by Diane Capri
The first three messages were short variations on the same plea. “Call me.”
He left the cryptic fourth message at 1:45 a.m. Which probably meant this burner cell phone had been discovered and he didn’t trust it anymore. “Orders. Garrison. Call me.”
She grinned because he mimicked the message Reacher left earlier on Finlay’s burner. As the meaning sunk in, she began to worry. Gaspar was in no condition to go into the field at all. And why would the Boss order him to Garrison, anyway?
She pushed the call back button. Gaspar’s burner rang several times and then kicked over to voice mail. She left him a similarly cryptic message because he’d signaled that the phone was compromised, and she had no idea who might hear it. “I’m fine. See you soon.”
The fifth message was short and to the point. From the Boss. “Video attached. Watch now.”
She didn’t recognize the phone number on the sixth message, which was sandwiched between Gaspar’s and time-stamped Sunday night at 10:45 p.m. The message lasted six seconds, including a worrisome short pause at the beginning and the end. She listened to it twice.
Kim glanced over to check Jodie’s reaction as she said, “There’s a message you need to hear. From Reacher.”
Jodie’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.
Kim played the message aloud so both could hear. “Stay away from the house. They don’t own me. Never did. Never will. No matter what.”
Kim said, “Do you know what he means?”
Jodie cocked her head. “He might be talking about Deerfield. Sounds like something he said a long time ago about the Petrosians, but I can’t remember exactly.”
Kim pulled into a gas station. The Mercedes was still half full, and she didn’t have a credit card or cash on her anyway.
“Why are we stopping?” Jodie asked.
“My boss sent me a video. He said to watch now. Which usually means something essential.” She downloaded the video and queued it to play. The time stamp said 2:55 a.m. today. She glanced at the clock. Half an hour ago.
She pushed the play button.
The video was recorded from a satellite above the Garrison house. The images were night vision and heat sensitive thermography. She ran through it once quickly.
The whole video consisted of a series of spliced sections. Each section showed warm bodies at various locations around the exterior of the house, amid unidentifiable objects too cold to result in strong images on the inferior phone’s tiny screen.
“What is it?” Jodie asked.
“The Garrison house. Looks like people on the property,” Kim replied and pushed the play button again.
On the second pass, she looked closely and counted three humans in six different scenes spliced together to create one video.
Two big men knelt near the master bedroom patio.
Another big man crouched down and ran across the back, near the river, from a location on the north side of the property line to a location on the south side. When he arrived there, he knelt.
All three seemed to be busy with their hands.
The single man ran from the river to the house and entered through the front door.
The two-man team crouched near the hedge separating the north side property line from the neighboring property. They were so deep in the hedge and so still that she might have missed them with normal night vision. Only the heat signature marked them.
“What are they doing?” Jodie asked.
“Impossible to tell. Nothing good, probably.”
The video clip changed to the interior of the house, which was pitch black, too. The heat signature of the big man who had entered through the front door made its way to the kitchen first. Then he headed down the hallway toward the master suite. He didn’t stay long in any one area except the master bathroom. He stood for a full minute near the bathtub’s location. After passing back through the master suite, he left by the front entrance.
Something about the way he moved seemed familiar to Kim, but she couldn’t identify him. It could have been Reacher, maybe. Or Smithers. Or maybe just a big guy with some covert ops training.
The video was spliced one more time. The single man hurried away from the house and the river. The two-man team stayed in place by the hedges.
She watched the video again before she passed it over to Jodie. “Take a look. Tell me if you recognize anyone. Or if you can guess what they’re doing.”
She didn’t know what was going on at that house, but she felt a strong sense of urgency to get there now. She rolled the big Mercedes onto the road toward Garrison, increasing her speed wherever possible.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Monday, January 31
3:05 a.m.
Garrison, New York
Poulton awakened when he heard a helicopter overhead. In the weeks he’d been sitting on the house, he’d heard the big birds arrive and depart West Point several times during the quiet hours. He looked at the video feed and scowled.
“What the hell?” The target house was dark. The driveway was unoccupied. The video images looked exactly as they had for days and days before the body was discovered.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared at the screen, not quite comprehending. Grassley and her NYPD team had departed. Media followed cops like kids followed ice cream trucks.
After three days of that solid buffer preventing Samir and Tariq Petrosian from contaminating the evidence or damaging the burial site, Poulton was the only line of defense again.
He had no idea how long Grassley had been gone. The two Petrosians could have done almost anything while he’d been sleeping. Maybe they already had.
Shit!
He pressed the rewind on the video recording to the start of his shift. He saw Brice arrive at the house and go inside.
Ten minutes later, all the crime techs came out and loaded their equipment into the vans. The two-man teams in each of the remaining television vans approached and recorded a short statement from the lead tech, Brennan. She must have wrapped it up for them because both teams returned to their vans and departed when Brennan left.
