“Why would he destroy the only evidence out there that proves his innocence?”
“How was he supposed to know he’d need it?” Art snapped.
“He’s a cop – it should come with the territory,” Marek shot back.
A moment of tense silence stretched between them. Finally, Marek sighed. “Look, I know you and Ethan are close, so I hate to say this, but he is the only one who has motive. He was the heir to a massive fortune, and he had easy access to Mr. Keane. There were no signs of a break-in or a struggle.”
“He wouldn’t kill his uncle. And why would it be unusual if Ethan’s prints were on the gun? Like you said, he was a cop. They probably went to the shooting range together sometimes.”
“I’m not saying he killed him,” Marek said. “I’m just saying what it looks like. We’ve all heard the word around the station, Art. Ethan’s in the wind now. He took off after that meeting he had this morning with the Captain when the shots were fired. The Captain sent him to call for back up, and Ethan just vanished. Now he isn’t responding to our hails on his radio.”
“I know that already,” Art said impatiently. “Why are you telling me this?
“I’m just saying he disappeared faster than my ex-wife when she found out I had ED,” Marek quipped. “If he wasn’t guilty, he’d march right in here and say it. Some are starting to wonder if the shooting was an attempt on Fredericks’ life.”
“That hasn’t been proven yet. What if the shooting was an attempt on Ethan’s life?”
“I’m not so sure, buddy. Two bodies were found in an apartment building across the street where the shots came from. One was the tenant, the other remains unidentified. I did a rush on the rifle prints. Still haven’t gotten anything on one set, but Tannor’s came up. Again.” He paused a heartbeat before adding, “This is starting to smell a lot like that Martinelli case – I mean, how could you forget that one?”
The inflection in Marek’s voice did not go unnoticed by Art. “And like I said, I think it smells like a set up; Ethan was in the diner with Fredericks. There’s no way he could have fired the shots.”
“That’s not all it takes to get a job done, as you well know. Outsourcing kills – it happens all the time. And with the money he was set to inherit, he could afford any price tag.”
“Why would Ethan kill Tobias if he was already going to inherit? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Perhaps he got greedy, didn’t want to wait for the old bugger to die of natural causes. People are living longer now, you know. Maybe he got into financial trouble, started living beyond his means … just look at that condo he lives in. He can’ afford that on a detective’s salary.”
Art felt his blood pressure rising, but he bit down on the string of profanities he wanted to hurl at his colleague through the receiver. “And Fredericks? Why him?”
“Maybe Fredericks found out something. Maybe he met Ethan this morning to tell him to turn himself in. And maybe the unknown assassin was killed because he missed his target; before disappearing, Ethan had to go clean up loose ends. I don’t know, maybe –”
“Sounds like you’ve got an answer for everything,” Art growled. “Is this the kind of talk going around the department? Way to stab Ethan in the back.” He slammed the phone down. It let out a sharp clang and several heads swiveled in his direction. Art gave them all a thunderous look and they turned away.
Bastard traitors. As long as Ethan’s been one of us and you turn on him at the first sign of trouble, even when those signs make no sense.
He knew Ethan wasn’t guilty, but he couldn’t deny that some of the facts were disturbing. How were Ethan’s fingerprints on the weapon that took Tobias’s life and the sniper rifle? It didn’t add up, so the real question was: who was framing Ethan? And why?
But it was his last thought that nagged him the most. That this was beginning to look like Lewis Martinelli all over again.
57 The Terminal Scan
April 23, 1986, 10:43 AM
The beeps and wheezings of mechanical devices gave the room a bizarre ambience. Blake opened his eyes. I’m not dead. Unless Heaven or Hell looked like New York Medical.
“He’s waking up,” a soft voice said from somewhere to his right. A familiar voice.
How did I get here? Then he remembered. Ethan must have brought him.
