Gibson worked faster, clearing away the remaining boxes to reveal what looked like an old-fashioned refrigerator door, only wider and held shut with dead bolts and latches. He unlocked it but needed both hands to pry the door open. He rested his flashlight on the ground, but it rolled away, casting shadows against the wall of the container. Inch by inch, the door gave way.
In the gloom, he saw movement. A water bottle rolled out and bumped against his foot. He groped around for his flashlight and held it up. A layer of thick white foam padding covered the interior. He ran the flashlight’s beam across the interior of the strange container. There, in a corner, crouched George Abe.
They’d found him. They’d actually found him. Gibson felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. He realized it was the feeling of hope fulfilled. He kind of liked it.
Gibson called George by name, but the roar of the engines drowned him out. Pressed against the back wall, George held up a hand to shield his eyes. He looked terrified. A beaten dog. Gibson realized George couldn’t see a thing, so he squatted down on his heels and turned the flashlight on himself.
“You’re safe now,” Gibson said, even though he knew he couldn’t be heard.
George squinted, head tilted to one side. Recognition flickered across his face, and he darted forward and threw his arms around Gibson. It knocked Gibson on his back. He felt George sobbing and simply held on to him. Gibson knew how it felt when a door that would never open finally did.
“What’s happening?” Jenn asked.
“He’s here. I’ve got him,” Gibson told her and then said to George, “I’ve got you.” It seemed important to say.
In the dark of the container, he held George and listened to Jenn whoop with joy. He smiled. It felt good. He would need this memory for what came next. How he would miss these people when it came time to say good-bye.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jenn and George’s reunion was emotionally wrenching to watch. She tried to hold it together, but when George put his arms around her, she broke down. Seeing Jenn Charles cry was like catching a glimpse of that stoic uncle, the one who never showed any emotion, wiping away an unguarded tear. It should have been obvious, but he hadn’t realized until that moment how much of a father figure George Abe was to her. Gibson backed out of the cockpit. He went down to the cargo bay, repacked the container, and lashed it to the bulkhead.
When he returned to the cockpit, Jenn had composed herself. She’d found a blanket and wrapped it around George, who sat in the navigator’s chair. She was on one knee beside him, holding his hand. By the light of the control panel, Gibson saw clearly the ruin of George Abe. It was hard to believe the man sitting swaddled in the navigator’s seat was the same man. The man who had approached him at the Nighthawk to find Suzanne Lombard had been an ageless, perfectly manicured composition. But two years of beatings had rearranged the smooth, flawless planes of George’s face. The cockpit headset covered ears that had been turned to cauliflower. His left eye drooped, and a knot on the bridge of his nose marked where it folded over to one side. Teeth were missing, and his jaw looked swollen and misshapen. And Gibson knew the damage wasn’t restricted to his face. George had needed Gibson’s help getting to the cockpit, and Gibson had felt the profound limp. George looked like a coffee mug that had been shattered and glued back together.
Now, with his eyes glazed over, George had the disoriented look of athletes who had pushed themselves beyond the point of failure. Gibson wondered if he’d worn the same expression the day the CIA had dumped him back at Dule Tree Airfield. He remembered the unbearable flood of thoughts and emotions. How overwhelming freedom had felt. They hadn’t had identical experiences by any stretch of the imagination, but Gibson knew it would be a while before George came to grips with his new reality.
Now that they had George, Jenn needed to call Calista. Calista had no way of making contact, and they were already overdue. By now, she would be getting . . . well, there was no telling what Calista would be getting, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. She would need reassurance that everything was on track. Sooner or later, Calista would smell a rat, and it was impossible to predict how she would react. They needed to buy themselves as much time as possible once they altered course for Florida. Gibson would wait until they were on the ground to tell Jenn that he couldn’t go with them. She wouldn’t have time to argue it with him then. George needed medical attention, and that would be her first priority.
“Jenn. You need to make the call to Calista.”
At the mention of the name, George’s eyes cleared. He shook his hand free from Jenn’s grip. “Why would you need to call her?”