Only Grassley’s unmarked sedan and Brice’s unmarked SUV remained in the driveway. Half an hour later, Brice and Grassley came outside with arms around each other and laughing together. Poulton’s eyes practically bugged out of his head when they shared a passionate kiss before they got into their cars and drove away.
Grassley and Brice were having an affair?
Holy Shit!
After Brice and Grassley left, the house and grounds became totally dark again. The time stamp was 0148. One hour and seventeen minutes before the helicopter had awakened him. Poulton had seen many bad things happen in way less than seventy-seven minutes.
Reacher could be inside right now. Or he could have come and gone already. Poulton might have missed his opportunity to get rid of him once and for all.
The weakness in this surveillance had always been its limitations. The budget was so tight that they only had views of the front entrances, Deerfield had said. When Poulton argued for more, he remembered now, it was Brice who said front surveillance was enough because no one was going to swim or take a boat to approach the house from the back in January.
The whole team figured there was the potential for satellite imagery if they had a legitimate reason to request it. Since the whole surveillance operation was off the books, Deerfield couldn’t very well ask for satellite coverage though, could he?
Poulton zipped through the rest of the recording. He might as well have been watching a still photo. Nothing changed. Nothing moved. Nothing happened. He relaxed slightly. Maybe he’d dodged a bullet here. Maybe he still had a chance.
Without warning, a hard stab of pain shot through his core. He felt weak as a kitten. He plopped onto the chair and tried to control his breathing and hold back the vomiting. Sometimes, he could, but more often, vomiting won the battle. After a bit, the pain subsided and so did the nausea. A few minutes more and some of hi
s strength returned.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair. He glanced at the clock. Almost 0351 hours. Smithers wasn’t due to begin his shift until 0900.
Poulton couldn’t leave the house unattended for five more hours. He had to get over there. After everything he’d done so far for the chance to get Reacher, he couldn’t give up now.
He found his coat and gloves, his pistol, two rifles, and ammo. He tossed everything into the back of the SUV and drove across the road. He parked in the driveway near the garage.
Shortly after that, he heard the helicopter overhead again.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Monday, January 31
3:05 a.m.
West Point, New York
Gaspar asked the pilot to lower the helicopter to hover briefly over the Garrison house and grounds. He’d only seen the house on recorded video from various distances. A personal look was always preferable.
“This is a residential neighborhood, and it’s three o’clock in the morning. You’ll have the neighbors complaining to HQ. The last thing I need is trouble with my bosses,” the pilot said.
“You’re right,” Gaspar nodded. “Just do a slow pass, then. I’ll take a quick look.”
The pilot seemed unhappy with the decision, but he’d been told Gaspar was his CO for this trip, so he grudgingly complied. “No spotlights, though. There’s regulations about all this. You won’t see much in the dark.”
“Thanks,” he said, knowing the pilot was right as soon as he saw the place in the distance. In the earlier satellite imagery, the house had been lit up by floodlights and bustling activity. Now it seemed deserted, as Otto had described it to him originally.
Even in the dark, though, he could see the footprint of the house sprawled across the lot. With the addition on the back and the other renovations, the architect must have redesigned the roof as well. If Reacher saw his old house from this angle, he probably wouldn’t recognize it.
Without enhanced visibility, Gaspar couldn’t see any personnel on the ground, covert or otherwise. He had heard nothing more from Finlay or Cooper while he’d been in the air. No contact from Otto, either. At this point, he figured not hearing from her was the good news.
Her abduction was no common kidnapping. First, she disappeared in front of a five-star hotel into an expensive Mercedes.
No ransom demand had been made. No body had been found. Both Otto and the Mercedes were still missing.
She would have contacted him if she could. The longer she remained missing, the less likely she’d been harmed, and the more likely something else was going on.
Which meant that the Mercedes driver was uncommon in several ways. He was bold enough and skilled enough to successfully abduct an FBI agent. He cleverly disappeared from all forms of surveillance. And he had exploited the limits of communication technology to keep Otto silenced.
Not many men had such capabilities. Not even in New York City.
Gaspar knew at least three who were more than capable. Either Finlay or Cooper could have done it. Deerfield, too. He didn’t trust any of them, and he didn’t believe them when they said they couldn’t find her.
The only potentially good news was that none of the three would kill her. Once she resurfaced, though, they might wish they had.
Not long after they flew over the house, the pilot landed on the helipad at West Point. There was no sign of Deerfield’s helo.
“I’m going to need a ride back to the city, and maybe back to that house across the river,” Gaspar said to the pilot. “Can you stay here and stay ready on my request or do I need orders from higher up?”
“I can do that. There’s an official-looking limo departing in our two o’clock position. Any chance your guy arrived early?”
Gaspar shrugged. “Can you check with the tower? I didn’t see another bird headed out as we approached. Did you?”
“Negative. Hang on.”
The pilot changed frequency and spoke to someone in traffic. Gaspar felt the rotors spooling up again and knew the answer.
