by Barry Eisler
“. . . but first I’m going to make your little deaf prick son watch. Or maybe I’ll make you watch me do him.”
Manus looked at Evie to see her response. She didn’t answer. Instead, a flatness crept into her eyes, an expressionlessness into her features. “Give me the gun,” she said, her eyes never leaving Delgado.
Delgado recognized what had come over her. He looked at Manus and shook his head. “If that bitch kills me, the director will make you pay. And you know it.”
“Give me the gun,” Evie said again.
Manus shook his head. “We can’t. We have to go. I’ll explain on the way.”
Delgado turned to her and smiled. “See you soon, sweetheart. Love that shaved bush.”
The flatness in Evie’s eyes was suddenly replaced by rage. She grabbed Delgado by the hair and bashed his face into the edge of the door. Twice. A third time. Delgado jerked his arms, but his wrists were secured and there was nothing he could do to defend himself. Manus threw an arm around her and pulled her back. A bloody clump of hair plugs pulled free, and Delgado howled.
Evie tried to twist loose. Manus held her firmly, letting her understand it was useless. After a moment, she stopped struggling. Manus let her go and watched her warily.
She flung the hair clump away and looked at Delgado. “The next time I see you,” she said, panting, “I’m going to kill you. So you better hope it’s not soon.”
Delgado was too busy coughing out blood to respond.
CHAPTER . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . 37
They moved as fast as they could, but it was slow going given the terrain and Evie’s lack of shoes. Neither of them said anything—it was too dark to talk, and besides, Manus wanted to keep moving. He removed the magazine from Delgado’s gun while they walked, ejected the round in the chamber, wiped everything down, and tossed it all in different directions into the woods.
When they reached his truck, he gave her the purse and shoe from the toolbox. They got in and he put the keys in the ignition. But Evie flipped on the dome light and held out a hand to indicate he should wait.
What was that thumb drive? she signed.
A decoy.
Why?
Manus hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He was going to hurt you.
Evie looked at him for a long moment. Then she signed, Get me home to Dash.
What about your car? It’s still at the supermarket.
Just get me home.
Manus fired up the engine and pulled out. A hundred yards down the dirt road, he glanced over at Evie. She had her cell phone to her ear. Horrified, Manus snatched it away and cut off the call. He looked at her and shook his head violently.
“What?” she said, her eyes wide. “What?”
“Were you calling home?”
She nodded.
“Your apartment,” he said, looking back at the road. “I think it might be bugged.”
He glanced over to see how she reacted to that. Her lips were pursed and she was pale.
He slowed for a curve, then accelerated again. “Were you calling the nanny?” he said. If she had been planning on talking rather than texting, it couldn’t have been Dash.
He glanced over and caught her nod, then looked ahead again. “What did you say to her? They might have been listening.”
He looked over just long enough to catch, “It was still ringing. She hadn’t picked up.”
He focused on driving again. “You have to be careful. They could hear what you say.”
Delgado’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Manus thought, Shit. He pulled out the phone and glanced down at it.
It was the director. Status?
The director must have been all over her phone. He’d seen the call go through and then get interrupted. He wanted to know what was going on.
Manus handed Evie the phone. “It’s the director,” he said, taking another curve in the road. “Text back exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
He glanced over and saw her say, “No, I don’t—”
He looked back at the road. “I can’t drive and read your lips. You have to listen to me and do exactly as I say. Don’t argue, I’ll explain as we go. Okay? Text him, ‘She’s taking us to it. Should know soon.’”
He glanced over and saw she was doing it. He gave her a moment, then said, “Do you understand?”
She shook her head.
He looked back to the road. “If he’s geolocating, he thinks Delgado, you, and I are all together.”
He saw her say, “Delgado?”
“The man in the van. The director thinks Delgado just told him you’re taking us to the thumb drive. If that were true, we wouldn’t let you out of our sight. So the phones have to stay together. And you can’t say anything to the nanny that would be inconsistent with that.”
He went back to driving, and a minute later they were back on paved road. He wanted to hit the gas but couldn’t risk a traffic cop, so he kept it at just over the speed limit, his eyes going from the road to the speedometer and back because he didn’t trust himself to keep it slow and steady.
Evie touched his arm. He glanced over and she held up Delgado’s phone so he could read it. The director had texted, What about the appearances we discussed? A random thing, yes?
Manus felt a wave of anger ripple through him. He had hoped Delgado was lying about the director’s orders. Now he knew better.
“Text him, ‘Had to improvise. We needed her phone. But it’s under control. Will check in soon.’”
He waited, then said, “Is it done?” He glanced over and saw her nod.
The light at Clarksburg Pike was red. He stopped and signed, I know you’re worried about Dash. You can call now. Just be careful of what you say. An emergency at work, you’re on your way home now. Say . . . you’re on your way to pick something up. If he’s listening, that will make him feel better.
She nodded, then input some numbers and put the phone to her ear. The conversation lasted only a few seconds. He couldn’t read it well from the side. The light turned green and he turned left. When he looked over again, the phone was back in her lap. She was crying—more from relief, he sensed, than from pain.
