Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies

by F. Paul Wilson

  "Are you as bored as I am?" Jack said looking at Alicia.

  She nodded.

  "Then, let's speed this up."

  He grabbed a box of photos and started tossing them into the flames.

  Alicia watched them blaze and turn to ash. And then there were no more.

  "All right," Jack said. "That does it for this box. Any more?"

  Thomas shook his head. "No."

  "There'd better not be," Jack said, jabbing a finger at his face. "Because if I ever find out you held something back—"

  "That's all. I swear."

  Alicia jumped as she felt Jack take hold of her upper arm, but she let him guide her away from the fire.

  "Good. Then, we're done with you."

  "That's it?" she heard Thomas saying as they walked up the slope away from the river. "You drag me out here and squeeze me for information, and that's it? What do I get?"

  "You get to warm your hands," Jack said without looking back.

  "Doesn't matter that they're burned," he called. "You can burn all the paper you want, but it means nothing." His voice rose to a shout as they moved farther away. "Ever hear of the Internet, Alicia? We're on it. In lots of private places. And you know what? We're stars, Alicia. How do you like that? We're stars!"

  Alicia pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.

  Beside her she heard Jack say, "Excuse me. I think I forgot something. Be right back."

  Fighting the nausea bubbling just below her sternum, Alicia kept walking, breathing deeply. She didn't turn around to see what he'd forgotten. She hoped it was nothing tangible…

  15.

  Yoshio watched Jack-san and the Clayton woman walk up to Eighth Avenue and turn downtown. He would have given much to have been able to overhear their conversation with the brother.

  He followed them, slipping from shadow to shadow.

  Perhaps I'm being overcautious, he thought.

  Dressed as he was, he doubted Jack-san would recognize him even in full daylight. He had considered disguising himself as a sidewalk Santa. That might have worked in the more crowded streets, but would have made him more noticeable elsewhere. Reluctantly, he had settled on this alternative.

  Still, he would take no chances. Watching the brother's house had been a long shot, but had paid off handsomely, and he wasn't going to squander this opportunity.

  Now… if he could just keep up with them until they reached the place where one or both were staying. He was prepared to follow them anywhere, and with this disguise, even a subway trip would not deter him.

  Only walking posed a problem…

  Because these high heels were killing him.

  16.

  "Jack!" Gia said as he opened her front door. "What are you doing here?"

  "Can I come in?"

  "Sure."

  She wore a quilted robe over a long flannel nightgown. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jack wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Gia returned the embrace and they stood entwined in her foyer for a long time.

  "I needed this tonight, Gia," he said, absorbing her warmth. "Really needed it."

  "What's the matter? What happened?"

  "Stuff," he said. "Please don't ask me to talk about it."

  After their nice little chat with her sweetheart of a brother, Jack had taken Alicia back to the town house, then he'd headed straight for home. But after a few subway stops, he'd changed his mind. He made a couple of unnecessary transfers to make sure he wasn't being tailed, then walked down Fifty-eighth to Gia's place on Sutton Square. She'd finally given up her apartment and moved into the elegant town house Vicky had inherited from her aunts.

  He'd found that session with Alicia on the other side of town far more harrowing than some of the tight spots he'd got himself into over the years. Jack saw a lot of the underside of city life here, but he'd only heard about what Alicia had been through. And all the while as he'd sat there watching her shred those pictures and negatives and talking ninety miles an hour, he'd kept wondering if she might go blooey and start jamming her fingers into the shredder. But she'd held it together.

  The whole thing had exhausted Jack, though.

  Seeing those pictures, being in the same room with Thomas Clayton… the whole thing had left him feeling dirty. Pounding on the bastard's face a few times had helped him feel a little better, but Jack felt he couldn't end the day without seeing Gia.

  He heard running footsteps and a little voice crying, "Jack-Jack-Jack!"

  Vicky.

  "What're you doing up?" he said, breaking free of Gia to catch Vicky as she leaped into his arms.

