Slowly the waitress moved toward the table at which the blonde had been seated for the last two hours. She was curious about what had fluttered from the blonde’s lap as she bolted for the door. Still holding a pot of hot coffee, the woman bent down to pick up the object and suddenly saw John Schuler’s bloody face.
The waitress dropped the glass coffeepot at the horrible sight of Schuler’s corpse. The glass shattered into thousands of tiny pieces when it smashed against the tiled floor, and hot coffee splashed onto her ankles. For several seconds she did not notice the pain, and then she began to scream.
* * *
—
Mace moved quickly out of the front door of the apartment building toward the subway. He hadn’t bothered to leave by the back door, where he had surreptitiously entered the building to avoid being seen by anyone who was watching. Whoever had rifled through his belongings had long since left—the food in the open refrigerator had spoiled—and wouldn’t expect him to return.
Mace began to run. He needed to get going. A fat man stepped suddenly to the left and into Mace’s path at the last second. Mace crashed into the obese man and knocked him to the pavement. “Sorry.” He stopped for a moment and held out a hand to help the man back to his feet. He glanced around as he pulled the man up. There were still a surprising number of people in the city. But then the deadline at Nyack wasn’t supposed to expire until tomorrow at noon. Mace looked around again. This street would look very different then.
He ran toward the subway station. He had to find Leeny, and he would try first at Walker Pryce. She could tell him what he needed to know. She wouldn’t do it willingly, but he would face that problem when he got to it.
The subway rumbled into the station, hurtling past the crowded platform filled with people carrying suitcases and bags, until finally it screeched to a halt. The doors slid wide open, and people waiting on the platform poured inside.
Mace moved toward the doors, following the crowd in front of him, but stopped as people started to scream. They began to part in front of him, pushing one another down in their frantic attempt to get out of the way.
At first he did not understand. Then he saw her. She moved down the platform toward him slowly, as if in a trance, eyes focused in a death stare, the gun, the same gun she had used to kill John Schuler, drawn before her, clasped tightly in her outstretched hands.
The conductor, leaning out of the fifth car in the nine-car train, suddenly saw the cause of the commotion. He closed the train’s doors quickly and screamed into the intercom for the engineer to get out of the station. The train leaped forward instantly.
Leeny seemed a different person now from the woman he had met in the limousine on the way to Columbia Business School. The lines around her mouth had become distinctly visible. Her hair was a dull yellow, not the shiny gold he remembered. The eyes were dull too, almost unseeing. Her skin was a ghastly white.
She was twenty feet away, still moving toward him, walking only inches from the side of the train hurtling out of the station next to her, taking no notice of it at all, staring only at him, fixated on him. Suddenly she stopped, raised the gun in front of her face, and placed her right forefinger on the trigger. Then she squeezed.
Instinctively Mace brought his hands to his face. He had not thought her capable of violence. But now he remembered Rachel telling him that Leeny had spent time in a sanitarium. He had misjudged Leeny Hunt.
Rachel sprinted the last ten feet. She did not hear the people screaming or the train rushing out of the station. She did not see the people tumbling over one another to get out of harm’s way or the blur of the train behind Leeny’s body. She saw nothing but Leeny’s thin form pointing the gun at Mace.
Rachel crashed into Leeny at the last moment, just as Leeny pulled the trigger, just as the bullet exploded toward Mace. The violent, unanticipated impact knocked Leeny over and against the side of the speeding train’s last car. Leeny slammed into the rushing metal and then pitched forward with the momentum of the train, toward Mace. She screamed as she fell forward, unable to control her fall. Her head slammed into a steel support column at the edge of the platform, and she dropped to the ground unconscious. The handgun flew from her grip and crashed to the cement, firing another shot at impact.
Mace gazed for a moment at Leeny, prone on the dirty cement, at Rachel, and then down at himself, checking for wounds. But he was unhurt.
Then he saw a man running toward him, dodging the people still cowering in kneeling positions on the platform. The man was coming for him. There was no doubt at all. He could see the gun and the way the man’s eyes were fixed on him, just as Leeny’s had been.
The assassin held the gun at his side as he churned toward Mace. He didn’t care if people saw the firearm, but it would be better not to make it obvious just in case there was a hero in the crowd somewhere.
The man was coming fast down the platform, only a hundred feet away now. Mace glanced quickly at Rachel. Her eyes were filled with terror. She had also seen the man and realized that he was coming for Mace.
An extraordinary piece of luck, the assassin thought as he dodged the people on the ground. Leeny Hunt’s hunch had been right. Mace McLain had returned to his apartment for some reason; he recognized the young investment banker from the pictures the man in Washington had given him. Now he was going to finish the job Leeny Hunt had tried to complete. He had missed Mace at the apartment on Friday night, but he wouldn’t miss now. Then he would make certain Leeny was dead as well and take off through the subway tunnel to the next station. It was incredible. Two for the price of one.
