The Witnesses

by James Patterson

  Jason looks next door, where the old man and woman live. Nosy neighbors. He hopes they won’t be a problem.

  He pauses at the rear, near the bedroom windows. More voices from the master bedroom.

  Still, one big thing is bothering him, one very big thing.

  He hates lying to that nice lady, even if she is pissed at him.

  Because his classified orders are clear, quite clear.

  If things go bad, and go bad quickly, he will have to do something that will make him hate himself for the rest of his life.

  There’s a crackling noise in the far shrubbery, bordering another home. His hands move on their own, one taking out a 9mm Beretta pistol and the other a monocular night vision scope. He starts scanning the rear yard, and there’s something moving, and it’s—

  —a fat raccoon, waddling its way through a supposedly safe neighborhood in this supposedly safe country.

  Jason lowers his weapon and his night vision scope, looks around at the calm and pleasant lights of suburbia.

  “Christ,” he says. “I wish I was back in Kabul.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Lance Sanderson is hanging up his shirt and pants when his wife barrels into the bedroom. Without a word, she goes to the closet, pulls out a black duffel bag, and starts throwing clothes inside.

  “Honey, what’s going on?”

  Teresa says nothing. She tugs clothes out of the closet so hard that the empty wire hangers clang into each other.

  “Teresa…” He feels foolish standing there in the bedroom, just wearing his boxer shorts. But knowing his wife, he can’t ignore what’s going on.

  “I’m tired of being on the run,” she says, bringing the duffel bag over to the bed and dropping it down with a heavy thump. “I’m so damn tired of it. We’re eating crappy food, we’re scared all the time…hell, we don’t even have the right clothes! Remember the first day we got here, it was about to rain, and I had to put scarves on Sandy and me? I can’t stand it.”

  Lance takes a breath, steps forward. “But what can we do? What choice do we have?”

  Teresa looks at him, her eyes sharp. “We have a choice right now. We leave. We be careful, keep a low profile, hook up with my cousin Leonard…”

  “Your cousin Leonard would be out of his league,” Lance says. “He’s a good cop, a brave guy, but—”

  Teresa interrupts him. “Maybe, but he’s family. I can trust family. I don’t know if I can trust…them.”

  “But…we have something important, or so they say,” Lance says, wondering if he can possibly defuse this situation before the kids hear them. “We need to wait here before we pass on what we’ve got to the right people. And we can’t do that if we’re on the run on our own, keeping our heads down.”

  Teresa stops on her way back to the closet. “You believed them? Really? Look, you can tell me now, Lance…what really went on at the dig? What nearly killed us over there?”

  “You know what happened,” he says. “You were there.”

  “Not all of the time,” she says. “I find it hard to believe their bullshit story about what we supposedly have…and you swallowed it, hook, line and proverbial sinker. Tell me what really went on. There was a dispute over the pay at the dig site, wasn’t there? You pissed off the wrong people, right?”

  Despising himself, Lance feels anger starting to build. “Every season, there’s always a dispute about pay. It’s nothing new. I’ve told you a million times: there’s nothing to tell. You were there. And what went on…it had nothing to do with money.”

  Their eyes are locked on each other, and she goes back to the closet. “Fine…so says you. You want to keep secrets like them? Go right ahead. After all, you’ve already given up your responsibility.”

  Lance asks, “What responsibility?”

  “To be a man,” Teresa snaps. “A husband. A father. To protect this family…and not to outsource it, like one of your diggers at a site.”

  Lance opens his mouth but finds there’s nothing he can say. Her words are to the point, hurtful, and, worst of all, they’re the truth. He knows what he is, an academic more at home at a dig site than in a conflict or a confrontation, and now he’s let his family get bossed around and moved halfway across the world, like the weakling he is.

  Teresa runs a hand across her face, and her eyes fill with tears. “Sorry, hon, that was a cheap shot. You don’t deserve it.”

