Then, tears still flooding down her face, she straightened up. I’m sorry, little baby. I’ve made a mess of things, but I’m going to get you out of here. You’re not going to be born in some prison cell. You’re going home and you’re going to have a good life. I promise. Do you hear me?
She stared back at the van. She was wearing thin rubber gloves; Olivia had made them all wear gloves so as not to leave fingerprints. She stripped the gloves off and threw them into a nearby waste compactor, and felt better as they disappeared.
Megan backed up, still staring at the van, trying to think what connected it to the brigade. It had been rented; the other had been stolen. That had been Olivia’s idea, that the first getaway van be hot, and then abandoned, but the second be totally legal, right down to the registration and car rental forms. It was due to be returned to a leasing agency in Sacramento in three days.
It can take us out of here, she thought.
She had to force herself back into the truck. It was as if the insides smelled of conspiracy, of the members of the brigade she was certain were lying dead a few short blocks away.
Megan started the engine, wiping her tears with her sleeve. She put the van in gear and slowly rolled away from the rendezvous location. At the corner, she hesitated, looking both directions before pulling carefully into traffic. The sounds of sirens filled the distant air, but on the street in front of her, traffic was passing normally, as if unaffected by the events so close at hand. She felt oddly invisible, as she headed away. I’m just another person in a car, she thought. I’m no different from anybody else. I could be just like that old lady over there in the sedan, or the businessman in the Cadillac, just ahead of me. She spotted a bunch of long-haired teenagers in a Day-Glo-painted VW camper. I could be them, they could be me. It was as if a sort of shell had formed around her, a bubble that was keeping her safe.
“We’re going to make it,” she said out loud.
She pulled to a stop at a red light. Then she saw him as he emerged from between two buildings, half-running, half-walking.
“Duncan!” she gasped. She did not think of the risk; all she could see was the person she loved, the father of the child, and she was out of the van, waving at him. She did not consider that there might be a policeman a half step behind him, or that in that moment she might be jeopardizing everything.
She saw his face change when he spotted her. Sudden hope.
The light changed and she jumped back behind the wheel. She cruised through the intersection, halting in the bus stop on the opposite side. In a second he was at the door and clambering into the seat next to her.
“Where?” she asked. “The others?”
“Just go, please. They’re dead, I think. Or the cops have got them. Just go.”
She pulled back out into traffic. Within a few seconds she saw the road out of town.
“What happened?” she asked as she drove onto a four-lane highway. She paid no attention to the direction; it made no difference; she knew where they were going.
“It went wrong. It went wrong from the first minute. She said the guards would throw down their guns, but they didn’t, they started shooting and all the alarms went off and everything just went to hell so fast, I didn’t know what to do.”
He pulled up his shirt, exposing the .45-caliber pistol.
“I could have helped them. I could have.”
Megan made a shushing sound with her lips.
“It’s all right,” she said. “You couldn’t have done anything. We should have known. That’s all. We should have known.”
She did not have to lecture him, admonish him with commands to start thinking about the life they’d made in her belly. She understood he probably knew it almost as strongly as she felt it herself, even if he could not put words to it yet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lean back and shut his eyes.
“They’ll probably catch us right away. Don’t do anything. Just do whatever they say. We’ll give up nice and easy. It’ll be a lot safer that way. I’ll say you had nothing to do with it, and they’ll believe me. Your dad will get you a good lawyer, and you and the baby will be okay. I don’t want you to get hurt . . .” He laughed, without humor, a bitter laugh that betrayed his own despair: “I don’t want to die either, I guess.”
He paused.
“I could have saved them. I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. I let them down. I was a coward.”
Megan answered angrily: “They were doomed from the start. We were following some crazy idea. Seduced by that bitch Tanya. You did what was right for me, for the baby. You got away.”
“Did I?” he responded. “I don’t think I did anything right for anybody.”
He leaned back and closed his eyes to all the agonies that warred within him.
After a second he opened his eyes and looked around, as if noticing where they were for the first time. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Home,” she said.
She saw him nod in acquiescence.
The word filled her with a strength she had not known she possessed. She thought hard down to her womb: Don’t worry, little baby, it will all be all right. We’re going home.
Megan gritted her teeth and let determination fill her.
In silence, they drove east, letting the increasing darkness sweep over and hide them.
3
TUESDAY
NIGHT
He wondered why they had not hit him.
The last thing he’d seen when they pushed the black hood over his head was a man’s hand holding a pistol right against his grandfather’s shrouded temple. As he lay on the floor of the car he was aware of his grandfather’s shallow breaths, but he was reassured that they were regular, and they reminded him of times when he’d been younger, holding still in his grandfather’s arms for hours on end after the old man had slid gently into sleep while reading a book to him.
