Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  Bannerman frowned. “You make this sound hopeless.”

  “On land? Larger scale? It might be hopeless, yes. But you must understand about these weapons. They cannot be concocted in some Afghan cave or in the kitchen of some lunatic fanatic. It takes years, it takes billions, and enormous facilities. You have hot labs four levels below the street surface. You have space suits, many airlocks, many chemical showers. You have fermenter tanks that are two stories tall and dozens of bio-reactors. In case of an accident you need several rings of bio-containment zones, all enclosed. These alone can and should be a half-mile wide. And accidents happen. Even in such facilities. You want to make bio-weapons? You better know what you’re doing. They are as likely to bite you in the ass.”

  Bannerman laughed.

  Greta bridled. “You find this amusing?”

  He bit his lip. “Not at all. But you’ve learned English very well.” He asked, “What of Bourne? Do you believe in what he’s doing?”

  “Some of it, yes. Genetic signatures, yes. Antivirals, if he has them, of course I do, yes. There is no antiviral drug that works like penicillin. Each of them must be specific. But this man believes in nothing. He has no humanity. Do you know how he sees us? He sees us as bees and not even as good. We don’t make honey for his tea and his toast. But he is doing what no one else is doing.”

  “Would you if you could?”

  “It is useless to say.”

  “I might ask you again very soon.”

  He stopped at Leland’s car. He said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Do you have a better feel for our problem?”

  “I think I do,” said Bannerman. “Thank you for coming. And I’m glad that you brought Greta with you.”

  “I see that you’ve charmed her. You’re an interesting man. You are not what I would have expected.”

  Bannerman asked, “Will Greta be attending that breakfast?”

  Leland shook his head. “She’ll be going back shortly. My helicopter will take her. It will be back to pick me up tomorrow morning. If you’d like to talk further between now and then…”

  “You’ll be leaving from New Haven?”

  “From Bridgeport. It’s quieter. This is sensitive business, Mr. Bannerman.”

  “So, I gather.”

  Leland glanced in the direction of the hospital building. “Who is that little girl watching us from that window? Is she, by chance, yours? She’s very sweet.”

  Bannerman didn’t turn. He spoke very softly. “You have two of your own, do you not?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Paul. I meant nothing by it.”

  “Perhaps not, but as you say, there’s a great deal at stake. Your oldest is married. She is an attorney. Your youngest is in her first year of residency. Pediatrics, correct? At Johns Hopkins?”

  “Look, Paul…”

  “Grown women, so I don’t suppose they still believe in ghosts. Hmm, I don’t know why I said that. I meant nothing by it either. I will be in touch, Mr. Leland.”

  THIRTY ONE

  He reached Susan’s room. He was surprised to see Molly. Cassie was no longer there. Susan was awake, her lunch in front of her untouched. Instead she was nursing the baby, unabashed.

  She smiled; she said, “Hi,” but her eyes were not smiling.

  Molly said, “I had to come. You didn’t bring your cell phone with you. I called here. You were busy with Leland.”

  He hadn’t brought his cell phone because it might have rung. He’d wanted this time with his family. “Where’s Cassie?”

  Susan said, “Billy took her downstairs for an ice cream. Something’s happened. Molly’s told me about it. Don’t tell her she should not have. By the way, I’ll be going home with you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “So is the baby. I’ve already booked a nurse.”

  “Susan, you could hemorrhage before we even get there.”

  “I’ll sit on a towel. Molly, tell him.”

  Molly began with the broken-up call that had come in from Martin Kessler. “Apparently, Bourne got word to him that he has Elizabeth. Never mind that she was down in my parlor at the time. Bourne claimed that he had Aisha as well. She’s the girl…”

  “The one close to Elizabeth. You told me.”

  “I brought Elizabeth to the attic; I called Yitzhak Netanya. I put Elizabeth on so he’d know it wasn’t true. Netanya didn’t know what to think either. Netanya said he’d have his people find Kessler. Reassure him, protect him, and help get him out. Elizabeth told Netanya to put him on a plane.”

  “To Westport?”

  “With an escort. Netanya said he’d try.”

