Gone for Good

by Harlan Coben

  I could feel the blood leaving my extremities. "You'll kill him, "I said.

  "Oh, not necessarily."

  I knew it was a lie, but his face was frighteningly sincere.

  "Your brother made tapes, gathered incriminating information," he said.

  "But he has not shown any of it to the feds yet. He's kept it hidden all these years. That's a good thing. It shows cooperation, that he is still the Ken we know and love. And" he stopped, thinking "he has something I want."

  "What? "I asked.

  He shook me off. "Here's the deal: If he gives it all up and promises to disappear again, we can all go on."

  A lie. I knew that. He'll kill Ken. And he'll kill us all. I had no doubt about that. "And if I don't believe you?"

  He dropped the lasso around Katy's neck. She let out a small cry. The Ghost smiled and looked straight at me. "Does it really matter?"

  I swallowed. "I guess not."

  "Guess?"

  "I'll cooperate."

  He let go of the lasso; it hung from her neck like the most perverse necklace. "Don't touch it," he said. "We have an hour. Spend the time staring at her neck, Will. And imagine."

  Chapter -Four.

  McGuane had been caught off guard.

  He watched the FBI storm inside. He had not foreseen this. Yes, Joshua Ford was important. Yes, his disappearance would raise eyebrows, though they had made Ford call his wife and tell her he'd been called out of town on a "delicate matter." But this forceful a reaction? It seemed like overkill.

  No matter. McGuane was always prepared. The blood had been cleaned with a newly developed peroxide agent, so that even a blue-light test would reveal nothing. The hairs and fibers had been taken care of, but even if a few were found, so what? He would not deny that Ford and Cromwell were here. He would happily admit it. He would also admit that they had departed. And he could offer proof: His security people had already replaced the real surveillance tape with the digitally altered one that would show both Ford and Cromwell departing the premises on their own accord.

  McGuane pressed a button that automatically erased and reformatted the computer files. Nothing would be found. McGuane automatically backed up via email. Every hour, the computer sent an email to a secret account. The files thus stayed safely in cyberspace. Only McGuane knew the address. He could retrieve the backup whenever he wanted.

  He rose and straightened his tie as Pistillo burst through the door with Claudia Fisher and two other agents. Pistillo pointed his weapon at McGuane.

  McGuane spread his hands. No fear. Never show fear.

  "What a pleasant surprise."

  "Where are they?" Pistillo shouted.

  "Who?"

  "Joshua Ford and Special Agent Raymond Cromwell."

  McGuane did not blink. Ah, that explained it. "Are you saying that Mr. Cromwell is a federal agent?"

  "I am," Pistillo barked. "Now, where is he?"

  "I'd like to file a complaint then."

  "What?"

  "Agent Cromwell presented himself as an attorney," McGuane went on, his voice even as could be. "I trusted that representation. I confided in him, assuming that I was protected by attorney-client privilege. Now you tell me that he is an undercover agent. I want to make sure that nothing I said is used against me."

  Pistillo's face was red. "Where is he, McGuane?"

  "I don't have the slightest idea. He left with Mr. Ford."

  "What was the nature of your business with them?"

  McGuane smiled. "You know better than that, Pistillo. Our meeting would fall under attorney-client privilege."

  Pistillo wanted so very much to pull the trigger. He aimed at the center of McGuane's face. McGuane still showed nothing. Pistillo lowered the weapon. "Search the place," he barked. "Box and tag everything. Place him under arrest."

  McGuane let them cuff him. He would not tell them about the surveillance tape. Let them find it on their own. It would have that much more impact that way. Still, as the agents dragged him out, he knew that this was not good. He did not mind being brazen as mentioned earlier, this was not the first federal agent he'd had killed but he could not help but wonder if he had missed something, if he had left himself somehow exposed, if, at long last, he had made a crucial mistake that would cost him everything.

  Chapter -Five.

  The Ghost stepped into the woods, leaving Katy and me alone. I sat in my chair and stared at the lasso around her neck. It was having the desired effect. I would cooperate. I would not risk having that rope tighten around the neck of that frightened girl.

  Katy looked at me and said, "He's going to kill us."

