Oscar shifted the Rover into gear and they began to drive away.
Martin glanced out the rear window at the four men on the porch. They watched his departure, as still and as inhuman as garden statues. Suddenly, one of the statues moved.
It was Carver, raising his middle finger and laughing.
CHAPTER 80
The blue Land Rover bounced and rocked as it pushed forward through the sun-dappled woods.
Except for the rumble of the engine and the creak and rattle of its frame, the Land Rover’s interior was uncomfortably quiet.
Martin gazed out at the scrolling wilderness, but his thoughts were back home with Anna. He knew that Anna would take his death hard and that the pregnancy would make it even harder, but Anna was strong. She was also sensible. He was confident that, for the sake of the baby, Anna would pull herself together and go on living. Knowing that Glen and Lisa would be there to help also gave Martin a measure of comfort. And then of course, there was Dr. Kasim’s promise. Martin didn’t give a damn about the financial benefits of the doctor’s vow—Anna earned a decent living as a registered nurse—he only cared that Anna and his child would be safe from harm.
Nearly twenty minutes into the trip, the silence was finally broken. Damon turned to Oscar and asked to know their destination.
“The river,” Oscar replied, without taking his eyes off the terrain ahead. They were traveling off-road now, weaving around trees and plowing through dense stands of bushes. “I have a location picked out about a mile north of where we usually cross.”
Martin had restrained himself from asking any questions, but now that the subject had been broached and his death was already a foregone conclusion, he figured he had nothing else to lose. “So that’s how I die? Drowning?”
Oscar’s eyes met Martin’s in the rearview mirror. Martin could feel the overseer assessing his mettle, judging if the prisoner was prepared to hear his fate. When Oscar answered, he was still fixed on Martin’s reflection. The moment was as intimate as if the two men were in the car alone. “It’ll be a rafting accident,” Oscar said, then his focus returned to the road. “Raft overturned, you got swept downriver, lost your helmet, head smashed on rocks, and then, yes, tragically, you drowned.” Oscar glanced again at Martin in the rearview mirror. “Any other questions?”
“Jesus,” Damon muttered, drawing a stare from Oscar.
The details of his imminent murder didn’t frighten Martin so much as plant a seed of uncertainty. The scenario concocted by Oscar would probably satisfy most people, but Martin had serious doubts that Anna would buy it. Anna was a world champion worrier. Sometimes Martin found this personality quirk adorable and, other times, impossible to deal with. It was Anna’s fretting that had led to her suspicions about Donald Jackson’s death, and judging from Dr. Kasim’s photo, she still hadn’t let it go. The news of Martin’s death in a similar manner would only fuel Anna’s worries. Chances were good that after the initial blow, she would begin poking around and asking inconvenient questions. The more Martin thought about it, the more certain he became that, as far as Anna was concerned, the official story would not work.
But Dr. Kasim and Oscar had to know that. Why then would they proceed with such a risky plan if they knew that it would lead to more trouble from Anna? Unless—
As the Land Rover carried him closer and closer to what would be his final destination, the truth hit Martin like a fist. Dr. Kasim had lied to him. The moment Anna showed up at Donald Jackson’s widow’s house, she was already marked for death. The only reason they hadn’t killed her yet was timing. If Martin and Anna were to perish within days of each other, in two completely unrelated incidents, the coincidence would be too big to ignore. Considering the people involved, the media attention would be off the charts. No, the smarter approach would be to kill Martin first, then a couple weeks later stage Anna’s suicide. The pregnant widow, in a state of paranoia and deep depression, slits her wrists or overdoses on sleeping pills. Martin realized with rising horror that he wasn’t sacrificing himself to save Anna and his child. In fact, the very opposite was true. He was about to become an unwitting collaborator in the murder of his family.
The Land Rover struck a large bump that bounced the vehicle violently. The jarring motion seemed to shake free the sense of hopelessness that had settled over Martin. By the time the truck had resumed its firm and steady ride, a new purpose had been sparked within him.
He had to try to escape.
