by Steven James
“Yes. That’s why they’re all going to pay.”
Governor Taylor looked at his face in the mirror. His was not the face of a murderer, but of a patriot.
That’s all he’d ever been. A patriot. A man who would do what needed to be done for his country. Just like the soldiers of the South had done in the War of Northern Aggression. They’d fought for freedom-freedom for states to make their own laws, to govern themselves. A real freedom. A true freedom.
He’d always done whatever he needed to do to promote freedom. That’s what a patriot does.
And now. What needed to be done?
It took him only a moment to decide.
He made the call.
“Yeah?” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“It’s me. I have what you want. Meet me in room 611 tomorrow morning at the Stratford Hotel. Ten sharp, before the luncheon. We can take care of things then.”
“It’ll look like an accident?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all planned out.”
Click.
Yes, Sebastian Taylor would do whatever needed to be done.
He was a true patriot.
He scribbled some notes onto the page and set to work finishing his speech.
69
Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid’s jet pulled to a stop on one of the corporate runways skirting the edge of the Tri-Cities Regional Airport in northeast Tennessee. It was a small enough airport for him to bribe his way in without the proper paperwork, yet large enough to handle his jet. And it was close to Asheville, less than a ninety minute drive.
He stepped off the jet and onto the tarmac. Drank in the damp autumn air.
This was the last time he would ever use this plane. Well, it had served its purpose. Just as the ranch had. As Rebekah and Caleb had. As Jessica had. As his family had. Everything had a time and a place and a purpose. That was what destiny was all about.
David stood beside him, pocketing his cell phone. “Father, the house is ready.”
“Good. It’ll give us a chance to rest and prepare for tomorrow’s activities.”
Just then a van appeared on the edge of the runway and pulled to a stop a few feet from the hangar. The driver’s door swung open, and a slim, worried-looking man with trendy glasses stepped out, bowing reverently. “Father.”
“Theodore,” said Kincaid. “Has everything been arranged?”
“Yes. The uniforms are waiting at the house.”
David edged toward the van.
“And the shipment? Has it arrived?”
“Already at the hotel, Father.”
“Good.” Kincaid scratched at the scar on his wrist. “Now I believe it’s time to discuss Bethanie. She wasn’t dead when you left her, Theodore.”
A slight pause. “Yes, Father. I know.”
David slid into place behind Theodore.
“I gave you specific instructions.”
“I’m sorry, Father.”
“And so,” said Kincaid, “now you have a choice.”
He bit his lip. “A choice?”
“Would you like to do it yourself or have David help you?”
Theodore swallowed hard. “Father, please, I did my best.”
Kincaid waited silently.
“Please I-”
“All right, David then.”
David stepped forward and unleashed a barrage of tightly controlled kung fu moves that broke ribs, crushed the windpipe, and then snapped the neck of the young man who’d first invited him to join the family. It was over in a matter of seconds. Helping people make the transition was, after all, David’s specialty.
Kincaid watched the pulverized body twitch on the damp runway.
Thought back to the pavilion.
To the ones who lay down and never stood up again.
To the whirlpool.
To Jessica.
To the words of the Reverend Jim Jones: “To me death is not a fearful thing, it’s living that’s treacherous.”
“Put him in the back of the van,” said Kincaid. David and the other men obeyed, dragging the fresh corpse over to the back of the vehicle and hoisting it inside.
“Hide the plane,” said Kincaid. “Lock it in the hangar.”
Then he climbed into the van with his family and set out to fulfill his destiny.
70
Alice walked down the hallway and entered the bathroom. She was a bit nervous, but at least her children were safe now. That’s what mattered most. The children. She’d sent them with Officer Lewis earlier in the day. He’d promised they would be safe with him.
She turned on the bathroom light and caught sight of her jaw line in the mirror. A faint scar was still visible from the time Garrett had attacked her and sent her to the hospital. Yes, she knew what it was like to be threatened by a dangerous man.
She had her instructions and she would do them. She would follow them to the letter.
Alice McMichaelson would do anything to protect her children.
She opened the shower curtain and turned on the water.
The Illusionist grinned.
So now.
Grolin was dead, and Vanessa had expired earlier in the day-how unfortunate. He’d been there when it happened. So very tragic.
True, he’d hoped to stage Grolin’s demise a bit more elegantly, a little less obtrusively, but he could only keep him drugged so long.
Besides, sending him into the pro shop delirious had been a stroke of genius. The guy had actually started a fight with Agent Jiang! And inviting Vanessa to the golf course had been risky of course, but he needed to get the agents to a place that was isolated enough for him to control what happened, and where the shooting could take place without any clear witnesses. The idiotic investigators had acted just like he’d predicted. They would never be able to piece it all together.
These were the things the Illusionist thought of as he watched from the shadows outside Alice’s house. He remembered the first time he was here, just a few days ago, how hard it had been at the time to say no to himself, to his urges, his desires.
But now the moment was here.
At last.
A few minutes ago Alice had entered the bathroom. He could see steam cloud the windows. As he thought of her showering, his breathing became deeper, quicker.
