by Barry Eisler
He looked up and saw that she was speaking. Either she hadn’t figured out he was deaf, or she didn’t know how to talk to deaf people.
“. . . and we strongly encourage residents to join in all the activities we offer. I’m sure your father would be very happy here, if you decide to enroll him.”
Manus wondered whether he had read that right. Enroll? Commit would have been more honest.
“Thank you,” Manus said. “I think he would.”
“And your name is . . . ?”
“Miller,” Manus said, wondering if the woman stood to receive a commission if she reeled him in. “Mark Miller.”
“Well, Mr. Miller, the main office is closed now, so I can’t offer a tour of our facilities. But if you’d like to come back . . . ?”
“I think I’ll go through the brochures first. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. Oh, is there a men’s room I could use?”
“Of course.” She gestured to her right. “Left at the end of the corridor, restroom’s on the right. You can’t miss it.”
Manus nodded his thanks and headed off down the corridor. He turned the corner and saw a black man almost as large as himself sitting in a chair halfway down the hall, his elbows on his knees and a newspaper opened before him. The man was wearing green surgical scrubs, and Manus realized he was a nurse or something like it, stationed near the side entrance to make sure the “residents” didn’t wander off.
Manus continued on. The man looked up, and Manus gave him a friendly nod. The man returned the nod and went back to his newspaper. He wasn’t terribly interested in Manus, which was good. But as he got closer, Manus could see the man was positioned just beyond the restrooms. Manus wasn’t going to be able to enter the women’s room without the man noticing. He considered for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of various possibilities.
“Excuse me,” he said, pausing in front of the restrooms. “Is anyone in the women’s room?”
The man looked up and frowned. “I don’t think so, no.”
“My aunt thinks she left her glasses in there. Okay if I take a quick look?”
Plan B was to drop the man, check the bathroom, and head out the side exit. And Manus had gamed out other possibilities, too, depending on what the man did next. But there was no need. The man simply shrugged, said, “Be my guest,” and went back to the newspaper.
Manus nodded his thanks and headed in. The bathroom was spotless, the tile almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. Surprisingly, the antiseptic smell was much less strong here, and Manus was momentarily grateful for it.
He ducked into the handicapped stall, got on his knees, and felt around behind the toilet near the floor. Nothing, just cold, smooth porcelain. He ran his hand up higher. Still nothing. He squeezed his head up against the wall and looked at the back of the toilet. Everywhere other than the tracks left by his hand was a slightly greasy covering of dust. Not a place anyone bothered to clean, even in a facility as apparently conscientious as this one. There was nothing taped there, and obviously there never had been.
He performed an identical examination of the other toilets. They were all the same.
She had lied to Delgado. Lied to buy herself time. Because she knew what Manus had tried to deny. That when they found the thumb drive, she was dead.
He headed out, ready to tell the man in the chair he’d been unsuccessful. But the man never even looked up from his paper.
He went out through the front entrance, being sure to thank the receptionist again on the way, then walked to the Safeway. Once outside the facility and no longer needing to be in character, he could feel panic closing in. He breathed deeply, in and out, willing it away. He had to decide what to do. He couldn’t tell Delgado. He couldn’t. If he did, Delgado was going to hurt Evie. Assuming he hadn’t hurt her already. Assuming he wasn’t hurting her right then.
And hurting her wouldn’t even be the end of it. It would only be the start.
He walked to the edge of the parking lot and paced, examining options, weighing risks. After five minutes, he kept coming back to the same idea. It was dangerous and it was bad. But everything else seemed worse.
His phone vibrated and he pulled it out. It was Delgado. What the fuck is going on?
Manus didn’t respond. He dropped the phone back in his pocket and went into the Safeway. Using cash, he bought a bottled water. A few granola bars. And a thumb drive.
Outside, he tore open and tossed the packaging and pocketed the thumb drive. The water and granola bars went into the canvas shopping bag, along with Evie’s purse and shoe.
