by L. T. Ryan
It took me a couple minutes to reach the warehouse. The area was silent and empty. I stopped in front of the semi and leaned against the chrome grill. Bungee cords dangled. My foot caught one and the metal clasp on the end scraped against the pavement.
I heard a whistle behind me, then the shuffling of feet. "What're you doing, Jack?"
I looked over my shoulder and saw Reece standing there.
"Arms up," he said.
I lifted my arms to the side and said nothing. Hoped like hell he'd play the game.
"Place the gun on the hood of the truck."
I did.
"Now turn around."
I turned.
He smiled. "Burnett's going to love this." He took two steps toward me, then stopped, then leaned to his right, like he was looking past the cab of the over-sized truck. Most important of all, he stopped looking at me.
I pulled my shirt up with my left hand and grabbed the pistol with my right. His head moved first, then his body. His arm followed through last. By that time, I had mine extended. I fired two shots. One caught him in the shoulder; the other missed and slammed into the wall behind him with a thud.
He tried to lift his arm but couldn't. He fired anyway. The bullet smashed into the pavement, sending chips of concrete into the air.
I pulled the trigger again, hitting him in the chest. A red stain bloomed from the center of his shirt. I fired again, this time hitting him in the stomach. He bowed back, but didn't go down. I took one more shot and hit him in the forehead. His head snapped back, and then he collapsed onto his knees and fell forward.
I grabbed the gun off the hood of the truck and walked toward the open warehouse. Burnett stood against the back wall. He clutched the rifle across his chest.
"Don't come in here," he yelled.
"Either shoot me or drop it," I said, taking two steps inside the musty room.
Fear and hatred and rage mixed on his face. I wasn't sure if he was going to take aim or piss himself. He did neither.
"We can work this out, Jack," he said.
"No we can't," I said.
"There's tons of money. I can give it all to you."
"Blood money. The money of how many children's souls, Senator?"
"This has nothing to do with that, Jack."
I stopped and lowered my weapon.
He let the butt of the rifle fall toward the floor, holding it by the barrel with his left hand. He held his other hand out and took a couple steps forward, slightly bent at the waist, trying not to look intimidating, I supposed.
"Listen, Jack, there's no reason that you and I-"
"Why'd you do it?" I said.
He paused and tilted his head. "Money."
"What was your plan?"
He nodded and looked over my shoulder. "My boy's on the boat. We planned to sail down south. Hole up for a while and at the same time, a radical group was going to claim they'd kidnapped us. No ransom or any bullshit like that."
"This group," I said, "these are the men you sold the kids to?"
He nodded. "One of them, at least."
"OK. Then what?"
He took a few more steps forward. Stopped and swallowed. "After a few months I'd return home. I'd have to get beaten up a bit, but in the end I'd free me and my boy and make it out alive."
"Why drag your son into it?"
"It's the only way."
"Only way for what?"
He took another step, but this time I held out my pistol to stop him. His hand went up and he took a step back.
"The only way for us to reunite, you see," he said.
"No, I don't see. What do you mean reunite? You and Christopher?"
"Yeah."
This time, I took a step back. "What about the garbage you fed me earlier about how you'd adopt him?"
He smiled and dipped his head an inch. "See, as far as anyone will know, I didn't take him, Jack. Someone kidnapped him, and I risked my life to rescue him. In the process, I was taken as well. But those bastards slipped up and I killed them and got us out alive."
"And you come home a hero," I said. "And everyone will brush off the fact that you'd had an affair with a woman ten years ago and fathered a child with her. And while you'd been abducted, someone came along and killed her."
"Great minds and all that."
I heard the slight sound of shuffling behind me. Burnett smiled and looked over my shoulder. It wasn't much, a second, but it told me plenty.