The vehicle was jolted by another bump in the road. Martin took the opportunity to glance at the two guards on either side of him. Their shoulder-holstered weapons were within his reach, but the tight quarters presented a problem. Even if Martin lunged for a gun, the guards would overwhelm him in an instant. He wouldn’t even get a chance to fire one shot.
No, he had to think of something else.
The rising roar of water and the appearance of the river through the trees directly ahead filled Martin with a knot of dread. Time was running out.
Oscar brought the Land Rover to a stop in a small natural clearing about fifty yards from the sloping riverbank and ordered everyone to get out. The two guards stuck close to Martin as he climbed out the rear door. The sound of rushing water was louder now, and the air was thick with moisture. Martin did his best to scan the immediate area without appearing too interested. He considered making a run for it, but the densely wooded terrain didn’t lend itself to a brisk escape. In a flat-out chase, Oscar and his two goons would have a sporting time hunting Martin down like a fleeing animal.
Martin noticed Damon watching him. He wasn’t sure if the cunning attorney could sense his scheming or if Damon was just morbidly curious to see how the condemned man would march to the gallows.
Oscar directed everyone to the back of the vehicle, where he swung up the tailgate door. There were two identical black duffel bags in the rear cargo area, and nothing else. Oscar grabbed one of the bags and tossed it to Martin’s feet. “Take off everything but your shirt and underwear,” he said, “and put on what’s in the bag. Don’t take all day.” Then, to Damon, “And you, give him a hand.” Finally Oscar turned to the two guards and told them that he’d be right back.
Both Martin and Damon watched, puzzled, as Oscar hiked off into the woods in the direction of the river. Martin tried to follow Oscar’s path, but the foliage was too thick.
“All right, you heard him,” Jamel barked at Martin. “Hurry up and get changed.”
Martin zipped open the duffel bag to reveal a blue-and-gray jacket and matching pair of pants. The outfit resembled a tracksuit, but the slick waterproof material and the crisscrossed paddle logo on the jacket told him that it was rafting gear. There were paddling gloves, neoprene boots, and an orange life jacket inside the bag as well, everything Martin needed to look the part of an unlucky rafter. As he looked at the items in the bag, another thought struck Martin. He had everything he needed to make an escape by leaping into the river. From his crossing two days ago he knew that rapids were treacherous, so his chance of survival would be small, but at least he’d have a chance.
“I said hurry up, not take inventory,” Jamel said to Martin.
Martin stripped down to his shirt and briefs and began to slip into the rafting gear. Damon, meanwhile, with nothing to do but observe, took a seat on the Rover’s rear bumper. The tailgate door was still open. As Martin completed suiting up, he caught Damon doing something peculiar. When the guards weren’t watching, Damon glanced over at the second black duffel bag that was still in the Rover’s cargo area. This wasn’t merely a glance of passing curiosity; this was an intense laser beam of a stare. And Martin noticed something else about Damon’s gaze. His eyes held that fearful spark that Martin had seen earlier, when Damon had first climbed into the Land Rover.
When Damon turned back to face Martin, he wasn’t really looking at Martin at all. He was staring uneasily at the rafting gear t
hat Martin now wore, as if the garment possessed some sort of malevolent quality.
Suddenly, Martin understood.
Damon Darrell was worried that Martin Grey wouldn’t be the only victim of an unfortunate drowning that day. Damon was worried that the second black duffel bag in the Rover was for him. He was the one who vouched for Martin and brought him to Forty Acres. Even if Damon and Martin weren’t in collusion, Damon was still responsible for putting Dr. Kasim’s fiefdom in jeopardy. It made perfect sense that the punishment for such a transgression would be more severe than just a ride-along in the woods.
Damon was scared.
Martin realized that Damon’s drive for self-preservation could smother his anger and turn Damon into the ally he desperately needed. Working together, they’d have a far better chance of escaping. But could Martin really win Damon over to his side? If Martin played it wrong, and Damon betrayed him, any chance of escape would be blown. Still, Martin had to try. Damon was smart and had keen instincts. He had to see the writing on the wall. And there was also their friendship. Seeing tears in Damon’s eyes earlier on the porch had surprised Martin. Despite everything that had happened, Martin now knew that, before Forty Acres, he and Damon had formed a genuine bond. Maybe, just maybe, that would make all the difference.
