Day of Reckoning

by John Katzenbach

  She took a deep breath and looked back at the twins.

  “You remember when Tommy was little?”

  They both smiled and nodded.

  “And he was so much trouble?”

  She could see the memories lighten their hearts.

  “All the doctors said one thing first, then another thing the next time, and then another. They were never really certain, so we just trusted ourselves and did what we thought was right. Our family did it together. We saved Tommy then . . .”

  Duncan said, “And we’re going to save him now.”

  He looked down at the rifle. “You know what has hurt me the most through all this? Tommy expects us. He knows we’ll come for him. I feel like I’ve been letting him down.”

  “What about Grandfather?” Lauren asked.

  Duncan snorted. “You know what he would say. Shoot first, ask questions later. Let the law work things out afterwards.”

  Megan pictured her father. If he were here, she thought, that’s exactly what he would say. He wouldn’t trust anyone to take over this job. Too important to trust to professionals, that’s what he would say. She thought of her mother and realized that she would say the same. They would have different reasons: Her father would be all bluster and Marine can-do determination; her mother would be quiet, certain, and probably just as deadly.

  “Look,” said Duncan suddenly, in a firm voice. “This may be crazy. But it is not wrong. It’s the one true surprise we have. And that is its greatest strength. She thinks we’re cowed and defeated, but we’re not. She thinks we’re ready to roll over and play her game. But we’re not.”

  He paused. Then he smiled. “One thing I can’t stand is the idea that we haven’t done what we could. I want it on my tombstone: He was crazy, but at least he tried.”

  “Dad!” Lauren said. “That’s not funny!”

  “But it’s true,” he said.

  There was another silence before Lauren spoke again.

  “It is true,” she said firmly. “It’s our turn.”

  She rose up and threw her arms around her father.

  Karen looked at her mother.

  “Let’s go over the plan again,” she said.

  Megan breathed in harshly, as if she was inhaling superheated air that scorched her lungs. She pointed down at a rough diagram of the house and fields.

  “The field slopes down behind the house, back away from it to the forest. You two will take the two shotguns and wait down there and cover the back door. Your father and I will go to the front.”

  “What exactly should we do?” Karen asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Megan replied. “Mainly make sure that no one escapes in that direction, especially with Tommy or Grandfather. Use your judgment. Don’t try to shoot it out with them or anything, just keep your heads down and do whatever seems necessary. Keep an eye on that back door. I think everything will happen in front, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Duncan picked up the thread: “I don’t want either of you exposing yourselves in any way, especially to gunfire. The shotguns are your last resorts. They’re just to protect yourselves, got it? Stay down. Mom says there’s a stone wall back there. You stay behind it at all times.”

  He glanced over at Megan, wavering for an instant. He thought of the differences between daughters and sons. If they were teenage boys, he thought, they’d probably be anxious to fight. But they wouldn’t be as steady and as trustworthy.

  “Maybe—” he started.

  “Not a chance!” interrupted Lauren.

  “We’re all in this together!” Karen almost shouted. “You’re not leaving us behind.”

  “We won’t let you out of our sight,” insisted Karen.

  Megan held up her hand, signaling peace. She looked closely over at Duncan. “It’s the damn back door,” she said quietly. “I don’t know much about this sort of thing, except I know you have to cover that back door. Otherwise we could get hung up in front, and out they’d scoot. Someone’s got to be there.”

  Duncan sighed in agreement. “Listen, you’ve got to promise one thing. It will be difficult enough to get the Tommys without having to worry about you guys. If you two were exposed to some danger, we’d go crazy. lt could jeopardize everything. So stay back, stay out of sight, stay out of the way. Just watch the damn back door and make sure we’re covered on that side. Got it?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  “No chances, dammit—don’t take any chances! No matter what you see happening.”

  “We understand.”

  “Even if your mother or I are in trouble, stay put.”

  “Come on, Dad . . .”

  “Okay,” Duncan said. He was filled with dread.

  Lauren, though, had brightened considerably. “So, while we’re doing nothing, what happens in front?”

  Megan smiled. “Your father takes the rifle and covers me while I go through the front door—”

  “Megan, are you sure—”

  She cut him off.

  “Yes. Absolutely. I’ve thought about it a million times. I probably couldn’t hit anything with that rifle, like you can, so it doesn’t do any good for me to cover you. I’m quicker than you, though you don’t like to admit that. And a smaller target, if it comes to that. And also, I know exactly what the inside of that old house will look like. So I’m going in first.”

  “Mom, are you sure they’re in the attic?”

  “Yes. Remember the tape from Tommy that Olivia played for us? He said he didn’t like it ‘up’ there. That’s where they are.”

  “What happens after you get through the front door. And suppose it’s locked?”

  Megan held up the hunting knife. “For the lock,” she said. “And when I’m inside, your father follows. I cover him with the pistol. Everything should be real simple. It will just barely be light, so I bet they’ll all still be asleep and we’ll be in the house. Hands up and that’s it. It will be over.”

  “A rude awakening,” Duncan said.

  “It sounds simple.”

