Private Screening

by Richard North Patterson

  Wrist slowly raising, to rest on her knee. Gaze sweeping the ocean, until it stopped above the watch. Lashes dropping to veil her downward glance.

  She saw him out of the corner of her eye.

  Her hand drew back, as if from a match. And then she turned, so vulnerable that she seemed naked in her fear.

  Not daring to look up, he covered her hand with his.

  She tried to smile.

  He stood quickly, pulling her up. As she faced him, confused, part of him wanted to hold her.

  Please, he told her husband silently, do what I ask. Lord can take her place.

  He turned from her toward the cabin.

  She trailed a few steps behind. Reaching the grave, obscured by what he thought of as Stacy’s rain, they stepped around it. On the other side, her hand grazed his again. Seeking reassurance.

  When he opened the door, they were drawn to the television. His own voice greeted them.

  “If Mr. Lord does not, both hostages will die at 9:00 P.M. tomorrow, on SNI.…”

  On the screen, Tony Lord hurried from the Federal Building in a covey of reporters. He hardly seemed to notice them.

  “Though Lord already knows of it,” the newswoman resumed, “the precise nature of Phoenix’s request is being withheld. But coupled with the demand for money, it may entail certain risks—”

  Pushing aside a microphone, Lord reached his car.

  “The character of Lord’s involvement is further complicated by his predawn visit, disclosed by a reliable government source, to assassin Harry Carson inside the state mental facility at Atascadero—”

  Phoenix stood abruptly.

  “Whether Lord can reveal this conversation, and what bearing it may have on his decision, are not yet known.”

  Watching him drive away, Phoenix wondered in his anxiety how much Lord must know or guess, and whether he would agree to come.

  Lord had to come now. Not only for Alexis’s sake, but for Phoenix’s own.

  Instinctively, he turned to her.

  As if she sensed his tension, she held out her wrist, showing the face of her gold Cartier.

  Three hours.

  Leaving his son began a kaleidoscope of Christopher disappearing; a stranger, recognizing him at a stoplight; cameras whirring as he drove in the garage; the unreal silence of his living room.

  He felt as if he had traveled half a lifetime in a day. Christopher looked so much older than his picture.

  Kilcannon.

  There was a sadness that he did not have time to feel. Least of all for himself.

  In two hours, he would drive to SNI.

  Lord began to do that which would get him there. Showering. Picking a suit, then a tie. Wondering how the ordinary could seem imagined.

  Asking himself, finally, why he should care about Alexis.

  He began knotting his tie in the mirror.

  Two nights before, he had found Stacy in the dressing room, wondering if she would see herself again. Now his own face looked different to him.

  Damn Carson, he thought. Damn you.

  Where was she, and what did she think?

  The telephone rang. Quickly, he answered it.

  “Mr. Lord?”

  Lord sat down on the bed. “Hello, Mr. Parnell.”

  “I haven’t heard from you.” His tone became querulous. “This waiting …”

  “I’m sorry.” Lord tried to understand his reasons. “It’s moral cowardice, really. I haven’t wanted to feel any more than I already do.…”

  “But he’ll kill her in front of me. Please, you have to …”

  “Dammit, I don’t have to do anything.”

  “Please …” As if hearing himself, Parnell’s insistence shattered. “Please, I’m begging you.…”

  Lord forced himself to sound calm. “I would, too. I’m only trying to understand where my obligations lie …”

  “What other obligations could there be?”

  Lord paused between weariness and anger. “I have a son,” he answered, “who’s seven.”

  There was silence. “A son,” Parnell repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” Parnell was quiet again. “What I’ve been asked to do—it’s very hard. I was hoping you could tell me, before.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Parnell. I’m only hoping that I’ll know what to do.…”

  “Then you’re considering it,” Parnell put in quickly.

  Lord’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

  “Thank you. For that much …”

  “Good-bye,” Lord said. It was a moment before Parnell hung up.

  Picking up the telephone, Lord threw it against the wall.

  It cracked on the floor. Lord was staring at it when the dial tone started to beep.

  Don’t just react. Think your way through this.

  When someone knocked, the phone was still beeping.

  Lord replaced it, then opened the door, keeping the chain latched. “Doorman let me up,” Moore explained. “Your line’s busy.”

