by Paul Seiple
A knock at the door caused Yemana to choke on a bite of processed turkey. He coughed. Another knock. Yemana never had visitors. He used his tech savvy to make himself invisible to the outside world. The apartment was registered to Nolan Reynolds, a man who never existed. He thought about the fire escape, but if Wallace was at the door, he surely would have someone waiting at the only other exit.
The first time Norman contacted Yemana was a few months after he helped Reid with the George Wallace incident. Yemana received an envelope addressed to Nolan Reynolds. Inside was a picture of his family in San Diego. His mother, his father, and his sister — each had “RIP?” written above their heads. Soon after a call came explaining the photo and detailing how Yemana was going to use his resources to work for Norman.
The knock grew louder, more rapid. Yemana gathered that Norman’s plan was to have Reid, and possibly Michael, die on Walter Reed in the explosion. The knock turned into pounding. Yemana reached for his revolver. He thinks I told Hoffman, he thought. He’s not going to leave.
Yemana held the gun to his side, unhooked the chain, slid the deadbolt, and cracked the door.
“Yemana, it’s Reid.”
Yemana loosened his grip on the pistol. The tension in his neck eased. He let out a deep breath, expelling the built up fear, and opened the door.
“What took you so long to answer?”
“Sorry, I was watching the news.” The moment of elation that Norman wasn’t at the door disappeared. Reid had never been to Yemana’s apartment. “What brings you here? Everything all right?” His words were rapid, forced, and laced with insecurity.
“What’s on the news?” Reid pointed to the television. A reporter interviewed someone underneath a street sign that read Walter Reed.
“Just caught the tail end of it. Something about finding bombs in a vacant house.” Beads of sweat popped up on Yemana’s large forehead.
“It’s a little warm in here, huh?”
“The air isn’t that great. I’d offer you some dinner, but I’m all out of frozen mystery meat.”
Reid smiled. “The life of a bachelor.”
“Can’t find a woman that will put up with me. Speaking of women how’s Barbara?”
Reid turned his attention back to the reporter on television. “Walter Reed? Wasn’t that the tip you gave me?”
“Was it?”
“Good thing I didn’t go there, huh?” There was a click. Reid knew the sound. The hammer of a revolver cocking. Reid kept his back to Yemana. “You don’t want to do this, Ron.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But you’ve left me no choice. Put your piece on the table.”
“This isn’t a good idea.”
“No, it’s not. Now, put your goddamn piece on the table, Reid.”
Reid lifted his arms. His elbows were bent. He slipped his right hand under the left side of his blazer. Slowly he pulled out his Beretta and held it, barrel to the ceiling.
“On the table.”
Reid placed the gun on the table with the handle facing Yemana. “Why did you do it?”
“Do you think I wanted to? This is your fault. You have this vendetta. If you hadn’t involved me, none of this would be happening.”
“I’m going to turn around. Don’t shoot.” Reid faced Yemana. The pistol was shaking violently beneath his grip. “You don’t want to shoot me.”
“You’ve put my family in danger, Reid. You put everyone that helps you in death’s sight. I thought I was doing the right thing helping you cover up Wallace’s son.”
“It was the right thing. You gave Michael a chance at a happy life.”
“Really? His kid got kidnapped by the psychopath. Is that your idea of a happy life? And what about my family, Reid? Helping you put my family in danger.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After I erased George's existence, Wallace tracked down my family. He told me he would kill them if I didn’t work for him.”
Before Reid could respond, there was a commotion at the door.
“All right, it’s been twenty minutes. You told me to get you if you were longer than fifteen. I have to get home and work on this first-person shoote..” the kid saw Yemana and stepped back. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Reid lunged, knocking the pistol free from Yemana's hand.
“Whoa,” the kid said, turning to run.
“Jessie, stop,” Reid said.
“You brought that thief to my house?”
“Everyone calm down,” Reid said. “Jessie, sit on the couch.”
“That bastard should be in jail with the rest of his Swarm,” Yemana said.
“That’s rich coming from you, Deep Throat,” Jessie said, pushing the half-eaten frozen dinner to the floor.
“Look, I’m really sorry, Wallace involved your family. But you could have told me,” Reid said.
“No, I couldn’t. You’re too blinded by revenge to realize that Wallace is always a step ahead. He always will be.”
“That’s thanks to you,” Jessie said. “You’ve been giving him the playbook.”
“Why did you bring him here?” Yemana asked.
“I stole the playbook back, asshole.”
“Zip it, Jessie,” Reid said. “You did a good job of burying your conversations with Wallace. Jessie did a better job of uncovering them.”
“Indiana Jones style.” Jessie grabbed the remote and changed the channel to wrestling. Ric Flair, flanked by Lex Luger, Arn Anderson, and Tully Blanchard, was boasting about The Four Horseman ruling the National Wrestling Association.
"Turn it down, Jessie." Reid turned his attention back to Yemana. “I’m hurt that you didn’t have enough faith to trust me. You say that Wallace is always a step ahead. I brought Jessie with me because I knew you were neck deep in it with Wallace. I figured there was a good chance you would pull a gun. I told Jessie to give me fifteen minutes and then knock on the door. Just enough of a diversion for me to gain control of the situation. How’s that for thinking ahead?”
