The Last Minute

by Jeff Abbott

  “It’s all right,” I said. “We’re all leaving. Together.”

  She clutched Daniel close. She had held him for several minutes, and her closeness calmed him. He looked up at me. Blinked, disinterested. Then looked at me again, one little fist raised toward me.

  I took him from Leonie; I did not ask. She did not fight me. He was hers in a way but he was mine. I tucked his little head under my arm, like I’d seen the fathers on television do, and I could smell his warm milky breath. The soft weight of him. The miracle of him.

  He raised his little fist again, and I kissed it.

  91

  The Bahamas

  DANIEL WAS AFRAID OF THE WATER.

  I held him close to me. I found it hard to let him go at times, it was almost as if I needed to drink in his touch. He had grown used to me, in the past several weeks, and I liked to tell myself that my absence in the first months of his life was not impossible to overcome. That being apart from me for so long at his life’s beginning wouldn’t scar him. I read obsessively about the topic of parental separation on Google. It didn’t matter what the experts said.

  I would make it right.

  We walked in the surge of the tide and he stared down at the waves eddying around my calves. I timed it carefully with the surf and after a healthy wave passed I dipped his feet in the cool. He giggled. As the next wave surged forward I hoisted him high out of its path and he loved being raised toward the sky. We played the game, him laughing, until I miscued and the top of a foaming wave crept up past his swimsuit to splash his chest. Then he howled in dismay. Daniel, I had learned, liked his comforts.

  Leonie had taken good care of him.

  With my fussy boy fussing, I walked back up to the beach cottage. I thought Leonie would be inside, fixing lunch, but instead Mila sat at the table.

  “Hello,” I said. I made Daniel’s hand wave. “Hello, Mila. I went surfing with no board.”

  “Please,” Mila said. “Do not treat that beautiful child like a puppet.” She got up and tapped his nose playfully with her finger. She frowned. “He is like a greasy pig.”

  “Sunscreen.”

  “Did you dip him in it?”

  “I don’t want him to get sunburned.”

  “Amazed you could maintain a grip.”

  “Do you want to hold him?”

  “Linen,” she said, pointing to her blouse. “I don’t want to risk a massive oil stain.” But she waved her greasy finger at the yawning Daniel and smiled a grin that seemed too bright for the Mila I knew. “Hello, puior,” she chimed. I had learned this meant “little birdie.” Daniel gurgled back. He seemed a bit uncertain about Mila.

  “I think you’re a bit ambivalent about babies,” I said, settling him into a chair and wiping his hands clean. An ocean explorer deserved a snack. I opened a bottle of organic pureed pears. I sat down and spooned the fruity mush into his mouth. Daniel gobbled.

  “Humans are much more interesting when they reach school age. Then I like them much better.” She glanced at me. “Maybe by then I will retire and be a teacher again. Just for Daniel. Perhaps I will open an exclusive language school.” She made a face. “I hear they are hiring.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Ricardo Braun is now a big hero. I heard that he broke up a criminal ring here that was spying on American citizens and government and companies. He killed the two ringleaders: an Israeli man, a French woman.”

  “Of course he’s a, and I quote, ‘hero.’ ”

  “Wounded in the line of duty. Retired with honors. No farewell cocktail party, though. Went back to Florida. Living very quietly.”

  “So giving August the notebook was the right thing to do. That picture of Braun with two of the Suns sunk his comeback.”

  “The lovely red notebook can’t hurt us.” Mila shrugged. “I tore out the pages of interest to me.”

  “The ones about the Round Table?”

  “Very few. And our friend Jack tore those out of his copy after we brought Ricki to him. But there are some useful people in the missing pages of the little red notebook. I say give them a chance to redeem themselves helping us rather than being blackmailed by Nine Suns.”

  I shook my head.

  “On a voluntary basis,” she said, with a cough.

  “The CIA has more resources than we do to bring down Nine Suns.”