  “Slow down,” said Bannerman. It was as much said to Susan. She was starting to climb out of her bed. “If it’s not true, what’s the urgency? Why go this trouble?”

  “Just listen,” said Molly. “It gets worse. Elizabeth called Hilton Head, the Tennis Academy. It’s where Aisha and some other Muslims live. Aisha’s definitely been kidnapped. So has Nadia Halaby. Halaby is Aisha’s legal guardian. They both were taken from Elizabeth’s house. We don’t know why they were there, but they were. Another woman, another Muslim named Jasmine Rashad, was found dead at the scene, her throat cut. One of them had managed to call the police, probably the one who’s now dead. She told the dispatcher, ‘I have intruders. Men with guns.’ The police responded; they must have missed them by seconds. All this happened this morning at around half past nine.”

  Bannerman blinked. “Bourne thinks Nadia is Elizabeth.”

  “Whoever took them sure must have. I asked Elizabeth why they would. Elizabeth said there’s not much of a resemblance except that they have the same build. But remember, there’s only that one photo of Elizabeth and in that one, she’s dark head to toe and in profile. The Elizabeth in that photo could be Nadia, and vice versa. Add to that, she was found in Elizabeth’s house. Yeah, I’d say that Bourne thinks he has Elizabeth.”

  Bannerman asked, “Were there witnesses? Descriptions?”

  “Men with guns is all we have. No one in the neighboring homes saw a thing.”

  “Not even their vehicle?”

  “Not as far as I know. I’d guess an SUV or a van, but the Highway Patrol can’t stop and check every one. And someone’s cut pretty badly; we don’t know who. Maybe Nadia, maybe Aisha, maybe one of the men. There’s a trail of blood leading to the driveway.”

  Bannerman asked, “Where’s Elizabeth? How’s she dealing with this?”

  “She’s with Carla. She’s hog-tied. We had to. She lost it. Carla will stay with her until she calms down. Meanwhile, they’re waiting to hear more from Netanya.”

  Susan had begun to gather her things while cradling the blanket-wrapped baby in one arm. Bannerman, carefully, took the baby from her arms.

  She said, “Thanks, but watch it. He’s got a burp coming.”

  “You can burp him yourself when you get back in bed. Look at you; you’re waddling. You can’t walk a straight line.”

  She said, “Paul, those men took a sixteen year-old girl. Forget what I said to you last night.”

  Molly grabbed a towel. She laid it over his shoulder. She asked him, “Where’s John Waldo. Is he at Bourne’s house?”

  “I think he was. He still might be. He hasn’t checked in.”

  “You think?” Molly asked. “Did you send him or not?”

  “Molly, I would have, but I didn’t have to. He knew we’d need someone to look the place over. That’s what he does, so he did it.”

  Bannerman, in fact, thought that Waldo should have waited for the plot plan and blueprints that Zivic had obtained. Waldo wouldn’t have said, “They’re for amateurs. Too easy,” but that’s what he would have been thinking. Zivic calls it the arrogance of the gifted.

  Molly asked, “He’d stay reachable, wouldn’t he? Otherwise, there’s no use in him being there.”

  “He knows that. He’ll reach us when he’s ready.”

  “Except for all you know, he coul
d be taken or dead. You don’t seem to have a very good grip on this, Paul.”

  “Molly…”

  “Delete that. I’m sorry. I should not have said that.”

  “She’s upset,” said Susan. “She met that girl. She liked her. So did Billy; he was in here and he’s just as upset. You won’t get him to sit still for very long.”

  He said, “I’ll talk to Billy. And Waldo knows what he’s doing.” He asked Molly, “How long ago did you speak to Kessler?”

  She glanced at her watch. “A little over an hour.”

  “You said the abduction took place at nine-thirty.” He looked at his own. “It’s now almost two. Bourne must have called Kessler by noon or so, our time. Could Bourne have physically had them by then?”

  “Not by car. Not from Hilton Head. That would take him until this evening. But that’s assuming they didn’t have an aircraft waiting for them. And it’s assuming that they’re not being held someplace else.”

  “And assuming,” Susan added, “they don’t realize their mistake. Wouldn’t Nadia or the girl have corrected them by now?”