He walked to his pickup, which he had left in a nearby parking lot, opened the toolbox, put the canvas bag inside, and took out the StingRay. In less than a minute, he had the location of the cell phone Delgado had been texting from. It looked like he was in the middle of the woods around the Triadelphia Reservoir. Manus’s stomach clenched at the thought of how dark it would be there, how private.
His phone vibrated again. Delgado: Answer me, asshole. Did you find the drive?
He texted back, Waiting outside the bathroom. Need it to be empty.
Okay. Just stop blowing me off. I want to know what’s going on. I don’t trust this bitch.
Manus closed the toolbox, touched the hilt of the Espada in his front pocket and the butt of the Force Pro in the holster, got in the pickup, and drove off.
CHAPTER . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . 36
It took Manus less than twenty minutes to pull onto a dirt road at the end of which the StingRay told him he would find Delgado. Delgado had texted him twice while he drove. The first time, Manus had texted back that he was still waiting. The second time, he didn’t respond at all. Now he cut the headlights, driving slowly by the glow of the parking lights until he came to an access gate. He stopped and got out to examine it. Sure enough, the chain had been cut, then wrapped around one of the support posts to pass a casual inspection. Manus opened the gate and drove on. When the StingRay indicated he was a quarter mile away, he did a tight K-turn, cut the engine, and continued on foot.
The air was moist amid the trees, perfumed by wood and dirt. He could smell the reservoir just ahead, a clean smell like brass or ozone. He walked slowly, a new Defender Ultra set low and cupped in one hand, careful to avoid branches that might crack under the weight of his boots.
When he was close to the water, he spotted the contours of the Sprinter, the metal incongruous in the dim light against the trees around it. He clicked off the flashlight, returned it to his pocket, and positioned himself to the left of the sliding door. Delgado was right-handed, and by keeping to the left, Manus would force the man to emerge from cover to get off a shot, while at the same time making shooting itself maximally awkward. If it came to that.
He texted, I’m here.
A few seconds went by. Then: What do you mean here?
Outside the Sprinter. I have the drive.
A long moment spun out. Manus watched the Sprinter, his hand on the grip of the Force Pro.
The Sprinter door slid open. Manus saw Delgado, silhouetted from within. He was holding a pistol, but it was pointing down. Concerned about trouble, but not quite ready to make trouble of his own. Okay. Manus moved his hand off the Force Pro and let his shirt fall back over it.
Delgado was talking, but with the light coming from behind him, Manus couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“I can’t read your lips from here,” Manus said. He moved closer, his arms loose at his sides, letting Delgado see his empty hands. There, that was better.
Delgado brought up the pistol and pointed it at Manus’s chest. “Stop. How’d you know where to find me?”
Manus stopped. “StingRay. And you call me the dummy.”
He knew Delgado was insecure. He hoped the insult would cause enough irritation to momentarily occlude clear thinking.
Delgado frowned and glanced around. Manus could tell he sensed something was off, but that he couldn’t put his fing
er on what. The trick now was to deny his brain time to examine what his gut was trying to tell him.
Manus gestured to Delgado’s gun. “Are you planning to shoot me, or can I come in?”
“Where’s the drive?”
“There’s too much light. We need to close that door.”
Delgado raised the gun so the muzzle was pointing at Manus’s face. “Where is the fucking drive?”
He was more suspicious than Manus had hoped. Nowhere to go but straight on.
“Let me see the woman.”
“Why?”
“I need to know she’s safe.”
“You been fucking her?”
“I need to know she’s safe.”
Delgado held out his free hand. “Give me the drive.”
“I don’t have it. But it’s close.”
“Where?”
“The woman first.”
Delgado put a second hand on the grip and adjusted his head so he was sighting down the barrel. “I will shoot you, Manus.”
“Go ahead. Then you can explain to the director how you shot the only person in the world who knows where the drive is.”
A long moment went by. Manus didn’t think Delgado would do it. But he didn’t know, either. It didn’t matter. There was no other way to play this.