Yellow lemonade in the sweet summer sun.
Soon. Soon.
He waited. The bathroom light blinked out. With his imagination he watched her step into the hallway and then from the hallway into her room. And, as if by magic, he saw the bedroom light come on, not just in his imagination but for real, and her lithe figure behind the curtains, shedding the towel. Lithe. Yes. That was a good word to describe her. The right word. The perfect word.
Lithe.
He would use that word later, when he wrote about tonight.
Sweet, sweet lemonade.
After a few moments the bedroom light went out. He waited a bit longer but then grew tired of the wait. He’d waited long enough for Alice. Too long. It was time to reward himself for a game well played. Time to enjoy the spoils of war.
He glided up to the house as smooth as a serpent. Donned his gloves. Pulled on the ski mask.
Back door again. This time it was locked. Ah, good. He picked it in less than thirty seconds. Disarmed the security system.
Inside.
He caught the scent of the house, slightly familiar, yet slightly foreign. Sweet and clean with a hint of cigarette smoke from the days when Garrett lived here.
He listened. Nothing but the sounds of a sleeping home. He crept down the hallway. Past Brenda’s room. Past Jacob’s room. No time to pause and look at the pictures. Not tonight. This was the last move of the game. He’d reached across the board and touched her, and now it was time to take her home, to make her his.
The Illusionist eased the bedroom door open and saw Alice lying on the bed. A still form beneath the covers.
He heard a voice in his head, a little boy crying out fr
om inside a closet: “Mama?”
No.
“Are you there, Mama?”
No.
He wouldn’t think of those things.
He didn’t have to, and he wasn’t going to. No. No. No!
“What’s that smell, Mama?”
Stay in control. One step ahead. Always one step ahead.
Alice had left the window open a crack and pulled a wool blanket up to her neck. Red hair sprawled across her pillow. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out the cloth with the medication on it, and tried to tune in to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Couldn’t quite. Closed his eyes for a moment to drink in the dainty perfume that lingered in the air. Her perfume. Her lovely perfume. A way to touch her.
Reached down. Grabbed the covers.
Checkmate.
Threw them off.
Found only a pile of pillows and a wig. Heard a woman’s voice behind him.
“Don’t move. You move and you die.”
Checkmate.
We had him.
I heard Lien-hua tell him not to move. I flipped on the hall lights and rushed out of the bathroom where I’d been hiding. I could see her standing in the bedroom two meters behind the killer, her weapon trained on his back. “On your knees,” she commanded. “Now.”
He stood frozen beside the bed, both of his hands in the air.
He was dressed all in black. He wore a ski mask. I couldn’t see his face.
“Spread your hands!” I yelled. “All the way out. Slowly.” I took a cautious step forward.
He remained perfectly still, his chest the only thing moving.
Why isn’t he moving? What’s going on?
“We have him,” I said into the mic patch I was wearing, heard Ralph reply, “We’re coming in.”
Outside the house, searchlights burst on, and the agents and officers we’d hidden throughout the neighborhood stepped into position. Alice had agreed to help us. “Whatever you want me to do,” she said, “to protect the children.” So we’d put our people in place, leaving just enough space for the Illusionist to make his move. Air support would be here any minute. He was not getting away.
“On your knees,” Lien-hua yelled. “Now!”
The Illusionist knelt slowly.
I stepped forward and leveled my gun. “I said spread your hands.”
“Nice move, Patrick.” He kept his voice to a low whisper. I couldn’t tell if it was the same voice I’d heard on the phone or not. It sounded vaguely familiar but was too soft to recognize. He was moving his hands evenly toward his head, carefully. “But the game’s not over yet.”
Just as his fingers touched the side of his head, the lights went out.
A thrash of movement by my feet.
A flash of gunpowder. Someone crashing into me.
I was on the floor.
I heard a gasp.
A thud.
A soft moan from beside the closet.
The sound of breaking glass.
A scream.
71
Tessa was sandwiched on the couch between the two officers, pretending to watch some lame TV show with them.
Sitting on the couch like a family. Watching TV with two cops. How pathetic.
Like a family.
She thought of Patrick and being at that crime scene earlier in the day. And picturing the legs of a dead woman- her sawed-off legs! — on a treadmill. It was too much. Flying in here, meeting up with Patrick. Hearing about those people in the fire. Too much. Way too much.
She’d seen those buildings burning on his computer.
There were bodies inside the buildings.
Dead people.
She needed to cut herself. Tonight.
She stood up.
“Where are you going?” asked Officer Muncey.
“Just to the bathroom, OK!”
As she walked away she heard Officer Muncey mumble, “I thought I was done babysitting when I got out of high school.” She whispered the words, but Tessa heard her. She heard every syllable.
Tessa locked the bathroom door and pulled the razor blade out of her purse.
I turned on my flashlight. Leapt to my feet. Scanned the room.
He was gone.
Lien-hua was down.
“Lien-hua!” I ran to her.