I dropped to one knee and spun. Saw a man I'd never seen before. He held a gun and aimed it at me. I fired before he did. The bullet hit him in the chest and he fell backward upon impact. I spun again and saw Burnett holding the rifle with both hands, taking aim. I squeezed the trigger and hit him in the right shoulder. He dropped the rifle and staggered backward until he reached the wall.
"You son of a bitch," he yelled.
I crossed the room. He kept sliding along the wall until he found the corner. I grabbed him by his collar and threw him to the ground. Ran up and kicked him from behind.
"Move!" I said.
He scrambled to his knees. Blood poured from his wound, staining his shirt and coating his arm in crimson. There was cursing mixed with yells of pain. We reached the open doorway. I kicked him from behind again, sending him headfirst into the pavement. I walked up behind him and grabbed his collar a second time. Pulled him to his feet and pushed him toward the semi.
"Walk," I said.
"Where're we going?" he said.
"To the truck."
"Jack," he said. "I'll give you anything. Anything you want."
We were next to the cab of the truck. I reached out, grabbed his left shoulder and spun him around.
"Anything?" I said.
"Name it. I'm good for it, Jack."
"Bring Sarah back to life."
"I… I…"
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
I shoved him against the side of the truck's cab. His right shoulder slammed into it and he yelled in pain. I grabbed him by his hair again and dragged him to the front of the truck. Blood from the bullet hole in his shoulder smeared along the white fiberglass. I pushed him back against the chrome grill, then threw an uppercut into his chin. His body slumped to the ground.
There were six bungee cords attached to the truck's grill. They were various lengths and colors and designs. I hooked them all to one side in a straight up and down line, letting one end of each dangle.
Burnett lay on the ground, groaning. I reached down, pulled him up, and hoisted him a foot off the ground. I held him there with one hand, while I strapped the first cord across his shoulder. I looped the cord through the grill a few times to tighten it, then attached it on the other side. I pulled his left arm out and secured it. Then I stretched another cord over his waist, then his thighs and calves. Finally, I secured his right hand.
I took a few steps back and smiled at my handiwork. He was fixed to the grill of the truck, arms out, legs tight together, and his feet off the ground.
"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" he said for the twentieth time.
This time I answered him. "One thing your research didn't tell you about me, Senator. I kill in kind."
"What?"
I ignored him, stepped around the side of the truck, pulled myself up into the cab. Once behind the wheel, I fired the big diesel engine up, and it roared to life like a pride of lions rising for the hunt. I looked around, but didn't see what I needed inside the truck, so I scanned the area around the buildings. Saw a cinder block and knew that would work for my purposes. I got out and ran over to the block. Burnett watched me the entire way back. This time he said nothing.
I hopped back into the cab and put the truck in first gear. It jerked into motion and I steered it in a half circle, then straightened it out so that we were driving away from the kids and Sarah's body. I got the truck to a steady speed and opened the door. I stood in the open doorway, one hand on the wheel, the other on the cinder block. I dropped the block on th
e gas and hopped onto the concrete. My body slammed into the ground hard. I was sure I had a few new scrapes and possibly a broken bone. The sound of Burnett's screams rising above that old diesel engine made it worth it, though. I rolled too far and almost went over the edge into the water. I scrambled to my feet and followed the truck with my eyes.
Its path was taking it closer and closer to the edge, but there was another building that stood out further than the others did. At this point, it was a tossup whether it would hit the building or plunge into the ocean. I watched with heightened anticipation. The truck had veered far enough over that if it hit the building, Burnett wouldn't be smashed into the steel exterior. Finally, the truck passed by and inched closer to the edge of the road. Twenty seconds later, the first tire went over the edge, and then the next. Finally, the big truck teetered on the edge, scraping the pavement and sending sparks into the air. And then it went over. The grill went in first and dove toward the bottom.
I turned and headed toward the kids and Sarah's body. I stopped at the boat and called for Christopher. The boy came above deck. I told him everything was all right. I helped him off the boat and carried him down the stretch of pavement between the warehouses and the ocean.
