Midnight Caller

by Rebecca York

  “My man sent a message that she was cooperating with you. The longer you had access to her, the better the chances that she’d reveal my plans.”

  “What she knew of them,” Glenn said.

  “I don’t take chances.”

  “Neither do I. What guarantee do I have that you’ll play straight with me?”

  “I could ask the same question,” Johnson observed.

  “I want the men back—-unharmed.”

  Numbly, Meg listened to the exchange, wishing she could see the expression on Glenn’s face.

  “I’ll release the men when I get the virus,” Johnson replied.

  “I want Tommy Faulkner out of there before she comes in.”

  “Why?”

  “He was the team leader. I feel a special responsibility toward him.”

  “I thought you did,” Johnson said with satisfaction. “Which is why it was so amusing to subvert his sister.”

  She stood with her hand curled around the edge of the doorjamb, holding herself erect by sheer force of will. It was a relief when the two men turned to logistics.

  As if he didn’t already have the information, Glenn pretended he needed to consult his computer for a location where he could set down a helicopter near Johnson’s house.

  When they’d agreed on the landing site, he added, “I’ll have the woman send me an electronic signal when her brother is out.”

  “I will be monitoring all local channels. I don’t want any two-way communication between you and her, in case you have something funny planned.”

  “I’m playing this your way!” Glenn snapped. “All she’ll be able to do is send an electronic pulse.”

  “You can have Faulkner first. When I get the virus, you can have the other men.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to take your word on that,” Glenn growled.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Well, I’ll give you some additional incentive to keep your part of the bargain. Fighting you for so long has cost me considerable resources. If this goes okay, I’ll take your cooperation as a sign that we’ll come to some sort of accommodation in the future.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then a noise that was half incredulous, half yearning. “You’d work with me?”

  “It was General Dorsey who was so set against you,” Glenn said. “He was the moneyman, so I had to dance to his tune if I wanted research funding. As you may know, he’s failing fast. When he’s out of my hair, I won’t have to bow to his wishes.”

  “Yes. I understand,” Johnson murmured, his silky voice making Meg’s skin crawl. “Perhaps I haven’t fully appreciated the fact that you’ve been working under a handicap.”

  “Exactly. If the two of us joined forces, no one could touch our operation. You’ve got the distribution and I’ve got the biological expertise. But we can discuss our mutual interests later.”

  When the call ended, Claymore pressed a button on the phone, then turned. Finding her standing in the doorway, he scowled. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

  “So I gather.” She swallowed. “It looks like Glenn has Johnson convinced. That—that part about the general was a brilliant touch.”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, watching her. “Meg—”

  “What?”

  “We’re all doing what we have to.”

  She gave him a tight nod, wanting to beg for more crumbs. But he pressed ahead. “I want to check on the special equipment Glenn ordered. Then you’d better leave. If you’re late, Johnson will be suspicious.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take you to the helicopter.”

  She followed him out of the room and downstairs.

  IN HIS OFFICE, GLENN watched on the TV monitor as Meg marched down the hall and descended the steps.

  One eye on the screen, he placed a call to Long Island, then made a couple more within the castle complex. Then he went to the closet where he kept emergency-combat gear and pulled out a camouflage shirt and pants.

  After arming himself, he took a considerable amount of cash from the safe in his office. There had been times when he’d been annoyed by practice drills designed to keep the facility on semi-alert status at all times. Now he silently thanked Blake for emphasizing readiness.

  Crossing to the window, he stared in the direction of the chopper, watching for the first glimpse of Meg. When he was sure that something had gone wrong, she finally appeared, walking between two guards, her shoulders back and her head up, until she automatically ducked as she came near the whirring blades.

  Lord, the woman had guts. More than he. She’d told him how she felt about the two of them, even when she’d thought he wasn’t capable of listening.

  Acid churned through his vital organs as he watched her climb aboard, her golden hair catching the first faint rays of light from the rising sun.

  He was sending her off to Johnson’s hideout thinking she understood his strategy. But she didn’t. She had no idea what was really going to happen. Neither did Blake. Because Glenn wasn’t asking permission from his chief of security. He’d already made too many mistakes in his life. Now he understood what needed to be done, and he was going to do it.

  He was about to exit the office when he stopped short, scribbled a second note—to Hal. It was brief and to the point. But he was sure his old friend would read between the lines.

  His goodbyes said, he grabbed a windbreaker that would conceal his Berctta. Then he took the steps two at a time, heading for the ground floor. As he ran, he pulled the phone from his pocket and called the additional helicopter pilot that he had on standby. The jeep he’d ordered was already at the back entrance. It took off for the airstrip as soon as he leaped into the passenger seat.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Glenn was in the air, in a small high-speed copter, taking a route that would bring him to a location where he could land without being detected—even as he reviewed the data Blake had brought him on Johnson as well as the supplemental information he’d gotten from the computer databases. Together with what he’d already collected on the man, it was a sizable amount of material. But was it enough? Was there some trap waiting for a foolhardy lone assailant?

