by Jan Coffey
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m not,” she said. “I want this to be over. I want my son back.”
“All anyone has to do is to hand her a gun,” Liz commented. “She’ll go out and shoot the bastard and get Conor back herself.”
“There are a number of sharpshooters positioned in the windows upstairs,” Adam said.
Emily hadn’t realized that. The thought ran through her mind that he might try to use Conor as a shield. She fought the tears. She had to stay strong.
“Where’s Ben?” Adam asked.
“Somewhere out there,” she said. “He and a couple of Hinckey’s agents went out twenty minutes ago.”
The front door opened and Emily saw Jeremy walk in. 11:47. She looked out. There was no one in sight.
“I just wanted to wish you luck,” he said, hugging her. “I’ll be on the other side of the green.”
He smiled reassuringly at her and at Liz, and then started back out. Adam went with him, giving Emily a thumb’s-up sign as he disappeared out the door. They crossed the green and went out of her line of sight.
11:50. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m going out,” she announced.
This time, no one tried to stop her, but before she reached the door, Hinckey stepped in front of her, a bulletproof vest in hand.
“Why?” she asked.
“You have to wear it. With the windbreaker over it, it won’t even show.”
“You know it’s not Gray’s style to use a gun. He likes to drive cars a hundred miles an hour into you.” Even as she said it, she realized it wasn’t Gray’s bullets they were concerned about. Jeremy had been wearing one, too.
Liz came up beside her. “Do you have one that will protect her like a Volvo but that looks like the outfit Cat Woman wore?”
Hinckey almost smiled. “I’m afraid I left that model back at headquarters.”
“Then you’ll have to wear this one,” Liz said, taking the vest from the SAC.
Emily let her sister put it on her, and Hinckey slipped a windbreaker over it. There was a small box in an inside pocket of the jacket, and a wire came out of the collar. There was an earpiece on the end of it.
“We want to be able to communicate with you.”
“Whatever,” she said, putting the earpiece in.
Taking a deep breath, she walked out.
Sixty
His hands were tied to the steering wheel. The key had been left in the ignition with the car running.
Conor knew exactly what was going to happen. He’d been given a preview of it the day before at the café. What was different now was that he was behind the steering wheel. Actually, the seat had been moved up so close that he was jammed up against the wheel. And Lyden, being the very considerate guy he was, had buckled the teenager’s seat belt, effectively trapping him in there.
It was 11:56 already. The teenager pushed and pulled at the wheel, trying to break it off. No luck. He wasn’t strong enough. The plastic ties didn’t budge, either, and only cut into his wrists the more he moved. The pain wasn’t any worse than the throbbing in his head and across his back, though, where Gray had hit him with the pipe.
With the fan going in the barn, Conor hadn’t even heard his attacker come in behind him. Conor had been bent over the boxes with a box cutter in hand when the first blow to his back had knocked him sprawling. He’d only managed to get to his knees when the second shot to his head had made him see stars. He hadn’t been knocked out, but he was plenty groggy as Gray yanked him to his feet and pushed him out of the barn.
They’d walked down a dirt path behind the barn, Conor stumbling along ahead of Gray. The man held the box cutter that Conor had dropped. There were no surprises. His kidnapper had told him right off the bat who he was. Lyden Gray.
Conor knew he wouldn’t be able to reason or argue with Gray. A few of the stitches in Conor’s forehead had popped and blood was dripping down the side of his face, but Gray didn’t even notice it. He gave directions and the teenager had to follow. They’d only walked a short while before the path reached the water. There was a small beach and the dirt road continued along the shore. In a couple of minutes they came to a boatyard. Gray’s car was parked there.
They’d sent an instant message to Conor’s mom from the car. After that, Conor had been pushed into the trunk. After what seemed like days of driving, they’d arrived here, where he’d been tied to the wheel. After attaching a small video camera to the rearview mirror, Gray had gotten out and gone behind the car. Conor watched him pull the license plate off the car and throw it into the woods. Then Gray had just walked off, carrying his laptop in a backpack.
Conor knew they were in Wickfield. Gray had parked on a dirt road that the teenager recognized as a fire road leading into the nature preserve. They weren’t too far from Conor’s house. He was far enough away from the main road that traffic passing by wouldn’t notice him. And pressing his face on the horn hadn’t done anything, either. No one seemed close enough to hear him.
Conor looked at the clock. His heart started pounding like crazy. It was 11:59. He wondered where Gray had gone.
The car jerked forward and the teenager’s neck snapped back against the seat. He tried to turn the wheel. There was no control. He pressed his foot on the brake. There was no response.
It figured, he thought. His first time behind the wheel could end up being his last.
And he couldn’t even drive the damn car.
Sixty-One
It had to happen with a vehicle of some kind. Ben was sure of it. Come hell or high water, whether it was in a truck or bus or goddamn tank, Gray was not going to reach that monument.
The black Hummer parked in front of the bank was the sturdiest piece of automobile Ben could get his hands on in less than fifteen minutes. The branch manager owned the vehicle, and not even an FBI badge had convinced him that Ben was really taking it. When Ben promised he’d buy him a replacement if the Hummer was even scratched, though, the key had come sliding across the counter.