Two body forms came into his field of vision beside the bed. On his left stood Ethan – his former self in all his glory, and completely whole. To his right was Mary Hansen, dressed in her dark blue scrubs. She reached out and touched his arm. Blake wondered how much Ethan had told her.
“What’s happened to him?” Mary stared down at Blake, but the question was directed at Ethan.
Ethan shrugged. “Like I told the admitting nurse, I don’t know. He started throwing up blood. It wasn’t until I pulled over to help him that I noticed his arm was missing.”
“This is all so strange,” Mary said, worry lines etched on her face. “What happened to you?” This time her question was for Blake.
“Mary,” Blake said, and felt his throat become thick with emotion. She seemed surprised that he knew her name. So it was possible Ethan hadn’t told her everything. “I’m dying.”
“Hold on,” Ethan said quickly, wearing an expression of sudden horror. “How?” Then, “Holy shit – am I going to die too? Is it cancer?”
“No, it’s not cancer. It’s radiation.”
“When?” Ethan’s look of alarm was almost comical. Is that what I really look like with that face?
Blake glanced at Mary. If Ethan hadn’t told her everything, he had to phrase his remarks carefully. “When I went back. I was exposed to a high amount of radiation during the … trip.”
“How do you know it’s radiation poisoning?” Mary asked.
“A Geiger counter told me so. Plus, it all makes sense now. The power source was a nuclear plant.”
“My God. We need to find these people.” Ethan took a step forward.
“They aren’t the enemy, Ethan.”
“From where you’re lying, it looks that way to me!”
“Wallace is a devious bastard. But I can understand why he does what he does. He wants to beat the Russians by any means necessary, and he has good reason.”
Ethan stole a look at Art’s wife, as if gauging her reaction to this conversation, but Blake knew they didn’t have anything to worry about. Mary might not understand what was going on, but she wasn’t the sort of person to erupt in hysterics when a situation went sideways.
“Then why the hell did he send you back?” Ethan asked. “He should have done this himself.”
“He has. Several times, it seems. He’s a dead man walking as we speak.”
“I’m not sure what this is all about, but you’re not in such good shape yourself,” Mary said. “How long ago were you exposed?”
Blake did some mental calculations. “Around ten months. But I was taking some special kind of iodide pills until a few weeks ago.”
Mary gave a nod and moved away from the bed. “If it’s truly radiation sickness, the iodide you took would have already done the most it can. The best that’s left is an injection of DTPA. It won’t cure you if it was a serious exposure, but it might help keep you mobile.” She looked at Ethan and said tentatively, “You know, it sounds like your … friend has gotten himself mixed up in something big. Maybe we should call Art.”
“NO.” Blake and Ethan said in unison.
At Mary’s look of alarm, Blake said, “I don’t want Art dragged into this any more than he already is.”
She frowned at him and opened her mouth to speak, but Ethan chimed in, “He’s right, Mary. I don’t want that either.”
Just then, the door opened and another nurse hurried into the room. “Oh my God, Mary – have you heard?” The nurse turned her worried face to Ethan and Blake, doing a double-take at their near identical appearance.
Mary’s puzzled expression said, Please go on. When the nurse didn’t contin
ue, Mary prodded, “What is it, Cindy?”
“It’s all over the news,” Cindy said, casting another glance at the two men as she went to the small television against the wall and pressed the power button.
The machine clicked on and the first channel that popped up showed a commercial for diamonds. She quickly switched to another one. An episode of He-man and the Masters of the Universe came next, followed by coverage of President Reagan giving a speech. Finally, Cindy stopped on a channel showing two local news anchors.
“… and we’ll go back to our reporter on the scene.”
The shot changed to a red-haired woman standing outside Jo Ann’s Café.
“This is Teresa Burrow, and we’re reporting live near the fashion district where just hours ago, there was a threat on the life of Captain Jacob Fredericks of the NYPD. One known assailant has been found deceased, and a second victim was also found at the scene. Moments ago, an unknown source indicated that a decorated police detective is believed to be part of the assassination attempt.
