Blood Trust jm-3

by Eric Van Lustbader

  They were about to knock on yet another door when her cell buzzed. Having called Jack several times, leaving voice mails as detailed as she dared, she hoped it was him as she checked the caller ID. It was Rachel’s home number. It was an odd occurrence for her sister to call during working hours. Signaling to McKinsey to continue, she stepped several paces away and answered the phone.

  “Nomi?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She wondered how one word could carry such pain and heartache.

  “Rachel, what is it?”

  “It’s Larry.” Her husband.

  “Is he okay? Has he been in an accident?”

  “You could say that.” Rachel gave a shuddering laugh that collapsed into a fit of sobbing.

  “Rachey, for God’s sake, is he okay?”

  “You know, for once in my life I don’t give a shit.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Hang on. I’ll be right over.”

  Closing the phone, she beckoned to McKinsey, who was already coming away from the door, shaking his head.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s Rachel. There’s an emergency.”

  “Is she hurt?”

  “Yes, but not in the way you mean. I’ve got to get to her house.”

  McKinsey took one look at her pinched, white face and said, “I’ll drive you.”

  “I can—”

  “The fuck you can,” he said. “I haven’t seen your hands shake like that since the night we spent doing Jell-O shots.”

  * * *

  JACK REACHED out, grabbed Paull, and hauled him to his hands and knees.

  “Those shots came from where Alli’s hiding,” he said as they crabbed their way toward the brow of the ridge.

  But Paull pulled at him. “This way,” he said, moving off to their left.

  In this direction, the ridge was high, wilder, rockier. From the moment they slid over the top they were exposed, but they tumbled over without having their heads blown off, scrambled down the other side, a steep drop off that pitched them off their feet. It was impossible to keep their equilibrium as they tumbled head over heels. Jack tried to roll, but they had gained too much momentum. All he could do was relax his body in order to decrease the risk of breaking an elbow or a rib.

  The bottom was even rockier than the ridgeback itself, and for a moment the two men lay stunned, their breathing ragged and irregular. Then Jack coughed heavily and rolled over. Paull was on his knees, head wagging slowly back and forth while he tried to focus his eyes.

  “Come on!” Jack said.

  Paull whipped his semiautomatic off his back and fingered the trigger. He nodded and they struck out through the dense brush and stands of trees to where the boulder marked the spot where Alli was hiding. Jack signaled and they split up, approaching the boulder from either side. Jack wondered why all the firing had stopped and was now acutely wary of a trap. But the thought of Alli spurred him on.

  Both men came around the boulder’s blocky sides at once. Alli stood up when they appeared. She wasn’t alone. Beside her was Thatë, grinning like a lunatic. He was armed with a handgun and an AK-47.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said with a jocularity Jack found eerie. “It took you long enough to get here.”

  “Alli, are you okay?” Jack said.

  “She’s fine, Jack.” Thatë raised an arm and six heavily armed men appeared from out of the forest.

  Paull was apoplectic. “I told you. Godammit to hell, I told you.”

  * * *

  “HE’S LEFT me, Nomi. Left me and the kids.”

  “What? Just like that?”

  “He’s got a girl—a girl, Nomi! Maybe twenty-two or -three. Jesus!” Rachel ran a hand through her hair. She was, as usual, dressed impeccably, in a Michael Kors black-and-white polka-dot dress. Gold rings on her fingers, diamond studs in her ears, and a string of black pearls around her neck. She wore a pair of suede Christian Louboutin high heels. “You read about these things happening all the time—even to women you know—but, God, you never think it’ll happen to you.” Tears squeezed out of her eyes. “It’s like getting a terminal diagnosis.”

  Naomi led Rachel into the living room and sat her down on one of the severe Italian sofas. McKinsey was outside, waiting in the car.

  “No, it’s not, Rachey.” She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “And how do you know how old she is?”

  “Because the fucker showed me photos of her! Can you fucking believe it? He’s proud of her, wanted to show her off.”

