And Then You Die

by Iris Johansen

  “Here they come.” She jumped up as the operating room doors opened and a wave of nurses and doctors flowed out. In their midst was a gurney with Josie on it.

  Dr. Kenwood pulled down his mask and smiled at Bess. “Josie's doing very well. She's stable.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That's pretty good for an operation of that length. You'll be glad to know I did a brilliant job.”

  “I am glad. But I'd be happier if you told me Josie's prospects are just as brilliant.”

  He shook his head. “I can't say that. I wish I could. She's doing well now. We won't know more until later.”

  Disappointment flooded Bess. That's what he had told her before, but she had hoped––

  “I promise you'll know as soon as I do.” Dr. Kenwood moved down the hall.

  Yael's hand comfortingly grasped her shoulder. “She survived the operation. Five minutes ago you would have been happy with just that.”

  “I know. I only wish––” She wanted desperately to know Josie was going to completely recover and it was hard to wait. “I'm going to find someone to take a blood sample for you to send to Atlanta. Then I'm going to Recovery to wait for Josie to wake up.”

  “I'll go with you.” Yael fell into step with her as she hurried in the direction they'd taken Josie.

  Aurora, Kansas

  3:50 P.M.

  The Jeffers home was a small, neat clapboard house like a half- dozen others on the same block.

  The woman who opened the door was slipping into a brown coat. “Yes?” she said impatiently.

  “Mrs. Jeffers?” Kaldak asked.

  “Are you a salesman? For God's sake, I was just walking out the door.” Donna Jeffers was probably in her fifties, but she looked younger. Her blond hair was stylishly coiffed, her makeup perfect. She wore a tweed suit and the short flip skirt revealed shapely, slightly muscular legs. “And I'm late for an appointment.”

  “I'm not a salesman. I'm looking for your son, Cody.”

  Her lips thinned and she looked him up and down. “Why? Are you a bill collector?”

  He shook his head. “I'm thinking of opening a demolition track in town and I'd like to offer him a job.”

  “Cody has a job.”

  “Perhaps I can up the ante for him. Can you tell me where I can find him?”

  “Cody doesn't live here anymore.”

  “But you must be in contact with him.”

  “Why must I? We've been estranged for some time.” She checked her watch. “And I have thirty minutes to get to the other side of town to show a house.”

  “You're a real estate agent?”

  “Does that interest you?” She moved past him toward an Oldsmobile parked in the driveway. “Maybe you want to offer me a job too.”

  “I'd really appreciate your help if––”

  “I can't help you, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Breen. Larry Breen.”

  “You'll have to find Cody on your own, Mr. Breen. I've no idea where he is. We've lost touch over the years.”

  Kaldak watched her back out of the driveway before he strode toward his rental car at the curb.

  He'd done his job. He'd disturbed Donna Jeffers and made her suspicious. All he could do now was wait and see if Ramsey had done his in tapping her home and car phones.

  If she knew where her son could be reached, he doubted that she could resist contacting him. The big if.

  He drove four blocks and pulled into a supermarket parking lot to wait for the call from Ramsey.

  8:15 P.M.

  Dr. Kenwood was coming down the corridor toward her.

  Bess tensed. Oh, God, he wasn't smiling. He just looked . . . abstracted.

  He stopped beside her. And he smiled.

  “She's going to be fine,” he said. “She still has a long haul, but there should be a full recovery.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Amen,” Yael said.

  Dr. Kenwood frowned sternly. “Now, will you go get some sleep? Your friend here has arranged a bed in the room next to Josie's. How, I don't know. This floor was supposed to be full.”

  Bless Yael. Bless Dr. Kenwood. Bless everyone in the whole damn world. “Soon. I want to go and sit with Josie for a while.”

  “She's still under sedation.”

  “I don't care.”

  Dr. Kenwood grinned. “I did good, huh?”

  “Dynamite.” She headed down the hall toward Josie's room. “You're right, you're totally brilliant.”

