He crossed through a break in the parade and into Wright Square. In the southeast corner of the square, Jake stopped by a granite boulder big enough to hide him from view. He drew several deep breaths and rested a moment. A plaque indicated the boulder was from Stone Mountain and commemorated the burial in 1739 of Tomo-Chi-Chi, Chief of the Yamacraw tribe. He didn’t read it—he was looking for the man.
On the other side of the square, he merged back into the parade and celebrators, trying to get lost in the multitude of green. The thought struck Jake, if the man was a threat to him, he was certainly a threat to Beth. He pulled out his phone and redialed her number. Still no answer.
At Oglethorpe and Bull he saw a big green landmark sign marking the birthplace of Juliette Gordon Low, Girl Scouts founder. He moved much faster than the parade itself, traversing the two blocks to Chippewa Square in surprisingly good time given the holiday crowds.
He stopped at the corner of Hull Street and Bull Street beside the square. Surely he had lost the man by now. Tired and out of breath, he rested his hands on his knees while he gulped in air and stared back at the crowd. He thought he saw a fleeting glimpse of the white-blazed hair but couldn’t be sure. Then it was gone.
After he caught his breath, he started running again. Heading diagonally across Chippewa Square, he crashed into a young couple getting up from a park bench. The man yelled, “Hey, asshole. Watch where you’re going.”
Jake looked back into the square and saw the big man moving towards him again.
Jake hurdled some bushes, crossed through the parade again, then darted through an open wrought iron gate into the backyard of a home on the corner of Perry and Bull.
A fountain in the garden spewed water up to a bowl held up by three cherubs. He didn’t really have time to study it. The water cascaded down into a basin filled with lily pads and goldfish.
A twin wrought iron gate was directly across the yard from the one he entered. It opened into an alley. A table with plates of appetizers was set up near the second gate. Three couples sat on a brick patio near the back of the yard in the shade, drinking their cocktails and enjoying the sunshine and the sounds of the parade.
As he crossed the yard towards the far gate, a dignified Southern voice said, “May I help you?”
He turned and smiled at the man. “No, thanks, just passing through.”
As he passed the table he grabbed a handful of what looked like stuffed pretzels, then darted into the alleyway. He heard a female voice protest, “Of all the nerve … how rude.”
A small parking lot filled with cars was straight ahead. A muted yellow building on the left cast a shadow onto the lot, keeping the cars in the shade. A red brick building on the right had nearly disappeared as ivy covered its walls.
Jake walked through the parking lot toward Liberty Street, eating the pretzels. They were good, but they weren’t pretzels. They were mini-rolls, stuffed with what tasted like crab meat. The food felt good on his empty stomach.
Liberty Street was one of the few Savannah historic district streets with a grassy median dividing the traffic. Directly across from him, he saw a Mellow Mushroom restaurant. To the left of it, the Savannah Council Knights of Columbus Hall. Beside the hall was Charlotte’s Corner and a mob of party-goers, drinking and talking loud. Above the corner store, the Knights of Columbus had a patio deck filled with people, most of them also drinking enthusiastically.
An exhausted and breathless Jake approached. He noticed a difference in the crowd compared to the partiers downtown. This crowd was much better dressed, preppie looking. They were older too, in general, and appeared more affluent.
On the Knights of Columbus patio stood men in coats and ties, and women in long dresses, some formal. Wine glasses instead of beer bottles prevailed. The crowd appeared to be locals who came to socialize and watch the parade in a somewhat tamer environment. The music playing on the patio was drowned out by the bands in the parade.
He stood at the edge of the gathering of Savannah socialites, scanning for the man. He thought of Beth and how they’d attended those debutante balls in Newnan. Then a wave of fear hit him like a blow. Where was she?
After a minute of looking around, he convinced himself that he had shaken off his pursuer. He merged into the crowd and took a well deserved breather.
He looked to the south, the parade was disbanding one block away. He decided to walk to the end of the parade route, then work his way back to the Westin.
The sidewalk in front of Charlotte’s Corner and the Saints and Shamrocks next door was packed. He had to walk sideways next to the buildings. Sidestepping to the right with his back to the glass store windows, he inched his way south. Twenty feet away was an alleyway and the crowd thinned.
He pushed his way toward the alley, his back to the wall. He looked ahead and saw he would have to get past the last glass window, across an open stairwell leading to the Knights of Columbus patio, and then edge along the remaining wall to the alley. Keeping his back to the window, he moved into the stairwell. He stood facing the street while he surveyed the mass of people he would have to squeeze through before reaching the alley.
Suddenly his heels came off the sidewalk as he was lifted by a mighty force into the stairwell landing. Something sharp and painful jabbed into his right side. A gloved hand covered his mouth while the sharp object dug deeper into his side. He felt the leather on his coat give way to the knife blade.