  “A twinkie? I wouldn’t have thought it of Larry.”

  Rachel groaned. “If only! She’s in her twenties and has a law degree from Harvard, which means she’s both younger and smarter than me.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Naomi looked around the huge living room, filled with everything money could buy—carved Lalique crystal, a Calder sculpture, paintings by De Kooning, Basquiat, and Richter that would grace the walls of any museum of contemporary art. And then there was the explosion of photos of the family at graduations, parties, parasailing in Cancun, hiking in the Himalayas, snorkeling off the coast of the Maldives. And, finally, set aside in a space all its own, was a gleaming Steinway baby grand piano Rachel had unsuccessfully pushed both children to play.

  “What about the kids?”

  “What about them?” Rachel’s words were muffled by her fingers.

  Naomi tossed her head. “Where are they?”

  “Out. Anywhere. I don’t know. I tried their cells, but they’re not answering.”

  “We should find them.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Naomi touched the point of her sister’s reconstructed chin. “Rachey, look at me.”

  Reluctantly, Rachel lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but the Botox protected her forehead from the folds of extreme emotion.

  “I’m so sorry. I know how close the family is.”

  Rachel made no response. Instead, she took in the grand room.

  “He’s going to screw me.”

  “What?” For a moment, Naomi thought she hadn’t heard right. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll ask around, we’ll get you the best divorce lawyer on the East Coast.”

  “Are you shitting me?” There was fire in her sister’s eyes. Apparently, the period of mourning was over. “My soon-to-be ex-husband is the best divorce lawyer on the East Coast.” She wrung her hands. “Dear God, what d’you suppose my future is going to look like?”

  Naomi was taken aback. “Rach, aren’t you the least bit—”

  “What? The least bit what?”

  “Isn’t there any chance to reconcile?”

  “Don’t be dense. Larry’s been cheating on me for months—maybe years. This”—and here she used a four-letter expletive that made Naomi shudder—“is probably one of a long line of heifers.”

  “I know he’s hurt you, but—”

  Rachel shook her head. “Don’t you get it, Nomi? He’s made up his mind, and now he’s going to rape me. No decent attorney will stand up to him and he’s tight with every judge on the bench.”

  “Surely you’ll get the kids. And he’ll have to pay child support as well as alimony.”

  “What he’ll give me is a pittance.” Her fingers balled into fists. “I want my money, my home, my security. I won’t have shit when he’s done with me.” She began to sob again, and then she wailed, “I want my life back.”

  Naomi sat back, feeling lost and helpless. Is this what life came down to, money? Is that all there was after the golden glow was gone? For the first time since they had been adults, she looked clear-eyed at her sister. For years she had bought into Rachel’s fairy-tale existence. But who was Rachel, except an adjunct of Larry, a possession not very different from the De Kooning or the Basquiat? She was cast off, like the Steinway, a presentation piece that had outlived its usefulness.

  She sighed and took Rachel’s hands in hers. They were as cold as ice. “What can I do to help?”

  Th
e calculating look she knew so well had once again taken up residence in her sister’s eyes. “There’s this bank account Larry uses. I’m not supposed to know about it, but I do. God knows what he uses it for, but huge sums of money go in and out pretty regularly.” Rachel’s eyes sought hers. “Use your contacts at Treasury to have the funds frozen, maybe you can get them to start an investigation.”

  On what grounds? Naomi was about to say, but a warning bell had gone off in the back of her mind. She knew herself well enough to pay attention when that bell rang. “… there’s this bank account … huge sums of money go in and out regularly.”

  “Nomi, this is life and death. Are you listening to me?”

  Life and death, yes. And then it hit her like a thunderbolt. Jesus Christ, I’ve been looking for a break in this case in all the wrong places.

  * * *

  PAULL BROUGHT his assault rifle to bear on Thatë. “You may have had Jack and the girl fooled, but not me. It was obvious you were Xhafa’s man all along.”

