Doc - 19 - Chasing Midnight

by Randy Wayne White

  “You know, if you really want to do this right, there’s a lot I can teach you and your brother, if you’re willing to listen. First thing is, your assets aren’t going to put their butts on the line unless you offer them something in return. There are always conditions, that’s part of the business. And there’s never a reason to waste an asset unless you profit in some way. Who knows what they will do for you down the road? Think it over. But if you decide to shoot, get it right the first time. That’s the second lesson.”

  To make my point, I turned my back to the pistol and stood straight—a cleaner target.

  I felt oddly calm. There is no predicting what sociopaths will do from minute to minute, but they are reliable narcissists when it comes to manipulating events in their delusional world—a world I’d just done my best to enter. The twins had a plan, and I was betting they wouldn’t spoil the game by killing their new playmate now. If I was wrong, it didn’t matter. They would kill me, anyway.

  I waited for a tense several seconds before Geness finally said, “Abraham says he’s right.”

  Odus pulled out one earbud, then the other. He was nodding and sounded a little breathless. “I know. He just told me the same thing. Or you’d shoot him. Abraham knows you would, too. But it would be dumb before we have all the caviar leeches on board.”

  I was thinking, Another boating metaphor, as Odus asked me, “What conditions? We’re not giving you a gun, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I faced Geness. “I want at least one hour before you shoot those women or anyone else. Not even Tomlinson. That’s the first condition. And I need some equipment. Kahn took a thermal night vision unit I brought and I want it back. A flashlight, too. And my knife—you’ve got nothing to worry about with all your guns.”

  I had used Tomlinson’s name as a final manipulative nudge because that’s who I wanted them to send with me.

  Odus was still yapping, asking me about the thermal night vision unit, but then Geness silenced him by closing his eyes to confer with Abraham.

  Odus said, “Oh,” as if apologizing. Then: “Ask him about that other thing, too.”

  Other thing? I wondered what he meant.

  Geness stood for a full minute as we waited; a morning silence of wakeful birds, summer insects and the sounds of an old house as its foundation settles another microinch into the earth.

  Finally, he nodded at his twin and said, “Tell him what our brother said.”

  Odus was ready with the instructions, which was spooky. “Okay, here’s the deal. Screw the knife, you’re not getting it back. And not a whole hour. Thirty minutes: that’s what we’ll give you. Which means”—he glanced at his wrist—“which means we sacrifice the first one at quarter to two. One of the women. I’ll shoot her in the back of the—”

  “The blonde,” Geness corrected.

  “Yeah, the blonde. The woman who’s still sort of attractive, Ford seems to like her. Or the woman who’s probably a traitor, anyway.”

  Sharon Farwell or Umeko, he meant.

  “So, we kill your lady friend at one forty-five. The second, she’ll die at two. And if you’re not back here by two-thirty, we’ll shoot everyone we don’t need for our special party. Got it? Everyone. We want those caviar slavers here no later than two forty-five!”

  I nodded, but it wasn’t until I replied, “Yes, I understand,” that Geness responded with disgusting hypocrisy by bowing his head. “We should pray now. Abraham has a special orison he would like to share.”

  Orison? I didn’t know what that meant and didn’t much care, as I endured another silence in which the fat man’s labored breathing weighted the air with his death, my own death and all things human and inevitable.

  Geness spoke: “Open the door. We’ll cut Ford’s hands free later. He and his Judas friend are delivering the letters.”

  I said, “Tomlinson?” as if surprised, but didn’t give it too much. Then closed the deal by saying, “I don’t care who you send with me, but I need to use a bathroom right now.”

  As I turned to go, Talas caught my eye and acknowledged me with the slightest of nods. His expression read Well played.

  There was something else I saw in the fat man’s eyes for the first time: Darius Talas, the international black marketeer, was terrified.

  17

  When Geness Neinabor escorted Tomlinson and me out the front doors of the fishing lodge, I thought he would stop and watch from the safety of the porch as we turned north into the summer darkness. Geness was delusional, a frightened adolescent who was trapped in the brain of a deranged man, and he was also a coward.

