by Dave White
Omar nodded as if that was the most important thing in the world. John began to see a few connections.
Noticing his cigarette had been smoked to the filter, Omar turned toward the water and tossed it.
He shook his head. John thought he seemed remarkably composed.
“Excuse me,” Omar said. “I need to look at something. Don’t run.”
John nodded, not sure what else to do.
The wind whipped off the river, howling between the two docked ferries. John squeezed his eyes shut and imagined he was in a coffee shop. Didn’t help.
Omar stared out across the river. John could hear him speaking, but couldn’t tell what he was saying. He stepped closer and tried to make the words out.
“That won’t do” was all he caught.
He turned his gaze toward the city. He could see the Empire State Building, some docked boats, and the former aircraft carrier Intrepid, now a docked air and space museum.
“I used to love this country,” Omar said, turning back toward him. “Where else can you see buildings like this? The cultural cornerstone of the world.”
John stepped around the car and faced Omar. His skin was pocked, but his eyes appeared clear. His nose wasn’t running.
John put his hand on the hood of the car to steady himself. Thabata had gotten control, why couldn’t he?
“The one you met earlier? Jawad? He gave me this opportunity. And my son will be forever in his debt,” Omar said. “This country is the land of opportunity. But the government lies. After 9/11, they promised the war was on terror, not the people of Afghanistan.”
“Wait, why—?” John started.
Omar Thabata kept speaking as if John hadn’t said a word.
“I came here, I wanted to bring my family here.”
“Let me go,” John said. He didn’t want to hear more.
“And once Khalil is here, he can continue the cause. In my honor.” Omar took a deep breath. He was looking out toward the water and the city. “When I first came here, I loved this country. What happened downtown, it wasn’t right. And this country’s response was even worse.”
“I want to save people close to me too.” John wondered if the tremor in his voice was noticeable.
“Promises were made.” For the first time it seemed like Omar had actually heard him.
“That’s not my fault,” John said.
Omar shrugged. “It wasn’t my family’s either.”
John looked out at the Hudson. Chunks of ice floated along, and one of the ferries bumped some as it pulled out of the dock. He flexed his hands into fists.
It was bothering him. Omar seemed like he was in his own world.
“I don’t have to confess my sins to anyone. Allah is always with me.”
“You don’t have to do this,” John said.
Omar Thabata turned to him. He reached into his waistband and pulled out the gun. He used it to point back to the car. John got back inside.
“It’s time to go,” Omar said.
Christine Verderese sidled over to the corner. Callahan was locked in a walk-in storage closet and Sandler was talking to one of his men, a guy wearing jeans and a black sweater. Christine closed her eyes. Couldn’t Sandler see that Callahan didn’t know where Omar was either? Michelle’s torture hadn’t convinced him. Sandler promised all the reports they’d gotten from the inside, said Callahan loved Michelle. If he didn’t break before, a few hours in isolation wouldn’t push him over the edge.
Sandler was just deciding what to do with him. Trying to make a tough decision.
Christine smiled at Sandler. Whatever you want, Dad.
“Where’s Tony?” Sandler asked her as the other employee walked away.
Her uncle came through the hallway door, as if he’d just sucked down six energy drinks. His eyes were wide and his gaze flicked around the room. His cheeks were sweaty, and he was out of breath. Christine wondered if he was on something.
She hoped not.
He pulled a chair out from the wall and rested his heavy hips in it.
“How’s my daughter?” Sandler said.
Tony blinked.
“She hasn’t said a word,” he said.
“She’s all right?”
He sat back and crossed his hands over his thick stomach.
“You bet. She’s like a toasted marshmallow. Fluffy.” He sucked air through his nose, and Christine could hear a slight whistle.
“It was unnecessary.”
“What was?” Tony asked. Christine knew the tactic. Make him say it. Tony hadn’t hurt Michelle. Christine had. And Robert Sandler had ordered it.
“Hurting Michelle.” Sandler swallowed. “Electrocuting her. We should have gone with the original plan.”
It wasn’t until he said it that Christine realized she loved hearing those words. She pictured Michelle’s body bucking, her eyes going wide. Christine flexed her fists under her crossed arms. A warmth began in her lower stomach and ran through her. Like the first time she slept with a guy.
“Nah. It wasn’t necessary. Right, because just asking a government agent for information is going to work. Just say please and thank you. And you have to admit, it was fun, right?” Tony laughed. “I remember we used to tase stray cats behind the coffee shop. And then send ‘em to the Chinese restaurant with a note. ‘Tomorrow’s Sesame Chicken.’”