  “They might have,” said Bannerman. “If they’re able to speak.”

  “Would they kill them?” asked Susan. “I mean, if they knew?” She was struggling to step into her shoes.

  “They might want to. They won’t. Not without Bourne’s approval. Bourne won’t give it because they’re birds in the hand. Not the hostage that he wanted, but they’ll have to do. Bourne will want to keep them alive. He’ll especially want young Aisha alive if he learns that she’s close to Elizabeth.”

  “Paul,” said Susan, “Bourne sounds nuts; he sounds desperate. You’re telling us what you think a sane man might do.”

  “No, he’s telling us,” said Molly, “the only thing we can act on. Bourne has either ordered them both brought to Briarwood or he’ll know where they’re being held.”

  Bannerman had walked to the window of the hospital room. He was gently burping the baby. He looked down at the roof of the parking garage. It was empty of cars. Howard Leland was long gone. But Leland had seen Cassie at this window, this room. He knew that Leland would never make a move against his family, but Leland might share that knowledge with someone who would. That was reason enough to go home.

  He turned to Molly, “Leland’s staying the night.”

  “I know that. His prayer breakfast is tomorrow.”

  “So Leland will have eaten. I don’t think he’ll want brunch.”

  Molly’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you thinking…”

  “We’ll see.”

  He said to Susan, “You’re right. You’ll be safer at home.”

  Molly’s cell phone vibrated. She snatched it from her purse. She flipped it open and said “Farrell.” Her eyes widened. She sputtered. “You listen to me. If you ever…”

  She stopped. She exhaled. She closed her eyes. Her body language said, “What’s the use?”

  She handed Bannerman her phone. She said, “It’s Waldo.”

  THIRTY TWO

  Chester Lilly nudged Toomey who had fallen asleep. “We’re almost out of gas. We need to stop.”

  Toomey stifled a yawn. He saw farmland outside. He asked Lilly, “Where are we now?”

  “A few exits past Raleigh. Forty miles to Virginia. Another hundred or so up to Bourne’s.”

  Toomey sat up. “And I need to take a whiz. Look for a station with the rest rooms outside.”

  “Why outside? You get bashful?”

  “Yeah, that’s it; I’m bashful. I also would rather not walk in past the clerk with blood all over this hand and my clothes. Do you have enough cash to fill up? Don’t use plastic.”

  “Don’t leave a paper trail. Is that your advice? You thought I’d pay for the gas with my credit card?”

  “Well, you didn’t dope out why I couldn’t go inside. Don’t get cranky. Reminders never hurt.”

  Lilly gestured with his chin toward an upcoming station that was also a convenience store and gift shop. “No cars at the pumps. Nice and quiet. We’ll stop there. You can walk around and whiz in the back.”

  Toomey turned in his seat to check on Kuntz and their passengers. Stride and the girl were still under the tarp. Kuntz was stretched out with them to one side of it. He’d been using the girl for a pillow.

  “Hey, Kuntz. You awake?”

  “What? Yeah. How much longer?”

  “Three hours, more or less. How are they?” asked Toomey.

  “They haven’t moved since I gave them their shots.”

  Lilly pulled in to the farthest pump. Toomey said to Kuntz. “You climb out, fill the tank. You got enough cash in your pocket?”

  Kuntz reached in to see. “Yeah, I’m good. Fifty bucks.”

  “Get a bag of ice, too. And buy some towels or T-shirts, some kind of cloth. I need to wrap up this hand.”

  “Yeah, all right,” said Kuntz whose right hand was still swollen. “I could use some more ice myself.”

  “And some coffee,” said Lilly. “Some sandwiches. Something.”

  Kuntz said, “I’ll see what they got.”

  He rolled off the young one and climbed over Stride to reach the sliding side door of the van. He yanked it open, swung his legs and got out. As he did so, one foot got caught on the tarp. It pulled most of the tarp off the bodies of both women, exposing their white tennis dresses. It also snagged on Stride’s legs, bound together with duct tape, dragging them almost to the door. He quickly gathered the tarp and spread it over both bodies. He reached under it push Stride’s legs back inside. Her skin was cold to the touch.