  It was not a question. It was true, of course, but I still denied it.

  I promised her that she would be okay, that I would find a way out, but I don't think I assuaged her worries. Little wonder. My throat was feeling better, but my kidney still ached from the punch. My eyes moved about the room.

  Think, Will. And think fast.

  I knew what was coming up. The Ghost would have me set up the meeting.

  Once Ken showed up, we were all dead. I thought about that. I would try to warn my brother. I would try to use some kind of code maybe.

  Our only hope was that Ken would smell a trap and surprise them. But I had to keep my options open. I had to look for a way out, any way out, even if it meant sacrificing myself to save Katy. There would be an opening, a mistake. I had to be ready to exploit it.

  Katy whispered, "I know where we are."

  I turned to her. "Where?"

  "We're in the South Orange Water Reservation," she said. "We used to come here and drink. We're not far from Hobart Gap Road."

  "How far? "I asked.

  "A mile maybe." "You know the way? I mean, if we make a run for it, would you be able to lead us out?"

  "I think so," she said. Then, with a nod: "Yeah. Yeah, I could lead us out."

  Okay, good. That was something. Not much maybe, but a start. I looked out the door. The driver leaned against the car. The Ghost stood with his hands behind his back. He bounced on his toes. His gaze was turned upward, as if bird-watching. The driver lit up a cigarette. The Ghost did not move.

  I quickly scoured the floor and found what I was looking for a big hunk of broken glass. I peeked out the door again. Neither man was looking. So I crept behind Katy's chair.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered.

  "I'm going to cut you loose."

  "Are you out of your mind? If he sees you "

  "We have to try something," I said.

  "But" Katy stopped. "Even if you cut me free, then what?"

  "I don't know," I admitted. "But be ready. There'll be a chance to escape somewhere down the line. We have to take advantage of it."

  I pressed the broken edge against the rope and started sawing back and forth. The rope began to fray. The work was slow. I hurried the pace. The rope started giving way, strand by strand.

  I was about halfway through the rope when I felt the platform shake. I stopped. Someone was on the ladder. Katy made a whimpering sound. I rolled away from her and made it back to my seat just as the Ghost entered. He looked at me.

  "You're out of breath, Willie boy."

  I slid the broken glass to the back of my seat, almost sitting on it.

  The Ghost frowned at me. I said nothing. My pulse raced. The Ghost looked toward Katy. She tried to stare back defiantly. She was so damn brave. But when I looked toward her, the terror struck me again.

  The frayed rope was in plain sight.

  The Ghost narrowed his eyes.

  "Hey, let's get on with this," I said.

  It was enough of a distraction. The Ghost turned to me. Katy adjusted her hands, giving the frayed rope some cover. Not much if he looked closely. But maybe enough. The Ghost waited a beat and then he went for the laptop. For a second for the briefest of seconds he turned his back to me.

  Now, I thought.

  I would jump up, use the broken glass like a prison shiv, and j
am it into the Ghost's neck. I calculated quickly. Was I too far away?

  Probably. And what about the driver? Was he armed? Did I dare ?

  The Ghost spun back toward me. The moment, if there had ever been one, was over.

  The computer was already on. The Ghost did some typing. He got online with a remote modem. He clacked some more keys and a text box appeared. He smiled at me and said, "It's.time to talk to Ken."

  My stomach knotted. The Ghost hit the return button. On the screen, I saw what he had typed:

  YOU THERE?

  We waited. The answer came a moment later.

  HERE.

  The Ghost smiled. "Ah, Ken." He typed some more and hit the return.

  IT'S WILL. I'M WITH FORD.

  There was a long pause.

  TELL ME THE NAME OF THE FIRST GIRL YOU MADE OUT WITH.

  The Ghost turned to me. "As I expected, he wants proof it's really you."

  I said nothing, but my mind raced.

  "I know what you're thinking," he went on. "You want to warn him. You want to tell him an answer that's close to the truth." He moved over to Katy. He picked up the stick end of the lasso. He pulled just a little. The rope coiled against her neck.

  "Here's the deal, Will. I want you to stand up. I want you to go over to the computer and type in the correct answer. I'll keep tightening the rope. If you play any games if I even suspect you tried to play any sort of game I won't stop until she's dead. Do you understand?"