  9:30 P.M.

  “Des Moines,” Ramsey said when Kaldak picked up the phone. “1523 Jasper Street.”

  “She called him?”

  “He called her. She evidently doesn't have his number because she tried to get it when he called. He put her off and she didn't like it. He didn't like your visit to his mother either. I'm arranging transport for you, but I'm also sending men in from St. Louis in case you don't move fast enough.”

  “Do you expect me to argue? I'd tell you to have the local police pick him up if I wasn't afraid they'd blow it. I'm on my way to the airport.” He pulled out of the supermarket parking lot.

  There was a chance Jeffers might already be gone before anyone got there. Making him uneasy was a risk Kaldak had had to take when he'd contacted the mother. Uneasy enough to contact Esteban or make a move himself?

  He hoped not. He had an idea time was running out.

  11:10 P.M.

  “Will you please go to bed? It's almost midnight.” Yael was squatting beside her chair. “This isn't doing Josie any good.”

  “I know.” She leaned back in the rocking chair, her gaze fixed on Josie's face. “I guess I'm afraid to leave her.” She smiled. “She opened her eyes about five minutes ago. I think she recognized me.”

  “That's good.”

  “This is a nice room, isn't it? All children's rooms should have rocking chairs. They're very comfortable.”

  “I suppose they put it here for rocking sick babies.”

  “I wish I could rock Josie. Look at her. She's in a straitjacket.”

  “I believe the correct term is body cast. I guess they have to keep her from moving.”

  “Did you call Kaldak and tell him she's going to be all right?”

  “You think he'd be interested? A cold, cruel man like Kaldak?”

  “Shut up, Yael. He's all of those things, but he liked Josie. Who could help but like Josie?” Sitting there, she'd been remembering that night on the Montana when Kaldak had stayed with her until they'd known Josie would live. He hadn't been pretending that night. He'd been genuinely concerned about Josie.

  Yael nodded, his gaze on the baby's face. “She reminds me of my son. It's been a long time since he was this young. They grow up so quickly.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Four.” He paused. “The age Kaldak's son was when he died.”

  “I don't want to talk about Kaldak's son. I asked about yours.”

  “Just a comment. Can I talk you into going to bed now?”

  She shook her head. “I'm comfortable. I want to be here in case she wakes again.”

  “You really should go to––” Yael stopped. “I can't convince you, can I?”

  “No, you use the bed.”

  “I wouldn't be so ungentlemanly.” He sat down on an upright chair across the room. “I'll stay here in case you change your mind.”

  There was a comfortable silence in the room.

  “Yael, call Kaldak and tell him about Josie.”

  “He already knows. He called me.”

  “He did?”

  “He was on his way to the airport in Kansas City. He was very relieved about Josie.”

  “Kansas City?”

  “He's been tracking down a man who might lead him to Esteban.”

  Esteban. She had been on such an emotional roller-coaster ride about Josie that she hadn't had time to dwell on Esteban. But Kaldak had not forgotten him. He was as driven as he'd always been. Could she blame him? When Em
ily had died, she had almost gone crazy. How would she have reacted if her entire family had been killed?

  My God, she was making excuses for him when there was no excuse. Kaldak couldn't have been more wrong. He had used her and manipulated the situation to suit––

  As she had done after Emily's funeral. She'd had no compunction about using Kaldak. She would have used anyone to get Esteban. Monsters should not be allowed to live.

  Show them the monsters.

  No, not now. The hatred and the passion for revenge would come again, but that night she didn't want to think of Esteban or Kaldak or anything disturbing. She just wanted to relax and enjoy this moment of thanksgiving. Josie was alive and someday she was going to run and play like other children.

  Surely it would be safe to forget about monsters for a little while longer.

  Seventeen

  Day Three

  Des Moines, Iowa

  3:30 A.M.

  When Kaldak arrived, three cars were parked in the

  driveway at 1523 Jasper Street and the house was blazing with lights.