  “Lower your weapon,” Thatë said softly.

  Jack noted the change in his demeanor. Out here in the wild he was more confident, if not more aggressive. The kid’s appearance could explain the cease-fire, but something in this encounter didn’t feel right.

  “Fuck you, sonny,” Paull said.

  Jack put his hand on the barrel of the ArmaLite and pushed it down. “Do as he says, Dennis. Confrontation isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

  When Paull had reluctantly lowered his weapon, Thatë said, “Follow me.”

  His men parted and he took them through the underbrush toward the area where they’d been fired upon en masse. There, they found seven men sprawled on the ground. Some had been shot, others had had their throats slit.

  Thatë pointed. “Here are Arian Xhafa’s men. The snipers in the trees are also dead.”

  Paull gaped. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Examine for yourself,” the kid said. “Xhafa’s men are Muslim, my men are Russian.”

  Paull put up his weapon and, crouching, went from corpse to corpse. Even he could deduce the truth from the full, curling beards, the fanatics’ eyes.

  “Grupperovka,” Alli said.

  Thatë smiled at her. “Kazanskaya, yes.” He turned to Jack. “This was why I was sent here: To find out who was backing Xhafa with money and arms.”

  Jack gave him a hard look. “And did you?”

  “I was forced to escape before my assignment was complete.” His grin returned. “But now, thanks to you, I have returned to finish what I started, and to wreak my revenge on Arian Xhafa.”

  NINETEEN

  “HOW IS she?” McKinsey said when Naomi slid into the passenger’s seat. She was just finishing a call.

  Through the windshield, she could see the Mercedes, BMWs, and Porsches, arrayed like trophies on the street. “When you lie down with a scorpion, you’re bound to get stung.”

  “She’s your sister. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

  “Rachel didn’t love Larry or her kids, she loved his money.”

  “Yeah, but still. Don’t you want to stay with her?”

  “I told her I couldn’t stay.”

  McKinsey cleared his throat, then started the car. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “We’re going to the main branch of Middle Bay Bancorp on K and Twentieth.”

  “It’s almost three,” he observed.

  “I called the president of Middle Bay. He’s expecting us.”

  McKinsey wrapped his fingers around the wheel, but he didn’t put the car in gear. “My opinion? I think you ought to be with Rachel. She needs you now. I mean, who else does she have?”

  “Rachel is more self-sufficient than I am.” Naomi gestured with her chin. “Drive.”

  McKinsey sighed, then turned off the engine. “Why the hell are we going to Middle Bay Bancorp?”

  “Because that’s where Billy Warren worked.”

  “So?”

  “He was a loan analyst.”

  McKinsey shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

  “What if Billy discovered something unusual was going on inside the bank?”

  There was a skeptical look on McKinsey’s face. “Like what?”

  “Like large sums of money going in and out that weren’t being reported.”

  “Naomi, Billy Warren was shtupping Dardan’s main squeeze. This has already been established. He was killed by Dardan’s people.”

  “But why was he tortured? The question has been bothering me from the beginning. No, Billy had discovered something someone badly didn’t want uncovered. Now drive.”

  “Naomi, this isn’t a good idea.”

  She looked at him, finally. “What isn’t?”

  “Middle Bay is the wrong direction for this investigation to go in.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  “I’m just trying to protect you.”

  “Pete, I’ve been to Roosevelt Island.”

  “Come again?”

  “I’ve seen the girl—Arjeta Kraja.”

  “Would you please start making sense?”

  She had to give him this, there was not a flicker in his eye.

  “I followed you yesterday morning. I saw you going out to the island on a motorboat. Who were you with and what were you doing there, Pete?”

  “Naomi, trust me, you don’t want to pursue this.”

  “No, actually I do.”

  He stared out the window; his fingers drummed anxiously on the wheel.

  “Pete, either you take me to Middle Bay, or I’ll call a cab.”

