I see Bennett slump and then roll off his chair onto the floor; he is the one that Castle shot. I don’t take the time to ponder why he did that, I just take two shots at Castle. He grabs for his neck, and I see blood spurting through his hands. I’m not sure if the second bullet hit him or not, but I don’t think it’s going to matter.
Gharsi dives under the table as well, and I cringe as I listen for the sound of him possibly shooting Jessie. But instead there is no sound at all; seconds tick away as I try and figure out what to do next.
“Gharsi!” I yell. “Throw out your gun and come out of there; it’s your only chance to get out alive.”
And he does come out a few seconds later, but he’s still holding his gun. Even worse is the fact that he is holding Jessie by the neck, pushing her in front of him, as a shield.
“Where are you, my friend?” Gharsi asks. “You want to come out, or perhaps watch her die from your hiding place, like a coward?”
I have no idea what to do; if I’ve been trained to handle situations like this in the past ten years, it’s a memory my mind hasn’t recovered yet.
Gharsi starts to move toward the showroom, holding Jessie between himself and where he knows I must be hiding. If I stand and show myself, I won’t have a clear shot at him. He can shoot me, and then Jessie. If I do nothing, and he gets away with her, she has no chance to survive. I cannot come up with an option that leaves her alive.
I stand up and slowly walk toward them. I can’t let her die without trying to do something. My gun is pointed at Gharsi, and his is now pointed at me. The problem is that Jessie is acting as his shield. I want to shoot, but I can’t pull the trigger, because I will almost definitely hit her.
Gharsi smiles. “You made the wrong choice, my friend. You could have lived.”
I have no place to move, and still no way to shoot him without hitting Jessie. I see him aim at me and start to pull the trigger.
Then I see his head explode.
Then I see Nate, at the showroom door, lowering his handgun.
“I told you I could shoot,” he says.
Bradley, Metcalf, and a whole bunch of cops show up a few minutes later.
Metcalf takes one look at the bodies and says, “Talk to me. Do not leave out a thing.”
“No time for that now,” I say. “There are twelve cars, fully loaded with explosives, sitting in parking lots under buildings in Manhattan.”
“What will detonate them?” he asks.
Jessie says, “Gharsi claimed that it would be by cell phone calls, which he was going to make at midnight.”
Metcalf looks at Gharsi lying on the floor with half a head. “He’s not going to be making any calls.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Jessie says, “because he was lying. They have to be set on timers.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because there is no cell phone service in those lots, not on those floors. We know that, and Gharsi was too smart not to have known it.”
“Why would he lie about that?”
“I’ll give you my best guess,” I say. “I think he knew there was a chance he could get killed, and he wanted everyone to think that the danger was contained. I think the mission was more important to him than his life.”
“Do we know where they are?”
“We know exactly where they are,” Jessie says, and she and I start writing out lists, while Metcalf alerts what seems like every bomb squad in the western hemisphere.
Jessie, Nate, and I are there for another three hours, being debriefed and describing everything that has happened tonight, in excruciating detail. It is only later that we hear about the incredible operation that the Joint Terrorism Task Force, in tandem with the New York City Police, conducted.
They evacuated all twelve buildings, identified the cars, and rendered them harmless. All were set to go off, not at midnight, but at nine o’clock in the morning, when the greatest loss of human life would occur.
Then they began the process of rounding up the twelve drivers, some of whom had mistakenly returned to the auto dealership, not realizing they were surrendering in the process. Eight were taken into custody immediately, but the other four were soon to follow.
As he did after the theater shooting, Metcalf conducts the final interview. His last question to me is, “How did you know about Congers?”
“A few reasons,” I say. “For one, they tried to kill me after the New York Times story said I was getting my memory back, and after I told Bradley and Bettis it wasn’t true. But once I told Congers the truth, they stopped going after me. And after I told Congers about the two guys in the park, they turned up dead. Bennett must have known that they talked, and Congers must have told them.”
“Anything else?” Metcalf asks.
I nod. “Bettis told me that Congers reported Tony Gibbons at the pier was clean, but I knew he wasn’t. Congers denied telling him that, but he was lying. And he’s also the one who got the explosives hidden before our search of the used car lot, because Bradley told him what was going on the night before.
“One more thing,” I say. “Remember that original phone call to Nate I made just before I got shot? I said, ‘Find Congers and—’ before I got cut off. Well, I think I know how I was going to finish that sentence. I was going to say ‘Find Congers and arrest him.’”
“You’re not a bad cop,” he says. “Maybe the thing at the theater wasn’t luck after all.”
“I’m all tingly; I live for your praise,” I say.
I finally walk out of the dealership with Jessie and Nate. Nate says, “I’ll see you guys later. I’d better get back to the hospital, but I want to stop and get a pastrami sandwich on the way.”
“You weren’t released?” I ask.