We reached the kids and Sarah's body as the cops did. All eyes fell on me, and their guns followed.
I set the kid down, then held up my hands. "My name's Jack Noble," I said. "I'm a federal agent. They took my wallet, but if you call Frank Skinner, he'll provide all the information you need." I gave them the number to reach Frank.
They told me to stay put, but I didn't. The boy pointed toward Sarah's body, which still lay on the pavement. Her skin was pale and her lips were no longer blue. Her chest rose and fell in an awkward cadence. She was alive.
Chapter 32
By four p.m. that afternoon, Frank had a private jet waiting for us at an executive airport north of the city. He got the cops off my back and somehow managed to get them to escort us, first to the hospital and then to the airport once Sarah had been cleared.
I had been concerned that she wouldn't be able to return to us. She was still unconscious when they loaded her into the ambulance, and there was the possibility that she'd suffered some brain damage. The kids had kept working on her after I left to take care of Burnett. They didn't give up on her and she came through.
Doc had to pull a few strings to get Sarah out of the hospital, including agreeing to have a traveling nurse accompany us. She was young and pretty and nice to Sarah and the kids. I told her I didn't need any attention. She looked me up and down with a quizzical eye, but agreed to leave me alone.
I fell asleep in less than five minutes after takeoff and didn't wake up until we touched down outside of D.C.
Frank was the first to greet me when I stepped off the plane.
"We're going to blow the doors off this," he said.
I nodded, scanning the lot to see if there were any waiting parents.
"Working on a warrant for Burnett's office and his house and his car and anything else we can get our hands on."
"He's dead," I said.
Frank nodded. "C'mon, Jack, we'll discuss that later."
"What about the kids? Where're their parents?"
"We're taking them back to headquarters first."
Two black SUVs waited at the edge of the runway. The kids rode in one, me, Frank, and Sarah in the other. The nurse tagged along with us.
"Can you take me home?" Sarah asked.
"No," Frank said. "We're dropping the nurse at Dulles, then taking you back to our office. You go home when Doc clears you."
And what he didn't say was when we cleared her, she had to be debriefed and she had to sign a ton of forms that essentially made it illegal for her to talk about anything that had happened since she'd met us.
It took two-and-a-half hours to reach the office. Traffic was a bitch. But it gave us time to get a couple FBI special agents to our office.
Special Agents Duncan and Bishop met us in the lobby. I'd worked with Duncan on a few occasions. He'd been around the block a few times, to say the least. When he saw the kids come through the door, he smiled.
"Almost thirty years in," he said. "Never get tired of a happy ending."
Bishop was new and young and looked to be fresh out of law school. He smiled nervously and asked where he should take the kids to begin the process of reuniting them with their parents.
Frank led them to an interrogation room.
"The boy stays with us," I said.
Duncan frowned. "You know that's not how this works, Noble."
"We know his mother. It'd be better if we did this in person. You can come with us. In fact, I'd like you to be there. A cop, too."
He cocked his head and so did Frank.
"What's going on, Jack?" Frank said.
"Why don't we go now?" I said.
The men agreed. Duncan checked with Bishop and made sure his younger partner could handle the kids by himself.
Traffic had thinned, and it took less than half an hour to reach Tammy Nockowitz's townhouse. Frank pulled into the driveway. We waited two more minutes for a local cop to arrive. We met the cop at the bottom of the driveway and I asked him to watch the boy for a few minutes while we spoke with the mother.
Frank knocked on the door and took a step back. Tammy pulled the door open, looked at the three of us standing there and then looked like she was going to cry.
"What's happened?" she said.
"Tammy," I said. "Christopher's OK."
She fell to her knees and cried.
"His father's dead," I said.
She rocked back on her heels and looked up at us. She bit her bottom lip. Mascara stained her face. She wiped her cheeks with her palms and then brushed strands of loose hair behind her ears.
"How?" she said.