  Not good.

  A short, heavyset man dressed in a suit and tie came out the front door. “Kaldak?”

  “Too late?”

  He nodded.

  “Shit.”

  “I'm Harvey Best. Jeffers was already gone by the time we got here.”

  “Have you searched the place?”

  “Clean. We woke up some of his neighbors. They didn't know much about him. He moved in only a few days ago. He drove a truck.”

  “What kind of truck?”

  “Big, strong van type. Iowa's Pride Cleaning Service painted on the sides. One of the teenagers next door said she saw the truck get on the freeway heading south.”

  “South.” As if that were a help. Jeffers could have changed direction at any point. He dialed Ramsey. “It's time to pull out the stops. We can't wait any longer. I want you to call the president.”

  “Aren't you panicking? We don't have proof that Cody Jeffers is actively involved.”

  “Hell, yes, I'm panicking.”

  “Not yet,” Ramsey said. “Let's see if we can do some damage control. We'll find Jeffers and then––”

  “Then find him. Quick,” Kaldak said harshly. “I've got a bad feeling about this, Ramsey.”

  “I'm not calling the White House and putting my ass on the line because you have a hunch.”

  “Look, put it together. Esteban sent Morrisey to find a man with Cody Jeffers's qualifications. He found him. Cody Jeffers goes to Iowa, where we suspect the counterfeiting installation is.”

  “It's still speculation.”

  Kaldak's hand tightened on the phone. He wished it were Ramsey's throat. “If you won't call the White House, then call the highway patrol, okay? Ask them to pull over Jeffers's truck.” He paused. “But not to search it.”

  “You think he's carrying the currency?”

  “He's either got it or he's going to pick it up. Wouldn't bet on either one.”

  “Another hunch?” Ramsey asked sourly. “Okay, okay, I'll contact the patrol. Stay where you are until I find out something. What direction was he going?”

  “South.” He hoped he was telling the truth.

  Collinsville, Illinois

  1:40 P.M.

  Cody Jeffers picked up the phone on the first ring. “Esteban?”

  “You made it with no trouble?”

  “I breezed through without the highway patrol giving me a second look. I parked outside Des Moines and just peeled off that cleaner truck lettering like you told me.”

  “And the currency?”

  “All loaded and ready to go.”

  “What about the extra boxes?”

  “I dropped them off at the mill.”

  “And the little extra job?”

  “Done.”

  “Excellent. Then go ahead,” Esteban said. “I want it done by three P.M. “

  “Same plan?”

  “No diversion.” Esteban paused. “Don't take any of the cash yourself. You'll be paid later, as arranged, when I meet you tomorrow at Springfield.”

  “Right.”

  “You've filled the gas tank on the getaway car so you won't have to stop?”

  “Yes.”

  “On no account do I want you to stop where anyone will see you. If you grow tired, find a secluded place to rest.”

  “You've told me that before.”

  “No other questions?”

  “You're not paying me to ask questions. I'm not dumb enough to think that's real money. It would pass anywhere though. It looks real good.”

  “Thank you,” Esteban said dryly.

  “It's all pretty weird, but it's your business.”

  “That's right, it is.”

  Eagerness flooded Jeffers as he hung up the phone. This was the chance of a lifetime. Big time. He was going big-time.

  He jumped to his feet, buttoned his gray shirt, and strapped on his holster. He liked the gun. It made him feel like John Wayne. He crouched and whipped the gun from his holster. “Pow. Gotcha.”

  It felt good. He did it again.

  He reluctantly slid the gun back in the holster. He sat down on the bed and reached for his boots. Esteban had told him to wear plain black shoes, but screw him. He'd had to go along with the uniform, but the boots were important. Would John Wayne or Evel Knievel have worn plain black shoes?

  Kansas City, Missouri

  1:55 P.M.

