Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  “Suffocation,” he said. “Her lips and ears are all blue. She’s probably been dead for two hours.”

  Kuntz had picked up the drawstringed bag that he’d used to cover her head. He pressed it against his own nose and mouth and said, “You can breath through this easy. Look, I’m breathing.”

  Toomey said to Lilly, “It wasn’t just the hood. Take that whack you gave her, the injection Kuntz gave her, the tape across her mouth…it added up.”

  Lilly said, “Do you remember…” He wet his lips before finishing. “Do you two remember, we were on our way down there, I said I’d like just one fucking thing to go right?”

  “One thing did. Bourne wanted her; we got her,”

  Lilly said, “Hold that thought. We’ll get back to that thought. There is one other thing I’d like to vent.”

  “Venting’s healthy,” said Toomey. “Get it out of your system.” Toomey struggled back into the passenger seat.

  “Do you also remember, pulling into that station, some discussion about trying not to stand out? Paying cash? Your bloody hand? Do you remember all that?”

  “This shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Shit does happen.”

  Lilly glanced back at Kuntz. “Is that two now? Two dead? Did you leave that cracker with the pickup truck dead?”

  “Uh-uh. He’s not dead. I just stomped his face some. Look, it’s not like I had a whole lot of choice. All I asked him to do was go grab his dog. He wouldn’t; someone had to, and I was right there.”

  Toomey said to Lilly, “Kuntz did try to walk away. He didn’t want to fight him with his hands all messed up. The other guy was out of control.”

  Lilly asked, “What was wrong with just driving away? You couldn’t let the cracker and the father fight it out?”

  “You saw the kids’ father. He would have got creamed. His kids would have seen it. They’d never forget it. And that little dog would got eaten.”

  Lilly lifted his eyes toward the heavens. “So WHAT?”

  “Not everyone’s as big a prick as you are,” said Toomey. “But how about we drop it. We’ve got more urgent problems.”

  Lilly made a calming gesture. It was meant for himself. He took a breath. “Yes, we do. Now we’re back to that thought.”

  Toomey said, “What I meant was we still need gas and I still need to piss even worse. But you’re talking about Bourne. He wanted Stride, now she’s dead. Keep in mind that we’re the only ones who know that,” said Toomey.

  Lilly squinted. “You’re saying?”

  “Bourne would have killed her in the end, no matter what. You didn’t think he’d let her go, did you?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “The only thing he’s lost is he can’t put her on the phone. She might have told him to go fuck himself anyway. But he still has this girl. He can put her on the phone. And as long as the girl thinks that Stride is alive, Bourne still holds a pretty good hand.”

  Lilly nodded slowly. He was remembering Bourne’s words. He called the kid insurance. A hedge against Stride. He’d said she’s a guarantor of Stride’s good behavior.

  “Think about it,” said Toomey. “Say they were both still alive. Bourne would have kept them separate anyway, right? He’d have told each one that the other was okay, and would be as long as they both behave. He still can. This doesn’t change anything.”

  Maybe, thought Lilly. But Bourne wanted more than that. He wanted time to get to know Elizabeth Stride. Lilly had seen it. The gleam in Bourne’s eye. He wouldn’t be surprised if Bourne had jacked off when he heard that they had her and were bringing her. The famous Black Angel. The beautiful killer. The thing is, she’s not really all that beautiful, thought Lilly. Not bad, but she’s no Claire. Built more like a jock. Himself, he’d have thought she was a lesbo.

  They were on a rural road, two lanes running through pines. He said, “Dirt road ahead. I could use a leak myself. We’ll get gas when we get back near the highway.”

  “Yeah, good.”

  Lilly made a right turn. He drove in two hundred yards. The road curved around a dark scummy pond that had stumps of old trees sticking out of it. He pulled over near the edge of the pond. He said, “Let’s make it fast. We’re running late as it is. Hey, Kuntz? You need to go too?”

  “I can wait.”