  Lance steps forward, eases her into a hug, and feels a rush of gratitude when she hugs him back hard. She whispers, “I’m so scared. I’m sorry…but I’m so scared. No matter what happened over there…I’m scared now.”

  He rubs her lower back. “We’ll get out of this. I promise. We’ll be safe.”

  Lance stands there for a minute, just holding his wife tight, and there’s a slight knock on the door. Teresa kisses his neck and he gently breaks away, throws on a light-blue terrycloth robe, goes to answer the door.

  Jason is there. “I’m going lights-out in a few minutes. Everything okay?”

  Lance looks to Teresa. She bites her lower lip and gives a slight nod. He turns back to Jason and says, “Everything’s fine.”

  Jason nods and turns away. Lance closes the bedroom door and goes to the bed, takes the duffel bag off, and puts it on the floor.

  Teresa says, “Did you see it?”

  Lance has no idea what she means by her question, so he decides just to go along and plead ignorance. “I’m sorry, see what?”

  “That man’s face,” Teresa says. “There’s something going on. He looks…”

  “Guilty,” Lance says, finishing her phrase. “Yeah, he looks guilty. I’ve seen it, too. Like…he’s keeping some secret from us.”

  “But what?”

  Lance says, “Honey, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 9

  At the little streetside café in Paris, Gray Evans checks his watch. Time to wrap up this little meet and greet.

  He asks Yussuf, “Did you support the team that came in here two Novembers ago?”

  The other man grins. “No, but I knew most of them…and respected them for what they did. Brave martyrs, they were.”

  Gray nods as if in sympathy, but in reality he thinks, No, they were stupid fools. It’s one thing to strike at your enemies, but to get yourself killed in the process? What’s the point? Gray knows he could never convince this man before him, a true believer.

  Yussuf says, “So, it is agreed then?”

  “Yes,” Gray says.

  The young man brings out a handheld device. “I shall arrange your payment.” His dirty fingers manipulate the screen and he says, “It is done.”

  Gray has his own iPhone in his hands, sees a healthy deposit has just been made in his Cayman Islands numbered account. “All right,” he says. “We have a deal.”

  He puts the phone away and picks up a white napkin, starts absentmindedly rubbing the handles of his knife and fork. Yussuf ignores his movements and says, “Two things more, if I may.”

  “Go ahead,” Gray says, feeling a soothing sensation come over him as he works on the silverware.

  “You are an American. Why do you do this? In your country? To your own tribe?”

  Gray finishes off his vin ordinaire, starts rubbing the glass as well with the cloth napkin. A small battered Renault taxi rolls by, its exhaust choking him for a moment.

  “To be an American once meant something,” Gray says softly. “You were part of a people and country that was respected and feared. When an American walked the street or a fighter plane took to the air, or a ship to sea, the world took notice. The world now mocks us, teases us. We’ve given up. We concern ourselves with silly things, like the style of a candidate’s hair or which bathroom people should use. That’s the way of losers. I don’t associate with losers.”

  Yussuf says, “I see what you mean. And here is the other thing.”

  From his coat, he pulls out a small envelope. “I was told to give this to you and have you read it
before I depart.”

  Gray opens the small envelope, reads the slip of paper contained within. He looks up at Yussuf and says, “Do you know what was in here?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  With the cloth napkin, he picks up the sharp steak knife he had earlier used, quickly leans over the table, grabs Yussuf’s hair with his free left hand, and shoves the knife into his right eye. Yussuf coughs, shudders, and collapses. Gray slips the knife out, gently pushes the body back so it’s slumped against the chair, like Yussuf has eaten or drunk too much.

  Gray gets up, retrieves Yussuf’s phone, the family photo, the piece of paper with the word “Levittown” scribbled upon it, and the envelope with the small sheet of paper. He rereads its bold-faced writing and smiles to himself.

  KILL YUSSUF FOR A BONUS.

