew some Israeli martial arts; I forget what it's called. Krav something, I think.”
“And?”
“And I'm not sure he believed me when I denied that, told him I'd never even heard of it.”
“Maybe we can search it online.”
“Yeah; sounds interesting.”
“So was that it on the martial arts?”
“Yeah.”
“So what was it about the kidnapping?”
“Okay; let's see. They had some questions about some of the lab results that didn't quite jibe with the statements I gave.”
“Lab results?”
“Yeah, some kind of residue on my hand. Think they called it GSR or RSG or something like that. MSG? No. Anyhow, something the guns left on my hand.”
“Well, you did shoot all three of 'em.”
“No, just one. Charlie shot that cokehead and himself; I only shot the FBI guy, George. And only 'cause he was gonna kill me.”
“Wait a minute. In your book, you killed all three of 'em.”
“Yeah, I know. That confused the lieutenant, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But that was Sondra's idea, thought it'd make me look more – I dunno – stronger, more – I dunno – what's a good word?”
“Uh, dashing, heroic?”
“Not exactly, but you're in the ballpark. Just more action, more in control than I actually was. Hell, I was scared shitless.”
“I can imagine. I was so scared, too, thinking you were dead.”
“I know, and I'm so sorry about that. But it all turned out okay, didn't it?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyhow, Sondra persuaded me to let her do it that way.”
“Literary license.”
“Yeah, but I'm still kind of embarrassed by that.”
“So what really happened?”
“You know it's still kind of fuzzy, getting moreso every day. But right at the end, the cokehead, ah, ah” --
“Leon?”
“Right, Leon. He was gonna kill me, but Charlie shot him first. And then he shot himself.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you think he shot himself?”
“I don't know; been puzzling about that myself. Maybe – and this is just a maybe – all that talk he had with Leon after the TV news showed him how futile everything was.”
“Kinda painted them into a corner, d
idn't you?”
“Me? No, no, that was all Charlie.”
“But in the book, you were the one who” –
“I know, I know; more of Sondra's literary license.”
“Ah. But you did shoot the FBI guy.”
“Yeah. I grabbed Charlie's gun just before he came in the door, gun blazing, and I fired back at him. He only got one shot off before one of my wild ones hit him, and then another as he fell. I just kept pulling the trigger till it was empty, and then I grabbed the FBI guy's gun and ducked behind the front door, scared there might be more of 'em outside. And then I heard the sirens and figured I was safe, so I went on outside.”
“With the FBI guy's gun.”
“Yeah. Forgot I had it till I lay down, so I slid it away from me.”
“Good idea.”
“Yeah. Always a little worried about trigger-happy cops.”
“Lots of them around, especially on SWAT teams.”
“Probably a small percentage, but you never know.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Y'got that right, Ro.”
“And with all that – whatchamacallit – militarization of local” –
“Yup. Moving us ever closer to a nationwide police state.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe some of the conspiracy theorists have it right.”
“And maybe we're all way too complacent.”
“Y'got that right, Ro; and maybe that's by design.”
“Hmm. Could be.”
“Anyhow, I think that's all we talked about.”
“And you're okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don't know exactly. You sound different.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, like more serious, not as light-hearted as usual.”
“Ah. Don't know. Maybe it's adrenalin from the interrogation.”
“Did it feel like that?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well, I have an idea for that adrenalin.”
“Yeah?”
“How about we go get Dallas and head up to my condo?”
“Now that, my dear, is a super idea.”
“Hey, Dallas, you up for another round?”
“Absolutely, Ro. Hi, Gordy. Are you up for it?”
“Oh, I will be in just a few minutes, Dallas.”
- 87 -
June 18, 2013
7:49 p.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“By that time, we had so much money coming in from all the work on that side of the business, the hedge fund and venture capital fund I'd started in the late '70s had nearly a billion dollars between them. I'd needed to diversify beyond the security and surveillance biz and we started buying up small struggling companies and financing new ones, all around the world.”
“Just like Donne's business, right?”
“You got it, Pam. In fact, I used my biz as the model for DEI, even kept the actual numbers from it to use in the interview Wes did for that TV show, the one with the anchor who was having the affair with her producer.”
“Ah, right. What was – ah, Lindsey, right?”
“Yup; good memory. She was a cute young blonde girl I met on the beach in Bonita while I was writing that part, did some kind of media work up in New York, so I used her name for that character.”
“Did she know you did that?”
“I told her I would, but I never saw her after that. She was only there for a week. Don't know if she even knows the book came out.”
“How old was she?”
“I dunno; everybody under 50 looks like a kid to me. Maybe 25, 30.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“Well, if she was that young, she probably forgot about the whole thing.”
“Short retention span?”
“Yeah, like most kids that age.”
“She reminded me of another young blonde I met in the water the summer before I met you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. She was French, from Paris, gorgeous, pretty good English, but a thick accent. Don't remember her name. But” …
“But what?”
“Well, we got talking, and at some point I asked her, as I almost always do with kids that age, what she was looking for out of life. And she said, with that thick accent, 'Well, like all gairls my age, I am joos' looking for a penis.'”
“Excuse me? What?”