It would have taken too much time to call and figure out if the virus in this specific car had been disabled yet. Ben took the old-fashioned approach. He cut the wires to the stereo equipment.
He parked the Hummer on the road less than half a mile from the village green. From here, he was facing the monument where Emily would be waiting. The tinted windows were a plus. He left the engine running and looked at the scene before him. Jeremy and Adam were just leaving the inn and walking across the green.
No one knew what they were looking for. They only knew that Gray had to drive from Westport to get here by noon. They didn’t know what kind of a car he would be in. He had developed a bad habit of not using his own name and credit card for his rentals.
When Ben saw Emily come out of the inn and walk across the road, he switched on the box at his belt and adjusted his headset. He knew he was connected to Emily and to a dozen others who were on the same line.
“I’m here with you, beautiful.”
She hesitated for only a moment, and then continued toward the monument.
Emily reached the center of the green and stood still for a second or two. She bent over and plucked one of the flowers at the base of the stone wall. Then she straightened up and looked directly down the road at Ben.
Hinckey’s voice cut in. “We have a possible sighting.”
“Where is it?” Ben asked. “What’s he driving?”
“The chopper has spotted a tan Taurus that just sideswiped another car coming toward the center of town. He’s coming in behind you, Colter. Hold on.” There was a pause. “It’s got to be him. There’s no license plate.”
Lyden was too smart. Without a license number, they’d have nothing to cross-reference. They couldn’t take control of the car themselves, Ben thought.
“How many in the car?” he snapped. He could hear the helicopter overhead.
“Hold on. There are no other cars between him and yo
u.”
“How many in the car?”
“Hold on.”
The wait was excruciating. Ben watched Emily at the base of the wall, head high, bravely watching the road.
“They can only see one person. The driver. Juvenile male, Asian American.”
“Are you sure of that?” Emily was the one who asked the question.
“Confirmed,” someone else said on the line.
Ben looked at the row of the buildings on either side of the road. “He’s here. He’s watching. Lyden Gray has got to be in the village. He won’t go through all of this trouble and not watch the final act. But where is he?”
Looking in the rearview mirror, Ben saw the Taurus coming down the road. He slammed the Hummer into gear as the car flew by him.
It was Conor behind the wheel.
Hinckey’s voice came through the wire. “Colter, don’t act until we’re certain—”
No longer listening, Ben floored it, pulling out behind the speeding Taurus. In less than fifty yards, he’d caught up to Conor. Moving out as if to pass, he sped up until his right fender was in line with the Taurus’s left rear tire. He could see Conor craning his neck and staring in panic at the Hummer.
Ben jerked the wheel to the right, clipping the rear end of the Taurus and sending the car into a spin.
Sixty-Two
Ben had bought them time with his maneuver, Adam realized, but it wasn’t over.
“Gray’s got to be watching, looking down at all of this. Playing a game,” he said to Jeremy. “But from where?”
As the detective’s gaze did a sweep of the buildings overlooking the village green, Adam saw the Taurus straighten itself, facing away from the green. Then it made a sharp U-turn, wheels spinning, and headed straight for Emily again.
She stood there in front of the wall. Not moving. The Hummer climbed the curb and hit Conor’s car on the side, sending it into another spin. It was happening right in front of them.
“Shoot the tires,” Ben’s voice came through.
“We have no angle from up here. The driver is at risk,” one of the agents reported.
Jeremy drew his weapon. He was in the best position to do the job without endangering Conor. He fired a single shot, and one of the back tires exploded. Adam saw the detective suddenly turn and look at the building behind them. The Eatopia Café.
“I know where he is,” he said, taking off down the alley alongside the building.
Adam sprinted after him, turning the corner just as Simpson disappeared into a back door.
Sixty-Three
The scene before her was unreal. It was a demolition derby taking place right on the village green. A pair of steel gladiators bashing away at each other.
And she couldn’t walk away, despite knowing what Gray’s intentions were. He wanted to crush her against the granite wall behind her. He wanted her dead.
Still, she stayed. Conor and Ben’s lives were on the line, too. If nothing else, by her stubbornness, she continued to give Lyden Gray a target. She hoped it would buy enough time for someone to find the bastard. She’d heard what Ben said. He had to be here, watching.
The Taurus was already banged up solidly on both sides of the car. The metal rims of the flat tire sparked and screeched deafeningly as the car swung around again and headed toward her. She looked at her son’s face behind the wheel. She could see the blood, the worry. If she moved, Gray would slam him into the stone wall, anyway.
She wasn’t moving.
Ben’s Hummer was racing across the green on an angle to cut off the Taurus. An instant before the collision, the tan car slammed on the brakes, and the Hummer flew past, clipping a tree.
The wheels of the Taurus spun again, and the tan car began to speed toward her.
“This isn’t a game!” Emily screamed.
Sixty-Four
Jeremy knew the scumbag had been in this building before. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before now.