Delgado lowered the muzzle to chest level and stepped out of the Sprinter, giving Manus wide berth. “All right,” he said. “You first.”
The man’s tactics were good. He wasn’t going to let Manus get too close. Manus would have to make an opportunity.
Manus stepped into the Sprinter. Evie was sitting on the floor in one of the rear corners, her hands cuffed or tied behind her back. Her clothes were somewhat in disarray and her upper lip was swollen, but it didn’t seem she’d otherwise been hurt. She glanced at Manus and said nothing. But the hate he saw in her eyes was awful.
Delgado climbed in and slid the door closed behind him. He kept the gun on Manus. “Move back,” he said. “Give me room.”
Manus stooped and moved further back. The opportunity wasn’t there. Not yet.
Delgado looked at him. “Where’s the drive, dummy?”
Manus glanced at Evie, then back to Delgado. “The director doesn’t want you to harm her.”
“Bullshit.”
“I just texted with him.”
Delgado sneered. “Yeah? Let me see your phone.”
“I delete my texts. I hope you’re smart enough to do the same. Dummy.”
Delgado reddened. “Who the fuck—”
“Why don’t you call him yourself? Afraid he might say you can’t have your fun?”
Delgado’s eyes narrowed. He swung the gun over to Evie. She flinched but didn’t look away.
“Fun? You want to have fun? Here’s what we do. I start counting. If I get to three before you tell me where the fuck that drive is, I shoot your girlfriend in the face. Sound good? Sound fun? Here we go. One. Two—”
“All right,” Manus said bringing his hands up, palms open. “All right!”
Delgado kept the gun on Evie. “Where?”
“Right here. In my left pocket. I’m going to take it out. Slowly.”
He reached into his left pocket, slowly as promised, removed the thumb drive, and held it out.
Delgado glanced at it, then back to Manus. The gun didn’t waver. “This isn’t the plan. You’re supposed to take it to the director so he can confirm it’s what he wanted. For all we know, that’s just some random thumb drive this bitch picked up in a Walgreens.”
Manus kept his arm extended, the hand holding the thumb drive less than a yard from Delgado. “Then take it to him. I’ll watch the woman.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll get the fuck out of this van.”
“Call the director,” Manus said. “You’re not supposed to harm her.”
Manus couldn’t predict exactly what Delgado would do next. Reach for the drive? Have Manus set it on the floor? Make Manus change to a less advantageous posture or position? Call the director? It was impossible to say. But whatever he did next, he’d gotten what he’d wanted. Meaning he no longer needed to threaten the woman. Meaning he was going to stop pointing the pistol at her, and point it at Manus again, instead. That moment would be Manus’s best opportunity. Probably his last opportunity.
He sensed the move an instant before it happened. And as Delgado’s arm swung left from the woman and back to Manus, Manus was already shooting in with a drop step, his extended left hand blurring in and slapping Delgado’s gun hand up and back. The pistol discharged. Manus closed his hand around it, keeping it pointed away, and speared a forearm into Delgado’s throat. The gun went off again. Delgado gagged and fumbled at his pants pocket with his free hand. Manus grabbed the hand, head-butted Delgado’s face, then stepped back and shot a knee into his balls. Delgado folded forward and Manus yanked his arms wide, bringing his face in for another head-butt, then clubbed him in the neck with another forearm as he went down. Delgado pitched face-first onto the floor and Manus tore the gun from his hand.
Delgado lay still. For an instant, Manus imagined stomping his neck . . . stomping again and again until the man had been functionally decapitated. The urge was so strong his leg actually trembled. But with everything else he was doing, if he killed Delgado, who he knew the director valued . . . he just didn’t know.
He drew in a huge breath and blew it out, forcing himself to focus. If he could just get Evie to tell him where she had hidden the drive. If she would promise she would never, ever say anything to anyone. Manus would guarantee her silence to the director, with his own life as collateral. She would never say anything if she knew he would die as a result, would she?
