Black Jack

by Diane Capri

  “You already know something is going on at the Garrison house tonight, I assume. Cooper sent me the video. Three actors. All did things at the house.”

  “Three?” Finlay’s voice became clipped and stern.

  “Yep,” she replied. Curiously, he seemed more surprised by the number of actors than their presence. Had he sent them?

  “When did this happen?”

  “Less than an hour ago.”

  “I’ll call you back,” he said and hung up.

  Jodie smiled. “He’s a chatty one, isn’t he?”

  “Sometimes. But not tonight.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Monday, January 31

  4:02 a.m.

  Garrison, New York

  As the pilot set the helicopter down, Gaspar noticed a guy jump into the SUV in the driveway and speed south. Where was he going in such a hurry?

  The rotor blades slowed and quieted. A minute or so later, Deerfield’s limo came around the curve, and the driver mashed the grabbers. The back end of the limo fishtailed, but it stayed between the snow bunkers and stopped before hitting the helo.

  The driver got out first. Houston Brice. He trudged across the snowy pavement, sliding here and there until he reached the helo’s door and stepped inside.

  “What’s going on here? We need to get into that house,” Brice was antsy, nervous. Perspiration popped out on his forehead and upper lip, even in the cold.

  Gaspar tried to neutralize his feelings toward the dweeb, but the guy was so easy to dislike on sight.

  “You have Deerfield with you?” When Brice nodded, Gaspar said, “My orders are to discuss the situation with him personally.”

  Brice replied, “Come into the house. We can talk there. It’s warmer. There’s coffee.”

  Like a guest invited to dinner, Gaspar said drolly, “Thanks, but I can’t stay. I have a message for Deerfield, and after I deliver it, I’ll be on my way.”

  Brice seemed nonplussed. “Uh, look. Deerfield is my father-in-law. And my boss. I really can’t just go over there and tell him I tried to reason with you and you said no.”

  “Why not? That’s the truth.” Gaspar cocked his head. “Look, Brice, this isn’t your problem. It’s his. He can solve it. I’d have done this over at West Point, but he knew I was coming and ducked out ahead of me. So now I’m waiting here.”

  Brice took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

  He stepped out of the helo and walked back to the limo. He opened the rear passenger door, talked for a few moments. Then he stood aside, and Alan Deerfield stepped out.

  Brice stayed with the car and Deerfield walked toward the helo. He’d taken about three steps in the snow when Gaspar heard the crack of gunfire and saw Deerfield’s head bounce sideways before he went down. Brice ducked behind the limo’s engine block half-a-moment before another shot came from the area behind the house.

  The helo pilot started the rotors while two more rounds kept Brice hiding behind the vehicle. He looked desperately at Gaspar as if he might try to bolt for the helo. Gaspar waved him over. Brice didn’t move.

  The shooter was standing near the hedges on the north property line of the house. Gaspar saw a couple of sparks in the darkness.

  The pilot said, “We’ve gotta go. Is he coming?”

  Gaspar waved Brice aboard again, but Brice shook his head. Gaspar couldn’t get over there and drag him back. If he didn’t come on his own now, maybe he could drive out after the helo moved.

  The pilot said, “Well?”

  Gaspar pointed his thumb and jerked it up a couple of times. He fastened his harness and stared into the dark hedge looking for the shooter as the pilot lifted the helo up and away, toward Manhattan.

  Over the roar of the blades, he heard more gunfire. When he looked down again, he saw Brice dead on the ground near Deerfield, blood soaked across the snow like a thirsty sponge.

  Two men ran away from the hedge that served as the sniper’s nest, full out toward the snowmobiles near the river.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw a huge man standing near the opposite corner of the property, nowhere near where the shooter must have stood.

  As he watched them, in the foreground a monstrous explosion roared to the sky when the Garrison house exploded, shoving the helo higher and harder through the air.

  From his position above the billowing orange cloud, Gaspar saw the two men reach the snowmobiles and jump aboard.

  When they started their engines, both snowmobiles exploded, one a half moment sooner than the other. Body parts were thrust off the seats into the icy cold river.

  He swiveled his head and peered directly toward the huge man standing in the shadows. He saw only darkness now. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, but nothing changed. Maybe no one had been there at all, and only a trick of the firelight made it seem so, but Gaspar didn’t believe that and neither would Otto.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Monday, January 31

  4:02 a.m.

  Garrison, New York

  Poulton had watched the helicopter land, blocking the road north of the driveway. The only way out of there was to the south. If anyone else had pulled into the driveway behind his SUV, he’d have had no escape route at all.

  Before the helicopter settled completely, he’d tossed his weapons into the passenger seat of the SUV and jumped into the driver’s seat. He’d thrown the transmission into reverse and accelerated fast out of the driveway. At the road, he’d turned south, high beam headlights breaking a wide trail in the dark.

  He’d traveled about a mile when Farid Petrosian’s house exploded into the night sky like an atom bomb in a snowy desert. The blast rocked the big SUV on its springs, but Poulton kept going. The first explosion was followed by two more—smaller ones close together.