  CHAPTER 10

  In a cube-shaped glass-and-metal building in an obscure office park outside of Arlington, Virginia, an intelligence officer known by most as “the Big Man” looks up as his office door opens. A woman strides in without announcing herself and without having knocked. She’s rail-thin, wearing a red dress and a white leather belt, and her blond hair is cut short and to the point. Her thin arms are weighted down by gold bangles and she says, “We have a problem with the Sanderson family.”

  The Big Man nods. “Go on.”

  The woman—known to most as “the Thin Woman”—says, “We got a text this a.m. from their minder. The family’s getting restless, making threats to leave on their own. You know we can’t let that happen.”

  “I know,” the Big Man says. “But that’s the choice they demanded in exchange for their cooperation. Low-key, not staying at a military base, keep it simple for their children’s sake.”

  The Thin Woman says, “We could have a response team in place in their neighborhood.”

  He says, “That just adds another level of complexity. A unit like that can’t be hidden, you have to notify local law enforcement, rumors and tales get spread around…no, they stay in place. Besides, we have more to worry about than just that.”

  “What is it?” she asks.

  He opens up a red-bordered manila folder and says, “Our brothers and sisters at the NSA say they’re picking up chatter about the Sanderson family from cells located in North Africa. No decrypt yet, but you can be sure they’re not discussing sending the family a fruit basket. A hit squad is being dispatched to find them.”

  “Damn,” the Thin Woman says. “Can we move the Sandersons?”

  “Moving makes them more vulnerable.”

  She asks, “How much longer?”

  “Two days, I hope,” the Big Man says. “We need Clarkson to debrief them, and she’s currently stuck at the Libyan/Egyptian border near Salloum. She’s getting extracted as soon as we can make it happen.”

  “Why Clarkson?”

  The Big Man grows irritated. His day has just started and already it’s in the crapper. “You saw my memo. She’s the only one with the necessary talents to do the debrief. So we have to wait until she gets stateside.”

  The Thin Woman shakes her head, goes to the door. “You’re gambling with their lives.”

  The Big Man sighs. “That’s what we do, every damn day of the week.”

  CHAPTER 11

  After breakfast the next morning, Jason Tyler asks Teresa if she and the family would like to go for a shopping trip, and Lance is pleased by how quickly she accepts the offer. Their discussion from last night hasn’t been mentioned once since he and Teresa have woken up, and that’s fine with Lance.

  Now they are at a Super Stop & Shop and Jason is parking the Yukon at a distance from the store, where no other vehicles are parked near them. Sam says, “Boy, why couldn’t we park closer? There are lots of spaces up front.”

  Jason says, “It’ll give you a chance to get some exercise.”

  He gets out of the car, and Lance studies him, now knowing better. He sees how the man works. He wants their Yukon isolated, so it’s easy to find—not easy for anyone to sneak up on it.

  Their bodyguard also insists that they depart the Yukon one at a time: Lance, Teresa, Sam, and, last, Sandy. Back at their rental home, Jason had insisted that they enter the Yukon in the opposite order, Sandy going first and Lance bringing up the rear.

  He shepherds them quickly across the parking lot and Lance feels relaxed amid the other shoppers out on this spring morning. It’s pure America, with the shopping carts, aisle displays, and families of all ages and colors crowding around, and Lance looks to Jason to see if he’s finally relaxed as well.

  No, he’s not. The man is with them, moving constantly, going forward, bringing up the rear, always looking around, always…guarding.

  Always guarding. What a life that man must have.

  They spend some time going slowly up and down the crowded aisles, and near the dairy coolers, Teresa abruptly stops and says, “Oh, dear, yogurt, that’s worth stocking up on.”

  She moves around and starts handing containers to Lance, who in turn puts them in the cart, and he looks up and—

  The kids are gone.

  Jason is gone.

  What the hell?

  Teresa sees him stop and says, “What’s the problem?”

  “The kids have left. And so has Jason.”

  His wife looks around the bustling aisles and says, “You know those two. They probably decided to see if they could sneak away from Jason and us. I wouldn’t worry.”