There were spare keys to Liz’s apartment in Emily’s desk and hanging inside the back of the café. It was more than possible Gray had a copy. The building was condemned. With all that was going on, no one would be looking for him here.
At the top of the stairs, Jeremy didn’t hesitate. Kicking in the door of the apartment, he ran down the hall toward the front room, his gun drawn.
Gray was sitting on a chair by the window, looking out, tapping away at his laptop. He didn’t even bother to turn his head.
“Police,” the detective shouted as he ran. “Stop the car. Now!”
“Right after they all die.”
That was all it took. Jeremy fired.
Sixty-Five
Conor’s foot never once came off the brake. It didn’t make any difference, though. The brakes didn’t work and the steering didn’t, either. Tears of frustration stood in his eyes. He was going to hurt the most important person in his life if Ben didn’t stop him.
He didn’t know how he could live if he killed his mother.
The response came suddenly, and he was shocked by it. He jerked forward, his forehead bouncing off the steering wheel as the brakes screeched. He was almost on top of his mother, and he turned the wheel as far as he could.
The car went into a skid, spinning as it continued to slide across the grass toward the monument. He lost sight of his mom, and there were a couple of gunshots as he felt the tires explode under him. Someone was shooting at the car again.
At that moment, the tail end of the car hit the corner of the monument and stopped.
He sat for a moment, not believing the car had truly stopped. All there was around him, though, was silence. And the smell of gasoline.
He looked through the front windshield at his mother as she rushed toward him. Ben was the one who yanked open the door first.
“Smell the gas?” Conor cried. “The car is going to explode. Get away!”
“No chance.” Ben shoved the driver’s seat back and unbuckled the seat belt.
Emily opened the passenger door. “Conor, are you all right?”
“The gas! You’ve got to get away from here.”
There were sirens all around them.
“We need something to cut these ties,” Ben yelled.
Emily whipped an open pocketknife out of her jacket and started slashing at the plastic straps holding him.
Conor couldn’t stop shaking. The smell of gasoline was worse. “Please get out of here. It’ll explode. I don’t want you to die. Please, Mom. Ben, take her away.”
“Almost done.” Ben took the knife out of Emily’s hand and cut the rest of the ties. “Last one. Get out, Em! Now!”
As she backed quickly out of the car, Ben hauled Conor out like a sack of potatoes.
They were not even two steps away when the car went up in flames.
Sixty-Six
Three weeks later
“I don’t get this. Thirty-two dead, dozens more injured and countless millions of dollars of damage in San Francisco alone, and this guy isn’t going to fry?” Adam asked, looking in disbelief at the newspaper in his hand. “It looks like the government is stepping in to keep the states from prosecuting separately.”
“There are already rumors circulating about just that,” Gina replied.
“If Simpson had aimed at Gray’s heart instead of just winging him, we wouldn’t even be worrying about it.” Adam looked up at her. “What rumors?”
“It only makes sense, I suppose, from their point of view.”
“Who’s they and what rumors?” Adam lowered the paper and looked across Gina’s desk at her.
“They’re making a deal. He doesn’t face capital charges in either federal or state courts, in exchange for working with Homeland Security or the CIA.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“That’s the rumor,” she said, looking out the window behind her desk. “I heard that from a friend in D.C.”
“That’s sick, even by my standards,” Adam said with disgust.
The door to the adjoining office opened at that moment, and Ben and Emily came through it.
“What’s sick?” Ben asked.
Gina gave Adam a warning look, but it was unnecessary. Neither one of them wanted to ruin Emily’s mood on an important day like this. Today marked her first visit to their New York office. They both hoped she would take the job.
“Nothing,” Adam said, folding up the paper.
“Nothing important,” Gina confirmed.
“So what do you think?” Adam asked Emily. “Was the boss able to persuade you to take the job, or do the two of us have to apply the hard sell?”
“No hard sell required.” She smiled. “I’ll work with you guys. I’ll stay on retainer and come in as you need me. Just don’t expect me to drive to New York on a regular basis.”
“I’d much prefer to come and visit you in Connecticut, anyway,” Gina responded.
“This is great.” Adam extended his hand and Emily took it. “Welcome aboard, partner.”
She turned to Gina. “By the way, do you need anything else from me to wrap up the reports to the automakers?”
“Nothing. Everything was faxed and couriered by FedEx and e-mailed this morning,” Gina answered. “Our end of it is complete. But I’m certain there’ll be some court appearances required over the next couple of years, at least. I hear there are already a couple of lawsuits in the works.”
“By whom?”
“Debbie Vasquez’s family lawyers are suing Hudson Hills Software for negligence—lack of adequate security, etc. They know Gray perfected his use of the virus using company resources. Some of the families of the victims of the San Francisco accident are jumping in, too.”
“I have a very warm spot in my heart for Debbie and what she did. I hope her family ends up with a fortune,” Emily said. “But looking back to Lyden Gray’s history, it appears to me that the virus was created while he was still in college. In fact, I was able to find a short satirical piece he did for the school paper on controlling radio station choices by remote control. So everything is going to be more complicated than it seems.”