  “It’s just that…” He turned to her. “Do you remember our first day on the job together? We were sent to pick up the FLOTUS. On the way there, we got sideswiped by a van driven by a drunken driver. Anyway, you were trapped on your side of the car. We couldn’t use the Jaws of Life because you were jammed up against the door. It took me over an hour to get you out.”

  “I remember.” Naomi was acutely aware of the wariness in her voice.

  “I don’t want to have to do that again, Naomi. Because this time I might fail.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “Forget it, Pete, it’s D.C.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  “Pete, we’re partners; I shouldn’t have to ask this. Do you have my back?”

  “Isn’t that what partners are for?”

  She nodded. “Now are you going to drive or am I going to leave you here?”

  * * *

  “DENNIS, ARE you okay with this?” Jack asked, as Thatë, at the head of his dirty half dozen, led them along the roundabout route he had first suggested, east, then north, then northwest toward Tetovo.

  “Do I have a choice?” Paull grumbled. “I fucked up, Jack. I don’t know what got into me. I should’ve listened to your instincts.” He shook his head. “But to be led to Arian Xhafa by this kid.” Paull glared at Thatë trekking easily and confidently up ahead. “I mean, this kid should still be sucking up his mother’s milk, for Christ’s sake.”

  “He didn’t have a mother,” Alli said.

  They both looked at her.

  “At least,” she continued, “a mother he remembers.”

  “Boo hoo!” Paull parodied crying.

  “You never even gave him a chance,” Alli said hotly.

  “And you gave him too much of one.” Paull jerked his head. “Let’s just hope he didn’t kill any of my men when he escaped from the plane.”

  “He didn’t,” Alli said.

  “He told you that, did he?”

  “Bite me.” She extended her middle finger at him and, picking up the pace, wound her way through the Russians to walk beside Thatë.

  “Thanks for that,” Jack said.

  “A word of warning,” Paull shot back. “The next thing you know they’ll be making the two-backed beast and then you’ll never be able to pry them apart.”

  Jack considered for a time as the forest slid past them. Off to their left, they could hear
the watercourse that marked the far end of the valley. Over the ridge beyond lay Tetovo.

  “I remember hearing about a man who turned so sour on life he wouldn’t believe a boy who rang his doorbell was his long-lost son.”

  Paull scoffed. “I know how this ends: he turns the boy away only to find out later that he was, in fact, his son.”

  “No,” Jack said. “Against his better judgment, he takes the boy in, feeds him, clothes him, gives him a soft bed to sleep in. The two spend a week together, then another and another. Gradually, the man’s guard lowers as he comes to appreciate the boy, then to mentor him. He realizes that, in the end, it doesn’t matter whether this boy is his blood son or not.

  “One night, he’s awakened by unfamiliar sounds. He goes down the hall to his son’s room. The door is open, his son’s clothes are laid out, the bed is made just as it had been before he arrived. Grabbing a gun, the man goes down to the first floor and turns on the lights.

  “Someone is sitting in his easy chair. This shadowy figure calls the man by his Christian name, even though the man is certain he’s never seen the stranger before in his life.

  “‘Don’t you recognize me?’ the stranger says. As he stands up, a pair of enormous black wings unfold from points on either shoulder.

  “‘Where’s my son?’ the man shouts. ‘What have you done with him?’

  “‘I?’ the devil says. ‘I have done nothing with your son. He’s dead—dead and buried years ago.’

  “‘You’re lying,’ the man says. He’s shaking with anger.

  “‘You may think so,’ the devil says. ‘But the fact remains he’s not here. He never was.’

  “All at once, the man breaks, falling to his knees. ‘Why? Why?’ he cries out.

  “‘Because,’ the devil says, ‘life is hell.’”

  Paull moved his assault rifle from one arm to another. “Does this piece of crap have a moral?”

  “You know the moral, Dennis,” Jack said. “Why do you think that life is hell?”