Stay

by Victor Gischler

  Is it just him? Was he here watching for me? Or maybe Haddad is here, too. How many? Have they found Amy?

  David needed information. He headed back down the convention hallway toward the lobby of the hotel. He paused at a house phone hanging on the wall and dialed zero. He didn’t like this, didn’t like standing out in the open in the hotel hallway, but he had to know.

  The hotel operator answered, and David asked for Larry Meadows’s office.

  “Manager’s office,” Larry answered.

  “It’s me.”

  “I was wondering when you’d turn up.”

  “Larry, I’ve been a little out of the loop. Is everything okay?”

  “Well, some crazy guy led a pair of cops on a merry chase through my hotel…,” Larry said.

  “I mean Amy. Is she okay?”

  “Yes,” Larry said. “Nobody’s gone up there, and she hasn’t come down. As far as I know, we’re cool.”

  “Where are you?” David asked.

  “My office.”

  “Is that the room with all the monitors?”

  “That’s the security office.”

  “Can you hang out in there for a while?” David asked.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m going to give you a phone number,” David said. “If you can watch those monitors and give me a heads-up. You know the sort of men we’re watching out for, right?”

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll get set up.”

  “Thanks, Larry.” David gave him the number, then hung up.

  He walked fast toward the elevators, dodging Shriners in little hats and holding drinks in their hands. David hit the elevator call button and stood there for an eternity waiting. Finally an elevator arrived, and he took it to the top.

  When the elevator doors opened, he stepped out, the Browning in his hand. He stood, listened. Had anyone been up here? What if he was too late? What if Yousef had already—

  No. Stay professional. Larry had said everything was fine.

  David tried the knob. Locked.

  He knocked.

  Long seconds passed, and he almost knocked again when the door abruptly swung inward.

  Amy gaped at him a moment, eyes wide as if she couldn’t believe who she was looking at. Then she flung herself on him, arms going tightly around his neck. She mashed her mouth so hard into his that it hurt his lip against his teeth.

  He didn’t care. David kissed her back, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up.

  When she finally pulled away from him, she said, “You asshole. You look like hell.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Do you know how many times I texted you?”

  “Nine times?”

  “I … how did you know?”

  “Because ten is a good round number.”

  She kissed him again.

  He ushered her inside and locked the door behind them.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” David said.

  “Why?” Her happiness at seeing him evaporated. “What’s wrong? Did Payne … did you…?”

  “I failed,” David said. “And we’re out of time. Somehow, Payne’s men know we’re here. We need to go. Grab your things, just the important stuff, nothing else. The police found the Escalade, but we can get a cab and then—”

  And then what?

  David thought it through. Amy had friends. They could call them, flood the hotel with police and be escorted safely away. But the police were already looking for him because of the shooting at his house. David would spend time in a cell while they sorted it out. Payne could bribe anyone to get at him in jail. And who would protect Amy while he was locked up? Who could she trust in her own office? Payne would surround himself with lawyers. Nothing would get solved. None of them would be safe.

  “This isn’t going to work,” David said quietly.

  Amy looked at him, concern in her eyes.

  No, not concern. Fear. She’s afraid.

  “What do you mean?” Amy asked.

  “If we don’t end this now,” David said, “then we’re back to square one. Worse than square one actually because we won’t have any advantages at all.”

  “Advantages?” Amy said. “What advantages?”

  “Payne and his men are coming to us,” David said. “And I know it, and I can be ready for them.”

  “David, let’s just go,” Amy said. “We’ll figure something else out. We’ll find another safe place and—”

  “And what? Amy, how long can your sister and brother-in-law hide our children for us? How long do we live in fear in our own homes waiting for Dante Payne to send somebody to kill us while he hides behind his lawyers?”

  Amy opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. She thought about it. A second later, she asked, “What do you need from me?”

  “I need you to do something brave,” David said. “I need you to stay. I need you to hang tough right here like you’re still hiding out and everything is normal.”

  “And what will you be doing?” she asked.

  David smiled. “Finishing it.”

  Amy looked at him, searching his face, deciding.

  She kissed him again. “Do what you need to do.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too.”

  David’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello.”

  “Three men just walked in the main entrance,” Larry Meadows said. “I’m watching them on the security monitor. Could be nobody at all, but they’re putting out a pretty strong badass vibe.”

  David described Yousef Haddad.

  “I think we have a match,” Larry said.

  “I’m sorry this has to happen in your hotel, Larry.”

  “Hey, you’re the good guy and they’re the bad guys,” Larry said. “Just make it worth it.”

  “Right.”

  David hung up the phone and turned back to his wife. He reached into his pocket and came out with the little automatic he’d taken from Gina.

  He handed it to Amy. “It’s not much.”

  She took it. “It looks like a toy.”

  “If you need to use it, get in close,” David said.

  “God help me if I need to use it.”

  David gathered her in his arms and kissed her. “We’re almost at the end. Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

  “Okay.”