  I nodded.

  He tightened the lasso a little more. Katy made a noise. "Go," he said.

  I hurried to the screen. Fear numbed my brain. He was right. I had been trying to come up with a decent lie, something to warn him. But I couldn't. Not now. I put my fingers on the keys and typed:

  CINDI SHAPIRO

  The Ghost smiled. "For real? Man, she was a little hot tie Will. I'm impressed."

  He let go of the lasso. Katy released a gasp. He moved back over to the keyboard. I looked back over at my chair. The broken glass was in plain view. I moved quickly back to my seat. We waited for the response.

  GO HOME, WILL.

  The Ghost rubbed his face. "Interesting response," he said. He thought about it. "Where did you make out with her?"

  "What?"

  "Cindi Shapiro. Were you at her house, your house, where?"

  "Eric Frankel's bar mitzvah."

  "Does Ken know that?"

  "Yes."

  The Ghost smiled. He typed again.

  YOU TESTED ME. NOW IT'S YOUR TURN. WHERE DID I MAKE OUT WITH CINDI?

  Another long pause. I was on the edge of my seat too. It was a smart move by the Ghost, turning the momentum around a bit. But more important, we really didn't know if this was Ken or not. This answer would prove it one way or another.

  Thirty seconds passed. Then:

  GO HOME, WILL.

  The Ghost typed some more.

  I NEED TO KNOW IT'S YOU.

  A longer pause. And then finally:

  FRANK EL BAR MITZVAH. GO HOME NOW.

  Another jolt. It was Ken.. ..

  I looked over at Katy. Her eyes met mine. The Ghost typed again.

  WE NEED TO MEET.

  The answer came fast: NO CAN DO.

  PLEASE. IMPORTANT.

  GO HOME, WILL. NOT SAFE.

  WHERE R U?

  HOW DID YOU FIND FORD?

  "Hmm," the Ghost said. He thought about that and typed: PISTIL LO

  There was another long pause.

  I HEARD ABOUT MOM. WAS IT VERY BAD?

  The Ghost did not consult me for this one. YES.

  HOWS DAD?

  NOT GOOD. WE NEED TO SEE YOU.

  Another pause: NO CAN DO.

  WE CAN HELP YOU.

  BETTER TO STAY AWAY.

  The Ghost looked at me. "Should we try to tempt him with his favorite vice?"

  I had no idea what he meant, but I watched him type and hit the return key:

  WE CAN GET YOU MONEY. DO YOU NEED SOME?

  I WILL. BUT WE CAN DO IT THRU OVERSEAS TRANSFERS.

  And then, as if reading my mind, the Ghost typed:

  I REALLY NEED TO SEE YOU. PLEASE.

  I LOVE YOU, WILL. GO HOME.

  Again, as if he were inside my head, the Ghost typed:

  WAIT.

  SIGNING OFF NOW, BRO. DON'T WORRY.

  The Ghost let out a deep breath. "This isn't working," he said out loud. He typed quickly.

  SIGN OFF, KEN, AND YOUR BROTHER DIES.

  A pause. Then: WHO IS THIS?

  The Ghost smiled. ONE GUESS. HINT: CASPER THE FRIENDLY.

  No pause this time.

  LEAVE HIM ALONE, JOHN.

  I THINK NOT.

  HE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS.

  YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO PLAY WITH MY SYMPATHIES. YOU SHOW UP, YOU GIVE ME WHAT I WANT, I DON'T KILL HIM.

  LET HIM GO FIRST. THEN I'LL GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT.

  The Ghost laughed and clacked the keys:

  OH PLEASE. THE YARD, KEN. YOU REMEMBER THE YARD, DON'T YOU. I'LL GIVE YOU THREE HOURS TO GET THERE.

  IMPOSSIBLE. I'M NOT EVEN ON THE EAST COAST.

  The Ghost muttered, "Bull." Then he typed frantically:

  THEN YOU BETTER HURRY. THREE HOURS. IF YOU'RE NOT THERE, I CUT OFF A FINGER. I CUT OFF ANOTHER EVERY HALF HOUR. THEN I GO TO THE TOES.