  “And they will bring down at least a few of them that they can tie to the blackmail ring. The CIA will identify some of their plans. But, Sam, Nine Suns, they will not go away. Some fall, they will be replaced. Your friend Braun created too good and useful a template. They have made too much money, accrued too much power. They won’t give it up.”

  “I keep wondering if I should have killed him.”

  “You must not talk about killing people in front of puior,” she said. “It is bad for child development. You need boundaries.”

  “So Braun’s not running Special Projects.”

  “No.”

  “Who is?”

  “One of the few big secrets I do not know.”

  “You really don’t know?” I hoped August got the job. He’d brought in Jack Ming, after all.

  “I really don’t know, don’t care. You. You are my problem.”

  “How so?” I knew what was coming.

  “We gave you many bars to run.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Bars to serve as a cover for you, so you could do jobs for us.”

  “Ah.”

  “I don’t believe you are going into fights with puior strapped to your back.”

  “No.”

  “So. May I have the bars back?” She was asking so politely.

  “No.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Well, the Round Table still needs the bars run, right? And any other employees such as yourself need to avail themselves of the bars as safe houses, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So let me run the bars. I’ll make sure they turn a tidy profit.”

  “And that will be enough for you.”

  “For now.”

  Mila drew her knees up to her chin. “And what about what that old jerk said about your brother’s death?”

  “I have Daniel. I’m not interested in the revenge game.”

  “May I be honest?”

  “You’re still my boss.”

  “I forgot momentarily. Right now you are captivated by this greasy child. You will want to be a good and present father. But you will get restless, bored.”

  “Never of him.”

  Mila nodded. “You will get bored of not knowing.”

  “The truth?” Nine Suns had a plan for me, according to Zviman. One cultivated over the years. I still didn’t know what that plan was. Did I want to?

  “No, you will want to know what these jerks are doing,” Mila said. “You and Jack Ming destroyed their main source of information. Now. Extortion does not have a long life anyway. But they will replace Zviman in their constellation of criminals, and they will find new mischief. New ways to earn profits or grab power. Or there will be some other jerk to fight because no one else knows that he is a threat, or no one else will dare to fight him.”

  “Not my problem,” I said carefully, “until it is.”

  “Ah. My glimmer of hope. Therefore you may keep the bars. For now. Run them at massive profit or I will bring Barney DVDs for Danny boy.”

  “Leonie calls him Dat.”

  Mila made a face. “For a woman who invents names she has horrible taste.” She jerked her head toward the sliding glass door. “She left when I came here.”

  “Your charm is contagious.”

  “Why is she still here?”

  “For Daniel.”

  “How convenient his nanny is a master forger. No doubt she can teach him to copy your signature on excuses for his teachers.”

  “She’s not his nanny.”

  “Well. She is not his mother, she is not your wife, what is she? Aside from a champion liar?�
��

  “We’re deciding.”

  Mila watched the pear ooze past Daniel’s lips. “I noticed there were three bedrooms here. All used.”

  “You can count.”

  “Sam. She has no claim on your child. Her adoption was both illegal and immoral. Don’t reward her. Don’t let… this woman into your life.”

  I glanced up at her. “Do you think I want to send someone who loves Daniel, who would have died for him, to jail?”

  “No. You can’t expose yourself that way, either, to police questions as to where you were when Daniel was born.”

  True.

  “It’s done,” I said, “and it’s my business, not yours, and…”

  “And I will let it go,” Mila said quietly.

  I decided to change the subject. “Did your CIA source have anything new on Jack Ming?”

  “Yes. He and his girlfriend have new names, new city, new jobs. They have a brand-new start.”

  New start. Didn’t everyone deserve one?

  I left Mila considering whether a towel would protect her from Daniel’s oily embrace and walked along the sand. Leonie stood at the water’s edge. The ocean surged then retreated around her feet. Tides. Where one world ends, another begins. I had loved when my parents, in their globetrotting do-gooderness, were assigned to coastal areas. Beginnings and endings, on the sand, the water erasing and renewing, all at once. She stood in a yellow sundress, a big floppy hat.