The assassin brought the gun up as he neared Mace. The man in Washington was going to be grateful.
Mace lunged for Leeny’s gun, which lay on the platform five feet away, picked it up, and fired. The motion was graceful, not panicked but smooth and athletic. Mace remained ice calm as he went for the gun, realizing that he had to make the first shot count. He had hunted upland birds as a boy and learned that the trick to shooting was to take your time, even under pressure, and make certain you aimed carefully. If you rushed, you would miss. And he could not miss.
The assassin grabbed his left thigh instantly and fell heavily to the pavement.
Mace jumped to his feet quickly, raced to where Rachel lay, and pulled her to her feet. “Come on!” He moved to the edge of the platform and jumped down onto the tracks, then turned and pulled her down too. Through the darkness he could see the headlight of the next train heading toward the station. He grabbed Rachel’s wrist and pulled her toward the darkness at the other end of the station. He had to get her out of here.
* * *
—
Mace kissed Rachel deeply as they stood together on the platform of track twelve at New York’s Penn Station. Finally he pulled away. “You saved my life.”
She smiled, and the dimple appeared in her cheek. “So I did. Guess that makes you my slave.”
Mace nodded and smiled back. “Guess it does. But you won’t hear me complaining.”
“Board!” The conductor screamed the announcement up and down the platform.
Mace guided Rachel toward the door of the car. “Do you remember what I told you?”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yes. The Mountaintop Inn. Harpers Ferry. I take the train to Baltimore, rent a car there, drive to Harpers Ferry, and wait for you to call.”
“Right. If anyone else calls you, get out. I don’t care how friendly they sound. If you see anything remotely suspicious, get out. Do you understand?”
She nodded, hesitantly, suddenly scared again. But she saw the genuine concern in his face, and she liked it.
“Do you have money?”
“About two hundred dollars, I think.” She had withdrawn every cent in her account before searching out Leeny.
“Do you have credit cards?”
She nodded. “One.”
“Yes.”
The door of the train car began to close. Mace held it, leaned into the car, and kissed Rachel one more time. He winked at her. “Everything will be all right. Promise.”
“I hope so.”
“Come on, buddy!” The conductor yelled down the platform at Mace. He wanted Mace to let the door go. He wanted to get out of there.
Mace glanced at the man, then back at Rachel. “Why were you there at the station? How could you have been there? How could you have known?”
“I picked up Leeny’s trail at Walker Pryce this morning. I figured if I did, sooner or later I’d find you.”
Mace shook his head. She was incredible. He kissed her one more time and then allowed the door to close. She waved at him through the window.
The train crept slowly out of Penn Station over the spider web of tracks. Rachel was safe. Mace glanced at his watch and began to move toward the stairs leading back up to the main terminal of the station. One o’clock. Ten hours until his meeting with Slade.
* * *
—
Vargus leaned back in the chair and rubbed his swollen eye gently. It had become infected, and the pain was almost unbearable. A gentle knock at the door distracted him momentarily. “Who is it?”
“Tabiq.”
“Come.”
The door swung open, and Tabiq moved into the office.
“What do you want?” Vargus squinted at the other man with his good eye.
“The men want to know if you’ve heard anything yet from the authorities.” Tabiq nodded at the telephone on the desk.
“About what?” Vargus had destroyed the television sets at the facility. There should have been no way for them to know about his communication with the outside world.
“There isn’t any reason to bluff.” Tabiq was becoming annoyed at the lack of information from the leader. “You have made demands. Why else would you have released the two hostages?”
Vargus rubbed his eye again. “Tell the men to relax. The authorities are giving in to the demands. But it is taking them some time to meet what we have asked for. A billion dollars is a lot of money.” Vargus smiled to reassure his second.
Tabiq was not reassured, but at least Vargus had admitted to making demands. At least he knew now that negotiations were in process. “I will tell the men. It will help.” And he was gone.
Vargus shook his head and let out a long breath. Just a few more hours, and they would all be dead—except for him. As long as there were no screwups. As long as the Wolverine commander obeyed orders and didn’t try to be a hero on his own. That was the only way it could unravel.
33
“Mr. Webster, this is Roger Hamilton of Maryland Mutual Life.”
“Yes.” A thin smile crossed the old man’s face as he listened to the voice at the other end of the line.
“Up until now I’ve been dealing with a woman named Kathleen Hunt regarding some bonds my firm owns.”
“Yes.” He hoped the assassin had completed his task by now.
“But the secretary said you were handling all calls now.”
“That’s right,” Webster said coldly. He wanted this man to sweat right up until he made the offer.
“What I have to discuss is rather urgent.”
“What is it?” Webster snapped. He wanted to tighten the screws on this man quickly.
“Ms. Hunt and I had been talking about the purchase of a billion dollars of bonds my firm owns.” Hamilton’s voice was suddenly hoarse.
“And?” Webster was being curt to make certain that there would be no seller’s remorse at the last minute.
