Jake crouched low and darted the remaining way across Liberty, using other pedestrians to screen him from the assassin’s view. He stayed crouched while he moved swiftly down the brick sidewalk allowing the azalea bushes to provide cover. He looked up Abercorn. He saw the end of the parade less than a hundred feet from him. The fire trucks blared their horns and sounded their sirens signifying the end. He took off running in a full sprint.
As he approached the southwestern corner of Colonial Park Cemetery, his cell phone rang. He looked at the number … Beth.
He stopped at the corner and quickly flipped open his phone. It’s about time.
“Beth, are you all right? Where are you? Did they hurt you?”
He strained his head around in search of the man called Ian.
A woman’s voice answered. A voice with a slight Irish lilt. “This isn’t Beth and if you ever want to see her again you’ll do exactly as I say.”
“Who is this? Where is Beth? What have you done to her?”
“She’s safe for now and unharmed. If you want her to remain that way, listen carefully and do as I say.”
His pulse raced. “Not until I know she’s alive. Let me talk to her.”
“No! We’re not negotiating here. You’re in no position to negotiate. You’ll just have to believe me,” the woman said.
He stood still, staring at the cemetery. Seeing nothing. He needed proof that Beth was still alive. The woman wasn’t cooperating, she wouldn’t let him talk to Beth. Why?
He had an idea, not a good one, but maybe one that would work.
“Who is this? What’s your name?” he asked.
The woman replied, “You can call me Jillian. Now are you going to do as I say or not?”
“Okay, Jillian. Use Beth’s phone. Take a picture of her, then send it to me. I’ll know she is still alive when I receive the picture. Then call me back and I’ll do what you ask.”
The phone was silent. After ten seconds of silence the woman said, “I don’t see that a picture would hurt. I’ll do it. This is all you get, though. After this, if you don’t do exactly what I tell you, she will die. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“I’ll call back in a few minutes.”
His phone went dead.
He closed it and put it back in his pocket. Then a hand grabbed his sore left shoulder. The hand pulled him backwards, spinning him to the left. One brown and one blue eye stared back at him.
The assassin.
Ian.
CHAPTER 42
At that moment Kaplan was on the other side of Abercorn Street watching. He saw the man reach out for Jake. He called out but the blasts of noise from the fire trucks drowned out his yells. Then it was too late. The big man had Jake, holding him by the shirt with both hands.
From the description Jake had given him the day before, he knew this was the man from Dallas. But even more enlightening was the manner the big man operated—it was painfully clear this man was a professional.
He’d been following Jake and the assassin since Barry’s Pub, stayed behind the pursuer through downtown. He wasn’t close enough to help when the assassin crept up on Jake in front of Starbucks, but saw Jake escape. Kaplan caught glimpses through the parade floats, but was on the wrong side of Bull Street while Jake eased past the storefronts at Charlotte’s Corner.
When Jake was grabbed and pulled into the stairwell next to Saints and Shamrocks, Kaplan tried to cut through the parade but couldn’t find an opening. But he’d seen the other man come down the steps and place a gun behind the head of the man holding Jake.
His first instinct had been to mount a rescue attempt to free Jake. But now the odds had changed.
Kaplan watched and waited for an opportunity.
He saw a gap in the parade, just big enough to allow him through. He darted across the street and pushed through the revelers.
He eased close enough to hear the men talking. That’s when he heard the assassin’s name … Ian. The other man was called Sullivan, Michael Sullivan. He could see both of them. Their appearances were strikingly different, yet there was still a slight resemblance. It must be an Irish trait.
After he knocked Ian on the head, Sullivan moved fast, pulling the assassin up the stairs.
Kaplan moved backwards for a better vantage point and saw Sullivan putting the limp figure into a chair. Then Sullivan bolted across the patio and out of sight. Kaplan turned and saw Jake stagger down Bull Street.
He dashed up the stairs to see where Sullivan had gone. There was no sign of him. Revelers on the Knights of Columbus patio were staring at Ian slumped in the chair. Then they looked over at Kaplan. He figured Sullivan had just placed the unconscious man in a chair and escaped across the patio to the exit on Liberty Street. Kaplan ran over to the railing and looked down at the crowd of people on Liberty Street. Sullivan was nowhere in sight.
He turned around and leaned back against the railing, palms down flat to support himself. He glanced over at the table where Ian was sitting and watched as the assassin started to regain consciousness.
The man’s head wobbled, and then straightened. He placed his hand on the back of his head, and then looked at his palm. Kaplan watched as he shook off the pain. The man got out of his chair and moved slowly toward the stairwell.
Kaplan kept his distance behind him, following him down the stairs and out onto Bull Street. Jake had already wandered out of sight. The assassin walked across the street and stopped at the corner.
After several seconds of standing there looking up and down Liberty and Bull streets, the assassin headed east on Liberty.