The point of the blade broke his skin. He felt a trickle of blood run down his side. The man slammed him hard against the wall. Pain screamed through his already injured left shoulder. The hand on his neck was strong, stronger than anyone he had ever felt. His left side was held firmly against the stone wall. He was no physical match for the man who held him.
The man spoke.
A deep low voice with a strong Irish accent.
“No tricks, no yelling. If you ever want to see your pretty little girlfriend again, then you’ll do exactly as you are told. You’re coming with me now. Someone wants to talk to you.”
CHAPTER 39
The man pushed the button on the doorbell again and again. Four times in less than fifteen seconds.
The door was jerked open by a woman who stared at the impatient visitor.
“What’s so damn urgent?”
“Jillian, we have a big problem now. We need to go into the damage control mode right now. Jake Pendleton figured it out. Somehow he figured it out to the last detail. He’s found enough evidence to get the feds involved. What are we going to do?” The man stepped inside.
“Relax, the feds won’t get involved. Jake Pendleton won’t say a word. Ian has been tailing Mr. Pendleton for a while and will bring him here shortly.” Jillian pointed towards a chair. “Have a seat.”
The man hesitantly sat and said, “The feds will get involved. Ian shot one of my men and the medical examiner already called it in.”
“That is a problem, but one I’m sure Ian can fix.”
“Why is Ian running around town? Is that wise? He’s too obvious, too easily recognized. He shouldn’t be out in public.”
“He’s not going anywhere until we wrap this thing up. We need him. He’s experienced in these types of things. You know that better than me. He was your best friend. Haven’t you even seen him since he got here?”
“I caught a glimpse of him the other night in the bar, but I wasn’t able to talk to him. I’ve talked with him on the phone, same as you, swapped emails with him a couple of times. He’s not the same person we grew up with. The years have changed him. He’s colder. Meaner. He scares me.”
“He’s changed, but so have we. We’re not innocent either. When Ian brings him in, I think we will be able to persuade Mr. Pendleton into staying quiet for a while,” said Jillian.
“Yeah, how are you going to do that?”
“I have something he wants, something he desperately wants.”
“What is that?”
Jillian smiled. “His fiancée.”
The man stood up, his hands balled into fists. “I thought we agreed not to involve anyone else. No one else was to be harmed.”
“Circumstances changed.”
“I’ll have no part of this.”
“You’re in this just as deep as anyone else, maybe even more so. You will go along with this. And if Mr. Pendleton and his fiancée have to die, it’ll be for our cause. It’s too late for you to back out now.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it one damn bit.”
Jillian raised her hand. “That’s enough. What’s done is done.”
“Where is she? Is she hurt?”
“No, she’s unharmed. She’s upstairs, tied up in the closet.” Jillian pointed up the stairwell.
* * * The closet was dark, even darker with the sleeping mask over her eyes. Her arms and shoulders ached. Her leg muscles were cramped. Her feet were tied together. Her hands bound behind her back. Straps binding her elbows behind her made her shoulders throb. Duct tape over her mouth. She had been lying there for several hours, long enough for her to lose track of time. Her head pounded, radiating from the bump on the back of her head where she was struck.
She heard sounds in the house, voices, too hushed to understand. The man Jake warned her about, the man with the strange eyes and streaked hair had grabbed her at the Westin as she walked to the ferry.
He’d grabbed her arm and quickly forced her at gunpoint into the underground garage where his Cadillac was waiting. That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up in the dark.
She hadn’t listened to Jake. His hunch was right. The man who came to their room that night really wasn’t a crackpot. But it was too late to warn Jake now—Kaplan would have to handle it alone.
She had no idea where she was, she just knew she was in a house. She could tell by listening to the sounds a house makes. Toilets flushing, water running through the pipes, a refrigerator cycling on and off, the distant sounds of cars and trucks on the street outside. Musty. That musty, older house smell.
Occasionally she heard footsteps on stairs. She detected a slight echo with each step. Two of the steps creaked when stepped on. A door would open. She would sense a change in the darkness, and then the door would close. For hours the footsteps seemed soft. Over time her sense of hearing became more acute.
She heard different footsteps on the stairs. Heavier than before. The first person checking on her must have been a woman, she thought. These footsteps belonged to a man. Maybe the big man was coming back for her. Beth felt a surge of panic.
The door opened. She squirmed to the back wall, heart beat pounding. She heard a voice mutter, “Hold still, it’s okay.” She started crying out of fear.
The sleeping mask was quickly removed. The sudden light blinded her. She kept her eyes closed to a tiny squint, allowing her eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room. The man reached down and jerked the duct tape from her mouth.
She looked up as the shadow leaned in, pulling her to a sitting position. Her eyes were still unable to see anything more than a shadow. He cut her feet and hands and arms free from their bindings. The man had a gentle demeanor, it wasn’t the one who had brought her here.
She sat still, and her eyes slowly adapted to the light. The man knelt down in front of her and in a flash she recognized him. Her eyes lit up and a smile broke through her crying. “Oh, Pat, thank God it’s you.”
