Panic

by Jeff Abbott

  Mitchell sank down in the chair in front of the computer and put his face in his hands. Then he sat up, quickly, as though he’d assumed an unnatural posture.

  He has to be ready all the time. Every moment that he’s awake. Then Evan realized he had moved to that same edge of life, in just a week. He went to the computer, studied the faces of the lost children. He took Khan’s PDA from his pocket, wirelessly moved all the client names and agent names from the files on the computer onto the PDA.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mitchell said.

  ‘Insurance.’ Evan erased the downloaded files from the PC. Erased the browser history so it wouldn’t point back at the remote server. He shut down the laptop and closed the lid. He could re-download the files from the Internet again. If he lived.

  ‘The files paint a target on our backs. You should destroy them,’ Mitchell said. Evan wondered which face his father wore now: the protective dad, the frightened agent, the resolute killer. Evan’s skin went cold with shock and with fear.

  ‘I’m afraid of you,’ he said.

  Piotr Matarov, Arthur Smithson, Mitchell Casher, looked up at him.

  Evan walked out of the bedroom. In the small breakfast nook, his father’s raincoat lay over the back of a chair. Evan dug around in it, pulled out a satellite phone. Clicked it on, paged through the few numbers listed. One for J. He carried the phone back to his father.

  ‘You did what you did to have your life. I have to stop Jargo to have mine. I cannot let him kill Carrie, and I cannot let him get away with killing Mom. He gets stopped in his tracks. Now. You can either help me, or not. But before you walk away, I need you to make this phone call.’ Evan put his hand on his father’s arm. ‘Call. Find out if Carrie’s all right. You haven’t seen me. I got away.’

  Mitchell clicked, rang. ‘Steve.’ A pause. ‘Yes.’ Another pause. ‘No. No, he got away from me. He has a friend or two in Miami. I might try them.’ A pause. ‘Don’t kill her. She might know where Evan would go. Or if I find him, she could be useful in bringing him in. We still need to know how large Bricklayer’s group is.’ Mitchell spoke with a soldier’s brisk tone. Weighing options, offering countermoves, speaking like a man comfortable in shadows. ‘All right.’ He clicked off. ‘They’re at the safe house. Our final stop on our escape route. She’s still alive. He’s… questioning her. He wants the password to the laptop.’

  What had she said in the car? He’ll give me to Dezz. I’d rather be dead.

  ‘She doesn’t know the password. That computer’s empty, anyway.’ Except for my fallback, my poker bluff for Jargo, if he ever cracks it.

  ‘I bought her time,’ Mitchell said. ‘But it won’t be pleasant for her.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  Mitchell shook his head. ‘You can’t save her.’

  ‘I can. If you help me. Just tell me where Jargo has her.’

  ‘No. We’re running. Just you and me. Never mind Carrie. You and me.’

  Evan took the Beretta from his coat pocket. He didn’t raise it. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Evan, for God’s sake, put that away.’

  ‘You made the tough choices, Dad, for me. Because you loved me. But I’m not leaving Carrie. Tell me where she is. If you don’t want to go, it’s your choice.’

  His father shook his head. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’

  ‘I absolutely do. Your choice.’

  Mitchell closed his eyes.

  44

  I t will end tonight, Evan thought. One way or another, all the years of lies and deceit end. Either for my family or for Jargo.

  Mitchell drove north to 75 West – nicknamed Alligator Alley. As they headed west, the night cleared and the adrenaline settled into Evan’s flesh and bones like a permanent high. They listened to a news station out of Miami; McNee was dead, shot by a police officer as she tried to flee the scene in Miami Beach.

  ‘Jargo won’t kill Carrie right away. They’ll want to know everything that the CIA knows – they’ll take their time. Jargo can’t afford to let the CIA work another mole into the network.’

  ‘Will Jargo torture her?’ Torture. It wasn’t a verb you wanted within a mile of the woman that you loved.

  ‘Yes.’ The answer sounded flat in the dark space between them. ‘You cannot dwell on Carrie, Evan. If you go in thinking about Carrie

  … or your mother, you’ll die. You must focus on the moment at hand. Nothing more.’

  ‘We need a plan.’

  ‘This isn’t my forte, Evan. Rescue operations. We’re not a SWAT team.’

  ‘You kill people, right? Consider it a hit. On Dezz and Jargo.’

