The Lazarus Trap

by Davis Bunn

  Knowing Terrance, the man had probably left clues in clear enough fashion for Marjorie to have realized the pension fund was being stripped to the bone. Terrance had used Marjorie as he had used everyone else. People were nothing to Terrance unless he wanted them for some purpose. Then they became fodder for his plans. Nothing more.

  Unless they got in his way.

  The train pulled into the station and halted. Val rose and joined the other passengers flowing through the doors. He stepped onto the concrete and tasted air far too metallic for late April. He spotted the ferry-port sign and joined the throng. Val stumbled over the curb as he tried to read and walk at the same time. The newspaper article feasted upon the lurid details of the corporate thieves being killed in a bomb blast. Syntec Bank U.S. was also under investigation for its hand in draining Insignia’s pension funds.

  A theft of $422 million.

  Val stuffed the paper into the satchel’s side pocket and hurried. The walkway was crowded with other passengers whose flights had been cancelled. By the time Val arrived at the ferry terminal, the grayness had condensed into something too thick to be called fog and too fine to be rain. It felt like he was breathing cold diesel tea. The waiting room was a linoleum-lined warehouse with industrial lighting, filled with echoes. Val headed for the bank of phones lining one wall. He dialed Audrey’s number. The same man answered. Val hung up and stood with his hand poised on the receiver. Had she found someone else since he had sent her away? If so, why had she written as she had, then urged him to come? Val turned away. His next step remained perfectly clear. Go to Jersey and grab the money. He would call her again from the bank. If the man answered again, Val would forge ahead regardless.

  Val purchased his ticket, tried to make himself comfortable in a molded plastic chair, and hid behind his paper. He reread the story and added what the paper could not supply. Terrance had let him get away with the theft because Terrance had always been in control. Terrance had needed a fall guy. In order to make a clean sweep of the larger theft, Terrance had let Val and Marjorie and their tame Syntec banker get away with pocket change. Two million dollars had seemed like the world to Val. But to a guy planning the theft of four hundred million, it was nothing. Val started to wonder who else at Insignia had been in with Terrance on the grand scheme. Don Winslow, for starters. He was the man who had cast the deciding vote against Val and for Terrance in their latest bout. Val wondered if Jack Budrow, the spineless son of a great and good man, could have stooped so low. Then he decided it didn’t really matter. Whoever thought they were controlling this particular dance, Val knew Terrance d’Arcy was the one really calling the tune.

  Matt made the second call while standing in line to buy ice cream. Two young children at the front of the queue couldn’t make up their minds. The ferry’s waiting room was large as an airplane hangar and all hard surfaces. Outside, the fog had condensed into drifting rain. Six kids ran in tight little circles around the chairs and played like fighter planes. A mother screeched at them to give it a rest. Matt could have discussed the crime of the century and nobody would have noticed.

  Matt’s contact at head office demanded, “Give me the good news.”

  “Don’t have none, do I. There’s been no chance so far to do it clean like you said. Haines has stayed in crowds every step of the way.”

  “So what’s the bloke doing, then?”

  “He’s going for the boat.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “I’m standing in the Portsmouth terminal with him now.”

  “Follow him.”

  “I never been one for water. Not even in a glass.”

  “I didn’t ask that, now, did I? Matter of fact, I don’t give a toss. You do what you’re told.”

  Matt swallowed against a nervy stomach. He could handle most things. But watching a ship go up and down on the telly was enough to have him shutting his eyes and humming a little tune. He glanced over to where his mate stood in line at the ticket counter. “You want this bloke clean away, not seen away.”

  “That’s the ticket.”

  “Like an accident at sea, maybe.”

  “Nobody’s meant to notice a thing. Do him quiet and do him fast. You got that?”

  “I heard you the first time.” Matt swallowed against the dread of his first journey ever on a boat. “Bad weather, no sky, he’ll never be missed.”

  “Where’s our lad now?”

  The loudspeaker blared overhead, announcing that the ship was boarding. Matt stepped from the line. “He’s headed for the gate.”