While he pretended to make final adjustments to his outfit, Martin caught Damon’s eye. He held Damon with a hard, steady stare, overtly shifted his gaze to the remaining duffel bag, then returned his stare to Damon again. This was a silent statement that he hoped could only be interpreted one way: You’re next.
Martin held his breath.
Damon displayed no reaction at first; he just stared back at Martin for a few tense seconds. Then he stood up, took a few slow steps forward, and squared off with Martin. He frowned in Martin’s face and shook his head with utter contempt. “Good try, asshole,” he said.
“What was that?” Oscar asked, stepping suddenly from the woods into the clearing. The sharp words had also drawn the attention of the two guards. All eyes were on Damon, waiting for an answer.
Oscar’s eyes shifted between the two lawyers before settling on Damon. “Well, apparently I missed something. What was it?”
Martin tensed, expecting Damon to give him up, but Damon only shook his head. “It was nothing,” he said. Then, in an effort to change the subject, Damon asked Oscar about his brief disappearance.
Oscar clearly wasn’t convinced by Damon’s sidestepping, but whatever had occurred between the two men didn’t seem important enough to waste time on. “I just went to pick the best spot,” he explained to Damon. “Better than all five of us wandering along the river.”
Oscar gave Martin’s attire a quick perusal. He nodded with approval. “Good job, Mr. Grey.”
“Please make sure Dr. Kasim knows that,” Martin replied. “He made me a promise.”
Oscar did not acknowledge Martin’s plea. He grabbed the second duffel bag from the back of the Rover, shut the tailgate, and said to the guards, “Bring him and follow me.”
As Oscar moved to the head of the group, Martin caught Damon staring at that duffel bag. Deciding to risk it again, Martin flashed Damon another alarmed look.
Damon rejected Martin’s warning with a scowl, but as the group set off for the river, Damon hung back.
“Hey, Oscar, hold on,” Damon said. “I think I’m going to stay here with the truck.”
Oscar turned and leveled a disapproving stare.
“I know what the doctor wants,” Damon said, “but I just don’t have the stomach for this. I’ll explain it to him when we get back.”
Damon’s excuse had zero effect on Oscar’s cool stare. “Mr. Darrell,” he said, “you have no idea what Dr. Kasim wants. If you refuse to follow the doctor’s instructions, you will never be welcome at Forty Acres again.”
“What?” Damon said. “I can’t believe the doctor would say that.”
“Believe what you want, Mr. Darrell. Are you coming or not?”
Damon floundered indecisively; then his eyes dropped to the duffel bag in Oscar’s grip. He pointed at it. “Tell me something—what’s in that bag?”
Oscar shook his head wearily. Finally he sighed and said, “I see you’ve made your decision. How unfortunate. Very well, wait here until we return.”
There was a fleeting instant of eye contact between Martin and Damon, then one of the guards nudged Martin forward. “Let’s go. Move.” Flanked by the two guards, Martin began to trail after Oscar toward the river.
Damon, his face a mask of confusion, watched the departing group like a man balanced on a precipice. Should he take a chance and leap forward or make the safer choice and stay back?
“Shit!” Damon cursed at the universe, then he hurried to catch up with Oscar and the group.
CHAPTER 81
Martin stood at the edge of a steep embankment staring thirty feet down at the rushing river below. The roar of the green water surging around jutting boulders and rock outcroppings was thunderous. The crashing rapids threw off a ceaseless spray that coated Martin’s face. Although he shed no tears, the moisture on his cheeks made him feel as if he were crying.
Martin’s plan would not work.
Oscar had picked the perfect spot to prevent escape. If Martin tried to leap into the river from where he stood, he’d fall to a crushing death on the rocks below.
Out of options, Martin knew he was about to die.