The blood pulsed through Hamilton’s veins. “I’ll sell them to Broadway Ventures for seventy cents on the dollar.” His voice was nothing more than a weak whisper.
Webster said nothing. Nothing at all. It was a negotiating ploy, one he had learned long ago. Most people detested silence on the phone and would keep talking just to avoid it.
“Mr. Webster?” Hamilton searched for a handle.
“Yes?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” Again Webster paused and allowed the uncomfortable silence to continue.
Hamilton knew what was going on. He knew what Webster was doing. He was no babe in the woods himself. But he had no choice. He had to negotiate against himself. The CEO wanted something for the bonds. “Sixty cents on the dollar.”
“No.” Webster answered immediately.
“Please, for God’s sake.”
“No.” The voice was stone cold.
Hamilton swallowed, then inhaled heavily. His hands shook. “Fifty.”
Webster smiled. “Done. Send a fax to me immediately confirming the transaction. The money will be wired to Maryland Mutual this afternoon.” The evil smile crossed Webster’s face. He had just made half a billion dollars.
* * *
—
Mace slipped into Leeny Hunt’s hospital room, unseen by the staff. Once inside the room, he moved quickly to her bed. He had to get her out of there—fast.
She turned her head slowly. As she recognized him, tears filled her eyes.
Mace glanced at the bandage wrapped around her head. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
She did not resist. She did not say a word. She simply rose from the bed with his help and slipped on her shoes, which the nurse had left by the door.
He took her by the wrist and guided her to the door, where he paused long enough to see if there were doctors or nurses in the hall. There were, but they were distracted by a constant influx of new patients. Mace moved quickly into the hallway, Leeny in tow, and hurried through the stairway door opposite what had been her room.
As they vanished through the door, a doctor moved out of the elevator toward room 425. He moved casually down the corridor, clipboard in hand, face down so that others would take no notice of him. When he reached the doorway, he felt for the gun beneath the white coat. The silencer was already attached. Despite the silencer, the shot would still make noise, but he was confident that the staff was so distracted that he would be able to make it out of the hospital with no problems after he had killed her. He smiled to himself. The first assassin had botched the job terribly and now lay in a hospital bed across town. Now he was their man. They should have sent him first anyway.
The wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing glanced up and down the hallway one last time and entered the room. He stopped short almost immediately. Leeny Hunt was gone.
* * *
—
A half hour later Mace and Leeny entered the room of the New York Hilton. This would be the last night the hotel would be open. Management was shutting it down tomorrow at seven o’clock in the morning, the lone man at the front desk had warned Mace. No exceptions. You would be escorted out by armed guards at that time if you hadn’t left by then. The man had been so insistent on this point he hadn’t even noticed the bandage around Leeny’s head. Mace had tried to hide it with a baseball cap, but it was still visible.
“Sit down,” Mace said gently.
Leeny sat down slowly on the edge of the large bed. Her eyes were vacant, and she held her arms tightly across her chest.
Mace knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. He stared into her eyes. “You are going to tell me everything, do you understand?”
There was no reason to resist. She nodded obediently.
Mace stood and removed a small Dictaphone from his pocket, then shoved a tiny audiotape into the machine. He sat down next to her. “First you are going to put it on tape; then you are going to write it down. Do you understand me?”
She nodded again, and suddenly the tears flowed from her eyes. Sobs
racked her body, and she buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Mace. So sorry.” They were the first words she had said since leaving the hospital.
Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as he watched her disintegrate. She was hardly a human being anymore. There was that little left. He shook his head. She had tried to kill him several hours ago, to kill him, for Christ’s sake. But he couldn’t let her sob this way without any solace. It wasn’t in him to be that cold. He reached out a large hand and gently touched her shoulder.
It was all she needed. Leeny threw her arms around his shoulders, pressed her head against his chest, and held on for dear life.
* * *
—
Rachel moved down the lighted front steps of the Mountaintop Inn and through the darkness of the February night toward the car she had rented late this afternoon in Baltimore. The drive out Interstate 70 had taken less time than she had anticipated.
She shivered as she trotted over the gravel parking lot toward the car. It was cold out here, and she wanted to get back inside the hotel quickly. She had arrived at the Mountaintop Inn more than two hours ago and taken a long, refreshing hot bath right after checking in. But she had forgotten to bring the clothes she had purchased in Baltimore inside with her when she first arrived. Now she needed them.
When she neared the rental car, she removed the keys from her pants pocket and moved alongside the car to the trunk. The key slid easily into the lock, and the trunk popped open. She reached for the large paper bag that held her clothes.
As she straightened up and began to close the trunk after retrieving the bag, a gloved hand wrapped itself firmly over her nose and mouth from behind. Strange fumes filled her nose and lungs, and within seconds she was unconscious, dead weight in the man’s arms.
The first man glanced at the second through the darkness. “That was easy enough,” he whispered. “Put her in the truck. I’ll go for McLain.”
The Vulture Fund Page 35