  THEN I GET CREATIVE. THE YARD, KEN. THREE HOURS.

  The Ghost disconnected the line. He slammed the laptop closed and stood.

  "Well," he said with the smile, "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

  Chapter -Six.

  Nora called Squares on his cell phone. She gave him an abbreviated version of the events surrounding her disappearance. Squares listened without interruption, driving toward her all the way. They met up in front of the Metropolitan Life building on Park Avenue.

  She hopped into the van and hugged him. It felt nice to be back in the outreach van.

  "We can't call the police," Squares said.

  She nodded. "Will was firm on that one."

  "So what the hell can we do?"

  "I don't know. But I'm scared, Squares. Will's brother told me about these people. They'll kill him, for sure."

  Squares mulled it over. "How do you and Ken communicate?"

  "Via a computer newsgroup."

  "Let's get him a message. Maybe he'll have an idea."

  The Ghost kept his distance.

  Time was growing short. I stayed alert. If there was an opening, any opening, I was going to risk it. I palmed the broken bottle and studied his neck. I rehearsed in my mind how it might go. I tried to calculate what defensive move the Ghost might make and how I could counter it. Where, I wondered, were his arteries located? Where was he most vulnerable, his flesh the softest?

  I glanced at Katy. She was holding up well. I thought again about what Pistillo had said, how adamant he had been that I leave Katy Miller out of this. He was right. This was my fault. When she first asked to help, I should have refused. I had put her at risk. The fact that I was indeed trying to help her, that I understood better than most how much she craved closure, did little to ease my guilt.

  I had to find a way to save her.

  I looked back at the Ghost. He stared at me. I did not blink.

  "Let her go," I said.

  He faked a yawn.

  "Her sister was good to you."

  "So?"

  "There's no reason to hurt her."

  The Ghost raised his palms and in that hushed lisp, he said, "Who needs a reason?"

  Katy closed her eyes. I stopped then. I was just making it worse. I checked the clock. Two hours to go. "The yard," a spot where pot smokers used to gather after a fun-filled day at Heritage Middle School, was no more than three miles from here. I knew why the Ghost had picked it. The site was easy to control. It was secluded, especially in the summer months. And once in, there would be little chance of getting out alive.

  The Ghost's cell phone rang. He looked down at it as if he'
d never heard the sound before. For the first time, I saw something that might have been confusion cross his face. I tensed, though I did not dare reach for the broken glass. Not yet. But I was ready.

  He flicked on the cell and put it to his ear. "Go," he said.

  He listened. I studied his colorless face. His expression remained calm, but something was happening here. He blinked more. He checked his watch. He did not speak for nearly two full minutes. Then he said, "I'm on my way."

  He rose and walked toward me. He lowered his mouth toward my ear. "If you move from this chair," he said, "you'll beg me to kill her. Do you understand?"

  I nodded.

  The Ghost left, closing the door behind me. The room was dark. The light was starting to fade, shafts breaking through the leaves. There were no windows in the front, so I had no way of knowing what they were doing.

  "What's going on?" Katy whispered.

  I put a finger to my lips and listened. An engine turned over. A car started up. I thought about his warning. Do not leave this seat. The Ghost was someone you wanted to obey, but then again, he was going to kill us anyway. I bent at the waist and dropped off the chair. It was not the smoothest move. Rather spastic, in fact.

  I looked over at Katy. Our eyes met and again I signaled her to remain silent. She nodded.

  I stayed as low as possible and crawled carefully toward the door. I would have gone to my belly and done it commando-style, but the small shards of glass would have ripped right through me. I moved slowly, trying not to cut myself.

  When I reached the door, I put my head against the floorboard and peeked through the crack at the bottom. I saw the car drive off. I tried to get a better angle, but it was tough. I sat up and pressed my eye against the side crack. It was harder to see here. The opening was barely a slit. I rose a little and bang, there he was.

  The driver.

  But where was the Ghost?

  I did the quick calculation. Two men, one car. One car drives off. I am not much with math, but that meant that only one man could be left.

  I turned to Katy. "He's gone," I whispered.

  "What?"

  "The driver is still here. The Ghost drove off."