by Roy Johansen
Dylan sat in his car, listening incredulously to the voice coming through his cell phone. He'd triggered the charge that sent Haddenfield's car into the river, then watched as the lucky bastard swam to shore. If it hadn't been so important to make it appear to be an accident, Haddenfield would be dead now.
“Of course I owe you, Haddenfield. But why do you need a bodyguard?”
“Someone just tried to shoot me on the expressway. They blew out my tire and I lost control. I almost drowned.”
Good God. It didn't sound as if Haddenfield even suspected him. “You're lucky.”
“This kind of luck I can do without.”
“I told you that your research might make you a target. Another nation may be close to a similar breakthrough, and they don't want you to complete your work.”
Dylan paused. Was Haddenfield buying this bullshit?
“That's what I thought. That's why I need you to take me back to South Carolina.”
Yes, he was buying it. “When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible. Can you meet me at the Georgian Terrace Hotel at six-thirty?”
“Why there? I'd suggest another place, perhaps a bit less conspicuous. How about—”
“No way. Until I'm with you, I'd feel safer there. I'll see you at six-thirty.”
Click.
Dylan turned off his phone. Okay, fine. There were plenty of places to dump Haddenfield's body after they were on the road to South Carolina.
That miserable fuck. Who the hell did he think he was, stringing everybody along with his lies? Did Haddenfield really think he wouldn't eventually find out?
He'd convinced his superiors that Haddenfield represented a security risk and needed to be eliminated. He wasn't sure if that was true, but that bastard had to pay.
Dylan turned the wheel of his Jeep and headed for downtown.
Six-eleven P.M.
Joe, Howe, and Carla arrived at the intersection of Peachtree and Ponce De Leon Avenue, half a block from the Fox Theater. Special ops section commander Hank Barbour was already there with four other plainclothes officers.
Barbour squinted at Joe. The man's neck was so big that it was difficult to see where his head began. “What are you doin'here, Spirit Basher?”
“Backup,”Howe cut in. “This is related to a case we're working.”
“Don't worry, I'll keep him from getting into trouble,”Carla said from behind Joe. He turned to see her smiling at him as she tightened the strap on her flak jacket.”Betcha you don't get this much excitement in bunco, huh, Joe?”
“So, Barbour,”Carla asked. “What are youdoing here? I thought you usually handled hostage situations.”
Barbour shook his head. “I was told that our suspect may have some specialized training. They sent me to keep you children nice and safe. By the way, he's already in the lobby.”
“What?”Howe said. “I thought you were going to get him before he went inside.”
Barbour nodded. “Plan's changed. He managed to slip in somehow. I guess he's scoping things out. Reinertson and Clune will enter and ask him to leave with them.”
Howe nodded.”And if he's not so inclined?”
“The rest of you will already be in place. We move against him in three minutes.”
Dylan sat twelve feet from the front windows, scanning the faces of the passersby on the sidewalk. He was across the street from the Fox Theater, where he'd first made the acquaintance of Councilman Tal-man a few weeks before. Talman's favorite charity had been holding a fund-raising dinner in one of the reception halls.
Dylan shook his head. He hated politicians. It was almost enough to make a man want to—
What the hell?
Dylan leaned forward. Someone on the sidewalk had been staring at him. Staring and talking into a cell phone…
The man turned his back.
Dylan glanced up the street. Another man was about sixty feet away, doing absolutely nothing. Yet another man was standing casually near the corner restaurant.
Tactical positions.
He turned and glanced around. Shit. He was alone in the lobby; the area had been cleared.
The police. They undoubtedly had the exits covered. Haddenfield wasn't as stupid as he'd thought.
Dylan took a deep breath. Keep calm. As a matter of habit, he'd mapped out three possible escape routes each time he visited a new locale. It was a routine that had saved his life on many occasions. He'd automatically run through the possibilities in his first five minutes there. Christ. Now he wasn't sure if any of them would work.