  “Hang on, the boss wants a word.”

  If Matt had not already been green, this would have done the trick. In all the years he’d been on the old man’s ticket, Matt had only spoken to Boss Loupe twice. Even so, he instantly recognized the old man’s voice. “Matthew, is that you, lad?”

  “Yes, Mr. Loupe. Sorry about the din.”

  “Never you mind. Listen carefully, my boy. Word is, the gentleman you’re tailing is headed for the Syntec Bank on Jersey.” The old man spelled out the name. “Above all else, your job is to make sure he doesn’t arrive.”

  “I’ll do him on the boat, just like you said.”

  “Nice and quiet, mind. Not a soul’s to notice. Leave it for the island if you must. So long as he doesn’t enter that bank.”

  “He’ll be gone like smoke, sir. You can count on me.”

  “I am, my boy. We all are.”

  Matt shut the phone and swallowed hard a second time. Messing up a job the boss was watching didn’t bear thinking about.

  If only it wasn’t going down on a poxy boat.

  VAL COULD’NT BE SURE. BETWEEN THE JET LAG AND THE NEWS-paper article, his senses were jammed on overload. Not to mention the disorientation brought on by this featureless grey day. His world had been jarred too far off its axis. Nothing was registering with clarity.

  But he was fairly certain he was being followed.

  The two men back in the terminal had been noticeable by their size. One rose almost to Val’s height but was cadaver thin. He wore skin-tight clothes that only accented his narrow frame. The other was a bullish giant with a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck. Both had been watching him as he went through the boarding process.

  What was more, Val feared he had seen that same tattoo on the guy who had bumped him in the airport. But he could not be certain.

  The departures terminal was connected to the boat by a covered walkway. This led to a sloping ramp rising to the middle-deck entry. Val’s heart drummed in time to rain striking the walkway’s canvas cover. At the gangplank Val slipped the duffel bag to his other hand, gripped the rail, and turned as if to give England a final glance.

  The beefy guy was just slipping past security. His narrow-faced mate was nowhere to be seen.

  The vessel’s entry hall was crammed with excited passengers and squalling kids. Val slipped around a bustling tour group, crouched, and scurried down the main hall. He entered a largish chamber done up as a ship’s salon from a bygone era. A café stood at one end and a bar at the other, with circular brass-rimmed tables and wire-backed chairs and Tiffany lamps and polished wood flooring. Val stepped into the bookstore by the opposite wall and slipped behind a revolving magazine stand. He crouched almost to his knees.

  A massive pair of Doc Martens boots hustled by, stopped, and turned back. A few moments later they were joined by a set of black lace-up boots with pointed toes. The two stood there together for what seemed like eons. Then they split up.

  A young woman with an olive complexion approached Val and asked hesitantly, “Are you all right, sir?”

  He made a very feeble pretense of searching the bottom rack. “Do you carry The New Republic?”

  “Is that a journal?”

  “No, never mind.” He raised himself up in stages, checking carefully. The pair were nowhere to be seen. “Thanks anyway.”

  He had to find someplace to hide.

  MATT AND JOCKO HAD WORKED T
OGETHER ANY NUMBER OF TIMES. There was little chatter, or need for it. Jocko joined the queue of foot passengers jostling good-naturedly toward the gate and the gangplank beyond. Their mark was about fifty feet ahead.

  The metal detectors and security inspectors were trouble. Matt always preferred to carry a full set of tools on him. Today he’d just have to rely on Jocko. He slipped back to the gents’ and pulled his knife from the special sheath tucked in the small of his back. The handle was a lovely set of brass dusters made special to fit his undersized hand. He wrapped the knife in paper towels, climbed onto a loo, and stored the bundle up top of a cistern. He dropped down and surveyed his handiwork. He would so miss that knife. It was like parting with his best mate.

  When he came back into the terminal, Jocko was already through customs. Matt rejoined the queue, passed through the metal detectors, handed his false ID to the coppers, then headed for the boat. It was raining harder now, really coming down in buckets.