“Nah. I’ve still got the infection.” He smiles. “Doesn’t hurt my shooting any.”
“How’d you know where in the building we were?” I ask.
“TJ told me,” he says, and points to my loyal helper, standing in the parking lot.
I walk over to TJ. “You okay?”
“Are you kidding? This was the most fun I’ve ever had.”
“Where do you live?”
He gives me his address, and I tell him, “I’ll pick you up at five thirty; you’re going to be on television.”
It’s been almost a month since that night.
The Today Show was just the beginning, though it was quite a beginning. I read the other day that it was the highest rated show they’ve ever done, and they milked the interview by spreading it out over three days.
I’ve pretty much stayed out of the limelight as much as I can, but it’s not easy. I’m mobbed everywhere I go; people mean well, but it’s exhausting. TJ’s liking it considerably more than me; he’s done his own media tour.
Nate is out of the hospital, as the infection was finally conquered. He’s also gotten more than his share of deserved media recognition, but what he is most pleased about is losing eleven pounds while in the hospital. The fact that it took him about an hour and a half to gain it back hasn’t seemed to dampen his enthusiasm.
I was able to finally give Jessie the recognition she deserved in the Today Show interview. She’s using it to force her way back onto the street, leaving the cybercrime area to others.
Captain Bradley thinks I’ve had enough time to recuperate and wants me back on the job full time, but I’ve told him I need some time to think, which is what I’m doing now. On some level I don’t want to return at all; I want to put all of this behind me. But I’m a cop, that’s what I do, and I think I’ll probably start doing it again.
Just not right now.
Some of my memory has come back. It seemed like it was going to return chronologically, but it hasn’t; things have been just popping up at random. I still have no recollection of being shot, or the events leading up to it, and that doesn’t bother me.
Been there, done that.
About two weeks ago I remembered Johnnie Arroyo. I’ve never
experienced anything like that moment, and I don’t recommend it to anyone. Within a few seconds, I met and got to know a young man, loved him like my son, and watched him get shot to death. The first time it happened, in real time, it sent me into a tailspin, and I believe that knowledge is helping me to avoid a similar descent the second time around.
I also remember the sequence of events and feelings that followed, and which led me to break off my relationship with Jessie, and the rest of the world as well. It’s very painful, both the feelings themselves, and especially the knowledge of how I acted when I felt them.
At first I wasn’t going to tell her that those memories had returned, but then I realized that I had to. So I shared it all.
When I did, she came over to me, standing maybe five inches in front of me. “You don’t have to stay,” she said.
“I know.”
“You need to do what feels right for you.”
“I know,” I said.
“But whatever you are going to do, whatever you decide, you need to do it now.”
“I know.”
“Just to be clear, if you say ‘I know’ again, I am going to knee you in the groin.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said, and then I kissed her and told her I love her, and that I am very, very thankful for a second chance.
“I know,” she said.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID ROSENFELT is the Edgar and Shamus Award–nominated author of six previous stand-alone novels and twelve Andy Carpenter novels, most recently Who Let the Dog Out? After years of living in California, he and his wife moved to Maine with twenty-five golden retrievers that they rescued. Rosenfelt’s hilarious account of this cross-country move, Dogtripping, and his moving memoir of the dog that inspired his love affair with dogs, Lessons from Tara, are published by St. Martin’s Press. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY DAVID ROSENFELT
ANDY CARPENTER NOVELS
Who Let the Dog Out?
Hounded
Unleashed
Leader of the Pack
One Dog Night
Dog Tags
New Tricks
Play Dead
Dead Center
Sudden Death
Bury the Lead
First Degree
Open and Shut
THRILLERS
Without Warning
Airtight
Heart of a Killer
On Borrowed Time
Down to the Wire
Don’t Tell a Soul
NONFICTION
Lessons from Tara: Life Advice from the World’s Most Brilliant Dog
Dogtripping: 25 Rescues, 11 Volunteers, and 3 RVs on Our Canine Cross-Country Adventure
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Begin Reading
About the Author
Also by David Rosenfelt
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BLACKOUT. Copyright © 2015 by Tara Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by Kerri Resnick
Cover photographs: woman © Dylan Kitchener / Trevillion Images; motel © Anthony-Masterson / Getty Images; figure of man in window © elwynn / Shutterstock
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Rosenfelt, David, author.
Title: Blackout / David Rosenfelt.
Description: First edition. | New York: Minotaur Books, 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015040421 (print) | LCCN 2015041028 (e-book) | ISBN 9781250055316 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781466890428 (e-book)
Subjects: LCSH: Police—New Jersey—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Amnesia—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Thrillers. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction. | Suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3618.O838 B58 2016 (print) | LCC PS3618.O838 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015040421
eISBN 9781466890428
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First Edition: January 2016
Blackout Page 21