Well, perhaps one.
He glanced at the elevator.A dim readout told him that it was headed downward. Another few seconds …
Two men walked through the lobby's main doors. They were trying to look relaxed and casual, but he could see their tense expressions.
Not to mention the slight bulges of their shoulder holsters.
The elevator car arrived with a sharp “ping,”andDylan jumped to his feet. The two men reached for their holsters.
Showtime, boys.
Dylan bolted for the elevator, leapt through the open doors, and punched the button for the highest floor. He drew both of his guns and fired repeatedly as the cops dove for cover. The doors finally slid shut and the elevator lurched upward.
Dylan glanced around the cramped little car. How many seconds would he have until—?
The elevator stopped and the lights cut out. An emergency battery lamp switched on.
The cops had cut power to the elevator.
Precisely as he'd anticipated.
“All units, suspect has been contained. Convene to lobby area immediately.”
“Copy that,”Carla said into her radio. She and Joe stood in the back alleyway, near the service entrance.
“Contained, not apprehended,”Joe said.
Carla drew her gun. “Guess they're waiting for us to save the day, huh?”
They ran to the lobby, where Barbour was assigning positions. “We're bringing the elevator down. Maintain your defensive positions until I give the word, got it?”
Joe and Carla took cover behind adjacent pillars. Howe nodded to Joe from behind a sofa.
Barbour turned a key in the elevator panel and stepped back. “Get ready.”
The elevator chimed. Joe angled his revolvertoward the doors. After what seemed like forever, the doors finally slid open, and—
“I don't fucking believe it,”Barbour cursed through his teeth.
Blood drizzled from Dylan's hands onto the carpet as he ran down the second-floor corridor. It had been simple enough to climb through the elevator's flimsy ceiling, but the steel lift cables had sliced his palms and fingers to ribbons.
He peered through a window at the alley below. A Mercedes was parked underneath. Too strong a frame. He ran to the next window. A Volvo. No good, built like a tank. A Sentra was parked beneath the third window. The perfect air bag.
He pushed open the window and leapt outside, tucking and rolling as he plummeted downward. He landed on his backside, crushing the Sentra's roof. He sat up and checked for damage. None. The car's paper-thin frame had absorbed most of the impact. Nissan hadn't let him down yet.
“Freeze!”
Dylan glanced over. A plain-looking woman leveled her service revolver at him.
He rested back on the crumpled car roof. “I think my back's broken. Jesus, I can't feel my legs.”
He studied her, looking for any sign that she was lowering her guard. None so far.
She raised her gun.”Show me your hands. Now!”
He grimaced and showed her his bloody palms. His lids fluttered as if he were about to lose consciousness.
She slightly lowered her gun.
That's it, you ugly bitch. Now go for your radio.
“Keep your hands where I can see 'em,”she said. She cast a glance back toward the end of the alley.
No one's there yet, little lady. It's just me and you.
Her left hand fumbl
ed for the walkie-talkie at her waist.
Gunshots rang out from behind the hotel.
Joe's head jerked back. Carla …
He bolted from his post at the side entrance. He drew his gun and ran toward the alley.
More shots. Jesus.
Joe raced around the corner. Not Carla, please not Carla …
First he saw the crumpled car with the blood-soaked suspect sprawled on top. The man's head had been practically blown off, but his twitching, bloody hands still gripped a pair of Beretta automatics.
Oh God. Carla. She was bleeding on the ground, her revolver extended in front of her. “Christ,”she whispered.
Blood oozed from a wound on the side of her neck. Joe tore off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. “Hang on. Help is coming.”He yelled into his radio.”Officer down at the rear service entrance. Get a goddamned ambulance here!”
She looked at the body on top of the crumpled car. “Bastard faked me out. He got two shots off before I unloaded on him.”
“You nailed him, Carla.”
“Hard to breathe …can't catch my breath. God, Joe, I wish Cal was here.”