“Wait, you used me as bait?” Jessie asked.
“Diversion. Diversion. Weren’t you listening?” Reid said.
“What are you going to do with me?” Yemana asked.
“First thing he should do is put you on a diet, Tubs.”
“Jessie,” Reid said.
“OK, OK. I’ll just watch TV.”
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you. Right now, I’m going to take you to a friend so that he can babysit you until I get Wallace.”
“Now that I’ve failed, Wallace will kill my family.”
“I’ll make sure your family is safe.”
“That’s comforting since you couldn’t even protect your wife.” Yemana bent down, jerked a pistol free from his ankle holster.
“Gun,” Jessie screamed, diving behind the couch.
Reid reached for his Beretta just as a shot echoed through the room. A thud followed when Yemana’s back slammed into the wall. He slid to the floor, leaving a crimson trail along the yellow paint.
Reid lowered his head and slipped his gun back in his shoulder holster.
Jessie popped up from behind the couch. “Gnarly. I told you that dude was unstable. I mean, I didn’t think he would splatter the wall with his brains though.”
Reid sat down beside Jessie on the couch. “Neither did I.”
Forty-One
Knoxville, Tennessee
The safe house was a two-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the University of Tennessee. Mostly the complex housed college students, but there were a few older residents so we didn’t feel completely out of place. But we rarely ventured outside. Our two weeks there was spent recovering from the injuries and avoiding each other. Rebecca’s ankle was healing. There wasn’t much of a limp in her walk. The gash on her face would leave permanent scarring but she had spent plenty of time researching plastic surgery. Whenever I tried to comfort her, she would leave the room without a word.
With Rebec
ca, silence was much worse than her stinging tongue. When she’s spitting words, which would cause a sailor to blush, in your direction you know she cares. When she’s silent, the question is a hard one to answer.
Michelle adjusted well to the new surroundings. She had grown fond of Jill, who was her hero for saving Linus from the evidence locker. Although it seemed like security was lax, it was only made to look that way to keep Michelle from being scared. Jill would stop by a few times a week to play with Michelle and to bring a few groceries. She tried to talk to Rebecca, but she got the cold shoulder. I couldn’t fault Rebecca. She had everything. A happy family. A successful career on a hit television show that got renewed for a third season while she was off trying to rescue her daughter. And she was going to have to give it all up.
“Talk to me, Rebecca,” I said, bringing her a cup of coffee.
She stared at me and took the mug. I turned my back to leave.
“About what? Do you want to talk about this fucking scar on my face? Or how about the fact that I’m going to have to tell Stephen that I can’t come back to the show? Oh, I know, let’s talk about how your goddamn father is trying to murder his family.” She swatted the mug off the table. It shattered when it slammed against the wall.
“I am going to stop him.”
“At what cost, Michael? My life? Michelle’s? He’s already destroyed our future.”
“We can start over. Reid’s going to give us new identities.”
“What do you expect me to do? Sit at home and knit quilts all day. I can’t act again.”
“You can write though.”
“And Reid is just like your father. He lied to you and then disappeared for years. Just like your fucking father.”
“With the new identities, Norman will never be able to find us. We can run away. This nightmare will end.”
“It’s not going to end until everyone starring in it is dead, Michael. I love you, but you can’t come with us. With you, Michelle will always be in danger. Reid is just like your father, and you’re just like Reid. You won’t let this go.”
“You and Michelle are my family. You cannot just tell me I have to say goodbye to that.”
“She’s right,” Reid said, stepping into the room, followed by Jill.
“She’s not right,” I said.
“Uncle Reid,” Michelle said, running down the hall and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thank goodness, you’re here. Maybe you can make Mommy and Daddy stop fighting.”
Jill bent down and took Michelle’s hand. “Sugar, why don’t we go have tea with Linus. You know how he gets when he doesn’t have his caffeine.”
Michelle looked at Rebecca and me and said, “You two have some caffeine. It will make you feel better.” She waved and followed Jill back to her room.
“I’m not giving up my family,” I said.
“You’re not coming with us, Michael. I’m not going to spend every fucking day of my life worrying that Norman Wallace will snatch Michelle from me while I’m buying Cheerios.”
Reid shut the door. “Wallace will not stop looking for you. For Michelle. I spoke with Tanner extensively about the time she spent with Michelle while you were in the hospital. Do you remember the interview with Palmer? He told Mack and Tanner that the girl we seek is named Babylon. Palmer wasn't talking about Patty Cline. The key word in Palmer's statement is girl. I should have caught it. He didn't refer to her as the whore of Babylon. Wallace led Cline to believe she was the star of his show. Built her up, stroked her ego, so she would do anything he asked. But she was just a pawn like the rest. I’m convinced that Wallace wants to train Michelle to carry on his legacy after he’s gone.”
“That son-of-a-bitch wants to turn my daughter into a goddamn serial killer?” Rebecca asked.