  “You saw Mila arrived,” she said as I joined her.

  “Yes. We had a nice chat.”

  “She still hates me.”

  “She hates most people. Except Daniel.”

  “Her one redeeming feature.”

  “I’m keeping the bars,” I said.

  “Oh. So. I guess Daniel will be traveling with you.”

  “I’m not sure I’d wish my vagabond childhood on him.”

  She looked out at the boats skidding across the sea, then back at me. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I travel and then I have a home. Where Daniel is. Where I will need help.”

  “Are you offering me a job?” Her voice sounded cold.

  “A job, no. You’re the only mother he’s known, Leonie. I cannot take him from you, I can’t take you from him.”

  Her lips narrowed. “If you are going to do that someday, Sam, do it now. Now is easier.”

  “No. I know you love him.”

  “And my legal standing with Daniel?” she asked in the barest whisper, a question she almost couldn’t risk.

  “None, right now. This is a test drive, Leonie. We’ll see.” I did not feel the need to say that if she ran with Daniel, she couldn’t run far. Not with me and Mila and friends looking for her.

  She scratched at her lip, considering.

  We were silent for several moments, watching the water wipe the sandy slate clean.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I accept.”

  “I might be at home a lot, I might have to travel. I plan on staying well clear of trouble.”

  “Man plans, God laughs.” She crossed her arms. “You know I didn’t sleep with you because… I did it because I wanted you.”

  “I know. I wanted you, too.”

  “But.”

  “But. We were both in an extreme mental state. It’s too soon for me, after Lucy. I’m sorry.”

  She steepled her fingers before her face and studied me. “And the future?”

  “I don’t know. I won’t promise something I can’t keep. I’ve had enough of that in my life.”

  “All right. So what city? Las Vegas or New York?”

  “Do you want to go back to art school?”

  She looked genuinely surprised. “I… I hadn’t considered that as a possibility.”

  “Well. If you want, pick a good one. I’ll pay for it. Or I’ll get you a studio, if you don’t want to go back to school. I would rather you be back at art than forgery.”

  Delight played across her face. Art school and Daniel: that was heaven. “You don’t have any preference for a city?”

  I shrugged. “My folks live in New Orleans, but I don’t really talk to them. I think, with Daniel, now maybe I should mend that fence. I can’t teach him the value of family if I’m too distant from my own.”

  “Yes, show up with your new son and your non-girlfriend who’s not a nanny and takes care of the kid. They would love that, I’m sure. Where else?”

  I bit my lip. The wanderer gets to choose a home. “I like Austin. I like Savannah. I like Boston and Nashville. I like London and Paris and Dublin.”

  “I like all those choices,” she said.

  “Then you decide.” And I meant it. I didn’t care where we lived. I was getting a new start. So was she, so was Daniel. So, even, was Mila. Wind, lift me, take me, then settle me down. I’d lived so much of my life planned out and I was ready for a jolt of spontaneity.

  “Okay. I’ll decide,” Leonie said, and we walked back to the cottage.

  But in the end, Daniel chose, that night. Leonie had written down a bunch of cities on slips of paper, tossed them into a rainbow knit hat she’d bought down on the beach. She couldn’t decide and had thought she’d have me draw a city from the hat.

  Daniel, holding on to the coffee table, pulled himself standing. He knocked over the hat and shook it and to his delight the scraps of paper spilled loose.

  He grabbed one and tried to stick it in his mouth. I pulled it from his little fist and uncurled the damp strip. Held it up for Leonie to see. She laughed and said, “Sold.”

  “Good choice, Daniel,” I said. He offered up a hand and I gave him a gentle high-five.