  ‘I don’t usually have an untrained person to protect, either.’

  ‘This is my fight as much as yours.’

  Mitchell cleared his throat. ‘I go in alone. You’ll stay hidden outside. They’ll expect me to return here, if I can’t find you. I’ll say you’re still missing, no report that the police have found you. I’ll tell them that I’ve heard the news report that McNee is dead, but that I heard on the Miami police band that she’s alive but captured. Since Jargo stole a civilian car, he won’t have heard any police-band reports.’

  ‘We hope.’

  ‘We hope. They’ll know if McNee is alive, the FBI and CIA will bring extraordinary pressure to bear on her. We need to run.’ Mitchell glanced at his son. ‘That movement creates an opportunity of weakness. They will want to shut down everything in the house before they go.’

  ‘The decoy laptop. They’ll take that with them?’

  ‘Yes, unless they’ve already broken it with an unlock program.’

  ‘They won’t have,’ Evan said. ‘What did you put on the decoy?’

  ‘Let’s just say I learned a few tricks from the poker champs when I filmed Bluff. The importance of mental warfare.’

  ‘When they come out of the lodge, Jargo will be walking alone, Dezz probably will have Carrie in cuffs. Both will be armed and ready. I’ll drop back and get them both in my kill zone. I will shoot Dezz first, because he will have the gun on Carrie. Then Steve.’ His voice wavered.

  ‘Don’t hesitate, Dad. He killed Mom. I promise you it’s true.’

  ‘Yes. I know he did. I know. Do you think knowing makes it any easier? He’s still my brother.’

  Silence hung between them for a long moment before Evan spoke. ‘What if they want to kill Carrie before leaving? The Everglades – you could make a body vanish forever.’

  ‘Then,’ Mitchell said, ‘I’ll lie and say I want to kill Carrie myself. But slow. For turning you against me.’

  The cool calculation of his father’s voice made Evan shudder. ‘I don’t think it’s right you go in alone. You don’t have to fight my fight.’

  ‘The only way this will work is if they believe you and I are not together and have not been together.’

  ‘All right, Dad. Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you love Mom?’

  ‘Evan. My God. Yes, with all my heart.’

  ‘I wondered if maybe the marriage was arranged, to give you cover.’

  ‘No, no, son. I loved her like crazy. My brother, he was in love with her, too. It was the only time I beat him in anything. When Donna chose me.’

  The night was dark and vast. Evan had never seen the Everglades before and it was both empty and full, all at once. Empty of the human touch other than the highway, filled by a plain of dirt, water, and grass that throbbed with life. Mitchell headed south onto Highway 29, on the edge of the Big Cypress National Preserve. No lights of a town or business, just the curve of the road heading into black.

  In the darkness by the side of the road, his father stopped the car.

  ‘Hide in the trunk. Break the trunk light so it won’t shine.’

  A jolt of panic hit his chest. So much unplanned. So much to do to try to prepare, but no time.

  ‘The driveway goes around to the back of the lodge, where there’s a large porch. I’ll par
k with the trunk aimed away from the lodge. You’ll see a gray brick building toward the back of the property. It’s a garage and houses the generator. Run as fast as you can for it. Stay behind it until I come for you. If we come out and I miss a shot, you should have a clear line at Dezz or my brother.’

  ‘Dad. I love you.’ Evan took his father’s hand in the darkness.

  ‘I know. I love you, too. Go get in the trunk.’

  45

  I nside the trunk – for the second time in a night, and he hoped for the last in his life – Evan felt the BMW come to a stop. He heard his father get out of the car. No call of greeting broke the still quiet, and he heard his father go up stairs onto a porch, a door open. Then he heard a murmur of cautious hellos, his dad’s voice sounding actor-pitch perfect in its weariness and fear, and then the door shut.

  He eased the trunk open, rolled out the back. The night air was cool and moist, but his palms were drenched in sweat. He held the Beretta that Frame had given him a few hours ago. No spill of lights glowed in the night to show him his way. He lay flat for a moment on the concrete, waiting for a door to fly open, shots to fire. Nothing.

  He ran, keeping the cars between him and the lodge’s back porch.

