Smackdown walked with one shoulder dragging against the wall. He was sweating furiously but shivering. The heroin had given him the eyes of a wild man. His long ratty hair was a greasy, mangled mess hanging down over his face.
He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind him. Couldn’t feel the big shadow sliding up his backside.
But then he heard a voice that sent chills circulating up and down his spine, though he was certain it was simply one of the dozens of voices in his head that had combined into a chorus to form his current state of insanity.
The voice said simply, “Greetings from Mr. Jupiter.”
Smackdown was briefly aware of a cool metal ring pressed to the flesh at the back of his skull. Then his head exploded.
* * *
Soji had staggered through the desert to the highway and then managed to hitch all the way back to LA. A VW bus dropped him at his apartment. He didn’t know what time it was but knew it was late. He eagerly sorted through the mail that was dumped through the slot in the door. But right away it was obvious there was no package from Smackdown. No money. No hundred grand. No massive payday.
Smackdown was a liar. Soji was done with him. He’d almost gotten killed because of Smackdown. Better to cut his losses and just move on.
Soji found a bottled water in the fridge, popped off the cap and took a long swallow. Then he sat on the dirty floor in one corner of his dirty kitchen, the water bottle sweating on the warped tile between his legs. He would give himself half an hour to catch his breath and get over the disappointment of the hundred grand. Then he would shake off the dust, grab a camera and stalk out into the night to do his job, to go on scratching out a living off the glitz and sleaze of Hollywood.
CHAPTER 118
They left before dawn, the Hummer turning onto the highway from the motel parking lot and heading west. The highway was quiet and empty. The desert landscape spread out on both sides of the road like a vision from a dream. Hour after hour and hundreds of miles of stark barren nothingness.
They drove beneath the stars until the first hint of sunrise appeared in the rearview mirror. They drove in silence, Raj and Penny and both kids asleep in the back, Lindsay curled into a ball in the passenger seat, her head against the window, eyes closed. Archer watched the horizon, waiting for the cityscape of Los Angeles to sprout up from the desert floor far in the distance.
Daylight arrived. The highway widened and traffic thickened and slowed as they neared the outer reaches of the city. Archer called Kline when they were an hour away. Kline suggested a place for them to meet.
Raj awoke from time to time, groaning, still in tremendous pain. His sister popped the lid off a bottle of pain meds and washed the pills down his throat with a short swallow of water. She whispered to him, comforting him. Combed her fingers through his short hair. Cooled him with a damp cloth.
Ramey and Wyatt slept most of the way into the city. They awoke when Archer bumped the Hummer off the freeway and jinked through a circuitous maze of intersections and surface streets.
Archer turned down a wide, paved lane into a city park. Acres of lush green grass surrounding a body of water too small to accurately call a lake and too big to classify as a pond. Trees in full bloom dotted the landscape. There were plenty of people out enjoying the park on a beautiful, sunny, Southern California day. Walking their dogs. Lounging in the shade. Reading. Tossing footballs and Frisbees. Joggers dashing down paths along the perimeter of the water.
Archer spotted a dark sedan with government plates idling in the shade of a copse of oaks. He parked the Hummer behind the unmarked car and climbed out.
The back door of the car opened. Kline swung his legs out. He stood slowly and gingerly with the aid of an aluminum crutch under each arm.
“What happened to you?” Archer asked.
Kline shrugged.
“Sometimes this job can be hazardous to your health.”
“You look like hell.”
“Thanks for the love. Where is Lindsay?”
“She’s here. She’s safe.”
“You did well, Archer.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Kline nodded. “Bring Lindsay out here,” he said. “I think she’ll want to hear this too.”
Archer turned and signaled her with his hand. Lindsay pushed her door open and walked toward them, the Dodgers cap pulled down low over her brow. She was still feeling unsure about the reality of the world no longer being a hostile, dangerous place for her.
The three of them stood in the dappled shade of gently swaying branches.
“It’s good to see you again, Lindsay,” Kline said.
“It’s good to be seen. Feels good to be alive.”
“I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”
“No, you certainly can’t.”
“Well, the worst is behind you.”
“What happened to Dunbar?” Archer said.
Kline replied simply, “Let’s take a walk.”
The small lake formed a cove where the water narrowed at one end of the reservoir. A wooden footbridge arched over the water from shore to shore. They moved toward the bridge, Kline doing most of the talking.
“There is good news and bad news,” Kline said.
Archer flicked his gaze at Lindsay first, then frowned at Kline.
“Good news first,” Archer said.
“OK. Lindsay is safe. There is no more bounty on her head. Dunbar’s offer has been withdrawn. The threat against Lindsay is over.”
“And the bad news?” Lindsay said.
They stopped in the middle of the footbridge, their silhouettes reflected on the water five feet below.
Kline glanced away, staring out across the water toward a middle-aged man paddling a kayak. He cleared his throat.
“Gaston Dunbar has escaped.”
Lindsay gasped, “What?”
