by Robin Cook
“Hmm,” Jeanne thought out loud. “Call me crazy and desperate, but I’m starting to think of a story that would have real staying power and one that the media would devour as rightful revenge. Everyone loves a good revenge story, after all.”
“If you are thinking what I think you might be thinking, I have to confess it crossed my mind, too. Especially when I was using the rifle yesterday at the shooting range.”
“How easy would it be, if I may ask? I assume you have some idea, as a security expert.”
“Very easy, would be my guess,” Brian said. “And that’s even with them wasting significant money on personal protection. I’ve seen Kelley’s and Williams’s day security people, and none of them impressed me. As kind of a joke, I even offered my services to Heather Williams.”
Emotionally wrought, Jeanne and Brian stared at each other with unblinking eyes. “I can’t believe myself, yet there is something utterly satisfying about the idea,” Jeanne said after a few moments of silence.
“I know precisely what you mean,” Brian said. “It’s crazy on one hand but gratifying on another. It brings to mind the moment I learned about the Hammurabi code, or ‘an eye for an eye,’ back when I was in the fourth grade. It made sense to me then, even more than what I was learning in catechism on Sundays about turning the other cheek. And it certainly makes sense to me now.”
“Is this something we could do together?” Jeanne asked with a gleam in her eye.
Brian looked at Jeanne askance, trying to gauge her mindset. “Are you offering?” he asked after a pause.
“I suppose I am,” Jeanne said. “I mean, if you went ahead and did something on your own, by our even discussing it as we’re apparently doing, I’m technically already a coconspirator.”
“Well, I suppose we could do it together,” Brian said, warming to the idea. There was no doubt that while dealing with his anger after Emma had died, he’d thought about getting rid of both Charles Kelley and Heather Williams, yet he’d dismissed the idea as a passing retribution fantasy even though he’d spent considerable time mulling it over. And now with Juliette’s death, it had resurfaced but had been relegated to the back of his mind as repressed anger, waiting to be brought forward as Jeanne’s comments were now doing. “There’s no doubt it would be far easier as a team approach, especially if it involved dealing with an alarm system, since I trust you are up on all the latest technology.” One of his fantasies had involved breaking into the executives’ homes and confronting them directly.
“Unless something earth-shaking has appeared over the last year, I’m up to speed,” Jeanne said. “Since it’s obvious you’ve thought about this, what would hypothetically be the most efficient way to accomplish it?”
“Through very careful planning and preparation,” Brian said firmly. “Both killings would have to happen the same evening or night, one after the other, for it to work. If there was a delay on the second one, even of only a day or so, that individual’s security people might be on guard, making it more difficult. That’s number one. Number two: We’d have to keep from being detained. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to feed the media, and the search for us would be a big part of the ongoing story. That’s what will keep it on page one for as long as we are at large. And three: We’d have to present a manifesto to various outlets of exactly why the assassinations were done to raise the story above and beyond the pure eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth revenge aspect. I’d like every hospital and health insurance CEO to live in fear that they could be next unless there is significant change to the system.”
“How would we avoid being arrested?” Jeanne asked. “Surely your NYPD colleagues would figure out the whodunit rather quickly, particularly with a manifesto, and be after us, especially if we were continuing to try to feed the media.”
“We’d avoid arrest by not being found,” Brian said simply. “That’s why our planning will have to include a sanctuary: someplace where it will be hard for them to find us, and when they do, their hands are tied.”
“Like what kind of sanctuary? I don’t understand.”
“The same night that the killings are done or at least by the next morning, we’d have to leave the country. Probably the best place to go would be Cuba. It’s close, easy to get there, and there are quite a few US fugitives living on the island whom the Cuban government refuses to extradite. Cuba loves giving the middle finger to the US government. Hell, we might even be considered heroes since we’d be able to give them the ability to prove that their healthcare system is a lot more equitable than ours, which it is, by the way.”
“Wow, you have been thinking a lot about this,” Jeanne said, clearly impressed by Brian’s thoroughness.
“I confess I’ve spent many sleepless, angry hours pondering the idea,” Brian admitted. “Just not all that seriously, I suppose. But I can tell you that with Juliette’s passing and in my current state of mind, it doesn’t sound so preposterous anymore. They ruined my life for their own personal gain, and they should suffer. I know that is not very Christian, but that’s how I feel.”
“Let me ask you this,” Jeanne said. “If and when you have one of these lowlifes in your sights, could you actually pull the trigger? As much as I would ultimately like them to be gone, I’m not sure I could do it.”
“That’s a good question,” Brian answered. “But I don’t think I’d hesitate. In the line of duty, regrettably enough, I’ve had to make that decision in milliseconds when confronted by bad guys. I didn’t hesitate then and each of those perps was responsible for one or two deaths. I’m certain that Charles Kelley and Heather Williams are in another league in causing deaths above and beyond our spouses and my child. On top of that, they’ve ruined the lives of countless others. So no, I don’t imagine I would hesitate for a moment, especially if it might serve to expose and change the whole hideous system.”
“Do you know anybody in Cuba?” Jeanne asked. She felt her pulse quicken. In her mind the discussion had definitely moved from the purely hypothetical to the possible.