  The Jackal’s summer home in the Hamptons was well guarded. And there was an electric fence. But there was also a crumbling, unused boat dock jutting into the Long Island Sound.

  Nobody could safely electrify water, which made the sound the one possible point of entry. But not by boat. Johnson would be on the lookout for that.

  MEG SLIPPED HER HAND into her pocket and fingered the remote control that Blake had provided.

  Back at Castle Phoenix, she’d acted as if she had nerves of steel. She’d made them think she had everything under control, because that was the only way to convince them to send her. But there hadn’t been much time to review her hurried instructions—or to test the special equipment that the security chief had provided. It might literally blow up in her face or it might function perfectly. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing which until the moment of truth.

  Harrison, the pilot, had said almost nothing since she’d climbed aboard. Sliding him a sideways glance, she found he was watching her speculatively. For a moment, their gazes locked. Then she swiveled her head toward the back of the chopper. It was a large troop carrier, and she wondered for a moment where Glenn had gotten it. Probably Dorsey had pulled a few strings.

  The rest of the seats were empty. If everything went the way Claymore had planned, the seats would be filled with sick men on the return journey.

  A CALL CAME FROM CASTLE Phoenix when Glenn was a few miles from the Hamptons. Blake might have figured out he’d gone, but it wasn’t going to do him any good. He hesitated, aware that his pilot was waiting for him to acknowledge the call. As he debated his options, he imagined Hal on the other end of the line. Or Blake. They’d tell him he was crazy. He’d say that a lone man could slip past Johnson’s defenses more easily than an assault tea
m.

  But there were good reasons for not answering. He didn’t want to explain his motives. And he didn’t want to be distracted by any more bad news. If Blake was calling to say a bomb had gone off on the estate, it was better not to find out about it until later.

  So he turned off the radio, then instructed the pilot to land on a large vacant tract where he’d arranged to have a rental car meet him. At this hour of the morning, there was no traffic on the road. But his car was waiting for him—parked at the edge of a sandy field. Lucky for him that you could buy anything you wanted in this plush New York enclave if you were willing to pay the price.

  Grabbing his knapsack, he exited the chopper. After paying the sleepy driver with the wad of cash as promised, he had a quick consultation over the map he’d brought, then headed in the direction of Johnson’s estate. He pulled into a patch of underbrush a quarter of a mile from his destination and ditched the car. Then he made a quick dash across private property and started along the water’s edge toward Johnson’s house.

  As he expected, it was a low-slung wood-and-stone structure that looked as if it had been up-to-the-minute “modern” architecture in the sixties. Holding his gun above his head, he slipped into the water, and began moving cautiously toward the house, using as cover the gray boulders that had been spread out to reinforce the eroding shoreline.

  It had been a long time since he’d functioned in a combat situation, but he found he slipped easily back into the role—perhaps because thinking about his next move kept his mind from turning to more disturbing topics.

  When he saw a two-man patrol sweep by, he ducked below the edge of the bank until they’d passed. After determining he was in the clear, he climbed the water-slick rocks and began to circle toward the back of the house, congratulating himself that everything was going smoothly.

  He was fifty feet from the cover of a low hedge surrounding the rose garden when he heard a helicopter overhead.

  Meg.

  God, he’d thought he had more time. Glancing at his watch, he sprinted toward the hedge, then prepared to advance to the next available cover. Before he could move, he felt the barrel of a gun at the small of his back.

  “Hold it right there. And raise your hands,” a gritty voice ordered. “One wrong move, and you’re dead.”

  HARRISON DIPPED THE CHOPPER low over a rambling stone- and-wood house, circled, and set down on a wide stretch of deep green lawn enclosed by an iron fence with sharp, spearlike points.

  As they came down gently on the grass, Meg wished the copter were outside the enclosure. The fence was a reminder that escape might be impossible.

  Still, as she unbuckled her harness, she told herself that landing so close to the building would make it easier for Tommy to walk to the copter—if he was still able to walk.

  The thought brought a strangled feeling to her chest, and she had to pause for a moment before lowering herself to the ground. Grabbing her carrying case, she started purposefully toward the house. She hadn’t taken a dozen stops when six armed, hard-faced security guards materialized from side doors and formed a circle around her, halting her before she reached the building. They made Glenn’s cleanscrubbed recruits look like Boy Scouts.

  “TURN AROUND SLOWLY,” the man with the gun ordered.

  Keeping his face impassive, Glenn obeyed the gruff command and found himself facing a haggard-looking man wearing a camouflage outfit almost identical to his own. The clothing wasn’t half as interesting as the chiseled features and the wild, desperate look in the mud-brown eyes.

  In an even voice, Glenn asked, “Have you switched from dirty tricks to guard duty?”

  The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but the gun stayed steady in his hand.

  “Bridgman,” he rasped. “I’ll ask the questions. Suppose you tell me why you left Castle Phoenix, where you’d be nice and safe.”