  The high-speed craft was one of those new jobs, lifting up on an angled V like something off the telly. There was limited car space. The entire ship could have fitted into a larger ferry’s main hold. Which made their job all the easier. Matt slipped around the crush of families milling about the entry, telling himself there was no need for the way he already felt. Not while they were still tied up at the dock.

  Jocko waved him over. The big man was looking none too pleased. “I’ve lost him.”

  “You can’t have.”

  “He’s not here, I tell you.”

  The boat’s turbines chose that moment to rumble awake. Matt leaned against the side wall. “You’re sure he came on board?”

  “I walked the plank right behind him. I’m telling you, he’s done a Houdini.”

  “He must’ve made us.”

  “That’s what I reckon as well.” Jocko looked more closely. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I don’t like boats.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We find him, is what.” Queasy or not, Matt had no choice in the matter. “Where do you think he’s gone?”

  “He don’t have all that much space to maneuver. This boat’s tiny. There’s the level below us for cars; it’s locked tight as a drum. There’s these four great rooms and whatever they got up top, and that’s the lot.”

  “So you have a gander around this level.” Matt kept one hand clamped to his gut. “I’ll go search up top. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  “And if I catch him, what then?”

  “We got to do this one clean. That’s the word. Don’t do him if there’s anybody about.” The motors rumbled and the boat slipped away from its mooring. Matt swallowed hard. “The boss spoke to me personal.”

  “When was this?”

  “Back in the terminal. We don’t do this job right, we never go home. That’s as plain as it gets.”

  Overhead the loudspeakers started up their cheery hello. “You’re not having me on, the boss gave you the word?”

  “Mr. Loupe himself.” Matt forced himself off the side wall. The boat was already pitching. “We find this bloke, and we do him.”

  The boat was claustrophobic. And fast. The rain was a solid sheet of water upon the forward facing windows. To either side, spumes flew up high as the third floor where Val now stood. Below him was the boat’s only car deck, now locked. He knew because he had tried both doors. Below that, he assumed, was the engine room. Above him was the observation deck where people huddled in protected alcoves and enjoyed the sea air.

  Val took a chair in the central salon between the two passenger compartments that ran the entire length of the ship. His table was by the wall, which gave him a view of both entrances. But he was totally exposed.

  The ship’s motors sounded a single deep note, thrumming in his body. Val needed to rest. Despite his adrenaline-stoked fear, he could feel the jet lag and the missing night’s sleep deep in his bones. Val leaned his head against the rear wall. The soothing vibrations carried through his temple. He blinked slowly. Then he forced himself to his feet. If he stayed there, sooner or later he would doze off.

  The problem was, the boat was constructed to do away with all blind corners. Val stationed himself at the opening to the crammed luggage rack and searched the forward compartment. The boat was all noisy crowds and rain-swept glass and open spaces.

  Val retreated into the bathrooms, one after the other. But the places were crawling and the stall doors were symbolic at best. Every new face threatened to become the mammoth bruiser with the tattoo.

  He hesitated in the doorway leading back into the hallway. As a trio of beery louts shouldered past, he spotted a door marked “Staff Only.” Val watched as two officers passed through. They remained deep in discussion. The younger of the pair used a key connected to his belt by a silver chain to open the door.

  Before the door could lock shut, Val slipped across the hall and caught it with his heel. He waited through a pair of breaths. Then he pushed the door open a fraction and glanced inside. The doorway opened into a short hall, which then descended down a series of steps. Val heard the sailors’ voices disappearing into the distance. He saw no one. What he could see of the hall was narrow, windowless, and empty.

  He stepped inside.

  Jocko knew full well what the world thought of him. He was the silent muscle, not meant to have even half a brain. Nobody expected him to speak. Which suited Jocko just fine. He had no time for idle chatter. He wanted a bloke’s attention, he clapped him one. That always worked.