“And for that to happen, you and Rebecca will have to be out of the picture. It’s not safe, Michael. I have a guy that can make it impossible for Wallace to find Michelle. My guy can’t make the revenge that burns inside of you disappear.”
“I won’t go after him. I just want to be with my family,” I said.
“And what if the dreams start again?” Reid asked
“I haven’t…”
Rebecca cut me off. “I don’t want you to come with us. I love you, but it’s over.”
Her words tore through my stomach deeper than any bullet ever could. Rebecca’s eyes never lied. Her cold stare told me she was already gone.
“How do we do this?” Rebecca turned to Reid.
“My guy is waiting at Mack’s house. He’s got everything ready. I just need to get your photo for your new license. And you need to decide where you want to go.”
“This is really happening?” I asked.
“I’m sorry that it has come to this,” Reid said.
Rebecca stood up. She kissed me on the forehead. “I’m ready to go.” I reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “Don’t. Just don’t.” She left the room.
I stood to follow, but Reid stopped me. “Let her go.”
“What do you mean, let her go? This is my fucking family, Reid. You’re telling me to turn my back and let them leave. Never to see them again. I can’t do that.”
“You have to. It’s the only way to make sure Michelle stays safe. And it’s not forever. The sooner we catch Wallace. The sooner you can see Michelle again.”
“You’ve been chasing him for thirty years. I can't wait another thirty years. I can’t lose my family.”
“We’re ready,” Rebecca said, standing in the doorway, holding Michelle’s hand. Michelle was swinging Linus with her other hand.
“Rebecca…”
Reid put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s best if you stay here.”
“I’m going,” I said.
“Michael, don’t make this any harder,” Rebecca said. A single tear got lost in the bandage covering her wound.
“Can I at least say goodbye to Michelle?”
“Goodbye? Where are you going, Daddy?”
I patted my knee. She came running and climbed onto my lap. “You and Mommy are going on a vacation.”
“Why aren’t you coming?”
I looked at Rebecca, another tear streamed down her cheek. I turned to Reid. “Because I have to help your Uncle Reid with a job.”
“OK, but don’t be too long.”
I kissed the top of Michelle’s head. “I won’t, Chelle. You need to go. You and Mommy are going to have fun.”
Michelle hopped from my lap. She handed me Linus. “He’ll keep you company until you can come with us.”
“I can’t take Linus, Chelle,”
“It’s fine. I have Mommy. Just remember, tea is at two.” Michelle stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek.
Through the window, I watched my family fade away as the taillights from Reid’s Firebird disappeared from sight. Never had I felt so alone. The life that I couldn’t have imagined seven years ago, the life that I’d spent the last seven years to build was gone. My own father had taken everything away from me. I slammed my fist into the table, sending my coffee mug to the floor. It shattered next to Rebecca's. Cracked ceramic was a fitting symbol for the end of our relationship. I hit the table again and broke into tears.
“I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through, but taking it out on an innocent table is only going to break your hand,” Jill said. She sat in a chair opposite of me. “It won’t change the situation.”
I wiped my eyes. “I didn’t know anyone was still here.”
“Reid asked me to keep you company. Lucky you, huh?” She kicked the shards under the table. “I’ve heard of people getting violent when they don’t have their coffee, but never when they do.”
“I just lost my family. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“Be thankful they’re still alive. Wallace is hell-bent on changing that. You’ll see them again once this is all over. You haven’t lost them. You’re protecting them. I would give anything to have had the chance to protect m
y father.”
“What happened to your father?”
“He was an assistant D.A. He helped to put away this bigwig in some gang and they murdered him for it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. It’s OK. But you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop moping around and catch that bastard so you can see your daughter again. They may be gone for now, but you have the chance to see them again. So, no more beating up defenseless furniture, even if the taste is questionable.”
I feigned a chuckle. “So, how’s Reid doing it? What’s he doing to make sure they disappear? Yemana?”
“You haven’t heard?”
I shook my head.
“Yemana committed suicide. I guess he was feeding info to Wallace. Reid found out, confronted him, and instead of facing the music, Yemana ate a bullet.” Jill pointed her finger, making her hand resemble a gun and stuck it in her mouth. “Anyway, Reid’s got some kid that he picked up in a hacker plot last year. The way he tells it the kid is a genius. Goes by the name Red Cardinal or something.”
"You know, Jill, I was wrong about you."
"How so?"
I rubbed my hand, which was beginning to ache, from pounding on the table. "I thought you were just a fan girl in love with the great Reid Hoffman. You're a damn good cop."
Jill laughed to the point she almost hyperventilated.
"You're not into older guys?" I asked, allowing a smile to crack through the pain.
"I'm not into guys, period. Good thing you aren't a profiler."
Forty-Two
Knoxville, Tennessee
Mack Root’s living room was a makeshift computer lab. Three computers were on Mack’s kitchen table which had been brought into the room. Green fabric covered one wall, surrounded by camera lighting. Everything that had been in the closet — coats, shoes, tennis rackets, and golf clubs — was in a pile in the kitchen. A handwritten sign that read “Darkroom: Do Not Enter” was taped to the closet door.
“Did you really need to make a sign? Couldn’t you just tell people not to open the door?”