  He said, “Oh, shit.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Wait a minute,” said Kuntz.

  He peeled the tarp back and reached to feel for her throat. He slipped his fingers under the drawstring bag with which he had covered her head.

  He said, “I get no pulse. I think this one’s dead.”

  Lilly straightened. He turned. He asked, “Which one? The kid?”

  “No, Stride. She feels like she’s dead.”

  Lilly cursed. “Before, you said the other one. You said the kid.”

  “That was before. I said she wasn’t breathing good. She’s still not, but she’s warm and she’s breathing. Stride isn’t.”

  Lilly said, “Well, do something. Try mouth to mouth. Get that damned bag off her head.”

  “I told you. Did I tell you?” He groped for the strings. “I told you I don’t know how to give shots.”

  Kuntz tugged the bag off. He stripped the duct tape from her mouth. He said, “I don’t know CPR either.”

  Lilly said to Toomey, “You do. You were a cop. Get back there and both of you work on her.”

  It was Toomey’s turn to curse. He began to climb out. He saw two other vehicles pulling into the station. He said to Kuntz, “Hold it. Shut that door.”

  The first vehicle to turn in was a pickup truck with a confederate flag on its bumper. It had a big German shepherd in the passenger seat, its head sticking out of the window. The pickup stopped at the set of pumps behind them. Next came an RV, Ohio plates; it towed a boat. That one pulled up adjacent to the van, separated by no more than five feet. Both drivers climbed out and prepared to pump gas. The RV’s side door opened and two small boys emerged. They had a little terrier with them on a leash. They were headed toward a patch of dirt and grass.

  The pickup truck’s dog began snarling and barking. The smaller dog yapped in response. In a flash, the German shepherd was out through the window. The RV’s two children were screaming for their father. The father ran toward them; he kicked at the shepherd. The shepherd was trying to get at his dog. One of the boys got tangled up in the leash. A bump from the shepherd knocked him down.

  The pickup driver kept on pumping as he whistled for his dog. He was a big, beefy man in overalls and a cap. The father from the RV was still kicking at it, shouting. The driver called to the father, “You kick him, I’ll kick you.”
r />   Kuntz said to him, “Hey. Don’t just stand there. Grab your dog.”

  The driver threw him a sneer. “Butt out, asshole.”

  Toomey hissed to Kuntz, “Never mind them. Get in.”

  Kuntz said, “One second. I’ll just pull them apart.”

  Lilly said, “Get in, damn it. We’ll get gas up the road.”

  But Kuntz was already halfway to the shepherd. He reached it and he seized it by the neck and the tail. The shepherd gave a yelp of pain and surprise. Kuntz turned toward the pickup. He told the driver, “Open up.”

  He said, “I’ll open you up if you don’t put him down.”

  Kuntz ignored him. He released the dog’s tail but kept his grip on its scruff. He reached for the pickup’s door himself. The pickup’s driver made a grab for Kuntz’s collar. Kuntz slapped the arm away and opened the door. The driver threw an overhand right at Kuntz’s face. Kuntz lowered his head into it; he took it on his skull, and otherwise seemed to pay no attention. He threw the shepherd into the cab. The shepherd spun, showed his teeth and was snarling at Kuntz, but seemed to think better of attacking him. Kuntz said, “Good dog. Just relax. Not your fault,” as he reached to roll up the window.

  The pickup’s owner, enraged, and nursing sore knuckles, kicked the door into Kuntz. It slammed his hip. He kicked it again with a heavy work boot, but Kuntz had backed out and it missed him. The driver ran around him to the back of the pickup. He grabbed a coil of chain that he’d probably used for towing. He swung it at Kuntz and he missed a second time. He swung it again and this time Kuntz stepped inside it. Kuntz jabbed at his eye, kicked his legs out from under him, and dragged him out of sight between the pickup and the pumps.

  He called to Lilly, “Two more seconds. Be right with you.” Kuntz went to work on the driver.

  They had driven a few miles and had made several turns before Lilly was satisfied that there was no pursuit. In that time, Lilly had not said a word except those he’d been mumbling to himself. Toomey had climbed into the back of the van. He’d confirmed that the woman was dead.