“Is Dash okay?”
She nodded and wiped her face.
“Evie,” he said, his eyes going back and forth from her to the road. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”
He wished he could believe it.
A minute later, she touched his arm. He glanced over. “It’s ringing,” she said. “It’s him. The director.”
Too much was happening. Manus couldn’t think it all through. He needed more time. He said, “Text him, ‘Can’t talk now.’”
He kept driving. She touched his arm again and held up the phone. Another text from the director: If she told you it’s in her apartment, she’s lying. She hasn’t been there since retrieving it from Rockville this morning.
“Fuck. Text, ‘Got that. We’re going to get the boy. She’ll give it to us then.’”
He glanced over. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. He looked at the road again, then back at her.
“Text him.”
She shook her head.
He shifted his gaze back to the road. “Evie, we have to respond.” He waited, then glanced at her again. She was shaking her head and signing, Stop the car.
There was a turnout just ahead. He pulled over and looked at her.
Are you going to hurt me? she signed, tears welling up in her eyes. Or Dash?
Manus looked left, then right, feeling trapped, fighting panic. She leaned in and gripped his arm until he looked at her again.
Are you?
No, he signed, shaking his head emphatically.
The tears spilled down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and shook. Manus leaned forward and stroked her hair for a moment. Then he took hold of her hands and gently pulled them away so she could see him.
But someone will. If we don’t figure out what to do first.
She nodded, then blew out a long breath and began inputting a message. Manus felt sick that he was piling new lies to the director upon the existing ones. He needed to think, to take control. But things were happening so fast, all he could do was react.
Five minutes later, he was circling her building. She touched his shoulder. He glanced over and she signed, Stop.
He shook his head and kept driving, his head swiveling, his eyes on every ambush position they passed. “We have to be careful,” he said. He hoped she understood. He knew this was all new to her. She didn’t understand how suddenly a mistake could happen, or what it would cost.
He did two complete circuits. He didn’t see anything that rubbed him the wrong way. But he had a bad feeling. The kind he had learned to trust.
He backed into a space in the shadows of some trees, the front of the truck facing the entrance to her section of the complex. He cut the lights, but moved the gearshift to drive and left the engine running. Just in case. It was the same place he had parked when he’d come to build Dash’s loft. But everything was different then.
She started to get out, but he took her arm.
I’ll take you and Dash somewhere safe, he signed. While I make things right with the director.
She looked at him for a long moment, then signed, He sent you to watch me. No sign for a question. Just a statement.
Manus nodded.
To fuck me?
Manus couldn’t meet her eyes. His hands floated helplessly for a moment. Then he managed, No. I didn’t tell him about that. Until . . .
She tapped his leg to make him look at her. Until what?
When I realized he black-bagged your apartment. That he knew anyway. And knew that I’d been lying to him. I shouldn’t have lied. But . . . but . . .
He couldn’t finish. Didn’t know how. He looked around, still seeing nothing, still feeling uneasy.
He wanted to tell her she needed to trust him, she needed his help. That he had to get her somewhere safe before he contacted the director, before this whole thing got any worse. That more than anything else, she needed to give him that thumb drive. Because as long as it was out there, the director would never stop.
But he didn’t know how to say any of it. All he could manage was I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want any of this to happen. I’m going to fix it.
How?
He shook his head, wishing he had an answer. You need to go in. Make it fast. Apologize to the nanny and send her home. And only use sign with Dash. Tell him to grab whatever he needs for a hotel. I think the director is watching but he doesn’t know much sign.
What if he has an interpreter with him?
That’s why you need to be in and out fast. Just grab some clothes, a pair of shoes, and some cash if you have it, that’s all. I don’t know how much time we have.
She nodded and turned to get out. He put a hand on her arm.
Wait. Take all three phones with you. And leave them inside when you go. He handed her his and Delgado’s.
Why?
The director would expect all of us to be moving together. And . . . I don’t know. Just a feeling.
What kind of feeling?
How could he explain something like that?
A bad one. Hurry.
CHAPTER . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . 38
As soon as Evie was inside, Manus put the pickup in park, cut the engine, and got out. He wanted to believe the director would never hurt him, but his gut warned that if there were any opposition, they would be looking for his truck, and that he should therefore be somewhere else when they found it.
There was a long cluster of mulberry bushes on a grass berm ten feet behind the pickup. Good concealment. But if Manus was tempted to hide there, someone else would be, too. So he went past the bushes into the line of trees just behind them, crouching close to the thick trunk of an old maple. There was a slight breeze, but other than that the night was still. Manus mirrored that stillness, retracting, retreating, letting himself fade away as he had when his father would come home drunk, when being overlooked, remaining unseen, was the only way to survive.
A few minutes went by. A middle-aged woman came out through the entrance, about fifty yards from Manus’s position. She looked Latina, but she was backlit by the building and Manus couldn’t be sure. She walked to a dark Honda Civic near the front to the lot, got in, and drove off. Manus had a feeling she was the nanny.
Another minute ticked by. He saw headlights approaching along the access road to the complex. Big lights, high off the ground. A truck or SUV.