Then she remembered what Kaplan had told her.
CHAPTER 40
Jake was held firmly against the wall. Every time he moved, the man pushed the knife blade a little deeper into his side. The pain grew so intense that Jake stood on his toes, arching his side away from the blade.
The man leaned in close to his right ear. “Don’t try anything stupid, Mr. Pendleton. If I had my way you’d already be dead, but someone wants you alive … for now, and that’s how I’m going to deliver you. Unless, of course, you try something stupid. Then you’ll die on the sidewalk. By the time anyone can get to you, it will be too late. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Mr. Pendleton?”
He nodded.
“Good. Now we’re going to take a little walk. Nice and slow.
Calm and relaxed. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Jake heard the click from the hammer of a gun. The big man froze. A voice spoke. A voice Jake had heard once before. The man from the hotel room.
“Let him go, Ian,” the newcomer said.
Jake recalled the name Ian from Donna Greene’s briefing. This has to be the same man—the assassin.
“Sullivan! You son of a bitch. How did you—”
“Let him go, I said.”
“What if I kill him? Right here, right now,” the big man growled.
“Then I’ll kill you. Right here, right now,” the other voice said.
“Can you do that, Michael? Can you kill one of your own?”
“One of my own? You stopped being one of ‘my own’ years ago, Ian. You have betrayed us. You have betrayed everyone. Your pigheaded attitude will be your undoing. I owe you one, though. You warned me and saved my life. Now, I’ll do the same for you. But make no mistake, if you kill him, I will kill you. Now let him go.”
The assassin slowly pulled the knife blade away. Jake felt the blade pressure stop, but the pain was still there. He was bleeding.
Bleeding a lot, he thought. Jake pressed his hand against the cut. The blade had cut deeper and wider than he thought. He felt his bloodsoaked shirt sticking to his skin.
He heard a thud and felt the assassin’s body go limp behind him.
Sullivan said, “Get out of here. Go back to the Westin. Wait for me. Don’t call the police yet, I need to find Ian’s partners and neutralize them. When I do, I’ll come get you and we’ll go to the authorities together.”
Sullivan pushed him hard out onto the sidewalk, not giving Jake a chance to respond.
He took two steps. He looked into the street and saw the multitude of people.
He stood still, almost dazed, as the last few seconds replayed in his mind. It had seemed so quiet, as if they were totally alone.
He turned to speak, “Where—”
Sullivan and the assassin were gone.
He walked slowly south down Bull Street, holding pressure on his wound. He stayed on the sidewalk, paralleling the parade. The marchers disbanded at Madison Square, a square named for President James Madison. He walked into the square, still in a daze, replaying the past few moments over in his head.
He stopped in front of a monument of Sgt. William Jasper, Hero of the Siege of Savannah in 1779. Jake was in a daze. He looked around, wondering which road to take. Trying to get his bearings. He wandered east on Macon Street, his right hand still holding his side. The knife wound throbbed. He released some pressure. The bleeding felt like it had stopped or at least slowed to a trickle. He stumbled on a sidewalk stone that a tree root had pushed up out of place. He grabbed a pole to catch his fall. Honeysuckle draped across the coral colored wall, its blooms full of nectar … and bees. Its sweet smell filled his nostrils.
He reached another square, stopped and looked at the tall spires of a church across the square. People moved in and out of the tall cathedral doors. The steps were lined with parade viewers, starting to break up as the tail end of the parade finally moved past.
Jake could think of only one thing to do.
Police.
Find a police station.
They’ve got Beth.
Find a police station and find it fast.
Even though Sullivan had told him otherwise, Jake made that his resolve.
As he moved through Lafayette Square, he asked passers-by if they knew where a police station was. No luck. He saw an old homeless man sitting on the steps in front of the cathedral panhandling for money.
Jake walked over to him then stepped back. The man’s ragged clothes reeked. “Police station. Do you know where there is a police station?”
The old man looked up at
him, squinting at the sun. “Yeah, sure. Two or three blocks that way.” He pointed north up Abercorn Street. “Right next to the cemetery.”
“Thanks,” Jake said.
The old man stuck out his hand and said, “Hey, buddy, can you spare a dollar?”
He reached into his front pocket, pulled out his money clip and, with his bloody hand, tossed the man a crisp new twenty-dollar bill.
He walked to the corner of Abercorn and Liberty. He looked west, toward Charlotte’s Corner, as he crossed Liberty Street.
That’s when he saw the man Sullivan had called Ian, the assassin from Dallas.
CHAPTER 41
The assassin wasn’t looking in his direction, he was looking down at the sidewalk while he rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. Jake saw him look at his hand as if checking for blood.
He briskly walked halfway across Liberty Street to the median and glanced back. The assassin was looking up, looking in his direction. Jake could tell that the man hadn’t recognized him yet. He was still half a block away from the intersection.
The Savannah Project (Jake Pendleton series) Page 16