Kaplan followed the man, sure that the assassin would eventually lead him back to Jake.
Kaplan was the first to see Jake standing at the corner of Liberty Street and Abercorn Street talking to someone on the phone. He’d hoped the assassin didn’t see Jake, but he knew he had when the man’s pace increased and he darted across Abercorn Street about three feet behind a fire truck.
Kaplan yelled as loud as he could to Jake but at that same moment the fire truck blasted out its deafening siren, completely drowning out his voice.
In a move so quick it surprised Kaplan, Jake shoved the assassin in the chest while hooking his right foot behind the man’s leg. The move caught the man off guard. Jake knocked his grip loose and the assassin fell backwards, landing flat on his back on the sidewalk. The last thing Kaplan saw was Jake jumping over a wrought iron fence into a cemetery.
CHAPTER 43
Adrenaline pumping, he ran toward the southwest corner of Colonial Park Cemetery. The sidewalks were crowded, too crowded for him to get away from Ian. His only escape was through the cemetery.
He saw an empty park bench just outside the fence. He ran hard and fast, landing one foot on the bench and leaping high to grab a tree limb. He swung himself over the fence, barely clearing its pointed iron spears. He let go of the limb once clear of the spears and landed face down inside the cemetery. His left shoulder screamed with pain as did his right side. The move pulled the knife wound open and he felt warm blood ooze down his side.
Instinctively, he clutched his side as he got to his feet and started running again. Stumbling past dozens of visitors reading gravestones and markers, marveling at the dates, Jake ran, looking over his left shoulder for signs of the assassin following him over the fence. His pulse quickened—so did the blood flowing from his side. He felt the warmth of the fresh blood on his already soaked shirt.
Jake hurried down an asphalt path to the center of the cemetery where he stopped for the first time. Dazed, he looked around for an exit, he saw two. One on Oglethorpe Street about midway down the fence row and the other in the northwestern corner of the cemetery, where Oglethorpe crossed Abercorn Street. The old man on the church steps had said the police station was next to the cemetery, so Jake stood there scanning for the station.
Winded and in need of a rest or, at least, a chance to catch his breath, he leaned against a sto
ne bench and stared back across the cemetery. No sign of the assassin. He thought about Beth. Vision blurred legs wobbly—he doubled over until the wave of nausea passed.
Why hadn’t the woman named Jillian called back? In all the excitement and noise, he could have easily missed the ringing. He checked his phone. No missed calls.
Jake spotted a flagpole atop a large brick building that lent the appearance of a municipally owned facility. The police station.
The way to the exit was unsafe. The assassin was walking up the sidewalk towards the same corner, looking at him with a grin on his face.
He knew he couldn’t outrun the man to the exit by the police station but he could outrun him to the side exit on Oglethorpe Street. Running to the far side of several ancient burial vaults, Jake looked back towards the police station. He ducked behind the Graham Vault, a vault that had once held the remains of Major General Nathaniel Greene.
A large crowd had gathered between Jake and the side gate. Using them as a screen, he ran out the exit. He ducked low and ran across Oglethorpe, crossing both lanes. The large azalea bushes in the median and the shrubs on the north side of the street hid him from Ian as he hurried west back toward the police station.
The assassin passed him in the opposite direction on the other side of the street, still looking for him inside the cemetery. When the man turned his head toward him, Jake ducked out of sight below the bushes. The man turned back around and Jake ran west toward the corner.
What he saw when he looked at the building flooded him with disappointment and panic. It wasn’t a police station at all, it was a fire station. And it was locked up tight.
Looking back down Oglethorpe, realizing the police station must be back the way he came, Jake saw the assassin crossing the street and cutting off his access. Luckily the man wasn’t looking in his direction, which gave him a few short seconds to seek cover before the man turned his head and spotted him.
Running north on Abercorn toward Oglethorpe Square he stopped short at an alley. He guessed he could move east down the alley until he was past the cemetery, then double back to find the police station. It was a good plan—in theory.
CHAPTER 44
Kaplan followed the assassin, the man Michael Sullivan called Ian, around the perimeter of the cemetery. He watched Jake run toward a side exit. Ian, in turn, ran toward Jake but appeared to have lost him in the crowd. Kaplan saw Jake cross Oglethorpe Street and duck below the bushes. When Ian crossed the street, Kaplan stayed back and watched him as he walked away from Jake. Jake went back west. Ian turned east.
He followed Ian. His worst fears were becoming reality. He had explained it all to Beth. There must be some connection between Annie and Pat McGill—they were from the same town in Ireland and were close to the same age. It was too much of a coincidence. But what was their connection, if any, to the crash? And how did the assassin fit in?
Beth was supposed to meet him in front of Barry’s Pub but she never showed up. He’d called the hotel but she wasn’t in her room. She had given him her cell phone number, but she wasn’t answering that either.