A moment later, a black Suburban turned into the parking lot. It passed several empty spaces, paused in front of Manus’s pickup, and then continued slowly on. Manus tried to see inside it, but the windows were smoked and he couldn’t make anything out.
The Suburban backed into a space at the end of the parking area, about thirty feet from Manus’s position. The lights went out and the front doors opened. Two large men emerged, both wearing dark suits, neither of them remarkable but for a certain tension in their posture and gait, and for the sunglasses they wore despite the weak light of the parking lot lampposts. They strolled toward Manus’s truck, their heads swiveling as they moved, each hitching up his pants as though adjusting for something heavy around the waistband.
Manus understood the director had sensed something was amiss. These men were here to keep things running smoothly. And what would that entail, when they realized Delgado had been sidelined and Manus was helping the woman?
You’re looking for a thumb drive, he could imagine the director instructing them. Retrieve it. Whatever it takes.
Manus had always assumed the director relied entirely on Delgado and him for contract work, but realized now that was naïve and even narcissistic, a product of his need to believe the director was as devoted to him as he was to the director. He felt bitterness welling up in his chest and throat and willed it away. He didn’t want to feel anything. Someone was here to hurt him. He would stop them, the way he always had. That was all this was. He would figure out the rest later.
One of them peeled off fifteen feet short of Manus’s pickup and eased into the cluster of mulberry bushes at its far end. Manus nodded, knowing he’d been right not to use the spot himself. The other kept coming, taking up a mirror-image position at the other end of the bushes not ten feet in front of where Manus crouched.
They were watching the front entrance. The director must have told them he’d tracked Delgado, Manus, and the woman all going inside. They’d confirmed Manus’s truck was empty, and now they were waiting for everyone to emerge from the building.
Maybe he was wrong about what they had come for. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t here to help. And when they saw Evie coming out alone with Dash, they were going to move in. She and the boy would be in the crossfire. Manus would have lost the element of surprise. He couldn’t let that happen.
He knew he was making things worse. But maybe he could still explain. He hadn’t killed Delgado, only disabled him. And only because Delgado was doing things the wrong way, and wasn’t going to find the thumb drive. And these men . . . he didn’t know who they were, or who sent them. Not really. If it turned out they were the director’s men, then it was a misunderstanding, and Manus would apologize and explain. If he could just get Evie to give him the drive, and make her promise never to say anything, he could still make things right. He had to make things right.
He could have dropped the man in front of him with the Force Pro, but the sound would alert the man’s partner, as well as all the neighbors. So instead, he eased the Espada out of his pocket and unfolded it with both hands, holding open the safety catch to prevent the blade from clicking when it locked into place. There was nothing between him and the man directly ahead other than soft, manicured grass. No branches, no gravel, not even any mulch. He moved forward, letting the heel of each boot slowly take his weight, then rolling along the outer sole as they
’d taught him at the Farm. He kept the knife back along his thigh lest some stray light glint off the surface of the blade.
At the last moment, the man began to turn, whether by instinct or chance or because Manus had made some sound, Manus neither knew nor cared. He clamped his left hand around the man’s mouth and nose, swept him back onto his heels, and plunged the point of the nearly eight-inch stainless steel blade into the right side of the man’s neck, driving it all the way past the front of the cervical vertebrae and out the opposite side, then punched it edge-forward, transecting the man’s larynx, both carotid arteries, both jugular veins, and pretty much everything else in the neighborhood, too.
A geyser of hot blood erupted from the wound. The man’s hands came up, scrabbled spasmodically at Manus’s forearm, and then fell away as oxygenated blood plummeted out of his brain. Manus waited until the pressurized spray had ebbed, then stepped back and carefully laid the man out on his back. He stayed down, watching to see if the other man offered any reaction. He saw nothing.
He wiped the knife and his wet hand on the grass, then eased back to the tree line. Once clear of the mulberry bushes, he could see the other man again. He was still focused on the entrance.
Manus moved laterally until he was directly behind the man, then began to ease forward. Something about the man’s posture, his attention, sharpened. Manus froze. He looked to the entrance and saw Evie and Dash coming through it, Dash wearing a backpack, Evie holding an overnight bag. Fuck, he was out of time.
He moved more quickly, trading stealth for speed. The man must have heard him because he turned, turned and saw Manus. It was too dark for Manus to make out his expression, but there was recognition in his posture, in how quickly he was reaching inside his jacket, in the way he was moving offline to buy time and distance.
Manus charged forward, took hold of the man’s right hand just as it closed over the butt of a side-holstered pistol, and speared the Espada straight up under his jawline, driving it with such force that the man’s feet left the ground. For a moment, the man dangled and danced as though skewered on a pike, supported only by a blade buried in his brain and a fist in his throat, blood spraying from his neck, tongue protruding, eyes bulging and fixed on Manus’s face. Then his body sagged, his eyes drifted skyward, and Manus could no longer hold him aloft. Manus lowered his arm and stepped back, and the man folded onto his knees. Manus took him by the hair, jerked out the knife, and let the body spill facedown onto the grass.