"Some of that's classified," Frank said. "And until it passes through the proper channels, we can't discuss it."
She lifted herself off the floor. "Where's my son? When can I see him?"
"In a minute," Frank said. "Jack, you want to get this going?"
I cleared my throat stepped forward so I was right in front of her. I wanted to look into her eyes. I had to see the look on her face.
"Why'd you agree to it, Tammy?"
A confused look crossed her face and she shook her head. "What?"
"This is your chance," I said. "Tell us now and we'll see what we can do for you."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Noble."
I took a step back, feigning shock. "How do you know my name?" I looked at Frank. "Our names were never given out, were they?"
"No," Frank said with a confused look.
"Tammy?" I said.
Frank placed his hand on my shoulder and leaned in toward me. "What are you getting at?"
"Tammy and Burnett never stopped seeing each other. Isn't that right, Tammy?"
It didn't occur to me until we'd reached the plane that Tammy had been involved with this from day one. She thought Burnett was coming back for her, but in reality, he was trying to have her killed once he realized she'd told us too much.
She shook her head. "No, you got that wrong. Yeah, we had an affair, but that was ten years ago, a onetime thing. I got pregnant and told him, and he wanted nothing to do with me and Christopher."
The look was there. Deception. Burnett wasn't talking about reuniting with Christopher. They'd never been together, thus nullifying the opportunity at a reunion. He meant Tammy. And still, he didn't really mean a reunion. The fact was that they'd never stopped seeing each other. Sure, he wasn't involved in Christopher's life, but the affair he'd had with the boy's mother had stretched on for a decade.
"No, he didn't want the public to find out about you and Christopher, but he still wanted something to do with you. See, being married while having a child with another woman would have been political suicide for Burnett. Continuing to see that woman while remaining married, well he could kiss away any chance he
had of being anything other than a mayor in a town with a population of three people. And he wasn't willing to risk that until now."
"No, no, no," she said. "You got it all wrong."
"Why'd you do it?" I said.
She shook her head. "I didn't do anything."
My voice escalated to a scream. "Why'd you let him take your son?"
"I didn't."
"You staged it so that Pablo hit you on the head. Hell, you even got a little cut out of it, didn't you? Pablo didn't work for the guys in the house. He worked for Burnett. I saw him down in Miami." I stopped and stared at her. When she didn't speak, I continued. "You let Burnett take your son, and then after we'd rescued him, you let him take him again."
"No," she said. "I didn't let him take him again. That's why he had me run off the road. I said I wouldn't do it again."
"Again," I repeated. "You left the dinner with Christopher, but when the paramedics arrived, he wasn't in the car. They even said if he had been, he'd have died."
She covered her face with her hands and sobbed heavily.
"Duncan," Frank said. "Why don't you take her to the car for us?"
Duncan entered the house and eased Tammy's hands to her side and then in front of her. He placed handcuffs around her wrists and guided her by her elbow.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at me.
"I wanted to be a family, Jack. He said Christopher would be OK the first time. They'd treat him well."
"They didn't," I said. "I found him in a dirt pit dug out in a basement."
"And I didn't want this to happen again," she said. "That's why I was trying to talk to you at the dinner. You could have prevented all this."
I shook my head, said nothing. I was done with her. The FBI could take it from there.
Frank told Duncan to wait while he spoke with the police officer. The officer agreed to take Christopher and me back to SIS headquarters, while Frank and Duncan escorted Tammy Nockowitz to jail.
Chapter 33
They gave me a week off to rest my body and clear my head. I spent most of the first day in bed, sleeping for close to sixteen hours, then getting up and going back to bed after only four alcohol-fueled hours. I don't remember what I dreamed about, but I woke up every few hours that night, soaked in sweat, with the overwhelming feeling I'd been drowning. The thought that I'd started suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder crossed my mind, but I brushed it aside. I'd seen and been through far worse than the events of the past week.