  Wrong. Instead, he followed us into the shadows, staying thirty yards behind. Did he think we were going to jump aboard No Más and sail to safety?

  Damn it. It was more than a minor irritant because I hadn’t intended on turning north toward Armanie’s rental house. What I wanted to do was retrieve my jury-rigged weapons, then rush back to the lodge, somehow snatch that little backpack, then force an evacuation. There was no guarantee the explosive was in the bag, but it seemed likely considering the twins’ childlike quirks.

  No, the window of opportunity was narrowing. Tomlinson and I had only thirty minutes—supposedly—before they shot Sharon. Why the Neinabors would execute a woman before vaporizing themselves and everyone else required no explanation because they were insane. Yet, to me, the reasons were apparent: they wanted to savor the experience of killing and it was also a way to manipulate me.

  I wasn’t going to allow them to do either. Evacuate the fishing lodge, that was still my objective. Tossing a couple of jars into the dining room might do the job. If I got lucky, the armed members of the group might be incapacitated long enough for Tomlinson and me to take their weapons.

  It was a long shot but a possibility. Even if we didn’t disarm everyone, capturing one gun would be enough to secure the VIP cottage after we’d moved Umeko, Talas and the three women from Captiva safely inside. Possibly some of the island staff members, too, if they were willing to trust us. Dealing with Armanie and trying to find Kazlov could wait. Sunlight was the surest cure for nighttime panic.

  My plan, though, was already coming apart. It couldn’t work. Not with one of the crazy Neinabors following us with a gun pointed at our backs. Come to think of it, maybe that was the point.

  When Geness was still tailing us after a hundred yards, Tomlinson stopped, nudged me and whispered, “Please tell me you have some kind of plan.” Tomlinson, wearing a T-shirt and dress slacks now, sounded frantic.

  It was only our second opportunity to exchange a word since he had told me that Kazlov had been shot but still managed to escape from the lodge. Now I shook my head and touched a finger to my lips. “Where’d you put the letters?”

  Tomlinson touched the back of his pants. “Got ’em.”

  “How drunk are you? Tell the truth.”

  The man shook his head, meaning, I’m not, then looked to confirm that Geness had ducked into the shadows. “I had no idea they had something like this planned. I don’t think Winifred and the others knew, either. You believe me, don’t you?”

  I nodded because it was true, as I used the TAM to check behind us. Geness was hunched down, waiting, forty yards away.

  “The only reason I told them about you was because I thought it might help. You know, keep you alive because you’re an expert, someone they’d respect. Those guys, they’re stuck in this weird video game Special Forces mind sphere. So I played into the whole superhero psyche thing. The vibe was right, plus I thought it was pretty smart.”

  “I’m still thinking of ways to thank you,” I said, trying to shake blood into my fingertips.

  We were on a shell walkway that transected the island north and south—the Pink Path, locals called it—and had stopped near a house that was shuttered tight for the summer. Silhouetted orchids clung to trees, their limbs interlacing overhead with vines and climbing cereus cacti, all punctuated by the white starbursts of night-blooming flowers.


  Tomlinson whispered, “Hey—why not just talk to the little weirdo?” then cupped his hands around his mouth, ready to summon Neinabor. Before my pal got a word out, though, I grabbed him and pulled him close enough to say, “Maybe I don’t have your attention yet. I told you to be quiet.”

  “But, Doc—”

  “Listen to me. You’re good at a lot of things, but this is the sort of thing I’m good at. At least one person died tonight, thanks to your Internet chaos theory. Are you aware of that? Check your mood ring. Which is darker, your karma or your conscience?”

  It was too harsh, I knew it, but I was mad, and so I turned to glance at Geness rather than watch Tomlinson sag under the weight of the bad news.

  “Then Kahn wasn’t lying about Mr. Bohai?”

  “Someone stuck a needle in his heart, but it wasn’t Kahn. Maybe one of the twins. I think they’re capable of anything. But it might be unrelated to what your new symbiotic brothers have going. And Kazlov’s bodyguard was shot, too. He’s probably dead, I’m not sure. Did you see where Kazlov was hit?”