The coverage shifted back to the news station, and a picture of Ethan in his dress uniform came on the screen for a few seconds. The male anchor helpfully recited Ethan’s name for the viewing audience and continued,
“There has been no official confirmation of that information from the NYPD, but Channel Seven has learned this is the fourth killing connected to Detective Ethan Tannor in recent days. He is also wanted for further questioning in the death of Tobias Keane – which had previously been ruled a suicide – and a known gang member, Alejandro Cortez. If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts of …”
The screen went black as Cindy switched off the TV. She looked at them, her face white. “What’s going on?”
Now Blake knew for certain he was screwing up the timestream. This had not happened before; it didn’t fit anywhere in the loop. How, exactly, Ethan went from being on the run from the Sons of Stalin to public enemy number one in the state, Blake still didn’t know. What he did know was that the game had changed, and it was going to be harder than ever to keep a low profile, especially here in the hospital. Not to mention Ben Wallace’s men, who were still out there on the hunt.
Blake came out of his thoughts and back to the moment. He said to Cindy, “It’s nothing that can be explained quickly.” Then he addressed Ethan. “I didn’t kill Tobias.”
An unsure looked crossed Ethan’s face, and Mary stepped even farther away from the bed. “What about the other stuff?” Ethan asked.
“I already told you about what happened at the café,” Blake said, watching the two women.
Cindy looked like she was about to jump out of her skin. Mary regarded him warily. “What about the Hispanic man?” she asked in a hushed voice.
Blake sighed. He wanted to lie, but years married to a detective made Mary Hansen a human lie detector. “Yes, I did kill Alejandro Cortez.”
Cindy let out a half shriek.
“He was a bad person,” Blake told them quickly. “He tried to kill me. It was self-defense, I swear.” He looked at Ethan. “Alejandro was tailing you. He was going to tell the Russians where you lived.”
A light dawned in Ethan’s eyes and Blake knew he believed what he’d just been told. Ethan had spoken to Art just last night about the gangster gone missing, and that the Russians were after him.
Still, they couldn’t stay here. Mary might keep cool, but he couldn’t say the same for her colleague. Cindy was already shifting toward the door.
“We don’t have a lot of time, Ethan. We need to get out of here and lay low for a while. Mary, get me the injection.”
“Fuck that,” Ethan said. “You listen. No one knows you’re here. Mary isn’t going to tell anyone, and Cindy, I trust you can keep your lips sealed?” Ethan nodded in her direction.
The timid nurse bobbed her head in affirmation.
Mary turned to Ethan and Blake. “It’ll be OK. You’re safe here.”
“I’m going to the station,” Ethan said. “I’ve got to clear my name, or this will get uglier than it already is.”
“I’ll get the syringe,” Mary said, and left the room with Cindy.
“I don’t think it’s safe to stay here,” Blake said after the door closed behind the two women. “Cindy seems like a weak link. She’ll call the cops.”
Ethan brushed off Blake’s concern. “Mary will handle Cindy. You know how convincing she can be.”
Blake smiled reluctantly. Yes, he did. Mary Hansen was one of the most level-headed women he’d known. She had a way of inserting calm into a harried situation. “Art made out real lucky with her,” he said.
“He knows it too,” Ethan chuckled.
Within five minutes she was back, wearing latex gloves and bearing a prepped needle. She went to the bed and motioned for Blake to roll over on his side. He obliged and she pulled up part of his gown to wipe the skin with alcohol. She was about to administer the drug when Ethan spoke.
“We really appreciate this, Mary. Thanks for coming in. I knew I could count on you.”
She smiled up at Ethan and Blake nodded his agreement as well. Then it hit him, like a punch to the jaw from Sugar Ray Leonard. He reached back, grabbing Mary’s slim wrist before she could administer the shot, and stared at Ethan. “Wait, you called her? At home?”
“Well, yeah. She was off work today. I didn’t know who else to trust in the hospital, so I called her for help.”