Oscar and Damon stood facing Martin, the duffel bag resting on the damp ground between them. The two guards, Jamel and Russell, stood directly behind him.
Oscar brushed away beads of moisture from his face and raised his voice above the roaring river. “You need to say anything?”
Martin didn’t reply. He just looked for Damon’s eyes. Damon dropped his gaze, whether from shame or from malice, Martin wasn’t sure.
A stone slightly bigger than a softball lay in the mud nearby. There were no similar stones in the area, so Martin guessed that Oscar, during his disappearance earlier, had placed it there in preparation for this moment.
Oscar pointed to the stone and said to Jamel, “If you don’t mind.”
Jamel hoisted the stone. It was heavy, but just small enough for the muscular guard to palm with one hand.
Martin tensed as Jamel raised the stone and took a step in his direction.
“No,” Oscar said. “Give the stone to Mr. Darrell.”
“What?” Damon stared at Oscar like he was out of his mind.
Oscar deflected Damon’s outrage with an unflappable stare. “Please take the stone and use it to crush Mr. Grey’s skull. Dr. Kasim wants you to prove your loyalty.”
“Prove my loyalty?”
“You vouched for the traitor. Certainly, you can understand how that makes you suspect as well.”
“No, I don’t understand,” Damon said, “and I’m not doing it. No fucking way! I’m going back to the truck.”
Damon turned to walk away. Oscar shot Russell a look. The guard pulled his gun, cocked the slide, and raised the weapon to fire. The sound of the chambering weapon was enough to freeze Damon in his tracks.
As Damon pivoted back toward Oscar, he glanced at Martin; the brief eye contact seemed to finally break through Damon’s wall of anger. Martin saw a glimpse of his old friend . . . and a flash of regret.
Damon fixed a knowing glare on Oscar, pointed to the black duffel bag. “That’s for me, isn’t it?”
Oscar sighed. He almost appeared bored by Damon’s resistance. “Just do what the doctor asks, Mr. Darrell. You’ll save everyone a lot of trouble, and most importantly, you’ll save yourself.” Oscar signaled Jamel, who stepped forward and held the murder weapon out to Damon.
Watching as Damon stared at the stone, Martin saw something that drained away his last drop of hope. He saw Damon’s face hardening. He saw fear and reluctance and that
flash of regret giving way to steely resolve.
“Be smart,” Oscar urged Damon. “Take it.”
Martin saw Damon’s chest inflate with forced courage. Then Damon reached out with both hands and took hold of the stone.
Oscar nodded ever so slightly. “Good. Now, one hard strike across the skull, that’s all. Then you’ll be done.”
Damon looked at Martin. His face was void of emotion.
Martin realized that the individual facing him was no longer the Damon Darrell he knew; he was a desperate man forced into a corner. He was a killer.
Raising the heavy stone, Damon began to step toward Martin. Martin backpedaled, his heart hammering. He froze when he felt the edge of the embankment underfoot.
Within striking distance and holding the stone high overhead, Damon said, “Turn around.”
Martin, stiff with fear, shook his head. “No,” he said. His defiant eyes burned into Damon. “You do this, you do it to my face.”
What happened next had the brief effect of short-circuiting Martin’s mind. Damon smiled at him. His murderous stare was gone, and he was flashing that devilish smile of his. “I screwed up,” he whispered, and before Martin could get a word out, he shouted, “Run!”
Damon whirled and slammed the stone into Russell’s temple. The guard’s skull bloomed blood and he went down in a heap, gun toppling from his limp hand. Damon whipped back around and charged Jamel. The rock smashed into his nose before the guard could free his weapon from its holster.
“Go, go, go!” Damon screamed at Martin as he spun in Oscar’s direction.
Oscar already had his gun out. Martin watched in horror as the overseer pumped round after round into the charging Damon. But momentum still carried Damon forward far enough to send him hurtling headlong into Oscar. Both men went crashing to the ground in a tangle. The sight of Oscar shoving aside Damon’s limp, bloody body while taking aim snapped Martin into action.
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