He didn’t want to move, to shift position in any way, but his legs were starting to cramp and he wasn’t sure if he could stand the pain. He tried to think how long they’d been in the car. Surely only a few minutes, but fear had a way of disrupting time, and he couldn’t be certain. He could hear the engine, the tires on the highway, feel every bump in the road. No one was speaking, and he did not know how many people were in the car with him and his grandfather. He did not know why they had taken him, or what they were going to do to him. He only knew enough to be scared. He remained still. Finally, someone laughed. It was a short burst, more of relief than humor.
“Well,” said the voice. “It was easier than I thought.”
It was a man’s voice, Tommy thought. Number One.
“I knew it would be easy. A piece of cake.”
Another man’s voice. Number Two.
“The best kind of grab is always when you get the subject by complete surprise. It’s good to get someone who has no idea it’s going to happen to them. The kind of person who doesn’t realize someone’s interested in them. They’re so goddamn surprised, they can’t think for themselves. They always pretty much do what you tell them, too. These two were perfect,” Number One said.
“No shit. You ever try to take down someone who knows they’re a target?” Number Two asked.
“No, but I was in on the planning—”
“Shut up.”
Tommy shuddered involuntarily at the sound of the woman’s voice. It frightened him.
“Just keep from running off at the mouth until we get home,” the woman continued. “Christ! Why didn’t you just give the kid and the old man your business card. Don’t be dumb.”
“Sorry,” Number One replied.
“We’re not home free quite yet,” she said. Then she laughed.
Tommy hated the sound she made. It made him feel dizzy and he could feel tears welling up in his
eyes for the first time. He couldn’t stop, especially when he pictured his mother and father. I want to be home, he thought. He could feel his lip starting to quiver.
“But we’re damn close. Damn close.”
Number One and Number Two joined her with short explosions of laughter of their own. He could sense them starting to relax. The car drove on, occasional jolts knocking him about. They were all silent for several minutes. Then he heard the woman say: “Here we are.”
The car was turning off the roadway onto a gravel drive. He could hear the sound of the wheels crunching across the stone. He counted slowly from one to thirty-five and thought: It must be a long driveway, not like our driveway at home. When the car stopped, he reached down blindly, feeling about for his grandfather’s hand. When he found it, he gripped it tightly. He was flooded with joy when he felt his grandfather return the grip, holding him. He had to stop himself from crying now.
“All right,” he heard the woman say. “Get out slowly.”
His grandfather squeezed his hand hard, then released him. He understood, and waited.
He heard three car doors open. In a moment other hands were reaching down for him and he was being half-lifted, half-guided, out of the car. His leg had fallen asleep and he shook it when he stood outside. It was cold and he shivered, his entire body twitching uncontrollably. The hood made everything seem night, and he hoped they would let him take it off soon. He heard his grandfather groan again, and the sound of scuffling feet as his grandfather was aided from the car. He felt the old man’s presence next to him. Again he reached for his grandfather’s hand and again he found it, reconnecting, feeling the old man’s strength. He pushed himself against his grandfather’s side, and his grandfather draped his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “It’s all right, Tommy, I’m right here. Just do what they say. I won’t let them hurt you.”
“Nice speech,” he heard the woman say. “Brave words.”
He sensed his grandfather start to say something in reply, then hold himself back.
“We’re going inside now,” said the woman. “Walk slowly. Old man, you hold on to the kid. I’m going to guide you from behind. Ready? All right, walk straight ahead ten paces and we will come to some stairs.”
Tommy walked forward, still gripping his grandfather. His feet crunched for a moment on the gravel, then they found some sort of pathway. He stopped when the old man stopped.
“Good,” said the woman. “Now, up three steps, then there’s a short porch and up one step through the door.”
They did as commanded. Tommy thought it was a little like the game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey he’d played at a neighbor’s birthday party. He remembered how he’d been spun around and around, then shoved in the right direction.
“Good. Now bear gently to your right. Judge, reach out with your hand and you’ll find the banister . . . Good. Up we go. At the top, we go to the left; there’s a landing. Then up another short stairway.”
The two Tommys climbed the stairs. Tommy stumbled once, but his grandfather’s quick hand grabbed him and saved him from falling.
“Good, good,” said the woman. “Don’t want our prize package damaged in transit.” She pushed the old man hard in the back and he had to struggle to keep from falling. They climbed the second stairway. “All right, now straight down the hallway about twenty paces . . . that’s good. Wait for me to open the door. Now, up we go again. Careful, this one’s narrow.” It must be the attic, Tommy thought. “All right,” she said, finally. “Welcome to your new accommodations.”
Tommy felt her stand next to his grandfather and steer him toward something. He stayed close. “Sit down,” she said. They could feel a bed, and they carefully sat.
“All right, take off your masks.”