Yes, that was the better way, the surer way. He wanted to kill Delgado, but what he wanted wasn’t the point.
He dropped to his knees and ran his hands up and down Delgado’s legs and torso. He found a wallet, a knife, a cell phone, a pair of handcuff keys on a small ring, and the keys to the Sprinter. He tossed aside everything but the cell phone and the handcuff keys. Then he folded Delgado’s hands across his back, put a knee across his wrists, and looked over at Evie, who had shrunk back into the corner, her eyes wide.
“Are you hurt?” he said.
She shook her head once, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly with her breathing.
“Are you handcuffed?” he said. “I can’t see.”
She nodded. A tear slid down her cheek.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay now. I have the keys. Come closer so I can unlock the cuffs. I don’t want to let him up.”
She hesitated for a moment, then crab-walked forward, turning when she was close so Manus could access the cuffs. He popped one side free. She turned to face him, rubbing her free wrist. He handed her the key. She undid the other side, let the cuffs and keys drop to the floor, then pressed her fingers to her ears and grimaced. Manus realized the sound of the shots, magnified inside the Sprinter, had hurt her.
Delgado stirred under Manus’s weight. “Hand me the cuffs,” Manus said. “He’s starting to wake up.”
She crouched, staring at Delgado, seemingly paralyzed. Manus realized she was in a kind of shock. He leaned over, snatched up the cuffs, and got them around Delgado’s wrists. Then he stood, stooping to avoid the roof. “We have to go.”
Evie stood and backed away, rubbing her wrists. “What is this? Who are you?”
Manus shook his head. “We have to go.”
She glanced at Delgado, then back to Manus. “Is this some kind of good cop / bad cop?”
Manus moved to the side door and slid it open. “We have to go. My truck is close by.”
She glanced at Delgado again, then suddenly stepped forward and kicked him soccer style full in the face. Delgado’s head rocketed back and blood shot from his nose. Evie grimaced and clutched her foot. Delgado rolled back and forth and bled.
Manus pulled Delgado out of the Sprinter and yanked him to his feet. The smaller man was choking
and spitting. Blood ran freely from his crumpled nose.
Evie came to the door. Manus saw she had picked up her shoe. She started to step out, then paused and glanced around, obviously disoriented, holding the shoe in front of her as though it could somehow protect her from all this insanity. Manus realized she had no idea where she even was.
“The Triadelphia Reservoir,” Manus said. “My truck is a quarter mile away. I should have thought to bring your other shoe. I’m sorry. But it’s in the truck. So is your purse.”
He switched on the Defender and shone it in Delgado’s face. “Get in front,” he said. “Driver’s seat.”
Delgado spat out a huge wad of phlegm and blood. “Do you know what the director is going to do when he hears about this?” he said.
Manus slid the Sprinter door closed and gave the handcuff keys to Evie. “Follow us around. I need to keep him here.” He took Delgado by the collar and marched him to the front of the Sprinter, Evie just behind them. Manus pushed Delgado up into the driver’s seat, then circled around to the other side. Delgado watched as he moved, his eyes dark with rage. Manus got in, gripped Delgado’s collar again, and pressed the muzzle of the pistol just behind his right ear. “Turn toward the driver-side door,” he said. “So your back is to the steering wheel.”
Delgado glared at him. “Motherfucker, you can’t just leave me here. This is bullshit.”
“You want to be left cuffed to the wheel, or with a bullet in your head?”
Delgado said nothing.
Manus nodded to Evie. “Uncuff his hands, then cuff them back through the steering wheel.” He let Delgado feel the tight grip on his collar, the muzzle behind his ear.
Her hands were shaking, but she managed, handing the keys to Manus when she was done. Manus double-locked and double-checked the cuffs, and then, satisfied, dropped the keys on the floor, slid out, and went around. When he made it to the driver-side door, he saw that Delgado was saying something to Evie.