“Not personally,” Brian said. “But I know Camila has some extended family in Cuba who I imagine would be willing to help us if she were to ask. Obviously, I wouldn’t even broach the issue with her until we were there. No one can know what we are planning, and I mean no one. Not even family.”
“This is beginning to sound serious,” Jeanne said. “Am I right or are you still fantasizing out loud? Be honest.”
“I’m not sure,” Brian admitted. “But the more I think about it, the more serious I become.”
“Which means you would be willing to give up your life here in the United States?”
“I’ve already lost what I valued most, my wife and my child.”
“What about this house?”
“I’ll deed it to Camila,” Brian said. “If I hang around here, there’s a good chance the hospital would get to repossess it through the courts. Without Emma and Juliette, it doesn’t mean anything to me, and Camila deserves it. If she owns it, the hospital can’t touch it.”
Jeanne took a deep breath to organize her thoughts. The extent of Brian’s planning had left her mind in disarray. She’d had her own fantasies about revenge, but over the year since Riley’s passing, they’d faded. Suddenly, with Juliette’s death, they were back with a vengeance. Just like Brian, she felt strongly that Charles Kelley and Heather Williams had ruined her life as she knew it, taking away her spouse, her savings, and her most recent livelihood all because of their insatiable personal greed. But when she thought about everything Brian had just said, her only hesitations were about Cuba. She’d been to the Caribbean with her husband on several occasions, and it had been pleasant enough for a week, but ultimately boring. The idea of spending the rest of her life there was daunting.
“I have another idea about a sanctuary,” Jeanne said suddenly. “Are you open to hearing it or are you set on Cuba?”
&
nbsp; “Of course I’m open to hear,” Brian said. “Fire away.”
“When we first met, I believe you told me your mother had gotten you a French passport when you were a child. Do I remember correctly, or have I dreamed that up?”
Instead of answering, Brian leaned over and opened the middle drawer of his desk. Reaching in and rustling through the contents, he extracted a burgundy-colored pamphlet and plopped it on the desktop. The front of the passport was embossed with gold lettering and an impressive seal. “Voilà,” he said.
“Parfait! That means you are a French citizen.”
“So?” Brian questioned. “You’re not thinking we can sanctuary in France, are you?”
“Yes, I am,” Jeanne insisted. “I assume you recall the saga about the film director Roman Polanski.”
“Vaguely,” Brian said. “I’m not much of a film buff, and I don’t think I could name any of the films he directed. Why do you ask?”
“Do you recall that he’s a fugitive from US criminal justice?”
“Now that you mention it, I do. What’s the point?”
“The point is that France doesn’t extradite its citizens to the US,” Jeanne continued. “And Roman Polanski is living proof. He fled the US awaiting sentencing on five criminal charges, including rape.”
“Interesting,” Brian admitted. He immediately warmed to the idea of finding sanctuary in France. It would be immeasurably more rewarding on just about every conceivable level than being restricted to Cuba, especially a Cuban prison, which wasn’t out of the question.
“I’m not a lawyer,” Jeanne continued, “and we could still eventually be subject to arrest and prosecution, but it would be in France, not here in the US. In France I’m certain public opinion would be far more kindly in our favor. French people will be outraged at our stories. I certainly would have been.”
“We’d still need to hide out, at least in the short run and maybe for a month,” Brian countered. “How would that work?”
“We could hide out in Camargue,” Jeanne suggested. “It’s really off the beaten path, and my family has several isolated, deserted farmhouses that were acquired with large tracts of grazing land. One of them I remember isn’t that far from one of the towns, called Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, which is close to the sea. It’s actually very beautiful in its own fashion. Do you like to ride horses?”
Brian laughed in spite of himself. It suddenly seemed vaguely humorous under the circumstances to be asked if he liked to ride horses as part of a plan to off two healthcare executives. “That’s something I haven’t done much of,” he admitted. “But I suppose I could learn to like it.”
“My family has a lot of horses,” Jeanne said. “It’s the main way to get around in Camargue. I started riding when I was five or six. Regardless, I think France is our best bet. When the authorities investigate, it’s going to lead to you, not me, for multiple reasons. First, your disappearance is going to ring all sorts of alarm bells, especially given that you’ve just lost a wife and a child. And you have the skills and means. My medical horror story is old and won’t draw any more attention than any of the other almost five hundred cases. And right now, since I’m not working and have lost my business, I could leave tomorrow, and no one would notice or care, except maybe for a few friends and Riley’s family. But that will be easy to take care of, as I can just say that I’ve had enough of America, and I’m returning to my home country, case closed.
“So here’s what I propose. On the evening or night in question we make separate air arrangements, so we’re not associated, and we fly separate routes to some major European city, like Frankfurt or Madrid or Rome, just not France. I rent a car and pick you up, which ends your tracking, meaning Interpol won’t have much to go on. And then we drive to Camargue. Until they find you, which isn’t likely as long as we’re discreet, I doubt I’ll even be a suspected accomplice.”