Judge Pearson seized the edge of the black mask, eager to rip the suffocating black away and breathe freely. Inside it, he’d felt only a short step away from death, vulnerable as a newborn child. He had thought: I want to be able to see it coming, when it comes. If they mean to kill me, I want them to have to look me in the eye. He lifted the mask halfway, then hesitated. A horrid thought slid into his head. If we know who they are . . . He left the mask in place for an instant and said, “We don’t have to see who you are. We can’t make an identification now. Why not leave—”
She interrupted him savagely:
“Take off the masks! Now!”
The judge did as he was told, averting his eyes from the woman’s face.
“No, old man, you’ve got it all wrong!” she said angrily.
The woman reached over and grasped the judge’s chin with her forefinger and thumb, turning his head so that they were looking directly into each other’s eyes, only inches apart. She was standing over him, like an angry schoolteacher getting ready to chastise an unruly student.
“Look at me,” she whispered. To Tommy it seemed as harsh as a shout. “Remember this face. I want you to remember everything about it. Can you tell how beautiful it once was? Do you see the age lines by the eyebrows? See the little crow’s feet at the corners of the eyes? See a little extra flesh hanging underneath the jaw? How about the color of the eyes, the shape of the nose and chin? The high cheekbones? See the little scar up under the hair, right at the forehead?”
She abruptly pushed her hair back, showing a small, jagged white line.
“See it? Remember it. I want it frozen in your memories, so you’ll never forget it.”
She raised herself up, looking down at the two Tommys.
“We’re going to get to know each other real well before this is all over,” she said. “You’ve got a lot to learn. Both of you.”
The woman bent over and suddenly, frighteningly, pushed the judge backward on the cot. She thrust her hand into his pocket and grabbed his car keys, then stood straight and laughed.
“Especially you, pig. You’re going to get re-educated completely.”
She smiled. Tommy thought how afraid he was already of her smile.
“Look around, judge. Pace the dimensions. Ever been in one of those cells that you sent people to? Ever been locked away, like the criminal you are? Why don’t you make a little scratch mark on the wall? That’s what cons do to mark the time. Then imagine six thousand five hundred and seventy little scratch marks. I did.”
She paused again, letting her anger ricochet about the tiny space.
She smiled. “I’ll bring your dinner shortly.” She turned to leave, then added, “It would be best if you went along with the program without complaining.”
“We’ll do what you say,” the judge said.
“That’s right, you will,” the woman responded. “Because otherwise, you’ll die.”
She turned and looked at Tommy. “Both of you.”
Then she left.
They heard a dead bolt lock slam home, as she closed the door on them.
Judge Pearson instantly wrapped his arms around his grandson, pulling him close and tight.
“Well,” he said, “we’re in a bit of a mess. Don’t worry. We’ll get out of it.”
“How, Grandfather?” Tommy’s words quavered.
“Well, I’m not quite certain, but we’ll find a way.”
“I want to be home,” Tommy said, fighting tears. “I want to be home with Mom and Dad.” He started to dissolve.
His grandfather put his finger on the soft skin of the boy’s cheeks, wiping away the tears that had started to flow. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, I’m right here.”
Tommy sobbed once, then again, burying his head into the old man’s shirt and letting loose with great gasps. His grandfather simply rocked back and forth, holding him tightly, whispering, “I’m here, I’m here,” over and over. After a few minutes, the boy quieted.
“I’m sorry, Grandfather.”
; “It’s all right, Tommy. Usually crying like that makes you feel a little better.”
“I do feel a little better.” He pushed himself closer to his grandfather. “I will be strong, you’ll see. I will be a soldier, just like you were.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Grandfather, it’s hard to be brave when you’re scared. She said she’s going to kill us.”
“She means to scare us.”
“She scares me a lot.”
“Unhuh. She scares me too. I don’t quite see what she’s getting at, but I think she wants us to be frightened, that way we’ll do everything she wants. If we let her scare us, it makes her more powerful. So we have to not let her scare us too much. That way we can figure out what to do.”
“Grandfather, have we been kidnapped?”
The old man smiled and continued to hug his grandson.
“Sure seems that way.” He tried to instill as much lightness into his voice as he could. “Where did you learn that word?”
“Dad was reading me the book last year. Is she a pirate?”
Judge Pearson tried to remember the plot, but he could only remember Treasure Island and his imagination filled with Billy Bones and black spots and Long John Silver.
“I guess she is, in a modern way.”
Tommy nodded. “She acts like one.”
Judge Pearson squeezed the boy again. “She surely does,” he said. “She surely does.”
“Is she going to kill us?” he asked.
“No, no, no, whatever gave you that idea?” the judge answered quickly. Probably too quickly, he thought.
Tommy didn’t answer, but seemed to think hard.
“I think she wants to. I don’t know why, but I think she hates us.”
“No, Tommy, you’re wrong. It just seems that way, because she’s scared too. What do you know about kidnapping?”
“Not too much.”
“Well, it’s against the law, that’s why she’s so nervous.”
“Could you put her in jail, Grandfather?”
Day of Reckoning Page 7