  “It is. If we surprise them.”

  “They’ll be surprised, all right,” Lauren said angrily. She rubbed her eyes quickly, as if cleaning some of the week’s tears away from her cheeks. Then she picked up a shotgun from the floor and cocked it. “Mom, just show me how this works one more time,” she said.

  12

  THE BACK DOOR

  Insistent dawn light sliced through the forest darkness like a razor parting flesh. There had been a hard frost during the night; a thin white coverlet was spread across the fields and rode the edges of leaves and branches. They could see their breath as they moved through the trees, like blowing smoke in an all-gray world. They wore the camouflage outfits that Megan had purchased the day before, so that they blended with the shadows and dark colors that hid from the first moments of day. The twins each struggled with a shotgun; Duncan gripped the semiautomatic rifle, and Megan had stuck the .45-caliber pistol in her belt, alongside the hunting knife. They walked in single file, Megan leading, then the twins, with Duncan bringing up the rear. They traveled quietly, stealthily, pausing to listen to the void around them, then moving on, picking their feet up slowly and setting them down equally carefully. As they passed through the woods, it seemed they were leaving behind everything that they had once known and loved and were stepping into another world; a place of cold and unsettling silence.

  Megan pushed some thorny branches out of her way and held them for Lauren, who was next. She passed them to Karen, who waited for Duncan. Megan maneuvered a few feet farther, then crouched down, squatting, waiting for the family to catch up with her. When they all gathered close, she pointed through the pale light, between a stand of trees, and they could all see the white shape of the farmhouse a hundred yards ahead.
Without saying anything, Megan gestured toward the stone wall that marked the edge of the treeline. Then she pointed to the right and left, signifying the directions that the stone wall traveled. The twins nodded.

  Duncan whispered, “You take them, get them in position. I’ll wait for you a little ways up there, where we can see the front. I’ll be right on the wall, okay?”

  Megan reached out and grasped his hand.

  “Be quiet,” she said. “I won’t be more than a few minutes.”

  Duncan turned to the twins. “Please,” was all he could say. He could feel his lip quiver and he hoped it was from the morning chill.

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” Karen whispered back.

  “You be the one who’s careful,” Lauren said. She smiled, then reached over and brushed his cheek with a quick kiss.

  A thousand fears and thoughts burst through Duncan. He started to reach out, to speak, but stopped. When he looked at the twins’ eyes, he saw them as babies, remembered the defenseless, small children who needed to be swept up in his arms and protected.

  “Tell Tommy we’re waiting for him,” Lauren whispered.

  “And tell him he’s never to cause us all this much trouble again,” Karen said, smiling.

  Duncan nodded and looked back at Megan. Their eyes met and for just an instant, they both felt a great sucking helplessness. Then he managed a wispy smile that was almost lost in the bare light and thin air. He turned and looked at the house.

  “All right,” he said quietly but firmly. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Duncan half-crawled through the trees. Megan waited until he had slid from sight and sound, and then she motioned to the twins to follow her. She held a single finger up to her lips, gesturing for silence, only to hear Karen’s breathy whisper: “We know we’re supposed to be quiet. Let’s go!” she urged.

  Within a few minutes they had maneuvered around the edge of the field behind the farmhouse and were moving parallel to the back side. The stone wall was in disrepair, chunks had fallen away, and each time they had to cut slightly back from the rim of trees, so as to maintain concealment. They were almost on their hands and knees, bent over, moving from tree bulk to brush, to tree, in stops and starts. Megan kept searching off to her right, across the field, looking up at the house, keeping it in constant view. She cursed inwardly, frustrated, wanting to spot some natural barricade, some hollow that would afford both cover and protection. She suddenly felt an arm on her shoulder and turned abruptly.

  It was Karen, gesturing back into the forest. Lauren was looking that way, as well.

  “What is it?” Megan asked, nearly frozen with sudden fear.

  “Look!” whispered Lauren insistently.

  “It’s a car,” Karen said. “Back there, behind those trees.”

  Megan’s eyes narrowed and she caught a gleam of metal reflecting off a persistent shaft of morning sunlight.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  She started forward, only to be stopped by Karen’s hand, pres­suring her.

  “What?” she said.

  “Don’t you see?” her daughter asked.

  Megan looked back again and then did see.

  “It’s the judge’s car,” Lauren said.

  Megan quietly turned and led the twins through the forest toward the car. It was parked on the edge of what had once been a dirt road. The road was overgrown, grassy; the only real sign that it had once been used was the meager mud swath cut through the trees.

  Lauren ran her hand alongside the car, fingering scratches in the paint. “Poor Grandfather,” she said. “He was so proud of the silly thing. Why would they put the car here?”

  “To hide it, silly,” Karen whispered back. “They couldn’t leave it out where anyone might see it and recognize it.”

  “Oh,” her sister replied.

  Megan looked and saw tracks where the car had been painstakingly turned around. She saw that it was pointed back toward the main road and the exit from the forest. She peered through the window and saw that the keys were in the ignition. There was a bag on the floor of the passenger seat. For a moment she considered opening the car door and inspecting the interior, but then she realized there was no way she could get it open without making a familiar and therefore telltale noise.