  He looked deep in her eyes and tried to think of something to say, something perfect that would ease her mind.

  David kissed her again and left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Yousef’s annoyance had grown to epic proportions by the time he reached the Royal Empire Hotel. Dante Payne had called three times, demanding progress reports. The slur in his voice was quite distinct on the third call, and Yousef suspected he was taking out his impatience on the bar in his limousine.

  Then he called the Royal Empire Hotel and asked the operator to connect him with Amy Sparrow’s room. The operator had reported that no such guest existed. Yousef hadn’t really expected pinpointing the woman to be easy, but it would have been nice for something to be simple for a change.

  The fact that Yousef couldn’t get Reagan on the phone annoyed him most of all. He had explicitly ordered the Chechen to stand down until Yousef had arrived.

  I am surrounded by idiots.

  Yousef entered the hotel with two of Payne’s flunkies. As foot soldiers, they were third rate but better than nothing. He told one to station himself in the lobby and keep an eye on who got on and off of the elevator. Sparrow and his woman were in this hotel somewhere. Yousef could feel it.

  He told Payne’s other flunky to follow him.

  They looked for the hotel manager in his office, but he wasn’t there. They found a door marked security and entered.

  Two men were there. They sat in swivel chairs looking at monitors that showed various locations around the hotel and convention center. The men swiveled around to look at Yousef. One was a black man in a sports
coat, the coat of arms of the hotel over the pocket. The other wore a khaki security guard’s uniform.

  The security guard rose casually from his chair. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but this is a restricted area.”

  Yousef motioned to Payne’s flunky.

  The flunky pulled a knife from his belt, stepped forward, and brought it up hard under the security guard’s rib cage. The guard went stiff a moment and then fell forward. The flunky stepped out of the way and let the man fall.

  The other one stood abruptly.

  Yousef drew his pistol. “I don’t think so.”

  The man froze.

  “You are the manager?” Yousef asked.

  “I’m Larry Meadows, the manager, yes,” he said. “Whatever the problem is I’m sure we can work it out without anyone else getting hurt.”

  Yousef gave the manager credit. Upon first glance, he seemed competent and unflustered.

  “I certainly hope so, Mr. Meadows,” Yousef said. “You have an unregistered guest in your hotel. I need to find Amy Sparrow, and I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “I assure you, all guests are registered,” Larry said. “If she’s not in the computer then she’s not here.”

  Yousef gave the flunky a short nod, and he punched Larry hard in the stomach. Larry grunted and bent double. The flunky punched him again across the jaw, and Larry went to the floor.

  Yousef knelt and frisked the manager, found his wallet and stood again.

  “This doesn’t get any better for you,” Yousef said. “We want the Sparrow woman.”

  “I … I don’t know who that is,” Larry said from the floor. He made no attempt to get up. “We have hundreds of guests. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  Yousef nodded, and the flunky kicked the manager in the face. He spit blood.

  The flunky drew the knife again. “I could take a thumb. That usually does it.”

  “I’m confident you could wear him down eventually,” Yousef said. “But we are pressed for time, and I sense Mr. Meadows is made of sterner stuff than the average hotel manager.”

  Yousef squatted next to the manager. “Look at me, Mr. Meadows.”

  Larry didn’t move his head, but his eyes shifted up to Yousef.

  Yousef held up the wallet so Larry could see it. “Do you know what this is, Mr. Meadows?”

  “My wallet.”

  “It was your wallet,” Yousef said. “In my hands, it has become an instant interrogation kit. Everything I need to get what I desire is contained within.” He opened the wallet and took out the driver’s license. “This has your address. Now I can visit your home if I wish.” He took out a picture of a handsome woman and showed it to Larry. “Is this your wife?”

  Larry said nothing.

  “I will presume she is.” Yousef removed another picture from the wallet, a young boy, maybe nine years old. “And this good-looking young man is your son.”

  Yousef let the silence hang a moment.

  He bent his head lower so he could speak softly right into Larry’s ear. “Now, I’m going to ask you some questions. I want you to think very carefully before you answer. Your answers should be as complete and as detailed as possible. I’m asking for an attitude adjustment, really. You should want to help me. You should be trying hard to think of anything you can tell me that I would find helpful. All the time, consider this. Anything that I or my associate are willing to do to you, we are more than willing to do to your wife and son. More, frankly. I assure you we would take our time to do things properly.”

  The fear in Larry Meadows’s eyes told Yousef that the hotel manager would now be more receptive to his questions.

  Yousef cleared his throat. “So. Amy Sparrow.”

  * * *

  David didn’t like the idea of stepping off the elevator into a busy lobby. Payne and Haddad had probably noticed by now that one of their men had gone missing. Maybe they’d called in reinforcements. Maybe they’d be waiting for him. Maybe a hundred different things.

  He got off the elevator on the second floor. No guest rooms here, instead a business center, a gym and spa, meeting rooms and more convention facilities. He stepped into a little alcove with an ATM to get out of sight. He had one more errand.

  David took out the cell phone and dialed Charlie Finn.