  “All set, Habin.” Esteban strode to the helicopter, where Habin was waiting. “In a few hours it will be over and all we'll have to do is issue our demands.”

  “I've been thinking,” Habin said. “It would be better to cut down the monetary demand and put more emphasis on the release of the prisoners.”

  “Cut down?” Esteban repeated. “How much?”

  “We're asking fifty million dollars. If we go for twenty-five, it would––”

  “Fine. As long as you take it out of your share.”

  “Don't be ridiculous. That would leave me with nothing.”

  Which was what the pompous idiot deserved. “Nothing but your political ideals. Isn't that what's important to you?”

  “The decision on the money should be mine. You wouldn't have been able to get anywhere without me. I set up the counterfeiting operation, I supplied the men and the money.”

  Esteban judged he had protested enough. Maybe just a little more reluctance. “Let me think about it. We still have a few hours before we can issue the demand. I'll call you at the farm after the strike.” He shut the helicopter door and strode back to his car.

  Too bad he'd had to restrain himself even then. He would really have enjoyed seeing that arrogant son of a bitch humbled. But a wise man never indulged himself if it might cause complications.

  He started his car, watching as the helicopter slowly lifted. He could see Habin in the passenger seat, and he leaned out the window, smiled, and waved.

  The helicopter was veering away, climbing to the south.

  He waved again, then leisurely reached into his pocket and pressed the button on the remote control.

  The helicopter became a fireball and plummeted to the ground.

  Collinsville, Illinois

  2:30 P.M.

  Cody Jeffers stepped on the accelerator and heard the big tires screech as he turned the corner.

  A woman in shorts and a T-shirt jumped back on the curb. She screamed an obscenity after him. He grinned as he realized how much he had scared her.

  The people in the stands at the stadiums were never afraid of him. They were there for the show, and he had never been the headliner.

  Now he was the headliner.

  The steering wheel felt smooth and good in his hands. Power. He had never driven a vehicle this heavy even on the circuit.

  He passed the bank. Three more blocks to North Avenue. Esteban had specified that it must be at North Avenue.

  The neighborhood was getting worse. The building
s were shabby, and prostitutes hung out on the corner.

  One more block.

  A bunch of teenagers were in the street gathered around a 1987 green Cadillac. Not a good year for Caddys. Flashy, but no guts.

  The kids gave him a surly glance as he passed them. He knew how they felt. He represented authority. If he gave them a chance, they'd jump him and cut his nuts off.

  Half a block.

  There it was. North Avenue.

  Now.

  Excitement tore through him as he stomped on the accelerator. The next corner. Hit it hard. Do the job.

  He was John Wayne.

  He was Evel Knievel.

  He was the headliner.

  The truck crashed over onto its side, knocking the breath out of him.

  Cody freed himself from the special protective bars and slowly crawled out of the cab.

  It was already happening.

  The back doors of the armored truck had flown open and plastic-wrapped money scattered all over the street.

  The kids by the Caddy were all over it, grabbing handfuls and running.

  Two women came out of the store across the street and ran toward the truck.

  “Stop,” he yelled. “That's Federal Reserve money.”

  No one paid any attention to him. Not that he'd expected them to. He would have done the same thing.

  People were coming out of the woodwork. It was a mob scene with everyone grabbing the cash and running.

  “I'm calling the police,” Jeffers yelled. “If you know what's good for you, you'll get away from that money. You're breaking the law.”

  He waited a moment, then walked away. He'd parked the black Honda sedan two blocks over. He should be out of there in minutes.

  As he reached the corner, he glanced back over his shoulder.

  They were even crawling into the Federal Reserve truck to get at the money.

  Too bad he couldn't wait for the TV and newspaper crews. No one would ever know how well he'd done his job. He had compensation though. More than the headliners on the circuit got.

  He touched the money belt under his shirt, where he'd stashed the cash he'd taken from the truck earlier. A little extra to sweeten the pot.

  Even Evel Knievel would have envied him this haul.