  “Do it here,” said Lilly. “When we get gas, you stay put, and that’s going to be our last stop.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Three doors opened at once. All three men stepped out. Kuntz followed Toomey to the algae-covered pond. Both men had some trouble undoing their zippers. Lilly waited until both men had succeeded in spite of their damaged hands. He drew his Glock from his belt and thumbed off the safety. He fired at the back of Kuntz’s head.

  Shock and surprise caused Toomey to whirl as Kuntz pitched forward on his face. The side of Toomey’s own face was splattered with blood. He was unable to interrupt his stream.

  He croaked, “What was that? Why the hell did you do that?”

  Lilly lowered his weapon. “I could give you a list. Finish pissing, then empty his pockets.”

  A part of Lilly was surprised that a single shot had done it. He’d seen how that cracker broke his hand on Kuntz’s skull. But maybe it wasn’t so thick in the back. He had aimed just above the spinal cord.

  Toomey did finish. He shook himself off. Lilly told him, “Like you said, Bourne might see the silver lining. But when I have to tell him all the ways Kuntz screwed up, he’d tell me to get rid of him anyway.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Get his stuff. Roll him in. Then let’s get out of here,” said Lilly.

  Toomey grimaced, but obeyed. He started going through Kuntz’s pockets. He said, “This isn’t right. You shouldn’t have done this. It’s not like you didn’t fuck up yourself.”

  “How me? I told him to keep her alive. How many times did I say that?”

  “Yeah, you did. But last night. We were all done with Clew. Except for my finger, we were out of there clean. But you, you just had to go look.”

  Lilly darkened. He said, “That was Claire.”

  Toomey’s eyebrows went up. “Now you believe your own bullshit? You went in there to scalp him over your fucking hair. Why was this? Because he pulled it? He messed up your perm? Your fag hairdresser should have fixed your whole head while he was at it.”

  Lilly glared. He said, “One time. Shut your mouth.”

  “A simple mugging and a beating. That was all Bourne ever wanted. What would he say if he ever heard the truth about how he lost Claire because of you?”

  Toomey knew, in that instant, that he’d made a mistake. He knew what Lilly’s next question would be. It would be “Who’s going to tell him. You’re the only one who could.”

  But that was not what Lilly said. He said, “Empty your pockets.”

  “Hey, hold it. Just wait. You don’t need to worry.”

  “You did a bad thing back at Stride’s house, you know. You cut that spade’s throat. You turned a snatch into murder. That was contrary to my clear instructions.”

  “Just wait,” said Toomey. “Look, I’m emptying my pockets.”

  Chester Lilly still held his Glock at his side. He asked, “Do I look stupid? You’re going to try for your gun. So go for it. What can you lose?”

  Toomey raised both his hands. “I’m not doing this,” he said.

  “Then I guess we’re done talking.”

  Lilly fired.

  THIRTY THREE

  Susan’s obstetrician had come in with the charge nurse to argue against her going home. Molly was using the bedside phone to check up on Carla and Elizabeth. Bannerman had taken Molly’s cell phone to one corner and had covered one ear so he could hear.

  He said to John Waldo, “I assume you’ve been to Briarwood.”

  “Still here,” he answered. “There’s not much going on.”

  “Is Bourne on the property? Have you seen him?”

  “He’s here,” said Waldo. “He’s
been down in his basement. Right now there’s just him and nobody else. Two hours ago, the whole staff started leaving. It looks like they got the night off.”

  “No bodyguards? None of his personal assistants?”

  “If you’re asking about Lilly, the guy who you think did Clew, there’s been no-one like that since I got here. If you’re asking about gate guards, there are four, two each gate, and two more patrolling the grounds. They patrol it in jeeps; they got rifles; they got dogs.”

  Bannerman asked. “Have you been in the house?”

  “Well, yeah. Since the staff left. I’ve been mostly all through it. Right now I’m upstairs in one of the maids’ rooms. The guestrooms are all wired and the biggest ones have cameras. This guy likes to know what’s going on.”

  Oh, really, thought Bannerman, although he wasn’t surprised. But that tidbit might turn out to be useful.

  “Cameras everywhere,” said Bannerman, “But you haven’t been seen?”