  He plopped on his butt and began to fuss and then he reached up for the comfort of my arms.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank Mitch Hoffman, Daniel Mallory, Peter Ginsberg, Shirley Stewart, David Shelley, Jamie Raab, Ursula Mackenzie, Thalia Proctor, Lindsey Rose, Kim Hoffman, Dave Barbor, Holly Frederick, Nathan Bransford, Sarah LaPolla, and the amazing teams at Little, Brown UK and Grand Central Publishing.

  Also thanks to Kevin Casey, Steve Basile, Dan Edwardes, James Whitaker, Peter Laun, Max Laun, and special thanks to Leslie, Charles, and William, as always.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JEFF ABBOTT is the New York Times bestselling author of thirteen novels, including Adrenaline, Panic, Fear, and Collision. The Last Minute won an International Thriller Writers award, and Jeff is also a three-time nominee for the Edgar award. He lives in Austin with his family. You can visit his website at www.jeffabbott.com.

  When a beautiful woman asks for his help, ex–CIA agent Sam Capra becomes caught in a battle with the most dangerous enemy ever—a man who owns the people who run the world…

  Please turn this page

  for a sneak peek at

  DOWNFALL.

  1

  Thursday, November 4, early evening

  San Francisco

  HELP ME.”

  At first, over the noise of the bar I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. I was filling in for a bartender who hadn’t bothered to show, and I was sick with missing my son Daniel, gone back for two days now to New Orleans.

  “Help me,” she said again.

  She’d hurried into the bar as if she was late for a meeting, panic bright in her eyes. Noise—conversations, the swirling beats of the chill electronica/Asian fusion music, the clink of glasses—washed over us. It was a Thursday night, when most bars like The Select got more groups and fewer quiet drinkers, the start of the weekend.

  I blinked and leaned forward, turning my ear toward her to catch her words over the pluck of the electric sitar, rising violins, and thrumming drums from the speakers. Other customers weren’t crowding the young woman at the bar; most of the The Select’s crowd lounged at tables scattered around the back. Most bars in the Haight are small and narrow but mine is one of the roomier ones. Couples or small groups sat at the tables, drinking beers or cocktails or wine kept in coolers in the center
of the tables. A lot of the artistic crowd in the neighborhood, a smattering of tourists come to see the Haight hippies (but not too close), a few people who thought casual Friday at work meant a little bit of a hangover.

  “What would you like?” I said, thinking she wanted service, not assistance.

  Then her eyes widened, looking past my shoulder into the depths of the mirrored bar and she turned and she ran, hurrying past the crowd getting drinks, past the clumps of people chatting about the post–work day.

  Bars are a magnet for odd behavior. But a woman whispering a plea for help and then fleeing, that was a new one. I glanced over my right shoulder toward the entrance, where the woman’s gaze had gone, and saw two men entering, hurrying, walking with purpose, pushing past a clump of young homeless dudes. One was a broad-shouldered man, wearing eyeglasses, in his late thirties, short-haired. Wearing a blazer and jeans. The other was a mobile mountain, heavy with muscle, head shaved bald, ice-eyed, and I saw this mountain assessing the room with the same measuring gaze I would have taken back in my CIA days, evaluating where the dangers were, gauging who was a threat, finding an escape route.

  Daniel was on my mind and my first thought was I don’t want trouble. But I couldn’t ignore the situation, so I went to deal with the threat. I stepped down the bar to the mountain, who had stepped much closer to the bar as he surveyed the room, my gaze locked on his hands. His hands would give away more than his eyes did. His stare was flat and cold.

  “Drink, sir?” I asked, loudly, thinking, Look at me. Not the woman. Look me in the eyes and let me see what kind of trouble you are.

  The mountain turned to glance at me. His gaze was appraising, not the least bit friendly. He shook his head no, and then stormed out onto the floor. The young woman—pretty, African-American, hair cut short, tall and dressed in a black shirt and jeans—had hidden in a corner behind a pair of chatting women and was now bolting toward the back door, under the red glow of the exit sign. She had her hand in a small, dark purse, clutching it close to her chest.

  The mountain started barreling through the crowd, shoving a few people. Making a beeline for the woman.