“You’re making a lot of assumptions, the first being that he even remembers the word, the second being that he cares what it means.”
“Oh, he cares. We made a big deal out of not mentioning it, and then you go blurt it out. There’s that old movie line that goes, ‘If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.’ Well, you told him, so now…”
Ed’s stomach did a turn. A little sick from the rum and coke? Or from the subject matter?
“He doesn’t deserve to die just because he heard a word.”
“Okay, then, how’s this? He knows all about H3 and the project. If he blabs about that, we’re ruined. I’ve already mentioned the melis issue. And last but not least, he stole half a million fucking dollars of our money! That’s three strikes. In my book, three strikes and you’re out. He signed his own death sentence.”
What’s happened to me? Ed wondered.
His life’s course had been set: He was supposed to make discoveries about animal diseases, help cure or prevent them, make the world a better place. Then Agent Greve had shown up with his container of goddamn melis and everything had gone to hell. But slowly. So slowly that Ed had never noticed the old Edward Hess eroding away, leaving a shell captivated by the magic of that infernal substance.
Nausea threatened to overwhelm him. “I never signed on for this.”
“Well, neither did I. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
12
The sound of a bell awoke her.
Jelena snapped upright in bed when she recognized it.
The front door.
She checked the clock on her cable box: 4:28. For real? Who on Earth would be knocking on someone’s door at four-thirty on Christmas Eve?
“Oh, no!” she whispered.
They’ve come back for the money
“No-no-no-no-no!”
Fighting panic, she leaped from under the quilt and ran around her bedroom, looking for clothes. She couldn’t go to the door—even if she didn’t answer it—in a T-shirt and panties. She found a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. Leaving the lights off, she tiptoed to the door. She realized she’d forgotten to turn off the front stoop light. Bad for the electric bill but good for seeing who was out there. If she saw that guy who’d delivered the suitcase, she’d pretend no one was home.
She peeked through the peephole and saw an attractive, classy-looking woman in a white fur coat and fur hat. Definitely overdressed for this neighborhood. She had some sort of blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Was she lost?
“Hello?” Jelena said through the door. “Can I help you?”
“I have something I believe is yours,” the woman said.
What was going on tonight? First the suitcase, and now…
“What is it?”
“A child.”
What? It sounded like she’d said—
“Oh, God!”
She ran back to Cilla’s room and flipped on the light. Her bed was empty! Jelena couldn’t help the panicked screech that escaped her as she raced back to the front door and yanked it open.
When the woman pulled back a flap of the blanket to reveal Cilla’s peacefully sleeping face, Jelena felt her legs begin to fail her. She clutched the doorframe for support.
“Yours?”
Jelena managed a “Yes.”
“I found her wandering in the snow and—”
Jelena regained her voice and screamed, “Give her to me!” as she grabbed for her.
“Of course,” the woman said calmly as she released the bundle. “That is why I’m here.”
She clutched Cilla against her, wanting to sob and wanting to scream again. How could this be?
The child stirred in her arms and murmured, “Doggie Man.”
“What? What was that?”
“She’s been saying that ever since I found her,” the woman said.
Jelena pulled the blanket open—the blanket from Cilla’s bed. Cilla was still dressed in her favorite pajamas and looked fine… perfectly fine.
“I don’t understand,” Jelena said. “I put her to bed and… how could she…?”
The woman shrugged. “That is not for me to answer. I found her a block away, standing in the snow and staring up at a streetlight. I took her into my car and asked her where she lived and she guided us here.”
Staring up at a streetlight…so Cilla…
Jelena saw the Hummer idling in the street. Her mind whirled. None of this made sense. Was she dreaming?
“All’s well that ends well, I guess,” the woman said and turned to go.
“Wait. I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” she said without turning back. “But please keep a closer watch on your child in the future.”
The admonishment stung. She did keep a close watch. Cilla was never alone.
A turbaned man got out of the Hummer’s driver seat and opened the rear door for the woman.
“Wait!” Jelena called. “I don’t even know your name!”
The mystery woman waved as she seated herself in the rear. The driver closed the door, got back in, and drove off.
“Thank you,” Jelena said softly and closed the door.
She gave Cilla a gentle shake, and kept shaking her until she opened her eyes.
“How did you get outside, baby?”
“Doggie Man.” And then she closed her eyes again.
Jelena checked the back door: double locked; the dead bolt could be turned only from the inside. But in Cilla’s bedroom the one window was unlocked. Jelena knew she’d locked it as soon as the weather turned cold and kept it locked. Had she crawled out the window?
Oh, God, this was awful. For the millionth time she wished David were here.
She hugged Cilla tighter and carried her toward her own bedroom.
“You’re sleeping with me tonight, baby.”
Cilla mumbled “Doggie Man” in her sleep. Again.
What on God’s Earth did that mean?
13
“That looked like it went pretty smoothly,” Jack said as Madame de Medici ascended into the rear of the Hummer.
“Yes, of course it did. She had no idea her child had left the house. For a moment I thought she might swoon.”