Despite the sweat and heavy breathing, Tony looked completely relaxed.
“You hurt my daughter. You told me to do it. You told me it was necessary. You told me Callahan wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut, but clearly he did. But maybe for the right amount. . .”
Tony let the chair slam back down on its front two legs, and held out his palm. The scar was there, the skin whitened against the rest of the reddish hand. Christine’s jaw clench. She pictured Michelle shuddering in the chair again. Her muscles relaxed.
“No he wouldn’t have,” Tony said. “I believe in family. Not money. Not like you. Hurting your own daughter. Who does that?”
“You told me to,” Sandler yelled. “Callahan would have done it to get Michelle back. He would have done it for the money.”
Uncle Tony nodded. “Sure. Sure he would have. You had no choice. You had to show him it would come to this!”
“My own daughter!”
“Why does it matter? She’s alive. She looks good. She got a little tan. Not so pale anymore. And now Callahan knows you’re serious and we can get this moving. Give him another ten minutes, he’ll tell you where Omar is.”
Christine leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. Tony wasn’t acting much smarter than her father.
“I can’t believe I hurt her.”
“Hurt her? How about Christine? You left her for Michelle’s mother. Michelle is proof. You left Christine’s mother—my sister. Didn’t even give the relationship a chance. You left me to raise your other daughter.”
Sandler took a step back.
Christine looked away from Tony, staring at a desk, the scratches and doodles on the blotter. Someone had drawn the middle finger.
“Look at the angles,” Tony said. “There is no way out anymore. You’re in. If you want to be free of me, you have to do what I say. That’s the only way all of this—my plan—can work. And you know in the end it’ll benefit you. And Michelle.” He spit the name out. “You talk a good game. Now back it up.”
“How can I trust you?”
“You betrayed us,” Tony said. “I never betrayed you.”
Sandler shook his head and walked out of the room.
Tony laughed, spit dripping from his lip. “This is the best I’ve felt in two years.”
Christine watched him clasp his hands across his stomach and then unclasp them. He looked at his fingernails, then clasped them again.
“I don’t know if this is going to work,” she said. “Your plan. Dad’s losing it.”
Tony sighed. “Please, you don’t even know what the plan is, not completely.”
Christine didn’t say anything.
“Anyway,” Tony said. “You’re not working for Sandler. You’re working for me. And, I’m the man.”
Again, Christine waited.
“Come on. Who’s got two thumbs and is completely awesome?” He pointed at himself with both of his thumbs. “This guy.”
“But everything I’m supposed to do, it’s all come from him.”
“I’m pulling the strings here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you really think I’d support a man like Sandler? Please, you know me.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. You’ve always been patriotic. When 9/11 happened, you wanted to enlist the mob in the military.”
Tony leaned closer. Christine could smell the peppermint on his breath.
“Exactly. But this—this could be the greatest head fake in the history of my business. This is exactly the distraction we need.”
“For what?”
Tony said, “Just keep following orders. I’ll do the rest.”
“What about Callahan? You really think he’s going to give up Omar?”
Tony shook his head. “I doubt it. Did you see the way his hands were shaking when you brought him back here? He’s doing the little things just so he can keep Michelle safe. He doesn’t even know where Omar is. Your father is an idiot. We should have killed him when we killed Ashley. But since your dad thought we could use Callahan, I thought I’d keep your dad happy for a while. So you’ll keep an eye on the agent.”
“Just keep an eye on him. That’s all you want me to do right now?”
“Give it another couple of hours. Just to keep Sandler honest. Then we’ll ice him.” Tony smiled. “Get it? With the snow outside? Ice him?”
They drove in silence.
Pressing his face against the cold glass of the window, John tried to relax. He tried to slow everything down, focus on the dashboard, like he did when he was a passenger and drove over a river. Focus on the dash, and let everything else slide away. It wasn’t working.
“I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” Omar said.
John took a deep breath.
“When you came to me, is this how you pictured it would go? That you’d be dragged here as a prisoner?”
John shrugged. What else was there to say?
Nearly an hour later, after driving through Vernon and making a series of turns that threw off his sense of direction, he felt the asphalt give way to rocks. Outside the area was a clear field, no trees, nothing but gravel and yellow snow, getting whiter farther away from the road.
He’d never been here before.
“Where are we?” he said.