  He looked into his mirrors to see behind him. The Mercedes was still stuck in the snow bank. He couldn’t see the helicopter or anything else around the big bend in the road.

  “Whoop! You are one lucky bastard, you know that, Reed?” He shouted inside the cabin, like a reflex. Shocked to be unharmed. His whole body shook with equal parts terror and relief.

  If he was back there, Reacher had to be dead. Which was just fine with him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Monday, January 31

  4:10 a.m.

  Garrison, New York

  Kim rolled her shoulders. She’d been sitting in the uncomfortable position behind the wheel for too long. She’d be glad to get out and move around.

  “Not much farther. Maybe another couple of miles after we go around that next bend,” Jodie said.

  “Good to know,” Kim said.

  Before they reached the curve, an explosion ripped through the quiet night. Bright orange light projected high in the sky up ahead. Two smaller explosions followed almost immediately.

  Jodie gasped, and her hands flew to cover her mouth. Kim didn’t say what they were both thinking. The men they’d seen on the video must have rigged the Petrosian house to explode. But why three explosions?

  Kim accelerated faster along the snow-covered pavement. She approached the big curve and slowed to go around safely.

  As the sedan rolled around the bend and straightened out, a pair of blinding headlights came at her from the opposite direction.

  “Lower your high beams, and maybe he’ll lower his,” Jodie said.

  “I’d love to if I knew where the hell the switch was.” Kim kept both hands in a white-knuckled grip at nine and three on the wheel while she let up on the accelerator.

  The big vehicle’s headlights came straight at her.

  She reduced her speed a little more and whipped her head from right to left and back. There was nowhere to go. The wall of snow on both sides of the tunnel was impenetrable.

  “There’s a driveway on the left up ahead. Maybe another twenty feet. Turn in there and let him pass,” Jodie suggested urgently as she pointed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

/>   Monday, January 31

  4:13 a.m.

  Garrison, New York

  Poulton rounded the first big curve in the road. From his higher vantage point, he saw the black Mercedes he’d left in the farmhouse garage, headed toward him. The big sedan was traveling in the dead center of the road, bright headlights pointed directly forward along the snowy road ahead.

  With both vehicles’ headlights set on high beam, he couldn’t see the other driver. Which meant the driver couldn’t see him either.

  When the road was clear, it boasted two lanes with sufficient room for cars to pass, one traveling in each direction. But in the winter, drivers treated the road as one lane right down the middle. With all the heavy vehicles coming in and out since Friday when they found the body, the center lane had been plowed clear enough. But massive snowfall had piled three feet up on each side.

  Poulton had three advantages. He was more familiar with the road. And his SUV was both four-wheel drive and higher off the ground than the Mercedes, which meant it was less likely to get stuck in the snow. If the Mercedes wanted to survive and not get stuck, the sedan’s only choice was to stand down.

  Poulton hung in the center lane and pressed the accelerator, barreling straight toward the Mercedes, prepared to slam into it head on unless it moved aside.

  He flashed his lights, to be sure the driver saw him coming.

  He kept his foot on the accelerator.

  The Mercedes began to slow. There was a driveway coming up soon. The Mercedes could turn in and wait for the big SUV to pass. If the driver recognized the safe harbor in time.

  Poulton kept his foot on the accelerator. The gap between the SUV and the Mercedes closed at an alarmingly fast rate.

  Before the Mercedes reached the upcoming driveway, Poulton tapped his horn and flashed his lights, and flipped his turn indicator.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Monday, January 31

  4:18 a.m.

  Garrison, New York

  Heart pounding, Kim squinted into the spotlights and saw the other driver flash his turn indicator. “Is he saying he’s going to turn in or he wants me to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hang on. We’ll get there first. Then he can go around.”

  She pushed the accelerator to speed up while he raced relentlessly toward them. She turned the wheel too late to avoid the snow piled at the driveway’s entrance and plowed the right front wheel into the opposite snow bank.

  She slammed the transmission into reverse to reposition, but the tires spun in the snow. She slammed into drive and tried again. Same result. She couldn’t move the big Mercedes all the way off the road.

  The other vehicle kept coming.

  Now that the opposing headlights weren’t quite so blinding, she saw he was driving a big black SUV. An unmarked FBI vehicle like the ones she’d seen at the house on Friday night when she first arrived.

  He rammed the SUV straight ahead, slamming into the right rear bumper of the Mercedes on his way past. If the Mercedes had been lighter weight, he’d have shoved the big vehicle a dozen feet or more.

  As it was, the impact knocked Kim to the side. She winced in pain when she hit the door with her arm and shoulder. And when her head struck the reinforced window with a loud whacking noise, she knew she’d have a goose egg there for a while.

  Jodie cried out as she whiplashed sideways, too.

  When Kim regained her breath, she said, “That’s Poulton, one of Brice’s men.”

  “Did he trigger those explosions? Is he fleeing the scene of a crime?” Jodie exclaimed.

  “Dunno. He’s in too big a hurry, for sure,” she said quickly. Which was when she remembered something else about Poulton. He had red hair and sandy eyebrows and freckles. And blue eyes. She’d seen him only a few hours ago. “He’s also the driver who abducted me.”