“That's what I said. And she repeated it. 'I am joos' looking for a penis.'”
“And?”
“And I thought about that for a while, finally realized it might be her accent. So I said, 'Oh, you mean you're looking for happiness.'”
“Ah.”
“And she said, 'Zat too.'”
“What?”
“'Zat too.'”
“You're kidding.”
“Yup.”
“No, really.”
“Yeah, I'm kidding. Had you going, huh?”
“Yeah, you did. Did that really happen?”
“Nope; but I've gotten a lotta mileage outa that one.”
- 88 -
May 23, 2014
2:38 a.m. local time
Transylvania, Romania
“That is not a bear, Keith.”
“Nope; sounds like an elephant.”
“An elephant? Up here in the mountains? What the hell?”
“Hey, he's one of the richest men in the world, thinks he can do anything he wants.”
“Not anymore. Oh, shit; he's coming from the other end!”
“These little peashooters won't do the job. Can we make it to the skinny hallway?”
“We'll find out. Go, go, go!”
“Going!”
“Ow.”
“Keith?”
“I'm okay. Keep going!”
“Lemme” –
“No, no, no; just run!”
“Crap; he's turned the corner. How can something that big move so fast?”
“Who cares? Go!”
“Going.”
“He's got a long trunk. Get deep in when you get there!”
“I know, I know. Twenty feet.”
“Go, go, go! Ow. Shit! No, no, no; keep going!”
“But” –
“Ten feet; get in there, Lin!”
“In. C'mon, Keith. He's right behind you!”
“Keep go – oh, shit! He's got me!”
“Keith! Keith! No!”
“Ohhh!”
“Stay down, Keith! Down!”
“I” –
“Take that, Dumbo! Let him go!”
“Ohhh, shit!”
“Wanna lose the other eye? Let him” –
“Oh, geez.”
“C'mon, Keith, I got you. C'mon.”
“Ow! Shit! Ohhh!”
“You're clear. What?”
“I – I – think he – he – broke – my ankle. Shit!”
“Can you run? We've got to” –
“I” –
“Lean on me. Got to get into – oh, crap! Dumbo's up again.”
“Whew! We made” –
“C'mon! Got to get further – oh, crap! Here he comes!”
“Ow!”
“Grab my shoulder!”
“Go, go – oh, shit!”
“What?”
“Dumbo just hit the doorway. He's stuck.”
“Lemme – oh, geez, he broke a tusk; no match for stone walls. That's gotta hurt.”
“Probably hear him all the way to Hungary.”
“Lemme put him outa his misery.”
“No time, Lin, and not with that little gun. Gotta get up those steps and gone.”
“At least no one's gonna get past him.”
“He is a big one.”
“Watch out for the missing step.”
“Oh, I remember, I remember. Okay; we're good. Go, go, go!”
“Just a few more steps.”
“Ow – oh, shit! No, I'm good. Keep going.”
“Ah; good. Wait; hear that?”
“What?”
“Outside. Lemme – oh, crap!”
“What's – oh, shit! Get off that!”
“Ee-ee-ah-ah-oh-oh-ee-ee-ah-ah” –
“Get off!”
“Should I shoot 'im, Keith?”
“No, lemme – RARGHHH!”
“Ee-ee-ah-ah-oh-oh-ee-ee-ah-ah” --
“RARGHHH!”
“Ee-ee-ah-ah-oh-oh-ee-ee-ah-ah” –
“No, don't touch that!”
“Careful of the tiles, Keith!”
“RARGHH – shit!”
“What?”
“He bit me! Get off, dammit! Ah.”
“Start it up, Keith. Gotta go.”
“Grab my footrest, I'll get you back to yours.”
“Got it. Oh, careful! Good. Okay. Powered up, buckled in, radio on. Over.”
“Radio on – oh, shit! They musta found him. Go, go, go! Over.”
“Okay, taking off – oh, crap! Over.”
“You hit? Over.”
“Nope, just missed. Over.”
“Okay. Full throttle, up and out. Over.”
“Copy that. Full throttle, up and out. Over.”
“Who's shooting? Really bad aim. Over.”
“Are we high enough? Over.”
“No. Serpentine. Over.”
“Copy that; serpentining. Over.”
“Oh, shit. Searchlights? Over.”
“Crap; my ears just popped. Over.”
“You know these things are fast. Over.”
“Say again? Over.”
“These flyers are fast. Over.”
“What about my ass? Over.”
“No, no. These flyers are fast. Over.”
“Oh, crap; one just hit my footrest. Over.”
“You okay? Over.”
“Say again? Over.”
“Are – you – okay? Over.”
“Yeah; missed me, hit the metal. Over.”
“Okay. More serpentine! Over.”
“Outa range yet? Over.”
“Getting close. Over.”
“Say again? Over.”
“We're close. Over.”
“Werewolves? Where? Over.”
“No, we're close. Over.”
“Wereclothes? What? Over.”
“No, Lin, now we're outa range. Over.”
“Oh, crap; getting nauseous. Over.”
“Quit serpentining; just hover. It'll pass. Over.”
“Ewwwww. Oh, geez; hope that didn't land on anybody. Over.”
“You okay? Over.”