Jenn began to explain their fragile alliance with Calista Dauplaise, but George cut her short. With a snarl, he threw himself at Jenn. He was breathtakingly fast, knocking her back and pinning her to the floor. George’s hands went for Jenn’s throat, and she didn’t defend herself but instead tried to explain.
For his part, George didn’t seem in an explanation frame of mind.
Gibson put George in a full nelson and dragged him off her. George was stronger than he looked and tried to wrestle free. Their feet got tangled up, and Gibson went over on his back. George landed hard on him, knocking the wind out of him. George drilled him in the ribs with an elbow and used the recoil to spring to his feet.
George had clearly oversold how weak he was. Maybe he’d been doing it for years, playing possum, waiting for a window of opportunity to make an escape. Jenn’s MP7 was slung over the back of the chair, and by the time Gibson clambered to his feet, it was in George’s hands and pointed at Jenn’s head.
“Sir, please,” Jenn said. “What are you doing?”
“You’re working for Calista?”
“Put the gun down, and I’ll explain. If you hit something in here, we all die.”
“Then we all die.” George’s hands shook, but his voice was steady. “Now answer my question. Are you working for Calista Dauplaise?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s not complicated. Yes or no?”
“No, sir,” Jenn said. “Not exactly.”
“What have you done? Calista gave me to Cold Harbor. She had Michael killed. She watched them put a bullet in the back of his head. I knelt beside him while his blood soaked into the dirt. I was next.”
George meant Michael Rilling, the missing former IT director at Abe Consulting Group. There had been an internal leak, and Jenn and Gibson had long suspected Rilling of selling them out. He’d been missing since Cold Harbor had kidnapped George, and they’d assumed Michael was in hiding. Now they knew better. Jenn blanched at the news.
“I didn’t know that, sir,” Jenn said.
“So how can you be working for her?”
For George, the world had stopped turning more than two years ago. He knew only what Titus Eskridge wanted him to know. And for two years, he’d felt only what Titus Eskridge wanted him to feel. In a way, George still knelt in the dirt beside Mike Rilling. Calista’s betrayal would be as fresh and raw to George as the day it happened. In his world, Calista and Eskridge were still partners. Gibson understood. He’d been there himself.
It didn’t mean he wasn’t losing patience, though. After what Jenn had done to rescue him, the risks she’d taken, to have George point a gun in her face? It pissed Gibson off. His ribs hurt. He was tired. The benefit of the doubt didn’t seem like too much to ask.
“You’re being an asshole,” Gibson told George.
George and Jenn both looked at him, incredulous.
“Gibson!” Jenn said.
“No, I’m serious,” Gibson said, then to George, “Do you know what she’s been through to find you? What she’s sacrificed? She hasn’t stopped looking for you since the day you disappeared. So how about a little benefit of the doubt? We both know what Calista is. What she’s done. Better than you, probably. Like how she had my father murdered. For instance. But she was the only way to get you back, so we did what we had to do.”
/> George faltered, eyes widening. He had known Duke Vaughn well. They’d both worked for Senator Benjamin Lombard—Duke his chief of staff, George his head of security. Duke had been a beloved figure, and his suicide had affected everyone who knew him.
“Duke was murdered?”
“Yeah, by Calista’s psycho. Same guy who tried to hang me from the same spot.” Gibson pulled his collar down to reveal the scar around his throat. “And weren’t you partners with Calista before either of us? Yet here I am. It’s an imperfect world. So why don’t you stop pointing a gun at the woman who just saved your life?”
George looked down at the gun in his hands as if he didn’t know how it had gotten there. Ashamed, he held it out to Jenn, who unloaded it and stowed the magazine.
Even if it had achieved the desired effect, Gibson still felt disgusted with himself for losing his temper. No one had treated him that way after his release. But maybe he wouldn’t be in the mess he found himself in if someone had. Then again, who was he kidding? No one had ever talked him out of a bad idea in his life.