  Blackness. He didn’t have a flashlight; his dad said not to risk using one. He ran into the pitch-dark and hoped that he wouldn’t trip and plunge into wet or a hole or a stack of trash cans that would set off a din. He stumbled against the garage, eased around its corner. Evan stayed still. Every rustle sounded like a snake or a gator – he did not want to see alligators again – slithering closer.

  He thought he heard a click: probably an alarm system, reactivating after his dad was inside. He stayed still as stone, the sweat oozing down his ribs, his breath sounding huge in the silence. He had a gun. He had Khan’s PDA, with its fancy alarm deactivator, which he had no idea how to use. Now he needed patience.

  Five minutes. Ten minutes. No blast of shots. No creak of a footfall on the back porch. He peeked past the corner of the garage, past his father’s parked car, up to the lodge. Only the sound of his breath, of the ocean of life around him.

  Then he heard the slightest crush of a heel on tall grass. Fifteen feet away. He froze.

  ‘I… see… you,’ a voice called in singsong. Dezz. ‘Sitting so still…’

  A bullet smacked into the brick wall ten feet to his right. Evan lurched backward. Another shot hit the corner, well above his head. Shards of brick pelted his face.

  Evan pointed the gun in the direction of the shots. He’d seen a moment of flash, but he was shaken and he hesitated.

  ‘I see you sitting on your ass, pointing a gun. You’re not even close,’ Dezz said. ‘Put the gun down. Come inside. Or I’ll march back inside and I’ll break your father’s spine. He won’t die; it’ll be worse than death, because when we roll out, we’ll just dump his quadriplegic ass in the swamp. The choice is yours. It’s over, Evan. You decide how nasty it gets for your dad and the bitch.’

  Evan dropped the gun. The clouds parted for a moment and he saw, in the dim moonlight, Dezz hurrying toward him, gun stretched out. Then a savage kick hammered him into the wall. Brick cut the back of his head.

  Dezz drove the heel of his boot into Evan’s cheek.

  ‘You took me away from my game with Carrie,’ Dezz said, bending to retrieve Evan’s gun from the grass. ‘And I was just getting warmed up.’

  46

  ‘I hear an idiot pissing his pants.’ Dezz pushed Evan up the back-porch steps, his gun nestled at the back of Evan’s head. Pressing against his scalp, maybe the same gun Dezz had used in Evan’s mother’s kitchen a week ago.

  Evan’s head throbbed and his face ached. He kept his hands up.

  Dezz grabbed his arm, shoved him through a doorway.

  Evan tried to stop but he splayed out on the tile floor.

  Dezz flicked on lights. He trained his gun – the same one he’d smashed Evan in the face with – on Evan.

  Dezz pulled the goggles free from his face and tossed them on the counter. ‘Night-vision, with an infrared illuminator,’ Dezz said. ‘Nowhere you can hide from me. Not that it matters anymore. You are quite the fearsome mercenary. It’s like watching a Special Forces bloopers tape.’ Dezz clicked on a light, and now, close to him, Evan saw a twisted, compact version of himself: the same dirty-blond hair, the same slim build, but Dezz’s face wore a harsh thinness, as if God had short-changed him on the flesh. A pimple sprouted at the corner of his grin.

  Dezz jerked Evan to his feet and locked the gun on Evan’s head.

  ‘Please run. Please cry. Please give me a reason to shoot you.’

  Evan blinked against the bright lights. The lodge opened up into a broad foyer. Dim lights shone, but none of the glow slipped past the boarded-up windows. The furnishings of a lobby had been stripped clean, except for a wagon-wheel chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It had the air of an expensive building trying to look rustic, aimed at the ecotourist or hunting crowd.

  ‘I’m surprised you came out looking for me,’ Evan said. ‘Since you’re so scared of gators.’

  Dezz drove a hard punch into Evan’s stomach, ramming him against the wall. He collapsed, fought to stay conscious. Dezz grabbed Evan’s throat, pulled him back to his feet.

  ‘You’re’ – he slammed Evan’s head against the wall – ‘a’ – slammed it again – ‘nothing,’ Dezz said, finishing with another head pound. ‘Famous film-maker. That counts for shit in the real world. You thought you were smarter than me and you’re just so unbelievably dumb.’ Dezz opened a piece of caramel, shoved the wrapper into Evan’s mouth.

  Evan spat the wrapper out. Blood coursed down the back of his neck. ‘I talk with Jargo. Not you.’

