by Diane Capri
Neagley was explaining the situation to the officers as if she were dictating a police report. “He was in bed by nine, like always. Morrie was here the entire time. I got home late and when I went in to check on him, he was gone. We inspected all of his usual hiding places before we called you. He likes to hitchhike. So get a BOLO out and do the best you can until daylight.”
So the former Secret Service guy’s name was Morrie. Wonder why he didn’t want to reveal it? One small mystery solved, anyway.
Kim’s pocket vibrated and she considered ignoring it. Under the circumstances, perhaps the Boss had something positive to offer. She turned her back and pulled out the phone.
She could feel Neagley’s eyes burning holes in her back. “Yes?”
He said, “Berenson snatched the kid. Found him outside, a couple of blocks down. I’m working on video. Should have it soon. Show Neagley alone.”
“Okay,” she said and was about to disconnect when she realized he was still talking.
“And Otto?”
“Yes.”
“Dean has Dixon. Intercepted her at Kennedy when she deplaned. Working on that video, too. No mistake.”
“Current locations?”
“Unknown. Still checking.”
“Anything else?”
“Reacher’s on the way. Might be there already. Stay alert,” he said and terminated the call.
Before she could slide the phone back into her pocket, Kim looked up into Neagley’s bottomless gaze. She felt the woman’s anger pulsing off her like sonic waves.
Neagley’s hand shot out, grabbed the phone from her hand and dropped it into her own pocket before Kim had time to blink.
Neagley dismissed the officers and they left, promising to promptly report anything they found.
“What did he want?” she said, glaring at Kim and referencing the phone call.
“You make it hard to tolerate you, you know that?” Kim snapped. “Give me my phone.”
Neagley stood like a sentry at the gates of hell, which was probably where she wished she could send Kim right about now.
“Fine. Keep it. I hate the thing anyway.”
Neagley said nothing.
A moment ago, Kim might have tried to deliver the news kindly, but Neagley wouldn’t appreciate kindness and Kim didn’t have the patience. “He said Berenson has your brother.”
Neagley showed no response at all. “What else?”
Briefly, Kim considered mentioning the Boss’s promise to send video of the kidnapping, but instinctively held back. She didn’t trust Neagley. She’d wait to receive the video, watch it first, and then decide when or if to reveal it to Neagley. The Boss was looking for the missing and he had superior resources; Neagley couldn’t do more. Kim would learn more about the situation and show her the video before daylight.
“Dean has Dixon.”
“And?”
“We don’t know where they are.”
“Like hell he doesn’t,” Neagley said, nostrils flared half a second.
Will you look at that. The ice queen feels something.
“Get Gaspar in here and follow me.” Neagley turned and strode toward the back of the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sunday, November 14
1:43 a.m.
Chicago, IL
Gaspar and Kim were seated at Neagley’s oversized kitchen table at the back of the mansion. She’d made coffee and poured large mugs full and the aroma wafted enticingly. Kim’s nerves were humming and her skin felt too tight on her frame. Gaspar had assumed his usual slouch, but his eyelids were open, which was about as anxious as he normally allowed himself to appear.
Neagley’s cool demeanor had returned as quickly as her anger had flashed, leaving Kim to wonder whether she’d seen any anger at all. Neagley requested and received Gaspar’s cell phone, disabled it, and stuffed it with Kim’s inside a signal-shield box.
Kim couldn’t retrieve the Boss’s encrypted video of the kidnapping using the phone even if she’d wanted to. And if she couldn’t talk to the Boss for a while, Neagley could hardly blame Kim for holding back when the video was finally shared.
“Cooper can’t hear you or see you,” Neagley said when they’d settled in. “My home is a bug-free zone. You can speak freely. So let’s get to it.”
“You first,” Kim said, not believing Neagley’s boast. Even if the Boss’s sophisticated equipment was temporarily thwarted, Neagley’s home was probably more wired than the Pentagon. Someone was always eavesdropping. To assume otherwise was foolish and Kim was not a fool. “Where’s Reacher?”