  “Are you sure?” Jodie asked.

  “Positive.” Kim nodded. “There’s no one else out here. I’m going after him. Make sure he doesn’t get away.”

  “You don’t even have a gun. How will you stop him?” Jodie asked.

  “I’ll call 911. Get some help. Then I’ll come back for you.”

  “Wait. You said Poulton? There was a Poulton on the old bathtub killer case.” Jodie seemed shredded by indecision until she made up her mind. “I’ll go up ahead and try to get you some backup.”

  “Okay. Go. Go.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Monday, January 31

  4:18 a.m.

  Garrison, New York

  Poulton swerved left just in time. Even so, the big SUV clipped the Mercedes right rear bumper and pulled it away from the sedan’s body as he kept going.

  Once the Mercedes was out of the way, he accelerated again. The road was two-lane for several more miles. He needed to get off this damn road.

  He held onto the steering wheel with both hands and drove on. He knew precisely where he was going.

  He had found the perfect spot on the day he’d abducted Jodie Jacob. He knew he could use it effectively if the opportunity presented itself. Which it would at some point, he’d felt sure.

  This far north of Manhattan, the narrow road ran east and west for miles between farms without interruption. The railroad ran the same route. Smaller state roads crossed the railroad at irregular intervals, and at every intersection, a guard system was in place at the grade crossing to warn drivers when the train was coming.

  A shockingly high number of drivers failed to stop, he’d learned. Sometimes the warnings didn’t work. Some didn’t see or hear them. Some drivers ignored the warnings and proceeded through the grade crossing knowing the train could be coming at a high rate of speed.

  Some vehicles managed to cross and clear the tracks before the train pushed through. The lucky ones.

  Too many never made it all the way across. Poulton had covered the aftermath of enough train wrecks in his life. Proceeding against the warnings was a mistake most drivers rarely lived to regret.

  When a train and vehicle collided, regardless of the vehicle involved, the outcome was gruesomely predictable. The train always won, even if the train suffered consequences. He’d researched train wreck videos online. He’d watched hundreds of them. One after another, the train slammed into cars, trucks, SUVs, vans, buses. Didn’t matter. The trains always crushed it.

  He’d checked the schedules for the track running parallel to State Road 793. Freight trains came along this particular track with predictable frequency. All he needed to do was reach a grade crossing at the right time. Which was surprisingly easy. He’d practiced a few times. He knew what to do.

  The speed limit was fifty, but Poulton sped along the deserted road at seventy-five miles per hour. The train’s engine was ahead, moving at fifty-eight miles per hour, pulling ten loaded freight cars behind. He nodded, pleased. This train was perfect.

  He felt the pain and nausea starting again. It wouldn’t last long.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Monday, January 31

  4:18 a.m.

  Garrison, New York

  Jodie jumped out, and Kim reversed the Mercedes clear of the snow bank after a couple of tries. She turned the big car south and pushed the accelerator. When she looked into the rearview mirror, she saw Jodie trotting along the road wearing Irene’s big coat and sloppy boots.

  After that one glance, Kim concentrated on her driving. Poulton had a solid head start, and the snowy road’s curves slowed her down, but she’d catch him after they got off the two-lane.

  When she reached the intersection at the state road, she increased her speed, searching for Poulton’s SUV. She saw taillights up ahead. He was driving like a bat out of hell on the clear pavement.

  She glanced at her speedometer. The big Mercedes cruised along easily at seventy-five like it was standing still, but she wasn’t gaining on Poulton at all. She pushed the accelerator harder.

  So focused was she on the chase that she heard the train before she saw it. Poulton
was racing the SUV alongside the train, gaining ground.

  He pulled even with the engine.

  Was he crazy? What the hell was he doing?

  The Mercedes’ navigation system showed a grade crossing two miles ahead, which answered her question. He planned to cross the tracks. He’d scoot across in front of the engine with mere moments to spare, leaving her behind.

  She’d be stuck on this side until the train passed while he sped away on the other side.

  Poulton slowed, confirming her suspicions.

  Kim accelerated to overtake him, but he swerved in front of her every time she moved, staying ahead of the train’s engine and effectively keeping her behind.

  The crossing loomed.

  The warning lights flashed, and the gate descended slowly, landing at the bottom with a little bounce.

  Warning bells began next, ringing loud enough to wake the dead.

  Kim tried to pass him one last time. He blocked her again. She floored the accelerator to ram his SUV with the Mercedes. She’d lost her chance.

  Poulton had timed his approach to the crossing when the train was too close to stop and turned his wheels before the Mercedes made impact.

  He revved his engine, and the SUV jumped forward fast and hard, like a big racing stallion.

  The SUV rammed the thick wooden gate, which broke and splintered, sending chips into the air.

  Kim repositioned and pressed the accelerator again, but she couldn’t catch up.

  Out of options, she slammed on her brakes, well back from the crossing to let the train pass.

  Everything after that seemed to happen in an instant.

  Inexplicably, instead of crossing the tracks and zooming away, Poulton mashed his brakes.