  A scream, born of terror and pain, broke from upstairs.

  Evan froze; Dezz laughed. He prodded Evan with the gun. ‘Get your ass up there.’

  He pushed Evan up the curving grand staircase. ‘Girl Scout’s a screamer. I bet you knew. I bet you scream, too. I bet you cry first, then you piss yourself, then you scream your throat raw. When I’m done with you, I’ll have to take notes so I don’t forget.’ The staircase led to a wide hallway with four doors, all but one shut. Boards covered the window at the end of the hall. Dezz pushed Evan into a room.

  The room had once been a conference space, where people sat with open binders, fought off meeting fatigue, watched droning presentations about sales projections or revenue figures, and probably all wished they were out fishing or hunting in the Everglades instead of deciphering a pie chart. They would have drunk coffee or ice water or sodas cold from a bowl filled with ice. Muffin tray in the middle.

  Now the table and the drinks were gone, and Jargo stood, holding a red-stained knife and a pair of pliers. He stared at Evan with a cold, fierce hatred, then stepped aside so Evan could see.

  Carrie. She lay on the floor, her top torn off her shoulders. The bandage on her shoulder was ripped free, the shoulder and her leg both bloodied. Pain fogged her eyes. Her right arm was thrown over her head, handcuffed to a steel hoop in the floor, installed where carpet had been pulled away.

  Then Evan saw his father. Mitchell sprawled on the floor, his face bruised and bleeding, the fingers on his right hand broken into twisted shapes, handcuffed to a metal bar that ran the length of the room.

  Mitchell’s face crumpled when he saw his son.

  Jargo rushed forward and slammed his fist into Evan’s face. ‘Goddamn you!’ he yelled.

  Evan hit the floor. He heard Dezz giggle, heard him step aside, make room for his father.

  Jargo kicked Evan hard, in the spine. ‘I kicked a man to death once.’ Jargo kicked Evan in the neck. ‘I kicked Gabriel until he was nothing but paste and shreds.’

  ‘Don’t smash in his face yet,’ Dezz said. ‘I want him to see me do Carrie. Especially when I stick it in her, and she loves it so much that she’s screaming. That’ll be cool.’

  Evan said, past the blood in his mouth, past the ag
ony in his neck, ‘I came here to make a deal with you.’

  Jargo kicked him again, in the stomach. ‘A deal. I don’t give a rat’s ass about any deal. Give me the files, Evan. Now.’

  ‘Okay,’ Evan whimpered. ‘Please stop kicking me so I can… tell you.’

  ‘Get him up,’ Jargo said, tucking the knife back into his pocket. Dezz yanked Evan to his feet.

  ‘Steve, don’t, he’s my son, for God’s sake, don’t,’ Mitchell said. ‘I’ll do whatever you want, just let him go, please.’

  Jargo glared back at his brother. ‘You goddamned traitor. You shitheel. Don’t you beg to me.’

  ‘What I’m offering,’ Evan said with a calm assurance that surprised him, ‘is a deal that lets you stay alive.’ He looked past Jargo’s shoulder at Carrie; her eyes opened.

  ‘Well, this I can’t wait to hear,’ Jargo said, a trace of cold amusement in his voice.

  ‘We could have brought the police. We didn’t,’ Evan said. ‘We want to settle this. Just between the four of us.’

  ‘Give me the files. Right. Now.’ Jargo raised his gun. ‘Or I take you outside and I shoot out both knees and I start kicking the flesh off your bones.’

  ‘Don’t you want to even hear my offer?’ Evan asked. ‘I think you do.’

  47

  F or a moment Jargo’s face wavered behind the gun-sight.

  ‘Because if you kill me, there is no deal. No files for you,’ Evan said. ‘No more Deeps. I didn’t come to kill you. I came to deal.’

  ‘Then why’d your father come in alone?’

  ‘His idea. Not mine. He’s overprotective. I’m sure you’re the same way with Dezz, Uncle Steve.’

  Jargo smiled.

  ‘Or should I just call you Uncle Nikolai?’

  The smile faded.

  ‘You’re running out of time,’ Evan said. ‘You want the files on Khan’s laptop, I can give them to you.’ Evan stepped around the gun. He knelt by his father. ‘I told you this wouldn’t work, Dad. We’re doing it my way.’