That left only two scenarios. One, Jake told her not to meet with them and she just didn’t bother calling back, unlikely. Or two, something bad had happened to Beth. His instincts told him something had happened to Beth. Something very, very bad.
Kaplan followed the assassin down the sidewalk. His eyes widened in shock as the man stopped at the house in the middle of the block. The man named Ian looked around then ascended the steps to the front door.
Standing across the street, partially hidden behind a large live oak, he stared at the man, his hands clenched into fists. Mixed with a shattered sense of betrayal and bitter disappointment, he could think of only one thing … find Jake. Find Jake before it was too late.
His eyes bleak, he saw the assassin twist the doorknob. Nothing happened. The man banged on the door. A few seconds later a man opened the door and the assassin walked in. The other man leaned out of the doorway, looked around, then retreated inside. The face was one Kaplan had seen before.
A face he would not forget.
Kaplan ran back to the corner, out of sight of the residence, then turned north on Abercorn.
He pulled out his phone, pressed the talk button, then scrolled down the previously called numbers until he reached the one for the Westin. He hit the call button, and when the operator answered, he asked for her room.
The phone rang and rang. After the tenth ring, he hung up and redialed the hotel. “Westin Savannah, how may I direct your call?”
After three minutes of explaining, he got what he was after. He punched in the ten-digit number and pressed talk.
He wasn’t a religious man but he prayed out loud. “Please, God, let her answer, Jake’s life depends on it.”
One ring. Two rings. Three. Then he heard a voice answer the phone.
“Carol Martin.”
CHAPTER 45
Jake walked down the alleyway, trying to process everything that had happened. His thoughts bounced from the plane crash to the words Donna Greene said about the events in Dallas. The man from Dallas was here, a foregone conclusion.
He thought about the stranger who was in his room that night and how that same man had saved him from a killer just a few moments ago. How could he have been so stupid as to let the assassin catch up to him again?
Beth. His worries returned to Beth. Why hadn’t the woman called back with the picture of Beth?
He pulled out his cell phone and checked for missed calls again. None.
He felt light-headed and leaned against an old green Chevrolet Blazer parked in the alleyway. He had been operating on pure adrenaline—and it was wearing thin. He was losing blood and getting weaker. He needed to stop the bleeding. He needed to rest.
After a couple of minutes his head cleared and he walked on down the alleyway, pausing at Lincoln Street. Looking south he could see the cemetery and the gate he’d run out of trying to escape from his pursuer. An old couple walked by the exit, the woman holding the man by the elbow, the old man using his cane as they strolled down the street. An old concrete street sign with its faded lettering leaned against a telephone pole. He stopped and looked for signs of anyone pursuing him. To the north there were hordes of revelers, but no sign of the big man called Ian.
His left shoulder ached and the pain in his side was overwhelming. He still had his right hand pressed against the wound. He let off pressure and felt the blood oozed out again. A wave of nausea hit him but he fought it off. He knew he needed medical attention but first he had to find Beth.
His cell phone rang. Beth.
He pulled the phone out of his coat pocket while he continued east down the alleyway. He glanced at caller ID but didn’t recognize the number. He was expecting a call back from Beth’s phone.
He flipped open the phone. “Jake Pendleton.”
“Jake, it’s Gregg Kaplan. We need to talk, it’s urgent. Where are you?”
“I don’t really know. Somewhere downtown near a cemetery. Gregg, that man I told you about … he’s been chasing me. He caught me a couple of times but somehow I got away. They got Beth, Gregg … they got Beth. Call the police.”
“Calm down, Jake—I know. I’ve been following you and the man chasing you. I followed him until he went inside a house,” Kaplan said, talking fast. “Tell me where you are. Find a street corner and tell me where you are and I’ll find you.”
At that same moment, Jake saw a familiar face smiling at him from a balcony overlooking the alleyway. A beautiful woman with auburn hair and deep green eyes waved at him. Annie Bulloch, Kaplan’s girlfriend.
“Gregg, I found a place for you to meet me.” His voice slurred a little with his exhaustion. “I see your girlfriend. I’ll be at her house. Meet me here.”
“Jake, wait—”
Nausea overwhelmed him. He lowered the phone to his side and flipped it shut, raised his left hand to wave at Annie. The nausea passed, but his shou
lder hurt even more. His right hand still clutched his side. He heard her call to him.
“Inspector Pendleton.”
“Ms. Bulloch.”
“Please call me Annie. You look terrible, are you okay?”
“No, as a matter of fact I’m not. I need your help.”
“Certainly, come on inside and let me get you something. Just come through the back gate,” she said.
He opened the cypress gate from the alleyway, walked through and closed it behind him. The back of the house was simple, a narrow red-brick structure with a garage on the ground level and two identical balconies, one directly above the other, on the second and third floors.
The Savannah Project (Jake Pendleton series) Page 17