“I'll call him as soon as we get you in the ambulance. Just relax.”
Her lids fluttered. “I've never been shot before. I didn't think it would feel like this…. Hot and cold at the same time.”
Joe glanced down the alley. What the hell was taking so long? “You're gonna be all right. Just fight.”He tried to smile. “You don't want to get me in trouble, do you? Dad would never forgive me if he thought I didn't take care of you. He loves you, Carla.”
“I love him,”she whispered.”So much …”
Cal sat quietly in the waiting area of the hospital emergency room, staring at the tiled floor. To Joe, it looked as if his father had aged twenty years in the hour and a half since he'd been told about Carla.
“It's taking a long time,”Cal said.
“She's in surgery. It could be hours.”
Cal glanced around the waiting room, crowded with over a dozen cops. Several more were standing outside. “Looks like half the force is here.”
“Carla's a special person. I don't know anybody who's better-liked than she is.”
“All those years that your mother worried about me, I never had any idea what she went through. These past few months, whenever I've known that Carla was on a shift, my stomach's been in knots. I don't know how your mother took it.”
“She took it because she knew you loved your work. Just like Carla loves hers.”
“Carla's the real thing Joe. She's all I need for the rest of my life.”
“I know.”
“I always thought your mother would outlive me. It never occurred to me that it could happen any other way. When she was taken from us, I thought it was such a cruel trick.”He hit his knee with his fist. “How in hell could it happen again? Not to Carla. She's so young, she doesn't deserve it.”
“I thought the same thing when Angela died. I wish I had the answers.”
Howe walked into the waiting room. “They think they've found the suspect's car. It's on West Peach-tree, a few blocks from the Georgian Terrace.”
Joe stood.”Any idea who he was?”
“No. He had no ID on him, and the car's a rental. The fingerprint guys are dusting it now. Wanna go over and have a look?”
Joe glanced at his father. “Not right now. I'd better stay here and—”
“Go,”Cal said. “Find out why that bastard did this. Make some sense of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. If I need moral support, I have about twenty of Atlanta's finest here to back me up.”
Joe peered into the rear window of the Jeep Cherokee. It was parked near the AT&T building on West Peachtree Street.”Any info on the renter?”
Howe checked his notebook. “Jonathan Hemet, which matches the New York driver's license wefound in the glove compartment. We ran a check on it, and it's a fake.”
Joe nodded. “Have they printed the corpse yet?”
Howe nodded. “The hands are cut up pretty bad, but forensics thinks they can get enough to work with.”
Joe walked around to the open passenger-side door and pointed to a pile of books on the floor. “Has anybody looked at those?”
“Only to dust for prints. Looks like Oriental folklore stuff. Could we be lucky enough to have nailed the Spotlight Killer?”
“Doubtful. The killer's been doing this for years, and these books look brand-new. This guy may have known something though. Anything else?”
“A laptop computer.”
“Where is it?”
“Ask your pal Fisher.”
FBIFisher?”
“He and some fed technogeek are in that white car three spaces behind us. Maybe they'll let youin on the secret.”
Joe walked back to the white Ford Taurus, where Fisher and a young bushy-haired man sat in the front seat. Joe rapped on the rear passenger-side window. The doors unlocked, and Joe climbed in back. “I thought you guys were off this investigation.”
“Detective Joe Bailey, meet Special Agent Dorn Whitaker.”
Whitaker never took his eyes from the notebook computer screen. He raised his hand in greeting.
Joe crossed his arms over the seat backs.”What the hell is going on, Fisher?”
“We've decided to take a closer look at this guy. If he killed someone who was engaged in a Defense Department research project, it could possibly fall under the purview of national security. You should have told us you were on to him. My feelings are hurt, Bailey. You know what a sensitive soul I am.”
“Yeah, and by the time you went through all the channels with the Bureau and the CIA, he might have gotten away. We know he killed the kid at the hospital, and we didn't feel like waiting.”