For a moment Brian was dumbfounded as he went over the details of what Jeanne had proposed. It was brilliant, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d been mulling over hypothetical thoughts like this for days, namely, how to keep the media enthralled enough to have a major impact on the healthcare system. But Jeanne had come up with a terrific plan of escape and sanctuary in minutes. “That’s a great idea,” he admitted once he found his voice. “It’s perfect. Let’s start planning and see how we feel. I imagine the planning process alone will be therapeutic for me.”
“For me, too,” Jeanne agreed, sitting back in her chair. “Where do we start?”
CHAPTER 36
September 3
Turning left off Broadway, Brian drove up the long driveway leading to MMH Inwood. He and Jeanne were in the Subaru. He had merely told Camila he was going out for a drive, which she had accepted without question. In many respects she was as devastated as Brian over Juliette’s death and had been trying to help Aimée and Hannah with the plans for the wake.
“You know what a Maybach looks like, don’t you?” Brian asked as they crested the small hill and the whole hospital and the modest, outside parking area came into view. When she had asked him how they would start, he’d told her that they had to find out where each target lived by following them home. They had flipped a coin to see who would be first, and Charles Kelley had won.
“I suppose,” Jeanne said, but in truth she wasn’t certain. She wasn’t a car person. For her they generally all looked the same except that some were larger than others.
“Nope, it’s not here,” Brian said. To find Kelley’s Maybach, he had assumed they’d have to drive to the East Side, where MMH Midtown was located. Yet on the slight chance the CEO might have been on one of his relatively infrequent visits to Inwood, Brian thought the ten minutes it would take to check was worth it. Discovering he wasn’t there didn’t faze Brian, and he used the hospital turnaround to head back down to Broadway.
“How long do you estimate the planning stage will take?” Jeanne asked as they headed south on the Henry Hudson Parkway running alongside the Hudson River. “Now that we have officially started, I’m eager to get this done.”
“It all depends on what we find,” Brian said. “I’m relatively confident they live in the ritzy metropolitan areas of either Long Island, New Jersey, or southern Connecticut. And, frankly, the ritzier the better, where homes are widely separated from each other with expansive lawns and private outdoor sports facilities, like swimming pools and tennis courts. That’s what I’m counting on. It would also be nice if their homes weren’t too far apart to make logistics easier, especially since we’re obligated to do both in the same night. But we’ll have to take what we get.”
“At least we have the rifle,” Jeanne said. “That’s the key piece of equipment, but I suppose you could always get one.”
“It would not be hard,” Brian agreed. “Whatever we do need, I’m sure I can get now that I’ve got access to ESU Headquarters. For instance, if we end up having to break and enter, they’ve certainly got all the assault tools we’d need. I’ll feel guilty about taking advantage of Deputy Chief Comstock’s hospitality, but this is important. Honestly, giving up the camaraderie of the ESU might be the only thing besides my family that I will miss after all this is said and done.”
“What do you think the chances are that we’ll have to do a home invasion?” she asked.
“No way to guess. As I said, it will depend on what their living arrangements are. But if we do, that’s where your role will be key. Tell me this: If we do have to go into one or both homes, do you have the equipment you might need or will you have to obtain it?”
“I won’t need much,” Jeanne reassured him. “I already have a powerful eight-watt handheld radio that should do just fine.”
“Really?” Brian questioned. “That’s all? These people are pulling down multimillion-dollar salaries. They’ve surely been talked into expensive, elaborate alarm systems.”
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��No doubt, but expense aside, they all use the same technology, transmitting wirelessly to their base station or receiver. All I’d have to do is figure out the frequency and then swamp it.”
“I don’t understand, but I’m going to trust that you do,” Brian said.
“I do,” Jeanne affirmed.
Within just a few minutes they were able to cross Central Park, and ten minutes later had reached Manhattan Memorial Hospital on Park Avenue. To Brian’s relief, it was obvious that Charles Kelley was still on-site, which he admitted had been a minor concern. His Maybach was parked in a no-parking zone right in front of the hospital’s main entrance where patients were either dropped off or picked up, the same way it had been at MMH Inwood the day Emma had died. As an added confirmation, the same overweight chauffeur-cum-bodyguard was leaning up against the vehicle’s passenger-side fender. As Brian cruised by, he could see that the man was smoking just like he’d been doing on their first interaction, looking as cocky as ever.
“That’s encouraging.” He pointed out the car. “There’s Kelley’s Maybach.”
“Where?” Jeanne asked, turning around to look behind. There were cars all over the place, most double-parked with their hazard lights on.
“It’s the limo right smack-dab in front of the hospital where there’s supposed to be no waiting,” Brian said. “You didn’t see it? It’s the only Maybach.”
“The cars all look the same to me,” she said as she continued scanning the area. “Oh, now I see it. The one with the chauffeur.”
“Yes, that’s it.” He continued up Park Avenue for several blocks before making a U-turn. After passing the hospital again while heading in the opposite direction, he made yet another U-turn. A block away from the Maybach, he pulled over to the curb at a fire hydrant and turned off the Subaru’s motor. “Now we wait.”
Jeanne used her phone to check the time. “It’s perfect timing,” she pointed out. “It’s after five, when executives begin to head home to their mansions.”