Holy fuck! It seemed like so long ago he’d had that conversation with Art but Blake remembered the details now. Mary wasn’t supposed to work today, and neither was Art. He’d even teased Art about shopping for coffins on their day off.
If he’d been correct in his assumption that Fredericks’ home phone had been tapped by the Russians, then the same could be true for the Hansen household. Why wouldn’t it be? It wouldn’t be that difficult for them to find out the identity of Ethan Tannor’s partner and friend.
Ethan was scowling at him. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Blake said. “They could be here any minute.”
58 A Few Hooded Men
April 23, 1986, 10:58 AM
Blake hurled himself from the hospital bed. His feet hit the floor and a flood of nausea almost overwhelmed him. He held on to the bed railing until the sensation passed. “Toss me my things,” he ordered, pointing to the pile of clothes in the chair by the window.
By the time Ethan had scooped them up and tossed them over, Blake was already nude. The hospital gown he’d ripped off lay in a heap on the bed.
Mary, who still stood with the syringe in hand, was less concerned with Blake’s naked form than Ethan appeared to be. This wasn’t the first bare-butt individual she’d seen in her lifetime, but her forehead creased with worry. “Who could be here? The police? I didn’t call Art.”
Blake fought to get his underpants on with one arm. “It won’t be the police. We need to leave because he called you.”
“I still don’t know why that’s an issue.” Ethan stood with crossed arms, his voice taking on a defensive tone. “If I hadn’t brought you here, you might have died in the backseat of my car.”
“Her phone was probably tapped,” Blake said, brimming with impatience. “What were your exact words when you called?”
“Tapped? How could they -” Ethan stopped himself, then changed course. “I told her to meet me at the hospital immediately.”
“What were your exact words?” Blake repeated. “Did you say which hospital?” He finished pulling on his pants but left them unbuttoned and picked up his socks.
“I don’t think so; that would have been pointless. Mary knows where she works.”
“That might have bought us a little time, but it won’t take them long to figure out what hospital she works at.”
“Who?” Ethan and Mary said in unison.
Blake sat down and began slipping into his socks. This proved tougher then the pants had been, and he scowled in concentration. “Jesus Ch
rist Ethan, who do you think? The fucking Russians! Give me my boots.”
In quick form, Ethan grabbed the boots and handed them over. Blake didn’t bother untying them, but shoved his feet inside and shoehorned them in with his finger.
He rose, wavering as he stood upright. “Come on, get that shit in me,” he said to Mary, his words coming out in a rush.
She ran around the bed and yanked the top of Blake’s pants down enough to jab the needle in his hip. He didn’t even register the pain but still felt woozy. As soon as the syringe was pulled out, he tugged his shirt over his head and put his arm inside, followed by his nub. After buttoning his pants, he picked up his jacket and started easing into it awkwardly.
“Okay, I’m sorry but we have -” Blake began then froze, one arm halfway through the sleeve of the jacket. “Do you hear that?”
Ethan cocked his head and studied Blake with concern, like he thought his twin was hearing things now. Then his eyes widened; he’d heard it too. “A helicopter.”
“Sounds like more than one, but I’m not sure.”
“Maybe it’s Wallace?” Ethan asked.
“Were you messing with the watch?”
“No, I have it right here.” Ethan pulled it from his pocket and frowned as if to say, How are the two connected?
The sound of machine gun fire exploded, surrounding the building from all angles. Panicked voices could be heard down the hall. Ethan pulled out his gun.
“It’s not Wallace. Give me my gun.” Blake looked at Mary. “You need to hide. Get into the bathroom.”
Ethan’s face went blank. “It’s still on the floorboard of the Mustang.”
Shit! They were up against a force with numbers unknown and all they had was one gun between the two of them. They were like rats trapped in a maze. The solution came like an epiphany: rats! And that was exactly how they would get out.
And the Tide Turns Page 31