“What are you talking about?” Archer asked.
Kline pursed his lips, still not turning to face them.
“It’s complicated.”
“Is that why you have the crutches?”
Kline hesitated a beat, then nodded.
“He put together a brilliant plan,” Kline said. “In hindsight, it’s clear he never had any intention of giving up the bodies or going out by the needle. He was patient, and his escape plan was well thought out and ingenious. We still don’t know how he pulled it off, and I’m not sure we ever will.”
Lindsay squatted beside the handrail and put her face in her hands. She shook her head slowly side to side. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “After all this time and pain, he is free again.”
“What are you doing to find him?” Archer said.
“Everything we can, but again, it’s complicated. We made the decision to announce that he had committed suicide for a number of reasons, first and foremost being that we had to get his money off the table, make certain the public was aware that the deal is off. We had to put the word out that the five hundred million was no longer up for grabs. It was an effort to get the mob off the streets, and we also had to take the media into serious consideration. Because if we told the truth the media would chew us up, and the governor would have no shot at reelection. It came down to his call. Dunbar was smart enough to foresee all of this. He used our own weaknesses against us. We will continue to look for him, but we have to be careful how the search is conducted. Neither the media nor the general public can ever know that we let him slip away. Too many heads would roll.”
“Where is his money?” Archer asked.
Kline shook his head. “We never found it.”
“So he’s free and still has the five hundred million?”
“We will find him. And we will find the money.”
“Save it,” Archer said. “You couldn’t find your own asshole if you’re thumb was already shoved three inches up it. All of your credibility has flown out the window.”
“All we need is time.”
&
nbsp; Lindsay stood and placed both hands on the rail. She stared down at water bugs scuttling across the glassy ripples.
“Do you really believe I’m going to be safe now?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Kline answered.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Dunbar doesn’t care about you. The bounty was simply a tactic. It was a distraction. This was never about having you killed. This was entirely about orchestrating his escape from prison. He needed all our energies focused on protecting you. And his ace card was the secret location of Sidney and Robin. This was nothing but a devious chess match to him.”
“And he won,” Archer said.
“For now, perhaps,” Kline replied.
“I’ll never be able to sleep. Never again,” Lindsay said.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Kline told her. “He’ll never show his face again, Lindsay. You’ve heard the last of Gaston Dunbar.”
She shook her head. “As long as he’s alive, and as long as he’s out there in the world, roaming free and unaccounted for, I’ll never be able to feel safe.”
Kline nodded. “I understand. And I’m sorry for that.”
Lindsay turned to Archer and pressed the side of her face against his chest.
“What do we do now?” she asked him.
Archer kissed the top of her head, then glared hard at Special Agent Kline.
“Now we go after him,” Archer said.
CHAPTER 119
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
It was her third full day on her own and she decided to enjoy it. The city of Amsterdam was truly beginning to grow on her. This was her first visit, but she planned to hopefully return someday soon and catch the museums and check out the local tours and the nightlife. Lindsay spent the morning shopping. She strolled through the boutiques and bakeries, browsing past flower kiosks on the street. Strolled along the canals and watched the sleek boats in the glassy water. She drank expensive coffee and watched the people crisscross down the sidewalks and slink across the stone bridges spanning the canals.
She ate an early lunch at a brasserie overlooking the water. Motor scooters and tiny European cars sputtered by on the narrow brick streets. She sipped coffee and stared at an old man seated on a stool with an easel, painting a landscape in acrylics. He wore a long, tangled beard and a blue beret, and he seemed lost in a world of his own imagination.
Lindsay answered her cell phone and spoke briefly. She smiled to herself. She had a dinner date. They had agreed to meet at Café Roux. She stowed the cell away in her handbag and strolled past elaborate displays in clothier shop windows filled with the latest fashions from Milan.
Café Roux had been suggested to them by the deskman at the hotel where they were staying. Their previous meal there had been exactly one week ago. Lindsay looked forward to dining there again tonight. She glanced at her watch and decided to get there early and enjoy a glass of wine while she waited.
She passed under a honey-colored stone arch and emerged into the courtyard of what had been a 15th century convent. The bricks that paved the walkway were hundreds of years old. The former convent was now the Grand Hotel, a gothic edifice covered with a classical baroque façade.
The interior of Café Roux glowed in hues of pink and gold, sinuous flowing lines in the marble, glazed glass sconces and chairs framed in ebony. The windows faced the Oudezijds Voorburgwal canal, warm light streaming in and dappling the table settings and marble with golden highlights.
Lindsay was seated, and a waiter promptly delivered her favorite vintage of red to her table. She swirled the wine in a stemmed glass and watched the graceful water traffic on the canal. She sipped wine and glanced occasionally at her watch.
Then she saw Archer come through the entrance of the restaurant. He stopped to speak to the maitre d’. Lindsay raised her hand very femininely over her head.
Archer offered a gesture of recognition. He weaved through the tables on the dining floor and glided up alongside her chair and kissed her neck.