  “I think,” she said quietly, “that you guys better help keep an eye on this.”

  “Stay here?” Karen asked.

  “We can’t see anything.”

  Megan turned back in the direction of the farmhouse.

  “All right,” she sighed. “Over there at the last big pile of rocks from what’s left of the stone wall. But keep your bearings, okay? And keep this car sort of covered, too.”

  The twins both nodded in agreement. Megan thought how ridiculous her directions were. Keep it covered. She wanted to laugh. As if any of us had any idea what we are doing, she realized. Then she dismissed this revolutionary bit of sense, and led the two girls back to the spot where they could each see the back of the farmhouse, rising up ahead of them. She looked at the two of them, placing them so that they were well down behind the rocks. “Keep down!” she whispered frantically. Then she sighted toward the white clapboard building. The silver, frost-covered field seemed to be like a wave lapping up against its edge, racing away from where they were waiting.

  “All right,” she said. “Wait here. And no chances. Got it?”

  “Come on, Mom. Get going. The sun’s coming up and Dad’s waiting.”

  “No chances.”

  “C’mon, Mom.”

  She wanted to tell them how much she loved them, but thought they would just be embarrassed. So she said it to herself: I love you two. Please stay safe.

  Then she swallowed hard. Suddenly paralyzed with reluctance, she had to order her muscles to move. She closed her eyes tight, for just a second, and turned her back abruptly, scrabbling crablike away through the brush and trees. She did not look back even once because she knew that no matter how brave she thought they were, if she did she would be unable to leave her two daughters alone out there in the woods, facing across such a small distance from so much uncompromising evil.

  Duncan hugged the wall, waiting for Megan to appear through the morning mists behind him, keeping an eye on the farmhouse for any signs of movement. He tried to make his mind a blank; he did not want to think about what they were doing or what they planned to do. He tried to segment his life into the seconds that it took to inhale the sharp air, then blow it out again. When he heard animal noises in the woods, he pivoted, only to see his wife crawling toward him.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “We found the judge’s car. It’s hidden on the access road behind where I left the girls.”

  “Are they—I don’t know . . .”

  “I guess so. Sure.”

  Megan looked at Duncan and for a moment felt her will waver. He, too, was caught in the sudden undertow of doubt. Both thought of speaking, then forced themselves to be quiet. Megan slid forward on the damp ground and crawled into her husband’s arms, burying her head against his chest. For a moment she listened to his heartbeat; he counted the rising and falling of her bosom.

  The moment passed, and they strengthened.

  “It’s time,” Duncan said. “If we wait, someone might be an early riser, and—” He didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

  Megan rolled over and looked up at the sky. She could see great purple-red streaks of light in the distance, riding the edges of massed clouds. “Red sky in the morning,” she said.

  “Sailors take warning.” Duncan followed Megan’s gaze and nod­ded. “Storm coming, probably. Snow maybe.”

  Megan turned away and reached out and squeezed his hand.

  “Have you been thinking of Tommy?”<
br />
  “A little.”

  “So have I. Let’s go get him.”

  Duncan forced a smile through his worry.

  “I’m ready. Whenever you want.”

  Megan peered over the edge of the stone wall. She took a deep breath.

  “I’ll go first to the car. Then to the edge of the porch. Then to the door. When I’m inside, you count to five, and then run like hell for the car. Then the door. Okay?”

  Duncan clicked the safety catch off the rifle. He grasped the firing bolt on the side of the magazine and slid it back until it caught with a sharp click, chambering a round.

  “You do the same,” he ordered in a firm whisper.

  Megan took the pistol in her hand and armed it.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “I love you, then. Now, go!”

  Duncan twisted upward, resting the rifle on the ledge of the wall, as Megan vaulted over the top. For an instant it felt like diving into a deep, black, unfamiliar pool. Everything I’ve ever been or believed or wanted has come down to this moment, she thought. Then she realized she was running, crouched over, the cool air tugging at her flushed cheeks, her feet barely skimming the surface of the yard. The distance to the house seemed suddenly immense, much farther than she had ever figured, a vast, wide, brightly lit, hazardous world. She gritted her teeth and raced on.

  Ramon Gutierrez lay on his bed, watching the light creep slowly up the wall, thinking of murder.

  He tried to persuade himself: It is not such a difficult thing. In its own way, it is no different from other crimes.

  When he was young, there was always an initiation into the gangs. A robbery, a rape, a killing; the task had been different for each organization. They hadn’t been large things in his neighborhood; everyone’s familiarity with crime made the acts part of the norm rather than the exception. He had not hated committing crimes; only being caught. The thought jolted him with a flash of hatred for the two captives in the attic. They are dangerous, he told himself. They are very dangerous and they can kill you much easier than you think. Their eyes are like shotguns pointed at your chest. Their memories are like knives that can slash your throat. Their voices are like the electric current in the chair. They can put you away forever. They can kill you dead as any policeman.