  Tomlinson whispered, “In the leg, he could still walk,” then made a groaning noise. “My God—I’m a menace to myself and everyone who knows me. I’d rather die than cause pain. Shit the bed, hermano, this really sucks.”

  “Take it easy.” I grabbed one of Tomlinson’s bony shoulders, but it didn’t stop him from talking.

  “Doc, if I’d met those twins before tonight, I swear to God, I would have known. I would have found a way to stop it. They’re both insane—I could smell the craziness before they walked into the room. But they do know their Bible, I’ll say that much for them.”

  “Commendable,” I said. “Keep walking. Let’s see what he does.” I gave the man a push.

  “You have a plan, right? Please tell me there’s something we can do to—”

  “Close your hole, for starters. Get moving.”

  I wanted to think, not talk. In the field, the first rule of engagement is: Keep the plan simple, stupid. But that rule is always trumped by the second rule: Nothing EVER goes as planned.

  Losers bitch about the unexpected, winners grab it by the throat. They improvise, they retool and then use the unforeseen like a club. Geness’s decision to follow us, I decided, might give me a chance to ambush him and take his weapon.

  I gave Tomlinson another nudge, then passed him, walking fast toward Armanie’s end of the island. When I had rounded a bend, I stopped, motioned for Tomlinson to keep going and adjusted the TAM-14 over my eye. Geness was still with us, but he, too, had stopped, which surprised me. I was hidden. How did he know?

  I soon saw the answer. The twin had brought along the night vision scope that Trapper had been using. It meant the shadows were no longer useful as ambush cover. I’d have to find a better place to hide—bushes or a doorway or a ledge. More difficult but doable.

  I had turned to catch up with Tomlinson when Geness surprised me by calling softly, “Ford? Wait.”

  I turned to listen.

  “There’s something you should know. Are you ready?”

  What now? “Sure,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Abraham changed his mind.”

  I felt a physical, chemical chill that sparked down my spinal column.

  I waited for several more seconds, aware that Geness wanted to enjoy my discomfort, before he said, “Abraham told Odus to shoot the blond woman if he hears a gunshot. He said you’d probably try something stupid and cause me to fire—like I almost did just now. I think I’m going to do that, shoot a round at the ground so he kills the woman. How would you like that?”

  “No. Wait.” I had been crouched low. Now I stood, stepped up onto the path and walked in plain view toward the twin. As I got closer, I didn’t need night vision to see that Geness was behind a tree, aiming the pistol at me, so I shoved the thermal monocular into my waistband.

  “Stop right there or I’ll pull the trigger—and it won’t be at the ground.”

  The man was afraid of me, I realized. It was a source of perverse satisfaction that I could enjoy, but only for an instant. I told him, “If you follow us and Armanie sees that you’re armed, he’ll shoot you. Then he’ll shoot us. Your letters won’t be delivered. Is that what you want? Is that what Abraham wants?”

  The laughter that boiled out from behind the tree was as startling as the change in Geness’s voice when he replied, “‘The Lord will bring about for Abraham what He has promised him!’ What do you think about that, Ford?”

  For a moment, I wondered if there were two people hiding there. The voice had a gravely, whiskey-scarred tonality that sounded nothing like Geness’s flat monotone. I hesitated, but then continued walking toward him. “Tomlinson was impressed by your knowledge of the Bible. We were just talking about that.”

  From the shadows, I heard: “‘My lips will not speak wickedness, and my tongue will not utter deceit!’ Hah! The Book of Job—which you’ll never get to read if you lie to me one more time.”

  A moment later, I heard: “You don’t get the picture, do you? Geness might be afraid of you, but I’m not. To fear men is to make man your idol. Why would I be afraid of something that’s an abomination on Earth?”

  A body length from the tree, I stopped and held my hands palms out so the twin could see they were empty. “Do you want me to deliver the invitations or not? That’s what your brother wants me to do. Didn’t Abraham tell you that—”

  The voice interrupted, “I am Abraham, you dumb fucker!”