Fisher nodded.”How's your officer?”
“Fighting for her life. We want that computer.”
“Won't do you any good,”Whitaker said. “Everything's encrypted.”
Joe shrugged. “We have people who can get around that.”
“Not like ourpeople,”Fisher said.
Whitaker made a face. “Actually, ourpeople may have a problem with this one. This is a high-level encryption scheme. I've never seen anything like it.”
Fisher glanced at the screen. “Surely there's some way—”
“I'm sure there is, but we have to be careful. If we go about this the wrong way, the hard drive may wipe itself clean. We need to take this in.”
Fisher turned back to Joe. “My boss has already spoken to your boss. We're taking the computer, but I promise we'll keep you in the loop.”He paused. “I know what it's like to lose a fellow officer.”
Joe opened the car door and climbed out. “We haven't lost her yet.”
Joe drove back to the hospital and walked past the off-duty cops chain-smoking on the sidewalk outside the emergency room's large double doors. No news yet, they told him. Inside, his father was surrounded by officers who were doing a good job offering him comfort and companionship.
“Why didn't you tell me that your father was such an attractive man?”
Joe turned to see Tess Wayland. Just what he needed.”Ms. Wayland, I'm really not in the mood—”
“Relax, I'm off the clock. I heard about what happened, so I came by with some food.”She motioned toward dozens of containers resting on chairs. “It's from Mick's. About five hundred dollars'worth, courtesy of Monica Gaines's Psychic World.I think there's still some good stuff left.”
“That's very generous,”he said warily.
“Just our way of showing our appreciation to the Atlanta PD. By the way, Monica has taken a turn for the better.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. She's not out of the woods yet, but it looks like her body is fighting the infection. The doctors say it's a miracle.”
“Well, you always said that miracles were her stock-in-trade.” Joe glanced back at his father. “If she has any left over, we
can sure use one down here.”
An hour later, Dr. Dale Fuller emerged. His expression was not encouraging.
Cal moistened his lips. “I hope the news is better than the look on your face, Doctor. Well?”
“She survived surgery, but it wasn't easy for her. Her heart stopped on the table. She was nicked on the anterior branch of the external jugular, and she lost quite a bit of blood.”
Cal's voice wavered.”What's the prognosis?”
“Difficult to say. If she survives, it could be a long recovery.”
“If she survives?”Cal said.”You make sure that she comes out of this. She has to live. Whenshe comes out, I'll take care of her. However long it takes.”
“It could be a long road back. She's in recovery right now, and as soon as she's stable, we'll move her up to ICU. You can see her then. Does she have any family?”
“A sister in Savannah,”Cal said.”She's on her way.”
“Good. If she has any questions, I'll be available to talk to her.”The doctor gave them directions to Carla's ICU room and left.
Joe checked his watch. “Dad, I have to pick up Nikki. She's staying with a friend, and I don't want her hearing about this from someone else. Do you want me to bring her back here?”
“No, hospitals scare Nikki. Too many bad memories. Take her home and talk to her.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“My toiletries kit and a change of clothes. I'm not setting foot outside this place until I can walk out with Carla.”
After all those years, his masterpiece was finally coming to an end.
Rakkan stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling win-dows and stared at the illuminated Atlanta skyline. He'd been looking forward to this day for so long, but now it only filled him with sadness. Funny, he hadn't expected to feel this way. It was a time to celebrate, not mourn, yet there was a terrible emptiness growing in the pit of his stomach.
The original Rakkan wouldn't have let such feelings overtake him. He was the perfect hunter, sleek and pitiless, without need for such simple emotions.
But how could he not feel a twinge of regret? It had been an exhilarating journey. He'd almost been apprehended in SanAntonio, and the experience had so rattled him that he'd abandoned his masterpiece for almost two years. He didn't need this, he'd thought. The risk was too great.