  “Not so safe,” Glenn countered. “Not with an intruder running around trying to wreck the place, trying to get himself killed.”

  A muscle in the gunman’s cheek ticked.

  “I’m surprised Johnson didn’t terminate you, after you muffed your last assignment,” Glenn said, searching for the right way to reach this guy, aware that while they talked, time was ticking by.

  “Not likely.”

  Glenn evaluated the words, the tight features, the glittering eyes—and decided to take the chance of his life.

  “Wouldn’t it be interesting if we turned out to be on the same side?” he prompted.

  THE GUARD TOOK AWAY Meg’s carrying case and hefted it, obviously surprised by the weight. Setting it down, he stared at the lock.

  “I wouldn’t try to open it if I were you,” she warned.

  “I’ve been advised of that,” he snapped, turning and looking her up and down, his gaze coming to rest on her breasts. “Let’s find out what else you’ve got. Spread your legs.”

  Resisting the urge to clamp her lip between her teeth, she widened her stance and kept her eyes downcast as he began to frisk her for weapons—his touch straying where it would be impossible to conceal so much as a thimble.

  But she endured his pawing and managed not to react when he emptied her pockets. They were full, to convince someone like him that she thought she’d be leaving directly after her mission. He checked the compartments of her wallet, shuffled through two hundred dollars in bills, ran his finger along the teeth of her comb, unwadded the tissues she’d balled into a crumpled mass on the flight down—then held up a small, cylindrical electronic device Claymore had given her.

  “That’s your signal device?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m gonna test it.”

  He pushed the button, and though she’d been prepared for something like this, her stomach dropped to her feet.

  From her perspective nothing happened, but back in the helicopter, Harrison raised his hand, indicating that he’d heard the signal.

  “Okay,” the guard muttered, handing back the cylinder.

  Meg gave him a tight nod, keeping her gaze steady.

  Within the next few minutes, the pilot would press an activation sequence, changing the function of the device. But neither one of them would know whether she was holding a full house or a bust hand—until the moment of truth.

  Tensely, she waited while her captor spoke into a portable phone.

  Before the call was completed, the front door of the house opened and a thin gray-haired man stepped onto the porch. It was the same man who’d hired her to invade Glenn’s estate. She hadn’t fully trusted him then, but she’d gone along with his scheme. He’d been slick and cunning and deadly. Now she understood why Glenn called him the Jackal. He was studying her with sharp black eyes, and she hated herself for letting his lies about Glenn fool her. She’d been gullible because she’d wanted to blame someone for her brother’s illness, and Glenn had been such a logical choice. Then she’d discovered that Glenn would give anything—even his own life—if he could make Tommy and the other men well.

  Hoping that none of the thoughts swirling in her head showed on her face, she picked up her case and started walking carefully forward, still flanked by guards.

  Stopping a few feet away from the man who had gotten her into so much trouble, she raised her chin. “I want to see my brother.”

  “What, no friendly greeting?” Johnson retorted.

  “‘You and I were never friendly. We had a business arrangement. Then I found out you ordered me killed.”

  He let the statement hang in the air for several seconds. “Is that what Bridgman told you?”

  She fought to keep her expression neutral. “I think the evidence is on his side.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Not much. He plays his cards close to his vest,” she replied.

  “Is his friend General Dorsey still running the show?”

  She shrugged. “He didn’t confide in me.”

  Johnson studied her critically. “I hope you haven�
�t developed any loyalty to Bridgman, because he doesn’t care what happens to you.”

  She let some of her anxiety seep into her face, using her fear to enhance the role she’d rehearsed. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much time to learn her cues—much less her lines. “I can tell you a few things. But—” She stopped and eyed their audience. “I’m not sure you want it to go any further than the two of us. Why don’t we go inside?”

  She waited for his answer, feeling her heart pounding inside her chest as he considered their mutual fate.

  “All right,” he said, looking toward the guards. “Crane and Butler, come with us. The rest of you, stay here.”

  Better than six against one, she thought as she clutched the handle of the carrying case and stepped across the threshold with the two designated men at her back.

  They were in a wide entrance hall, as big as a master bedroom in a normal house. There were three doors leading from it, and all of them were closed. Perfect for her purposes.

  Still, everything depended on what happened in the next few minutes. Letting Johnson see her raw nerves, she eyed the two remaining guards.

  “These men are accustomed to hearing confidential information and keeping it to themselves,” Johnson snapped. “So there’s no problem about speaking in front of them.”

  She remained silent for several more seconds, then shrugged. “Okay. I’d say that Bridgman is at the end of his resources. It looks like he had a costly operation going. But it’s getting shabby around the edges.”

  “Where?” Johnson demanded.

  “Second-rate staff, old vehicles, damage all over the castle.”

  Johnson nodded in satisfaction. “So making a deal with me would be to his benefit.”

  “I don’t know about any deals—except the one about my brother. You’re supposed to let Tommy go, and I’ll give you the material you requested from Bridgman.”