  “You shouldn’t go so long between calls,” Charlie said. “Mama worries.”

  “Calvin Pope shot himself.”

  “Fucking shit.”

  “Charlie, I’m about to get to the end of this,” David said. “There’s no guarantee the good guys win this one. If you don’t hear from me by morning, I need a final favor.”

  “Name it.”

  David briefly related to Charlie what Pope had told him, focusing especially on the NSA’s and FBI’s interest in the matter. “You know the only thing I care about is my family. This isn’t about politics for me. But if I don’t make it, find somebody at the FBI and give them the flash drive. Do it anonymously and then step away. The ball will be in their court then.”

  “You have my word, man,” Charlie said.

  “Charlie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for everything. You didn’t have to help me when I called, but you did.”

  “Good luck, Major.”

  David hung up and put the cell phone in his pocket. He checked his guns and spare magazines. He took a deep breath.

  Go time.

  * * *

  Charlie felt a tightness in his gut after he hung up with David.

  You didn’t help him enough. You could have done more.

  Even as a cooler part of his brain realized this was nonsense, the rest of him couldn’t stop thinking he needed to do something better.

  David had told him to contact somebody at the FBI. Maybe he could fulfill David’s request in a way that would be a little more helpful than a final posthumous favor.

  He pulled up his electronic Rolodex and scrolled through the names. Charlie had been meticulous about maintaining the database and keeping it as current as possible. He marked some as deceased and others retired. He also made note if the person moved from one department to another.

  Charlie hit one of the filters that only scanned FBI names. One stood out, somebody who’d recently retired but probably still had some juice back in Washington.

  Maybe this person could put him in touch with somebody reasonable, an agent with a head on his shoulders not too eager to shoot first and ask questions later.

  It was a start.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Yousef turned the copper key over in his hand, examining it with mild curiosity. Hotels used plastic key cards now. An actual metal key seemed almost quaint.

  The hotel manager had offered only token resistance before giving up the information that the Sparrow woman was in the special penthouse on the top floor. It wasn’t on the key card system, and Meadows had been persuaded to hand over the spare key.

  Yousef glanced up at one of the monitors and did a double take. David Sparrow hovered in the doorway of an ATM alcove, talking on a cell phone. He looked much the same as when Yousef had met the man in Syria. The monitor was labeled 2ND FLOOR MEZZANINE.

  “I want everyone,” Yousef told the flunky. “We’ll converge on the second floor. That’s where he is.”

  He considered if he should try to take the man alive. In Yousef’s revenge fantasies, Sparrow had been made to suffer for endless days. This indulgence was no longer practical, and in any case, attempting to capture him alive before hadn’t quite worked out.

  “Tell the men to shoot him on sight,” Yousef said.

  The flunky gestured to the hotel manager on the floor. “What about him?”

  “We don’t need him anymore,” Yousef said. “Kill him and follow as fast as you can.”

  Yousef left the office.

  The flunky approached the prone hotel manager, knife blade gleaming in his hand.

  * * *

  When the flunky had kicked him in the h
ead, Larry had made a show of going as limp as possible. As far as they knew, he was down for the count. His only chance would be to try to sucker them in.

  The badass who did all the talking saw something on one of the monitors he didn’t like. He exchanged words with the flunky then stormed out.

  Good. That cut the enemy forces exactly in half. This would be Larry’s best chance to make a move.

  And he did need to make a move, not just to save his own life, but because he owed it to David. When the guy doing the talking took the picture of his wife and son out of his wallet, Larry knew it had been all over right then. Larry had faced down numerous enemies on the battlefield. Having his family threatened that way was a whole new experience. He’d told the men exactly what they’d wanted to know.

  And while Larry hadn’t felt he’d had any other choice, he now felt guilty about. He needed to put this man down and call the penthouse to warn Amy.

  The flunky bent toward him with the knife, and Larry played possum until the last possible second. It was a test of nerves with a knife coming at him, but Larry would only have one shot at this.

  When the man’s knife hand was close enough, Larry moved fast and latched on to the man’s wrist.

  At first the flunky tried to pull away, but Larry hung on with a death grip. Then the flunky came down hard with his other fist, but Larry had been expecting it, turned his head to take the punch on top of his skull. The blow hurt, but he heard knuckles crack and the flunky grunt pain.

  Larry grabbed the guy’s knife arm with his other hand, too, and pulled the man’s hand toward his mouth. He bit into the soft area under the guy’s thumb. Hard. The flunky screamed. Blood flooded Larry’s mouth, the taste of copper and salt. He didn’t ease off until the flunky opened his hand and dropped the knife.

  Larry let go of the man’s wrist with one hand and grabbed the weapon. He drove the blade as hard as he could through the top of the man’s shoe, pinning his foot to the floor.

  The flunky howled like a deranged banshee.

  Larry lurched to his feet and took two more punches from the man before stepping away and steadying himself. The man continued to scream in agony, jerking his foot, trying to pry it up from the floor.