  Lance hears what she says, but, based on the look on her face and in her eyes, neither of them believes what she’s saying.

  CHAPTER 12

  A few minutes later, he and Teresa are in the produce section of the supermarket. Teresa is doing her best to appear calm, and Lance is acting similarly placid. The to-and-fro of the safe shoppers, the long counters overflowing with fruit and vegetables…Lance finds it hard to believe that just a number of days ago, he and his family were in the middle of the Tunisian desert, living on canned goods and freeze-dried food.

  A woman with dark-blue hair and yoga pants that are two sizes too small smashes into the side of Teresa’s cart, shrugs, and walks off, and Teresa says, “This is an okay place, but, damn, I miss my Mollie Stone’s from back home.”

  “Me, too,” he says quietly, eyes shifting back and forth, “but my waistline isn’t complaining about not getting those breakfast pastries. Hey, I saw you working this morning before we left. How’s the guidebook coming along?”

  Teresa starts examining yellow peaches with studied nonchalance, one at a time, constantly scanning the crowd for the kids. From long practice, Lance holds open a plastic bag. “How do you think?” she says. “No Internet means no research. Without the great God of Google, it’s like we’ve been tossed back in time thirty years…but at least I’m not pounding out my copy on a Remington typewriter. And your work?”

  “Not good,” he says. “After the time it took to get the permits and paperwork in place to get to the dig site, then leaving the dig nearly two months early… no matter the excuse, it’s going to tick off Stanford pretty seriously when they get word. It’ll knock my research back at least a year, if not longer.”

  Lance ties the plastic bag, gently places it in the shopping cart, and there’s another bump as Teresa’s cart hits the corner of a banana display. She mutters something and her face flushes, and Lance eyes the nearby vegetables and tries to lighten the mood.

  He picks up a long, thick cucumber, shows it to his wife. “Hey, hon, does this remind you of anyone you know? Except for the color, I mean.”

  A wry smile that warms his heart. Teresa takes it from his hand, tosses it back, and puts a smaller pickling cucumber in his hand.

  “I don’t care if you’ve got your doctorate in archaeology, honey, you still don’t know how to measure things.”

  He laughs and leans in for a kiss, but as he does so, Jason moves in unexpectedly, one hand on Sandy’s shoulder, the other on Sam’s. Sandy is reading a thick paperback almanac
of current science facts, while her brother is holding a Batman comic book. Sam’s not reading but squirming under the grasp of their bodyguard.

  “Mom, Dad, do I have to listen to Jason?” he asks, voice loud. “He says I have to do what he tells me. Do I have to do that? Do I?”

  Teresa stands still, both hands tight on the shopping cart handle. Lance notes the determined face of Jason and the angry face of his boy and thinks, You have no idea, son. Aloud he says, “Yes, at least for a while longer.”

  Sam squirms away. “How long is that? Huh? How long?”

  Jason gives a not-so-gentle tap on Sam’s shoulder. “Listen to your father.”

  Teresa reaches over, takes the almanac and comic book from her children’s hands, puts them in the shopping cart, and continues her determined pushing and shopping.

  Outside in the sunlit day, Lance moves along through the parking lot with his family and Jason. Sandy is reading her new almanac again and Sam is looking down at the ground, holding his Batman comic in his hands.

  Jason opens the rear of the Yukon and helps Teresa put the groceries inside.

  Lance is about to ask her what’s for dinner when it happens.

  On the other side of the parking lot comes a loud bang! Even though Lance sees every motion, every second, he still can’t believe how fast Jason moves. The near rear door of the Yukon is thrown open and Sandy and Sam are literally tossed in. Lance races to the front passenger door, but by the time he opens it, his wife is already in the rear with the kids. The doors are shut and Jason has started up the Yukon, driving ahead with the driver’s side door open.

  Nervous, Lance asks, “What’s going on—”

  “Quiet!” Jason barks out, and from the rear, Teresa says, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it looks like a fender bender, that’s all.”