  “Cameras aren’t a big help if there’s nobody watching. The recorders and monitors are all down the basement, but no one is at them; I looked. Bourne’s been on the phone or he’s been on a computer except once he went upstairs to talk to a book and…”

  “A book?”

  “This big atlas. He leafs through it. On some pages, he talks to it. And twice he went outside to talk to his bees.”

  Bannerman closed one eye. “These are actual bees?”

  “There’s this row of hives, yeah. Behind the stables.”

  Bannerman remembered what Greta had said. He’d thought it was a figure of speech.

  “They seem to calm him down. This guy has big mood swings. The first time, he looked like he was mad at the world. The second time, he’s smiling and clapping his hands. It’s like he couldn’t wait to share good news with the bees.”

  “What time was the smiling and clapping?” asked Bannerman.

  “I logged it…let me look. At 10:35 this morning.”

  About the time, thought Bannerman, that Bourne would have learned that Elizabeth Stride had been taken.

  “Well, we think we know what pleased him. It’ll keep for the moment. Zivic’s

  blueprints say that basement had a ‘50s bomb shelter. Are we talking a bunker? How secure?”

  “Secure? I got down there.”

  “I meant for normal human beings.”

  “That sounds like a crack that Molly would make. Molly is sore at me, right?”

  “So is Anton,” said Bannerman. “You can mend those fences later.” He used his free hand to open Zivic’s bound dossier. He said, “I’m looking at the blueprints of that basement.”

  “Those blues must be old. Bourne made all kinds of changes. You go through his wine cellar, it’s like thousands of bottles. One rack, all dessert wines, slides open like a door. It seals like a bulkhead, but only from inside. After that, there’s what must have been the shelter apartment. There’s two bedrooms, one of which has a kitchen and pantry. The other’s now used as an office and a lab. Whatever they work on has to be hot. I saw two HazMat space suits and, out in the hall, there’s a de-con chemical shower. He added, “Oh, and there’s this cot in the lab. It’s not for sleeping. It has tie-down straps. That room is where Bourne is right now.”

  Bannerman said, “I see it. It’s the same basic layout. What other changes have you seen?”

  “There’s a walk-in vault that’s been converted to a freezer. It’s a big one, a Mosler Class 3. The lab and the bedroom have heavy steel doors with little glass windows like you see in a nuthouse. The ventilation system seems to be the original, and it’s separate from the rest of the house.”

  “Because of the HazMat?”

  “Well, originally,” said Waldo, “it’s from when it was a shelter. It cleans and recirculates its own air supply. Otherwise you’d be down there breathing fall-out.”

  “Is it functioning?”

  “Yeah, it works, but now it’s also for the wine. There’s a duct he leaves open to the rest of the cellar. Right now, Bourne is sitting down there in a bathrobe. It keeps the whole place pretty cool.”

  Bannerman said, “Okay, listen. Here’s what’s happened since you left.”

  He told Waldo what they knew of the Hilton Head kidnapping and the murder of one of Elizabeth’s friends. Three men with guns, almost surely led by Lilly. That Bourne believed, as of mid-morning, that they have Elizabeth. That he might know by now that they took the wrong woman. That they also took Elizabeth’s friend, Aisha.

  “That nice kid?” asked Waldo. “The one Billy and me talked to?”

  “That’s the one. We weren’t sure where they were being taken. But if Bourne has dismissed all his household staff, the way to bet is that they’re being brought there. If so, they’ll turn up sometime this evening.”

  “You don’t have to bet. I’ll go down now and ask him. There’s a stove there. I’ll hold his face over it.”

  “No, you stay away. Observe and report. This thing goes beyond simply rescuing those two. I need you to sit tight for a while.”

  “What’s a while?” asked Waldo.

  “It could be overnight. I have arrangements to make. And some of us need to get a few hours sleep. Will you check in with Anton every two or three hours?”

  He said, “Yeah, but Paul, I could end this when they show. I can tell from your voice, real quiet and calm, that they’re going to be dog shit regardless.”

  “Move too fast and a great many people might die. As I’ve said…”

  “It goes beyond. Yeah, I heard you.”