  Problem was, Matt was always telling Jocko what to do. Even when Jocko had his job down cold. Like now. It was simple enough, really. Clean was clean.

  Yammer, yammer, that was Matt in a nutshell. But Jocko was the one seeing to what needed doing. When time came to shut the gob and act, Matt played like smoke. Just like now.

  This guy was such an easy target. That was Jocko’s first thought when the bloke popped back into view. Haines was already injured, his head patched. Jocko slipped back a notch, to where the coffee bar met the side wall. One little tap and Haines would be laid out clean as you please.

  Haines hovered in the doorway leading to the gents’. His eyes were doing the dance, seeing danger everywhere. Jocko snorted quietly. Matt thought he was the brains? So what would he be doing this minute? Telling old Jocko to sort this bloke out, that’s what. Give the word and take a giant step back.

  Jocko was watching this Haines. Oh yeah. Watching him make all the mistakes.

  And he had just made a big one.

  Val spied the rushing hulk a split second before impact. The simple fact that Val’s senses were on hyperalert granted him just enough time to step back from the door. Or try to.

  The attacker’s strength was shocking. Clearly he had intended to pin Val between the steel door and the bulkhead, breaking Val’s ribs and halting him in his tracks. Instead, the door’s glancing blow blasted Val back three paces. The door struck the side wall with the force of a cannonade.

  Val could have caught himself on the top stair with the railing for a brake. But he let himself fall. In fact, he used the railing as a slide, stumbling backwards down the nine steps. He hit the bottom landing and sprawled. But the guy was already thundering down from overhead. Val did a crabwise backwards crawl down the corridor.

  His foe leapt down the final three steps. The narrow passage made his bulk even more monstrous.

  A side door opened. A woman in uniform peered out. She gaped at Val’s panic-stricken crawl, then spotted the massive intruder. She started to scream.

  The attacker heaved her back with an open-palmed punch to her chest. His strength was such that he catapulted her across the chamber and slammed her against the far wall.

  The attacker peered in the open door, a single instant to ensure she wasn’t able to give him trouble. Val took this as his only hope for escape. He clawed his way to his feet and raced down the hall.

  The thunder behind him added wings to his flight.


  The door at the hall’s end opened. The young officer stepped into view. Val ducked down and slipped past the man and through the doorway.

  On the other side was open space and noise. The landing was metal and about four feet square. A spiral staircase headed downwards. Val ignored the shout behind him, gripped the rails with both hands, and hit every fifth step.

  Above him, the officer’s second shout cut off abruptly. Val leapt over the railing and dropped the final ten steps. He landed upon a catwalk that ran the entire length of the ship. To either side roared a giant pair of turbine engines painted a monochrome green. They bellowed a constant note.

  The metal catwalk bounced like a trampoline beneath Val’s feet when the attacker landed. Val did not risk a glance backwards. He knew the man was closing. Val pounded down the metal road.

  Up ahead, a mechanic in greasy overalls talked to the senior officer Val had seen by the upstairs doorway. They peered at some valve or meter. The mechanic looked up, spied Val racing toward them, and shouted a warning.

  These men were far more experienced than the younger officer. They spread out in a flanking pattern, barring his progress.

  Val leapt up and over the metal railing. He hit the lip of the motor, a narrow ledge running down the entire side with bolts protruding like painted traps. The machine’s vibrations almost knocked him off his feet. Val could not maneuver on that tight strip. He did the only thing that came to mind, which was to climb the motor’s rounded hump to the top.

  The motor’s tremors traveled up through his hands and legs. They rattled his vision. The two crewmen yelled at him and at the bruiser who was scrambling across the catwalk railing.

  The mechanic raced forward and grabbed the attacker’s leg. The bigger man kicked him, a casual motion as if he were shaking off a pest. The mechanic went down hard.

  The senior officer turned away from both Val and the bruiser and raced down the catwalk. Val kept going in the same direction, hoping for a diversion. The vibrating motor felt like a galloping metal horse. He was threatened with falling into an abyss of pumping iron and oily darkness.