  "Christmas vacation started today," she said. She threw her arms around his neck. "No school tomorrow! Isn't that neat?"

  "As neat as can be," he said, hugging her.

  He couldn't help but think of how Alicia had been about Vicky's age when her father… If anyone ever even thought of trying—' "Jack, you're holding me too tight," Vicky said.

  "Sorry." He loosened his grip and stared at her innocent face. A sob nestled in his throat. His voice sounded thick as he pushed his words past it. "I just missed you, is all, and I can't tell you how glad I am you're up."

  "She's got A Charlie Brown Christmas on for the umpteenth time," Gia said, watching him closely.

  Still holding Vicky, Jack put an arm around Gia and pulled her close. Her sky-blue eyes asked if he was all right.

  Jack shrugged and nodded. He was fine. His ladies, the two most important people in the world, were here with him, where he could watch over them and keep them safe. Everything was fine.

  "Can I watch A Charlie Brown Christmas with you guys?" he said.

  Vicky clapped her hands. "Yay!"

  "Not again," Gia said, rolling her eyes.

  "If nothing else, you've gotta love the music." They followed the scampering Vicky down the walnut-paneled halls to the library. Gia hadn't changed the place much yet, except maybe for removing the antimacassars from the velvet chairs. It took a whole twenty minutes of sitting snuggled between Gia and Vicky on an overstuffed settee before Jack felt clean enough to doze off.

  17.

  "So," Kemel said. "You've had all day to find out who this man is, and you have no idea."

  Sam Baker looked flustered as Kemel watched him pace back and forth in the living room of his apartment. And well he should. He deserved to be more than flustered; he should look dejected and suicidally ashamed. Not only had he been made to look foolish by this nameless stranger, his bloated bonus was in serious jeopardy.

  "It's like the guy doesn't fucking exist."

  "Oh, he exists, Mr. Baker. The few remaining survivors of your team can attest to that."

  "Yeah, but a guy with those kind of finely honed chops should have a rep, a name, a signature. People like me, or people I know, should have heard of him. He's obviously a merc, and if he's a merc, I should know him. Guys like that don't appear out of nowhere. They don't pop onto the street full grown. They gotta come up through the ranks. But not this guy. He's like some kinda ghost, coming out of the woodwork, fucking things up, then disappearing."

  "I do not care about his name," Kemel said, controlling his anger. This man was such a fool. Why hadn't Nazer assigned him someone more competent? "I merely want you to deal with him."

  "Can't deal with him if I can't find him."

  "Perhaps he will find you."

  He caught a flash of uncertainty before Baker's expression hardened. "I'm ready for him. I see him, he's dead."

  "Let us hope so," Kemel said, and turned away.

  He had spent an anxiety-ridden day, monitoring the news—a radio or television on in every room—waiting to hear the dreaded announcement of a revolutionary new power source that would change the world. But he had heard nothing. What was the American expression? No news is good news. Yes, in this case, that was most certainly so.

  And the longer the span of no news, the better.

  Dare I hope? he'd wondered.
<
br />   If Alicia Clayton had proof of something so awe-inspiring as her father's technology, surely she would be acting on it. Surely she would be trumpeting it to the world.

  The longer the silence, the more likely that she and her hireling—her "merc," as Baker called him—had found nothing in the house.

  Kemel had spent the day fasting, praying that it was so. And then, wonderful news. A call from Gordon Haffner saying he had heard from the Clayton woman's attorney and the sale of the house was proceeding.

  Kemel had been jubilant. Now he could return to Riyadh and help extricate Ghali from the criminal charges against him.

  But then suspicion had reared its head like a desert rat. What if her desire to proceed with the sale was a ruse, a ploy to dupe him into dropping his guard? Kemel had checked with Baker, who had been busy disposing of the bodies of his men, and instructed him to use the transponder in the Clayton woman's handbag to track her movements. So far she had not left her workplace.