“You’re almost late,” she said, smiling demurely.
“I think you’re almost drunk.”
“Not even close. My first glass. I’m just getting started.”
Archer took a seat and glanced at the view beyond the canal glowing in the early evening light.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said and touched his hand across the tablecloth.
“Has it been three days already?” Archer said.
She nodded.
“Have you ordered?” he asked.
“Of course not. I waited for you, though I’m starving.”
“Good thing. That would have been terribly rude of you.” Archer winked at her.
Lindsay smiled, then leaned over the table to peck him on the lips.
The sounds of the restaurant hummed around them.
Lindsay stared at him expectantly. Waiting.
“So…” she said at last.
Archer took a small sip of wine. Then set the glass down and turned it in place. Turned his eyes to her. He held her gaze for a long moment. Finally he nodded.
“I spoke to Kline shortly before I called you earlier. He confirmed it. The DNA is a perfect match. He called me directly from the lab in LA. They’ve worked around the clock. The bodies are definitely Sidney and Robin. No doubt about it.”
Lindsay closed her eyes and held back the tears. She bowed her head. Pressed her hands together. Touched them to her face as if in prayer.
“The guessing games are over,” Archer said.
Lindsay let out a slow, deep breath. She opened her eyes and dabbed away a single tear with the tip on an index finger.
“Thank God,” she said. “I thought this day would never come.”
Dappled amber light shimmered on the tablecloth, rippling in the cut crystal of their wine glasses.
“This is it, then. Our last night in Amsterdam,” she said.
Archer nodded.
“And you’re sure you won’t reconsider coming back with me? Perhaps we can find a way to make it work,” she said, hope shining in her glassy eyes.
Archer studied his hands.
“Nothing has changed since our last talk,” he said. “We both know I’m not what you need. You have a family to think about. I’ve carved out a rather bohemian existence for myself. An uncomplicated life that suits me. I’m only a phone call away if you ever need me, but let’s leave it at that.”
Lindsay wiped away another tear. She nodded. Squeezed his hand. Pressed her lips to his one last time.
“Thank you,” she said, “for seeing this through to the end.”
Archer winked again.
“So, let’s do this,” she said. “We have what we came for. I don’t want to waste another minute.”
“Whatever you say,” Archer replied.
They left cash on the table for the wine and exited Café Roux without ordering. They strolled hand in hand the several blocks to where his rented Peugeot was parked at the curb. He started the car and peeled into traffic.
They departed the urban geography of Amsterdam for the picturesque rural landscape of the surrounding countryside. The Peugeot sped down the A2 for more than sixty kilometers before exiting toward Waardenburg. The sleek sports car hugged curve after curve through the darkly forested farm and pastureland. A light mist began to fall as sunset swiftly approached.
They turned onto a narrow dirt lane that wound for several kilometers through dense trees with branches that formed a thick canopy over the road. The Peugeot’s headlights cut like a saber through the deepening gloom.
Archer flicked on the wipers to whisk away the mist. Lindsay placed her hand on his in the glow of the instrument panel. They hadn’t spoken the entire hour’s drive from Amsterdam.
The dirt lane stopped at a crude metal gate covered in vines of ivy. Archer set the handbrake, took the transmission out of gear, and trotted through the mist to open the lock
. He swung the gate wide, then returned to the car and pulled through.
A half-mile farther on, the Peugeot arrived at the circle drive at the front of a quaint lake house with an enviable view of the water.
Archer again set the handbrake and killed the lights. The glow of the instrument panel dimmed when he took the key from the ignition. He glanced over at her, her face partially obscured by shadow.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked.
Lindsay was silent for a long moment. Then she turned her eyes to him and nodded.
“I’m ready,” she said.
They followed a footpath to the front steps of the lake house. Drapes were drawn over the windows and there was no evidence of lights on anywhere inside. They stood on the porch and glanced around beyond the lawn to the fog pressing in from the forest. Archer knocked on the front door. The same simple code as always.
They heard movement inside. Leather soles scuffing on a wood floor. The rhythmic thump of a cane on the warped planks. A moment later they heard the metallic clunk of the dead bolt turning. Then the door opened.
Raj stood silhouetted against the dimly lit interior. He stood with one hand on the door, one hand on the pewter grip of his walking cane. He motioned them inside with a dip of his head. Archer had phoned ahead from the road, letting Raj know they were on the way.
The house was mostly dark. Dim, fading light from outside glowing through the long thin gaps between the vertical blinds over the back windows.
There was no effort at conversation as Raj led them past a massive fireplace built from local flagstone. A narrow hallway with a hardwood floor led to a closed door with a low header. Raj opened the door and the three of them ducked through into the darkness of a narrow, unlit flight of concrete stairs. The air grew chill and musty as they descended into the basement. At the bottom of the stairs was a closed door. Raj nudged open the door with the rubber knob at the bottom end of his cane. Archer and Lindsay followed him inside.
72 Hours (A Thriller) Page 27