Thabata didn’t reply. But when John looked out the front windshield he saw a large metal hangar, like something from an airport. At the apex of the roof was a large S in a circle, the logo for Michelle’s father’s business. He’d never mentioned this place before. John only knew about the office in the city and the warehouse out in Pennsylvania.
The car rolled to a stop about thirty yards from the hangar. Thabata’s hands shook as he pulled at the door and opened it.
John got out of the car, and the cold air punched him in the face. He gasped for air, and felt his lungs expand slowly. His windpipe burned. The rest of his body felt as if he’d just gone jogging, tired and sore. He wished all this was happening in the summer time.
It was a stupid thought.
Two men in black trenchcoats rushed from the hangar and pulled out guns.
John raised his hands. Omar shook his head, and opened and closed his fists.
And then Robert Sandler appeared. He came from a small entrance next to the hangar doors. Sandler was also wrapped in a black trench coat. He squinted against the fading daylight, eyed Thabata, then turned and looked at John.
“You’re alive,” he said, his feet crunching against the ground.
John’s throat closed, and this time he found it hard to swallow.
“Mr. Sandler, is Michelle all right?”
“Come inside.” Sandler turned and held his arm out toward the building.
“Where’s Frank?” John called out.
“Come inside, both of you. It’s too cold out.”
John and Omar followed Robert Sandler through the small door to a canyon sized interior. At least it felt like a canyon. When the doors shut, the sound echoed off the high ceilings and far walls. Two helicopters rested at the far end, beside several boxes with the Sandler emblem stamped on it. Another man in a trenchcoat sat at a desk writing. When the trenchcoats led Omar Thabata through the door, the seated man’s face broke into an inane smile and he sat back, as if he’d just gotten a pardon from the President.
“Where’s Michelle?” John said.
“She’s fine. As is her boyfriend. Although—” Sandler looked at Thabata. “He’s suddenly become useless.”
Sandler held out his hands, pressing them forward slowly, as if asking John to be patient, all would be explained soon.
“What happened at the motel? How did you get out?”
“There was an open window,” John said. “I’m quick.”
Sandler eyes were small slits, and his jaw locked. His face turned red.
“And why are you with him?” Sandler gestured at Thabata.
“I brought him,” Omar said. “Thought you might want to see him. He came to me, seemed to know a lot. I thought maybe you could take care of him. If they traced it back to me, it would mess everything up.”
“Ah, Omar, I’m glad you’re here. I’m sure you’re still enthusiastic to carry out the plan.”
“Sort of,” Omar said.
“Why do you say that? Everything is in place now.”
Omar slouched a bit. He shook his head again. “Not right now. We’ll talk later. I want to make sure I have it right in my head.”
Sandler turned back to John and nodded at the far wall. “So glad you’re here. Maybe you’ll get to see an old friend of yours.”
John looked back over his shoulder.
He saw the woman who had jammed a knife into his back standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed. A gun was in a holster on her belt.
He turned back toward Sandler.
“Did you have Ashley killed?” John asked, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. The two trench coats turned their guns away from Omar and towards John. John felt his heart beat faster.
Michelle’s father only smiled. “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe you can do something for me, by going with these men. You’ll see Frank if you go with them.”
“And Michelle?”
Sandler shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe at dinner.”
John hesitated a step, before walking toward the armed men.
“You’ll be fine,” Sandler said. “I just want you to see Frank, and realize that he’s okay. For now, at least.”
The two men took John by the arms and started walking him toward a long hallway past the desk. John went without another word.
The trenchcoats slapped handcuffs on John once he was far enough down the hall, out of sight of anyone in the main area of the hangar. His shoulder erupted when they pulled his arms behind his back. He felt new drops of blood roll from his shoulder blade to the small of his back. Small drops, as if from a leaky hose.
The men pushed John into a small room with a metal bookcase and two swivel chairs and nothing else. They slammed the door behind him, and John heard the lock click in.
Sitting on one of the chairs was Frank Carnathan. His face was swollen, black and blue. His neck was beet red.
John let out a long sigh and said, “Well, here we are again.” He tried to shift his shoulders to ease the burning, but just sent another shockwave down his arm.
“What are you doing here?” Frank said.
“I’m here to save Michelle. Or that was the plan. I came with Omar Thabata.”
“Where is Omar?” Frank was also handcuffed, and when he stood up he stumbled a bi
t.
John craned his neck in the direction of the door. “In the hangar.”
Like a swimmer coming up for air, Frank’s body seemed to relax and tighten up at the same time. His eyes lit up, his shoulders bunched together, and he went into a crouch. He looked at the floor for a long time.