George sat down, rubbed his face thoughtfully. “I apologize. My social graces don’t appear to be what they once were. Would one of you be so kind as to catch me up on what I’ve missed?”
Where even to begin? Jenn sketched out their current situation. There would be time later to tell the whole story, but for now she gave him a severely streamlined version of the last couple of years. George took it all in and, to his credit, kept his questions to a minimum.
“I owe you both an apology,” George said. “It is my fault this woman is in our lives. You’re right about that, Gibson. And you’ve both paid a heavy price for my negligence. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked at each of them in turn, searching their faces.
“There’s nothing to forgive, George,” Jenn said. “We all paid.”
“Amen,” Gibson said.
George nodded gratefully. Jenn adjusted the blanket around his shoulders and squeezed his arm. It was a damned touching scene. One they didn’t have time for at the moment. Gibson looked at Jenn and tapped the back of his wrist. She nodded in agreement and slid into the pilot’s seat. Gibson saw her steel herself before dialing Calista Dauplaise. Gibson patched in George’s headset so he could listen along. The phone barely rang before Calista picked up. As if she’d been holding the phone anticipating the call.
“Hello, Jennifer. I had expected to hear from you earlier.”
At the sound of her voice, George stiffened in his seat. His hands went white around the armrests.
“We ran into complications,” Jenn explained.
“I see. And what is the prognosis?”
“We have the plane. We’re in the air now.”
“Tremendous news. And George?”
“We have him.”
Calista waited expectantly, but Jenn didn’t elaborate beyond that. George looked like he had walked into a foreign movie halfway through and was trying to guess the plot.
“When should I expect you?” Calista asked as if planning a late supper.
“I’d estimate a little over three hours. On our way to you now.” In three hours, they’d be on the ground in Florida. By the time Calista figured out she’d been double-crossed, Jenn and George would already have switched aircraft and be on their way to Europe.
“I see,” Calista said.
“Is everything set on your end? I’d like to—”
“Jennifer. Please spare me,” Calista said, the temperature of her voice dropping precipitously. “I am not, when last I checked, in Venezuela.”
Jenn and Gibson traded a look, knowing what it meant. Somehow Calista had gotten access to the plane’s GPS and was tracking their course, the same as Eskridge. They should have anticipated that.
Calista said, “I apologize. Have I interrupted your performance? Would you care to finish?”
“No, I’m good.”
“I suppose it was to be expected, but I will admit to some small disappointment. I held out some hope that, after so long, we understood one another.”
“Oh, I think I understand you,” Jenn said. “Don’t you worry.”
“Yes. As I understand you, Jennifer.”
Something in the tone of Calista’s voice made Gibson alert. She didn’t sound defeated. Or even angry. She practically purred with haughty self-satisfaction. Readying the other shoe for its long drop. Jenn heard it too.
“All right,” Jenn said. “I don’t see any point in belaboring this. Good-bye, Calista.”
“A moment more, if I may?” Calista said.
Jenn’s hand hovered over the button on the console, caught between the desire to hang up and wanting to know why Calista sounded so damned assured. They’d lost a little of their head start, but they should still be all right. Still, her hand hovered.
“What do you want?” Jenn asked.
“Someone would like a word.”
For a moment, Gibson conjured an elaborate conspiracy in which Calista and Eskridge were still partners. It was all a trap designed to get them all together in one place. The plane would explode any moment. It was absurd for any number of reasons, but it felt undeniably true in his head.
Duke whistled. “That’s paranoid even by my standards.”
“Jenn, I’m sorry. I didn’t see them coming.”
It was Dan Hendricks. Calista had him.
Gibson flashed back to his conversation with Eskridge. He hadn’t given it much credence at the time, but Eskridge had been sure that Dan Hendricks wasn’t in California. Looked like he had known better.
“It’s okay,” Jenn said. “What happened? Where are you?”
“I’m in Virginia. They took me yesterday at dawn.”