  Perhaps she truly meant to sell the house after all. Ten million dollars was, after all, ten mill—

  The phone rang. Kemel answered it and recognized Thomas Clayton's voice, although it sounded more nasal than usual.

  "They were here!" he said. "They know!"

  Fear sank its cold talons into Kemel's shoulders. "Who? Who knows?"

  "Alicia and her bully boy. He broke my goddamn nose!"

  "You said, 'they know.' What do they know?"

  "Everything! More than we do!"

  The room spun. Everything! Oh, no. This could not be. Allah, please—

  "The transmitter?"

  "No. I don't think they have that. At least not yet. But I've got a bad feeling they may know a way to find it. What do we do?"

  Kemel closed his eyes and reached for calmness, found the hem of its thobe, and clutched it.

  "I will tell you soon."

  He hung up and gave Baker a quick summary, omitting, as usual, the nature of what they sought.

  "Simple enough," the mercenary said. "We go get the girl and make her tell us. And believe me—let me at her, and she'll talk."

  Kemel closed his eyes again. This man was such an idiot.

  "What if she doesn't know how to find what we seek?" he said softly. "That will surely change her mind about selling the house. And what if her hireling is there and disables what few men you have left? What if, in your infinite clumsiness, you kill her before you learn what we need to know?"

  "Hey, listen. I—"

  "No. You will not touch her. But you will use the transponder to track her. If she makes any move to leave the city, you will inform me and together we will follow her. Together. Is that clear?"

  "Yeah, but—"

  "IS… THAT… CLEAR?" Kemel shouted the words.

  "Clear," Baker said.

  "Good. Start tracking her immediately. And keep me informed."

  He turned back to the window and stared unseeing at the night. He asked Allah to forgive him for the instant of doubt when he thought his God had deserted him. Now he saw Allah's plan. Alicia Clayton was His instrument, and would guide Kemel to her father's secret. Praise Allah.

  THURSDAY

  1.

  Yoshio shrank back and hurriedly swallowed the last of his sausage-and-egg Croissan'wich as he recognized Jack-san in the blue Taurus pulling into the curb across the street.

  After following him and Alicia Clayton back to this elegant town house last night, Yoshio had assumed that this was where Jack-san lived. But then he had seen the ronin leave moments later. He had tried to follow but, hampered by the woman's clothing, he had been unable to keep up with him. He had lost him in the confusion of Fourteenth Street.

  So he had quickly returned to his own car near Thomas Clayton's apartment building and moved it to a position across the street from the town house. He had changed back to his usual attire and had spent the night here.

  And now Jack-san was quite obviously taking Alicia Clayton someplace. Yoshio was guessing that no romance existed between them, otherwise Jack-san would have stayed here last night. Therefore they were not meeting merely to share each other's company. They must have a purpose in mind, and that purpose most surely involved the Clayton technology.

  And just as surely, that purpose was taking them out of the city. Else, why the car?

  How could Yoshio follow them into the suburbs or the countryside without being seen? Jack-san knew him and would be looking for him. And yet he had to risk it. He sensed that after months of waiting and watching, his mission here finally was coming to a head.

  He wished he had thought to call and arrange for backup, but he dared not get more people involved at this juncture. The situation was too delicate.

  He watched Jack enter the house. Yoshio was desperate. And desperate situations sometimes called for desperate measures…

  2.

  "I figure we head up the West Side, catch the Saw Mill, cross the Tappan Zee, and continue up the thruway," Jack said as he put the Taurus in gear. The dashboard clock read 10:33. The morning rush hour would be petering out about now. "Unless you know a better way."

  Alicia shrugged. "Whatever gets us there."

  Jack looked at her. He'd never figured her for a barrel of laughs, but this morning she seemed more down, more subdued than usual.

  "You okay with this?" he said.

  "Yeah," she said with a too-vigorous nod. "I'm fine. I'm just…" She let the word hang.

  "Just what?"

  She sighed. "Just sorry you had to get stuck listening to me yesterday. That wasn't in the job description."