Neagley replied, “I told you, I sent him a message—”
“Yeah. Days ago,” Gaspar said. “How long does it take for him to pick up?”
Neagley continued as if he’d never spoken. “I wish to hell he was here because we could use some help. But we can’t wait for him.”
“How do you contact him?” Gaspar asked.
“You found my message, so you should know that.” She smirked. “Can’t figure it out?”
The woman was too smug and Kim was tired of taking her crap.
“You told him 10-30. ‘Request assistance, non-emergency.’ Why not 10-19? If you’d asked, he might have contacted or called,” Kim revealed, even though it might not have been the best time to play that card and she hadn’t explained her hunch to Gaspar or told him about the Boss’s warning yet.
Neagley shrugged. “He knows what to do.”
“What happened with your brother?” Kim asked.
Neagley looked away briefly. Then she turned a steady gaze toward Kim and said, “Paul is autistic. We never leave him alone, even to sleep. He’s a good kid in many ways. But he’s very clever and he’s sly. He was upset about what happened in my office yesterday and he was angry about his arm wound and who knows what else goes on inside his head? Somehow, he got away from Morrie tonight and ran outside. Morrie and I discovered him missing when I got home from New York, and we looked for about half an hour before we called for help. I guess we know now why we couldn’t find him.”
“It’s not your fault,” Kim said, automatically, as she would have said to any kidnapping victim’s family. But Neagley wasn’t just a normal sister.
“The hell it isn’t. If I’d been here, he might still have run out, but Berenson wouldn’t have been able to take him. I thought she’d be in New York going after Dixon. That’s why I went there. But I screwed up. And Paul’s paying the price. I didn’t count on her working with Dean.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was petrified of him five years ago. I figured she’d be as far away from Dean as possible. Didn’t see that one coming. Not even remotely.”
“You never see the bullet that gets you, Neagley. If you’d seen it coming, you’d have moved him out of harm’s way. Get over it. We’ve got to deal with where we are.”
“She had to sedate him somehow and she knew that,” Neagley said. “She’d been watching him for days. She knew there’s no way she could have gotten close to him, let alone grabbed him and taken him somewhere against his will unless she drugged him first.”
Gaspar said, “Then there’s a good chance she’s still close by, unless she’s driving. And if she is driving, we’ll find her. She can’t get on an airplane with an unconscious man. Not undetected, anyway.”
“Is Cooper even looking for them?” Neagley asked.
Kim replied, “He suggested he was.”
“Bastard,” Neagley said. “And Dixon. Did he say how Dean managed to abduct her? She’s pretty good at taking care of herself.”
“Didn’t say that, either,” Kim said. “But would she have been worried about being abducted, though? Could Dean have tricked her somehow? You didn’t suspect Dean and Berenson were working together. Maybe Dixon didn’t suspect that, either.”
Kim could almost see the gears turning in Neagley’s head.
“Maybe,” Neagley finally said. “We thought Dean and Berenson were victim
s back then. Thought they were co-workers, not connected in any way we could see. Maybe Dixon didn’t see that one coming, either.” The thought seemed to make Neagley relax slightly. Maybe telling herself, if Dixon screwing up didn’t mean Dixon was an idiot, maybe her own screw-up didn’t mean she was incompetent, either.
Gaspar cleared his throat. Apologetically, he said, “It’s possible they’re already both dead.”
“Not likely,” Neagley said, unconcerned. “Neither Paul nor Dixon have any value to Berenson and Dean if they’re dead. More likely they wanted hostages.”
“Hostages?” Kim asked. “It’s about time you told us what the hell is going on here, isn’t it?”
Neagley rose and grabbed her coffee cup. “Nothing more we can do right now for Paul or Dixon. Come with me.”
She walked swiftly down a long corridor to another wing of the house. She stopped in front of what appeared to be a solid, wood-paneled wall. She reached for a small framed watercolor, which opened on hinges to reveal a wall-mounted key pad. She punched a security code and the solid panel slid open. Neagley led them into what looked like a high-tech security office.