  The pistol revealed another inch of itself from the shadows, an insane man’s eyes above it. I took a step backward, an instinctive response.

  “Scared?” I heard laughter. “You should be terrified. Because I can blow your heart open, if I want. Then my idiot brother shoots the blond hag like I ordered him to do. One shot, two kills.”

  I could feel my pulse thudding in my jugular, a series of rapid warning taps that told me to run. But where? The only escape, I decided, was to try to reenter this lunatic’s brain, which required a very risky bluff.

  “You asked about the Rapture,” I said. “You and your brothers wanted to find out if killers will be judged like murderers. I can give you the answer.”

  The offer was unexpected, judging from the long pause. “Liar! You don’t know the first thing about God or His Word.”

  “You’ve never broken the first commandment,” I replied, then gave it a few beats before adding. “I don’t have to memorize a psalm to know what it’s like to feel damned for the rest of your life.”

  “I guess I should be heartbroken—if I gave a shit about your eternal soul. But I don’t.”

  I raised my voice a little. “I’m talking about you if you pull that trigger.” Guessing there was a biblical quote that condemned or forgave almost every behavior, I added, “You already know the verse that applies. What is it?”

  I was giving the twin a chance to show off again. Hopefully, some fitting Scripture would pop into his brain because I certainly didn’t have anything ready. Instead of him replying, though, the lunatic’s eyes retreated into the shadows. After several seconds of silence, Geness’s soft voice took over, saying, “Tell me. I’d like to know the answer. Abraham says it’s okay for me to ask.”

  I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “When I come back with Armanie and Kazlov, I’ll tell you. Not now. But until you hear the truth from someone who knows—really knows—you’re risking more than you realize.”

  What was at risk, I had no idea, and I was worried I’d pushed the gambit too far—I’m no actor. But Geness took it seriously because he replied, “Why should I believe you?”

  I told him the first thing that came to mind. “Put it this way: there’s a reason I don’t read the Bible. You’ve got thirty minutes to think about that. Then I’ll tell you.”

  Before the man could respond, I pivoted and walked away, then sprinted to catch up with Tomlinson after I got around the bend, the percussion of my shoes as loud as th
e gunshot I anticipated with each stride.

  It didn’t happen.

  Something else that didn’t happen: I didn’t find Tomlinson.

  I hunted around for a minute or two, called his name, but the thermal monocular confirmed that my pal’s heat signature was long gone. Motivated by guilt, probably, or noble intentions, I guessed that he had decided to deliver the letters without me.

  So now I had a tough decision to make: retrieve my homemade weapons and return to the lodge? Or find Tomlinson?

  I went after my friend. There was no guarantee that Geness had stopped following me, and I still had a chunk of time before the deadline.

  Using the TAM, it didn’t take me long to pick up the glowing remnants of footprints. I’d been right. Tomlinson had continued north, where Armanie and his armed bodyguard were waiting.

  Viktor Kazlov was waiting, too, as it turned out.

  18

  The house Abdul Armanie had rented was isolated on the northern tip of the island, a ponderous structure of pilings and gray wood that appeared larger, more formidable, because it shouldered a nightscape of stars and clouds that strobed with silent lightning.

  There was no guard on the porch, as anticipated. And no sign of Tomlinson, which was unsettling. Could he possibly have been accepted into the house so quickly?

  Yes. From forty yards away, I stopped and used thermal vision. Inside the foyer, near the door, were three people. Details were fogged by siding and drywall, but the heat signature showed all men, one of them Tomlinson, because Armanie had arrived with only his bodyguard. The numbers added up.

  Plus, Tomlinson’s scraggily shoulder-length hair had come loose from its ponytail and it set him apart from the other two men.

  How the hell had he talked his way in so fast? Or maybe I was misreading the situation. Armanie and the bodyguard could have forced Tomlinson into the house. They might be pointing a gun at him right now.

  I didn’t like the odds. As I jogged toward a gazebo that fronted the house, I was thinking, Just one gunshot and an innocent woman dies.