  Tell me about it, he thought, but said, "It's okay. Don't give it another thought."

  "That's just it—I can't stop thinking about it. I've spent too many years not thinking about those pictures, or at least trying my damnedest not to. I sealed up that little girl and the reality of what happened to her behind an inner wall, but try as I might I couldn't forget. Knowing those pictures existed, knowing that I was still being passed from one pervert's grubby hands to another's sickened me. I was damned if I was going to let that define me, but it sure as hell has haunted me. It's been a dissonant, ominous background music to my everyday life. But after all these years, last night was the first time I was able to talk about it. And I know it made you uncomfortable."

  "Well… yeah."

  Sexual abuse of a child… hearing about it from the victim… uncomfortable barely touched how something so awful and so wrenchingly intimate made him feel.

  "But you've got to understand, Jack, that I've never been able to share this with another soul. I've never had close friends because I never felt I could be honest with them. To tell the truth, I couldn't bear to hear them talk about their families, especially about the fathers who were so special to them. Every time I heard somebody talk lovingly about their 'daddy,' I wanted to scream. Even now, when I think of how this flesh is half his, I want to rip it off my bones. I kept asking myself, why couldn't I have had a father like theirs, one who cherished me, who would have willingly died protecting me? But you've seen the pictures, Jack—" , "Some of them," he said quickly. "Just a few."

  "Even one was enough. It meant you knew. And everything I've been holding back broke free. As I said, I'm sorry."

  "And as I said, it's okay. I hope it helped."

  "It did. For a while. For a few moments last night as the negatives were going through the shredder, and later as the collection was dropping into the fire, I felt free. It was a… wonderful sensation. But Thomas's Parthain shot about the Internet brought me back to reality. I see now I'll never be free."

  "Never is a long time," Jack said, cringing at his triteness, but not knowing what else to say. He wasn't a therapist, and he didn't know how to stop Alicia from going where she was headed.

  "Well, as long as copies of those pictures are being traded back and forth along the pedophile networks, either through the mails or zapped through the Internet as GIFs and JPEGs, as long as I know that a single picture of m
e is circulating, it will never be over. Sure, easy to say 'get over it' or 'get past it' or 'let it go'… but how can I do that when I know that even as we speak some slimy pervert could be ogling images of me doing… those things? How can I leave the events in the past when the pictures remain in the present?"

  Jack could only nod. She was right. Those images were an ongoing violation that would continue even after she was dead.

  "He still has power over me, damn him!" she said, her voice rising. "How do I break that? How?"

  That was a problem Jack had no idea how to fix.

  "Speaking of him," Jack said, hoping to steer the subject back to the purpose of their trip, "why do you think he left the technology to you? Could he have been trying to"… how did he say this?… "make it up to you in some way?"

  A soft bark of a laugh, then: "Not a chance. That would require remorse. Ronald Clayton didn't know the meaning of the word. No, leaving me the house and the clue to the technology was as self-serving as everything else he did in his life. He knew that Thomas would bury it, and he didn't want that. So he put it in my hands, absolutely certain that I wouldn't go along with Thomas." She slammed her fist on the dashboard. "You see? He's still doing it. Still using me, damn him! Damn him!"

  3.

  "What's wrong?" Alicia said. "Why are we stopping?"

  They'd cruised north on the thruway with no problems, and no sign—at least so far as she could tell—of anyone following them. Most of the trip since they'd left the city had passed in silence.

  My doing, she thought. She'd awakened this morning feeling tired and drained, and didn't feel much better now. She didn't feel like talking anymore, and she was pretty sure that was okay by Jack.

  So now they'd just paid the toll at the New Paltz exit, and Jack was pulling over to one of the phones in the plaza past the toll booths.

  "Want to get my bearings," he said. "And I want to make sure no one's on our tail."

  Alicia sat in the car while Jack faked a phone call and scratched hurried notes on a small spiral pad as he watched the cars pulling away from the toll booths. Not much traffic this time of day on a Thursday in December.