She stirred. Rubbed her head. “Blindsided me,” she muttered. Her eyes slowly came into focus. He’d just knocked her down. That was all. “But I got two kicks in first.”
She’d had less than a second. Two kicks? Amazing.
“I heard a shot,” I said.
“It wasn’t me.”
I turned around. The window was shattered. I had no visual on the suspect. “He’s mobile. I repeat, the subject is mobile,” I yelled into my mic.
Did he get past me?
Alice!
I ran back to the bathroom. “Alice?”
“Did you get him?” her voice quavered.
“We’re going to.”
She stared at me from the shower, fully clothed, a bulletproof vest on. All part of the plan. Lien-hua had staged the shower, slipped into the bedroom to lure him out. At least Alice’s kids weren’t here; that was good. Federal protection. She’d be joining them in a few minutes. I heard shots fired outside and made it to the window just in time to see a dark form leap over a fence three houses away and disappear. Someone lay facedown in the backyard. A police officer.
“Officer down!” I yelled. We were ready to contain the killer, had roadblocks in place around the whole neighborhood, but I hadn’t expected him to move so quickly.
“Suspect heading south along Virginia Street,” somebody said. “Any word?” I yelled into my mic patch. “Anybody?” I heard shouts and confused voices. Then Wallace’s voice: “Cherokee Avenue heading west.”
He’s left-handed… Left-handed subjects tend to turn right when fleeing, but when they meet an obstacle, they move to their left
…
Wait, he would know that.
“Get to the fence,” I hollered. “Suspect will head west through the field, then north at the fence. Cut him off. I repeat, west then north.”
A voice came back. “Unit three in pursuit.”
I ran to the bedroom window and stared out across the neighborhood, trying to orient myself to the landscape again, to map out the streets and overlay them against the topography. “All units on the perimeter,” I said, “suspect is male, white, six foot one, two-hundred pounds, wearing black pants, black sweatshirt. Armed and dangerous. Approach with extreme care.”
If only there were square city blocks here. It would be so much easier to contain him.
“Get to Richmond Avenue,” I yelled. “He’ll be heading for the strip of woods running south by southeast. Hurry. If he gets to the subdivision beyond the river, there’ll be too many places for him to hide. Hold your positions. Control all exits.”
I stared out across the street, saw the outlet roads being shut down by our roadblock, saw the string of slowing taillights as the streets leading into and out of the subdivision were sealed off. A few police cars raced to the scene, an ambulance flashed by and then nudged through the roadblock, bringing help to the injured officer lying on the lawn. Just then, the helicopters came roaring in. Too late. Everything was too late.
Still no electricity. “Can we get these lights on?” I yelled. I heard the shuffle of feet as some officers headed to the circuit breaker. Then Dante’s voice in my ear. “He’s not here. It’s like he disappeared into thin air.”
I smashed my fist into the wall.
Ralph burst through the door.
“He made it to the subdivision,” I muttered. “We can search house to house, but there are too many places for him to hide in there. My guess is we lost him.”
Ralph began filling the room with curses. “What happened to these lights?”
I shook my head. “He must have used a small electromagnetic pulse device. Maybe planted it in the dining room or connected it to
the security alarm on his way in. He had the trigger hidden beside his ear.”
I heard an officer from the living room. “I’ve got it, right here!” “A trigger by his ear?” said Lien-hua.
Someone must have found the breaker; the lights came back on again.
“It’s not that uncommon,” I said. “Suicide bombers sometimes thread a detonator cord up their shirt and tape it to the back of their neck or hide it behind their ear so if they’re told to put their hands on their head they can still detonate their device. I shouldn’t have let him move his hands in close like that.”
He got away. Again.
He was ready for us.
Ralph turned to Lien-hua. “You OK?”
“I’m fine.” She kicked the closet door with a yell, splitting it in half. Her voice was on fire. “We had him. I can’t believe he got away!”
Ralph was admiring her work on the door. “Nice kick.”
I glanced out the window. “Thank God that officer was wearing a bulletproof vest.” One of the paramedics was helping her to her feet, leading her to the ambulance.
“All right, people, listen,” Ralph shouted to the pack of officers now entering the house. “We go door to door. Let’s move!”
72
Monday
October 27, 2008
Asheville, North Carolina
7:51 a.m.
I shoved my suitcase into the backseat of the car next to my climbing gear and stared up at the methodical gray slabs sliding across the sky. Dark continents hanging from heaven. The temperature hovered right around freezing; the air was wet and heavy. Freezing rain-or maybe even snow-was on its way.
Here’s what I knew:
(1) I was off the case. Last night was it, the last straw for Margaret. She was holding me responsible for Joseph Grolin and Vanessa Mueller’s deaths; and of course last night when the killer got away-well, that was my fault too. So Tessa and I were flying back to Denver today. And when all the internal investigations were over, I’d be lucky to get a job as a truancy officer in a middle school-at least according to Margaret.
(2) Alice and her children were safe, at least for the moment. Everything had turned so explosive that Ralph had kept her location top secret. He didn’t even tell me where he sent them.