Swoon?
As Sochai climbed behind the wheel and got them rolling, Jack twisted in the passenger seat to face Madame.
“That was a good thing you did there.”
A smile. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m always surprised when someone does something totally out of character.”
She gave a soft laugh. “Yes. ‘Totally.’” She looked at him. “Do you really have such a low opinion of me?”
“After the way you set me up—what do you think? La Belle Dame Sans Merci.”
She smiled. “I accept ‘La Belle Dame,’ but as I’ve already said, I did not intend for you to be injured. I expected you to injure others. That’s usually the way it works for you. Do we have a conflict here?”
He waved a hand. “No conflict.” Not if Roland was an example of how she resolved conflicts. “I only wish I’d had a heads-up that a Native American was following me.”
“You mean Mister Hill, the Mohawk? I’m still familiarizing myself with New World things and peoples.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. I’m sure you have Mrs. Q’s undying gratitude. Why did you do it?”
“I can be quite ruthless—I have enough self-awareness to know that—and I admit it. But I am not ‘Sans Merci.’ Besides, I did it for you.”
“Me?”
“A small compensation for your injuries. As we have already discussed, had a bloody, bedraggled-looking man such as you appeared on her doorstep, she would have immediately called the police. But me…a stylish Belle Dame…” She shrugged.
Had to hand it to her: She said it like she saw it. He looked back at the Quinnell house. All the lights were on.
“Where’d you say you found her?”
“Wandering a block away.”
“And the mom bought it?”
Another smile. “Simple lies are the best. The listener tends to fill in the details. Only later do questions arise.”
Jack thought about that. Yeah, that was how it usually worked. He—
Wait…words from half a moment ago trickled back: New World? Who the hell said New World in this day and age?
“Who are you? I mean really.”
“I’ve told you: Madame—”
“Yeah-yeah. So you say. What’s your first name?”
“Madame.”
“Can I get a serious answer here?”
“I’ve had many names. This one seems to have stuck. I’ve been Madame de Medici the longest of all.”
“And how long is that?”
“A long time.”
Jack clenched his teeth. The woman was impossible.
Despite no hope of a straight answer, he asked anyway: “How old are you?”
“Mmmm…let me see…how does that expression go? As old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth.”
Jack shook his head. “I can’t help it—I keep looking around for your dog.”
“As I’ve already told you: I am not her.”
“But you know her?”
“I know of her. We’ve never met face to face.”
Try another tack: “Got any family?”
“Once. All gone now.”
“So you’re alone?”
“Alone but not lonely. I have my treasures.”
“Things…no people?”
“I prefer ‘things.’ Things possess a permanent state of being: They are what they are and stay what they are. They don’t change, they don’t disappoint you, don’t betray you. They don’t… die.”
“But…” Hell, what was the use? “Okay, change of subject: What next for you? You’ve secured your nasty little Infernal. Gonna stick it with your other things?”
“Yes. I’ve been keeping my Infernals in the New Orleans house—to which I cannot wait to return and get out of this weather. I’m not suited to the cold.” She lifted her hand bag. “I have a spot reserved for this. Right next to the Cidsev Nelesso.”
A weird name he’d never forget…the bracelet-like Infernal he’d encountered in New Orleans. But she’d said…
“So, you do have it. You told me you didn’t know where it was.”
“I lied.”
Jack couldn’t find a hint of guilt in her tone. “As you said, you’re excellent at it. How do I know you’re telling the truth now?”
“You don’t. But I knew you only by reputation last week. I know you better now. By the way, I also have the arm it adorned.”
That jolted Jack. “Chastain’s?”
She nodded. “Of course. Who else?”
“His arm?”
“Well, not his whole arm, of course—just the hand, wrist, and lower half of his forearm. You may recall, in a sudden frantic need to be rid of the Cidsev, he hacked it off.”
Jack recalled. He’d seen Chastain and his bandaged stump in a NOLA hospital. He made a face. “And you kept it? Won’t it rot?”
“Not if properly preserved—and I have people who know the old ways. It seems an appropriate mount for display, don’t you think?”
“Never let a good body part go to waste, right?” Sheesh. “Your personal version of Feng shui?”
She laughed. “I doubt a master would approve, but the pairing appeals to me.”
The woman was scary—very scary. He glanced at his watch. “Gotta go. Need to be there when Burke and Hare arrive.”
“You still wear a watch?”
“Old school, I know. But phones make clunky timepieces.”
“And after you deal with the scientists…a Christmas Eve celebration with the family?”
“That’s a dozen hours away—after some shut-eye and a couple of showers. And as for family, all the blood relatives I know of are dead.”
Mom, Dad, Kate, Tom…all gone.
A spear has no branches…
“The same for me.” She gave him a long look. “You have a woman?”
“‘Have’?” He laughed. “I don’t think she’s the sort of woman you ‘have.’ More like she has me.”
“That sounds like a woman I would like to meet.”
Was she angling for an invitation? Well, why not?