The room was empty, but someone had been here recently. At least one man, from the slight male scent Kim detected. She saw dirty coffee cups and scuff marks made by large and small boots on the carpet. Maybe Neagley and Morrie had been working here earlier.
There were multiple television screens on the walls and a control board for operating electronics. Neagley picked up a remote and turned on one of the screens. A twenty-four minute video had ended. She selected a shorter one.
“This is two minutes. Watch first. Then talk,” she ordered.
Kim recognized the location. It was Dave O’Donnell’s personal office. Two men were talking, but there was no sound. One was O’Donnell. The other was the dead man she’d seen in Neagley’s office yesterday. The one Neagley claimed was Jorge Sanchez. The effect was a little eerie because both men onscreen were now dead and Kim had never known either of them. She felt detached from the scene, attracted and repelled at the same time. Whatever Neagley felt, if anything, she kept well concealed.
The video was surprisingly clear for office surveillance equipment. Kim had seen too many such recordings. O’Donnell’s stuff was top notch. Which didn’t keep him alive. But it might help identify his killer.
After the first run-through, Neagley cued it up again and they asked questions.
Gaspar said, “You were watching O’Donnell?”
“No.”
“So you removed relevant evidence from a murder scene, then.”
Neagley said nothing.
“When and how did you get this video?” Kim asked.
“The DC homicide cop called me and asked me to come over. I did. By the time I got there, he still hadn’t found O’Donnell’s surveillance equipment. I found it on my second visit. After I saw it, I figured Sanchez would go after Dixon and me, so I went to New York, hoping to get there first.”
“Have you shared this with DC?” Kim asked.
“They’ll close their homicide investigation shortly. Sanchez is dead now. What’s the point?”
“And if you did give the evidence to DC, someone would get in the way of your own plans,” Gaspar said.
Neagley said, “Yours, too. Not helpful to either of us, is it?”
Kim watched as Sanchez paced around O’Donnell’s office behind O’Donnell’s chair. O’Donnell must have trusted him. Otherwise, why let Sanchez get behind him? Sanchez’s gait was awkward—the prostheses. He pulled the gun and shot O’Donnell in the back of the head, stood there for a few moments in the silence, then disconnected the speaker, stepped around O’Donnell’s body and left the room.
Kim remembered the fingerprint on the speakerphone on O’Donnell’s desk. So it was Sanchez who put it there. DC crime techs found it, which was why the residue was visible when Kim was there.
Sanchez’s print should have come up in the databases. He had been a military cop. His prints would have been on file so they could be excluded from his many investigations, if for no other reason. But he also had concealed weapons permits and a private investigator’s license in Nevada awhile back, which should have required prints. There may have been other sets as well. Yet Sanchez wasn’t mentioned in the homicide file at all, which probably meant the DC cops didn’t run the military databases. Or maybe Sanchez’s prints were no longer there, either. Whoever had been eliminating all of Reacher’s paper trail could also be eliminating others.
“Who were they talking to on the speakerphone?” Kim asked.
“We weren’t able to trace the call and the listener never speaks, unfortunately,” Neagley said. “I thought it was you.”
“What?”
“Think about it, Otto. You come on the scene, asking questions about all of us, especially about Reacher. Sanchez comes back from the dead, working together with someone, too. Reasonable to assume he’s looking for Reacher. Sanchez shoots O’Donnell in cold blood, which is way beyond the pale, wouldn’t you say? Then Berenson tries to kill you. And you know what I think of your boss. All in all, you and Gaspar here were not a bad working hypothesis.”
Neagley was right. Not that Kim would ever admit it.
Gaspar spoke up. “But now you know Sanchez was not working with us because we didn’t even know he existed until you told us, and we’re sitting here trying to help you find Paul and Dixon. So who was listening on the speakerphone?”
“I figure either Berenson or Dean, or both, or someone working with them. They had a couple of kids who would be adults now. They had a crew. Or it could still be you,” Neagley said. “Seems most likely at this point.”