Jenn looked furious. “Are you okay? Have you been hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. Embarrassed but fine. How’s George?”
“He’s okay. He’s here.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Calista came back on the line. “That’s enough. You will have plenty of time to reminisce later.”
“So you were always planning on betraying me?”
“No, you silly girl. I was always planning on you betraying me. And I mean that as a compliment, Jennifer. You’re far too smart to trust me. This was all foreseeable. We are, in the end, coerced by the choices we have made, repeating them time and time again. Isn’t that right, Gibson? I trust you’re listening in. Perhaps George is as well. Hello, my old friend.”
“You think kidnapping Dan is going to convince me to trust you?” Jenn said.
“I merely flew Daniel out from California to remind you of the importance of honoring your agreements.”
“So what do you want?” Jenn said.
“Only what we agreed. Bring me my aircraft.”
“And what happens then?”
“You take what is yours. I take what is mine. We part ways and never see each other again.”
Jenn covered the headset’s microphone and looked at Gibson for confirmation. He nodded. It wasn’t even a question. Dan and he might never have gotten on like a house on fire, but Hendricks was one of them. They couldn’t leave him behind. Not with Calista. The real question was George. He’d been free for less than an hour, and now they were contemplating taking him back to the woman who had put him there. It was asking a lot. They turned around in their seats to face George.
Gibson didn’t think he’d ever forget it. Even beaten and broken in places, George radiated a noble fury. In another time, he would have been right at home astride a horse addressing his troops. The way he looked each of them in the eyes gave Gibson goose bumps.
“Let’s go get our man,” he said.
And that was that.
“We’re on our way,” Jenn told Calista.
“Three hours, Jennifer. Turn the aircraft around and under no circumstances deviate from my heading. Do not appeal again to my baser instincts.”
“Three hours,” Jenn confirmed and disconnected the call.
&n
bsp; CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Anything?” Jenn asked over the headset.
“Not a damn thing,” Gibson said without bothering to hide his frustration.
For the last two hours, as they returned north to meet Calista in Virginia, he’d torn the hold apart, looking for whatever she had gone to all this trouble to obtain. He knew it was a fool’s errand. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. Worse. At least Gibson knew a needle when he saw one. Calista’s prize could be anything. Any size. It could be a microchip or a large piece of hardware. For all Gibson knew, he’d already held it in his hands.
They felt beaten. To work this hard to free George only for Dan Hendricks to take his place felt like a cruel zero-sum game. They’d planned it all so carefully, or thought they had, yet Calista had outmaneuvered them once again. Up in the cockpit, Jenn and George were busy strategizing. Over his headset, Gibson could hear them proposing and rejecting one plan after another. Another waste of energy since they had no clear picture of what Calista had waiting for them. That was why Gibson remained down in the hold, hunting blindly. If he got lucky, supremely lucky, they’d have a much stronger bargaining position when they landed. So he kept looking despite the odds. Like every failed gambler before him, he had this ridiculous idea that he was “due,” somehow.
“Gibson,” Jenn said. “Wrap it up and get back up here.”
He felt the plane begin to descend. They were out of time, and they were out of options. Gibson took one last look down the length of the cargo bay, hoping maybe he’d missed the flashing neon “Classified Material Inside” sign. If only they had something, anything, Calista needed. The irony of course was that they did, they just didn’t know what it was they had. He sighed and made his way forward. Calista Dauplaise held all the cards, and for the life of him, Gibson couldn’t figure out if they’d even been dealt into the game.
Gibson strapped himself into the copilot’s chair beside Jenn. Out the cockpit window, he could see the lights of the Northern Virginia suburbs. To the east, the sun was cresting the horizon one more time. Once again, he was on board a plane at dawn, landing with no control over what came next. At least this time, he wasn’t shackled with a hood over his eyes. Whatever it was, he would see it coming. And he was among friends. That was no small thing. Of course, knowing Calista, they might all wish for a blindfold sooner rather than later.
Cold Harbor (The Gibson Vaughn Series Book 3) Page 25