“It’s at her house—eight Sutton Square. If you’d like to stop over, you’d be more than welcome. Sochai too.”
He and the Sikh had done a little bonding while his Mistress was returning Cilla. Jack had sensed a deep loyalty there.
“I am deeply appreciative,” Sochai said, “but I do not celebrate Christmas.”
“Neither do I,” Madame said. “But I may take you up on your offer. Tell me: Your woman…she would not mind your inviting another woman, especially one as desirable as I?”
He had to laugh. “You kill me. Not in the least. Her name’s Gia, by the way, and she’s got no insecurities where I’m concerned. She knows me. But she’s the type who hates to think of someone with no place to go on Christmas Eve.”
“That is very kind of you—and her—but I may be prevented from coming because I must help an old friend tonight.”
“Older than you?” he said, hoping to catch her off guard. But she didn’t bite.
“Who said I was old?”
“Sorry.”
“For a number of years, I have assisted him with his health, so to speak, and he has had a long life, but he no longer responds. I fear this might be his last day.”
“Will you miss him?”
“He performs a vital service. But I am working on a replacement.”
Jack noticed how she evaded a direct answer but let it slide.
“Well, if you can make it, please don’t hesitate to show up. As for now, how about dropping me at the diner so I can reclaim my rental?”
14
Jack squatted beside Quinnell who’d managed to push himself back up to a sitting position while Jack was away.
“Cilla’s back with her mom, safe and sound.”
Quinnell gave a nod.
“You look a little better. Feeling any better?”
He shook his head.
“Listen, I called Hess and Monaco and they’re on their way in.”
Jack had expected some sort of protest but Quinnell only stared with his yellow eyes.
“Did you hear me? They’re coming to take you back to Plum Island.”
Instead of the usual insistent head shaking, Quinnell gave a halfhearted shrug.
He’d given up. Yet, despite that, Jack had an inexplicable feeling that Quinnell was clinging to what remained of his life with everything he had. He supposed that was very human.
It saddened Jack.
He looked around at the tree, the lights, the stolen presents that Cilla had had to leave behind. On the surface it seemed like all that effort had been for naught, but then again…
David Quinnell had known it was his last Christmas, and he’d wanted to be home for it, wanted to spend that last Christmas with his daughter. And he’d nearly made it.
Jack coughed to relieve the growing tightness in his chest.
“All right, my friend,” he said, waving his phone. “I’m going up to where I can get a signal. The scumbags should be getting close by now and will never find their way here without help.”
Quinnell didn’t respond.
Jack watched them get out of the Highlander…watched them closely. Had to be prepared for the unexpected with these two. Especially Monaco.
“Where on Earth are we?” Monaco said as he headed for the rear hatch.
“Right where you need to be.”
He’d guided them in via phone along a twisty-turny route from the Belt Parkway.
The rear hatch slammed and Monaco returned with a folded body bag, saying, “Is he still alive?”
“Barely.”
“When did you last see him?”
Before answering, Jack played his flash b
eam over Monaco’s ski jacket and spotted a suspicious bulge in its right pocket.
“Just before I got on the phone to you. Still able to sit upright at the time, but I don’t know how much longer.” He waved his beam toward the opening in the fence. “Let’s go.”
As they trudged across the parking lot, Jack kept to Monaco’s right where he could watch his right hand. He wanted early warning if the scientist tried to pull a weapon. He wasn’t worried about Hess who looked a little loopy and disconnected and hadn’t said a word yet. Jack didn’t think either of them would try anything before they had Quinnell. After that, though, all options were open and anything could happen.
Under the grandstand they balked at descending into the conduit.
“How do we know it’s not waiting down there to maul us?” Monaco said.
“He can’t stand—can’t even crawl.”
“So you say.”
Giving them no warning, Jack fairly leaped into the opening and scrambled down the rungs. Monaco was not the sort he wanted at his back.
He waited for them at the bottom, then led them to the lair.
“Good God in heaven!” Hess said when he saw the Christmas tree. “Did he do this?”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” Jack said.
But Jack was more interested in Quinnell who had fallen on his side again. Jack shook his shoulder.
“David…David, it’s Jack.”
No response. Communicating with Quinnell had been difficult when he was up and about, but damn near impossible in his present semi-comatose state.
Behind him he heard Monaco say, “Well, well, looks like you two have bonded.”
A second later Jack had him by the front of his jacket and was in his smirking face. “Shut it!”
Monaco said nothing but the smirk vanished.
Hess had taken Jack’s place at Quinnell’s side and was looking him over, prying open his eyelids, looking for a pulse.
“Severe sclericteris. Looks like hepatic coma.”
“Damn it,” Monaco said, moving to Hess. “Of all the luck. Let’s get him in the bag and move him to the car.”
As they busied themselves spreading and opening the body bag, Quinnell opened his eyes and looked at Jack. He gave a slow wink, then closed them again.
What…what was he up to?
Jack decided it best to leave these three alone and watch how things played out from a distance.
The Last Christmas: A Repairman Jack Novel Page 30