“Why isn’t there any sound on this video?” Gaspar asked, ignoring her accusations as she ignored his.
Neagley said, “It’s not helpful.”
“Let’s hear it anyway,” Kim said. “I want to hear the conversation. Does Sanchez say why he’s doing this?”
“He does. But that’s not helpful, either. And it won’t make any sense to you at all.”
“You can explain it to us, then.”
Neagley shrugged, pushed the restart button. The video opened with Sanchez standing behind O’Donnell, but Kim figured there had to be more footage prior to this point. Sanchez was pacing. His voice was agitated. Whiny. Distraught.
“They’ve got my kids, Dave. My wife. You have any idea what that’s like? Knowing it’s your fault? Knowing you let it happen and you’ve only got one very slim chance to fix it? Knowing you’re playing beat the clock and time is running out?”
“What are you talking about?” O’Donnell asked. “When did you get married?”
Sanchez waved the Glock in the air. O’Donnell didn’t seem at all concerned. Sanchez executed his friend and watched him die.
You never see the bullet that gets you, Kim thought again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sunday, November 14
4:13 a.m.
Chicago, IL
They’d watched the full twenty-four minute O’Donnell video twice and the short murder scene several more times. Sanchez’s story was grim and heartbreaking and Kim could easily see how Berenson and Dean drove him to the edge of madness, if not beyond it.
Hindsight being what it is, Kim identified a number of tactical mistakes O’Donnell had made which led to his death. Like watching a horror movie, Kim wanted to shout out a warning several times, but O’Donnell could not hear or heed warnings, then or now.
The video opened with a vital, attractive Dave O’Donnell seated at his desk. He was movie-star handsome, dressed in a dark suit, blue shirt, and a designer brand tie Kim often noticed around the necks of successful stockbrokers. Perhaps he’d rushed in from another event, because he seemed slightly breathless.
He began with an establishing statement for the video. “Scheduled conference with Jorge Sanchez’s brother, Jose. Friday night, November 5, 11:10 p.m. Jose called earlier today and requested the late mee
ting because he’s traveling through town and only has a short layover. He didn’t want to meet in a public place, so we could talk. He said he had something to discuss about Jorge’s share of the money. Wouldn’t say any more. I’ve never met Sanchez’s brother. Didn’t know he had a brother, actually. We weren’t close enough for that, I guess. Never saw Sanchez either, after we left the Army. He was killed by the scum who murdered the others back in California—”
He was interrupted by the buzzer Kim remembered, indicating a visitor had pushed the call button in the corridor. Kim wondered about O’Donnell’s choice of words. The “we” who had been so mistaken about Sanchez? The likely culprits were Neagley, Dixon and Reacher. And who were the “scum”? Did he mean Dean and Berenson?
O’Donnell stood, smoothed his hair with the flat of his palm, left the room and the next action was the two returning to O’Donnell’s office less than a minute later. O’Donnell was taller, fairer, and a thousand times more handsome than the leathery, gaunt Sanchez.
Maybe Sanchez identified himself or maybe O’Donnell recognized him. Either way, they walked into the frame laughing and seemed genuinely pleased to be together. Which was jarring because Sanchez would kill O’Donnell within the next fifty-one minutes, as cold-bloodedly as any murderer Kim had ever witnessed.
After the backslapping and pleased-to-see-you-vertical-and-above-ground guy stuff, O’Donnell suggested that Sanchez take a seat, but he declined. He said, “I’ve been sitting awhile and my legs get stiff and I’ve got another flight tonight. Okay if I walk around? I’m getting permission in case you still have that switchblade in your pocket.”
They chuckled and O’Donnell consented, but he didn’t deny the switchblade.
“Man, Sanchez,” O’Donnell said, “I can’t tell you how great it is to see you’re alive. I know we served only a short time together. And it was a long time ago. But you guys were closer to me than my own family, man. Too many of us are dead now. We’ll get the unit together. Have a few beers. Let’s really do it, okay?”