“That’s your guy. So you want to go across the river and land over there, right?”
“Do we have another option at this point?”
“Not if you want to catch up with him,” the pilot said. “The good news is we should get there first. He has to drive around to the bridge, and we can fly over the river.”
“Let’s do it. Sorry to get you in trouble with the neighbors.”
“Can’t be helped.” He lifted the helicopter off the ground and when they were high enough, turned in a wide circle to head back. A few minutes later they were approaching the Garrison house again.
This time, the scene was totally different. A black SUV had pulled into the driveway and parked near the house. Gaspar assumed it was an unmarked FBI vehicle. The back of the house all the way to the river was still dark and seemingly quiet.
As the helicopter approached, he saw snowmobiles parked in the shadows behind the hedges. Finlay had said there were two actors on site. Gaspar wondered who the hell they were and why they were there.
The pilot asked, “Where do you want me to set down?”
“What are our options?” He saw two more vehicles approaching the house from opposite directions. The first was Deerfield’s limo. The second was a black Mercedes sedan, similar to the one that had abducted Otto. The snow-covered road had a single lane in the middle and more snow was piled high on the shoulders. Which was no problem because both the vehicles were headed to the Garrison driveway.
“If you don’t have to be right on the lawn, there’s a big open apron on that driveway across the road. Can you walk that far?” The pilot asked.
No. He couldn’t walk that far. He didn’t even pretend that he could. Instead, he scowled when he said, “How about you set down in the road in front of that limo before he reaches the driveway? Is that doable?”
The pilot glanced across, “Will it get me court-martialed? That’s not one of the Joint Chiefs in there or something, is it?”
Gaspar laughed. “Honest truth? I’m not sure how much power that guy has. But we’re about to find out.”
“What about the Mercedes? You want to block him too?”
Gaspar nodded. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do at the moment.”
The pilot said nothing more as he positioned the helicopter to land on the road blocking Deerfield’s limo.
If Deerfield wanted to snowshoe past the helicopter, he was welcome to do so. Gaspar was out of patience with all of them.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Monday, January 31
3:50 a.m.
Garrison, New York
They reached the turnoff to the road for the Garrison house. This was the south entrance, and Kim had never driven in this way. But Jodie had, so she navigated from the passenger seat.
Jodie said, “This road was always the thing Dad disliked about living out here. Too narrow. A couple of SUVs trying to pass can easily lose their side mirrors if they don’t move over onto the grassy shoulder.”
“And you know the residents aren’t thrilled with people driving on the grass, right?” Kim said.
Jodie nodded. “You’ve lived in a rural area, I take it?”
“My parents do.” Kim had had the Mercedes headlights on high beam for miles now, but along this road, they were a necessity. She was driving in a tunnel of snow piled high on both sides. At this hour of the morning, she hoped they’d make it all the way to the house without running into oncoming traffic.
Jodie said, “Your partner is meeting you out here, you said. Do we know why?”
Kim shook her head. “Not exactly.”
Finlay’s burner phone rang in her pocket. Kim poked around until she found it. “Otto.”
“Welcome back,” Finlay said as if she’d been on a nice vacation. “Have you talked to Gaspar?”
“Not yet. We’re playing phone tag.”
“Cooper?”
“No. Why?”
“Are you alone?”
“Jodie Jacob is with me.”
Finlay paused for such a long time, she thought she’d lost him until he said, “The situation has been developing fast since you left here last night.”
Which probably meant Jodie Jacob being alive was news to him, and he didn’t intend to admit as much. “Give me the highlights.”
“Deerfield is on his way to Garrison. He’s planning a big press conference this morning when he’ll announce the arrests of Samir and Tariq Petrosian as soon as they confirm the two bodies buried under the house.”
“That would be impressive,” Kim replied. “Are there actually two bodies under the house? I suspect not.”
“According to Farid who told Brice who told Deerfield. Two collectors. Herman Amon and his wife, Irene,” Finlay said.
“Poor Deerfield misses again.” She cocked her head, and a grin stole across her face. “This will definitely be embarrassing.”
Finlay paused, and then he laughed out loud. She’d surprised him twice in one conversation, which didn’t happen often.
He asked, “How’d you figure that out?”
“Pretty easy. Those two collectors are still alive.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I met one tonight. Herman Amon. And Jodie has spent quite a bit of time with the other one, his wife, Irene.” Kim paused.
“Which could mean there are no bodies buried there. Or two different members of the Petrosian gang.” He paused. “Either way, Farid has been feeding Brice false information.”
“Has he?”
“Maybe not intentionally,” Finlay said. “I’m told Brice is a few cards short of a full deck.”
Kim replied, “Turns out, he’s not as dumb as he looks.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just say Brice is not guileless. I’m not completely clear on the details. When I am, you’ll be among the first to know.”
“Anything I can do for you at the moment?” Finlay asked.