  “Are you okay alone?”

  “I got the run of the house. But maybe I better make a couple of calls. I don’t want to be alone and asleep.”

  “Calls to whom?” asked Bannerman.

  “People nearer than you. We got floaters who could be here in a couple of hours. We could use someone watching the gates and the dogs. Don’t worry. They’ll stay in the weeds.”

  “One more thing. Bourne’s two hostages. If you think they’re endangered…”

  “I know how to do this,” said Waldo.

  Bannerman broke the connection. He reached into his pocket. He withdrew the slip that contained Leland’s numbers. Two were marked “home” and “cell.” Two others were marked with and “S” for “secure.” He knew that Leland would still be in transit to Bridgeport in order to send Greta Kirch home. He punched out the number of the cell phone.

  “Yes?” came Leland’s voice. He answered on the second ring. Bannerman could hear highway sounds.

  “It’s Bannerman,” he said. “I have a message for Bourne. All interested parties are willing to negotiate. Martin Kessler will agree to listen to reason and you, Mr. Leland, may get what you want. No harm, however, can have come to Kessler’s friends. If they are harmed in any way…”

  “Wait a minute,” said Leland. “Who is Kessler?”

  Bannerman said quietly, “I think you know.”

  “And I think you’re mistaken. That name rings no bells. If you think you know better, kindly give me some context. Where, how and when would I know it?”

  “Angola.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Leland. “That narrows it down. But, damn it, I still do not recognize the name and, damn it, I will not have my integrity impugned. And if I ever hear one more threat from you people...”

  “One more. It’s the last. There are no more after this. It’s directed at Bourne, not at you, sir.”

  “Or my daughters?”

  “Neither you nor your daughters have anything to fear as long as my family and friends are not threatened. But understand this. I am seen as a leader. If harm should come to them and I don’t respond, I’ll have lost all credibility with them. In the end it won’t matter because they will respond. They’ll go killing on their own. They won’t do much sorting out.”

  The line was silent for a moment. “I do understand.”

  “I would think so,” said Bannerman. “It is precisely what your…what
our government has done when its citizens came under attack. I would think you’d feel the same about Roger.”

  A longer silence followed. “Was it Bourne? Can you prove it?”

  “What will you do if I can, sir?”

  “On my honor…on my honor…I will see him in prison after personally shoving my fist down his throat. But that doesn’t mean I’ll throw VaalChem to the wolves. My wife and daughters will be just as dead as the rest of us if we are attacked with bio-weapons.”

  Bannerman asked, “Is Greta still with you?”

  “Right here at my side.”

  “May I speak to her, please? I’ll be brief.”

  “He wants you,” he said to Greta.

  She had taken the phone from him. “Yes, hello, Mr. Bannerman.”

  “It’s Paul. You’ve been listening. Is he telling the truth?”

  “You…ask me to look into his heart. I cannot.”

  “His eyes, then. His manner. Don’t think. What have you felt?”

  “I have felt that he knows what is right and what isn’t. I think that his choices are not always so easy. I think he is not a bad man.”

  “Thank you, Greta,” said Bannerman. “Let me speak to him again.”

  Leland came back on. He sounded bemused. “An intuitive character reference? You’re serious?”

  “I like her and trust her,” Bannerman answered. “I’m still working on whether to trust you. Regarding VaalChem, It’s possible that I might be of help. I’ll need a few days; we’ll talk then. But for now, please call Bourne and give him my message. If Kessler’s friends are harmed, he won’t live out the week. And neither will many on his list.”

  “I…must have misheard you. Now you’re threatening mass murder?”

  “I’ll do some sorting out,” replied Bannerman.

  “These friends of this Kessler. Do they have names?”

  “Just say friends,” said Bannerman. “Bourne will know who I mean.”

  He heard Leland taking a long tired breath. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  THIRTY FOUR

  A small motorcade made the ten-minute trip from the hospital in Norwalk to Westport. One car took Susan and Cassie and the baby. The car was driven by Viktor Podolsk, the former KGB major. He would stay with them until he was relieved. The nurse that Susan had booked was en route.