  “Parnell called,” Lord said tersely, and let him into the living room.

  When Moore sat, Lord did not. “The liquor’s next to the fridge,” Lord told him. “Make yourself a drink.”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Then what can I do for you?”

  Moore gazed up at him. “Somehow, you’re feeling responsible for this. If it’s something you can tell me …”

  “Nothing that could get you to Phoenix by tomorrow.” Lord’s tone sharpened. “How could four hours change that?”

  Moore exhaled. “This afternoon, your friend Rachel reported the visit to Carson.”

  Lord sat down. “DiPalma?” he asked finally.

  “I assume—his reasoning’s not hard to follow. If Carson knows something, and Phoenix knows you know, it’s more dangerous for you to face him.” Moore watched for his reaction. “DiPalma’s using that to break you first, get whatever it is, then nail Carson to the wall.”

  “And you?”

  “I thought you should know. Before deciding.”

  Turning, Lord stared out the window. “Fuck you,” he said tonelessly. “You invited him in.”

  He heard Moore walk to the kitchen, then return. Lord looked up to find him standing with a glass of bourbon.

  “At the time,” Moore told him, “I didn’t quite appreciate how that would work out.”

  “You don’t mind using it.…”

  “Look, even before DiPalma leaked this to Rachel, those calls you told me about bothered me. I think Phoenix may have it in for you.”

  Standing, Lord drifted to the window. “When you interrupted,” he said at length, “I was thinking about Alexis.”

  Moore waited a moment. With dispassion, he asked, “That she’s close to sixty?”

  “That she’s becoming hostile to her husband. Last night’s broadcast turned my stomach for Parnell.”

  “It’s an old story. Captivity twists people until they identify with their captors, and this one’s brought back the captivity of a son. For whom Parnell wouldn’t pay.”

  Hands in pockets, Lord took a few aimless steps, until he stood facing the picture of Christopher.

  “So what are you going to do, Tony?”

  “I’m not sure.” Lord kept staring. “I’ve tried to imagine watching her die.…”

  The phrase ended in a shrug. Behind him, he felt Moore watching.

  “What about Damone?” Moore finally asked.

  Lord turned from the picture. Quietly, he answered, “What about him, Johnny?”

  For some time, Moore studied him. Then he carefully put down the glass.

  “I’ll drive you to SNI,” he said.

  The face of her Cartier read 7:46.

  On his television, Tony Lord pushed through the crowd which filled SNI Plaza.

  “Moments ago,” the newswoman was saying, “Anthony Lord passed through the enormous crowd gathered here to see the principals in what has become, quite simply, the most terrifying
landmark in the history of television.

  “The tension is extraordinary. To protect his hostages, Phoenix has forced SNI to broadcast transmissions which might include their death, triggering a national psychodrama.…”

  As if fearing to face each other, they stared at the montage of stills which took Lord’s place: Phoenix speaking to the camera; Stacy’s first appearance with Lord; Parnell reading his tax returns; Stacy with her head bowed at the concert; Parnell’s sick look toward Gustafson; Damone with a shotgun in his mouth. Rachel narrated.

  “As Stacy Tarrant and Colby Parnell fought to save those they love, we have witnessed things almost too personal to watch: her struggle to overcome the trauma of James Kilcannon’s death; the surprising help of Anthony Lord; the Parnells’ shared yet divisive agony over their lost son, Robert.…”

  Alexis’s throat began working. Frozen in the tennis dress, the last still image was hers.

  “And now the largest audience in history waits to save Alexis Parnell by voting, a vote Phoenix will consider only if Parnell and Lord meet his final demands. But the other possibility—her televised execution in little more than an hour—is beyond imagination.…”

  Her watch read five minutes until eight.

  On screen, her face dissolved, becoming Rachel’s.

  “Upstairs,” she continued, “Parnell waits with his attorney in an office near the set. And though Lord and Special Agent John Moore are watching from the SNI control room, Lord has declined to speak with anyone but Phoenix.…”

  Her fingers reached for his.

  Feeling this, he turned to her. When he tried to smile, it hurt him that she could not see.

  “As for Stacy Tarrant, she has not been seen.” Rachel paused. “Whether this relates to some decision Lord has reached, or to Harry Carson, no one knows.…”

  Alexis seemed to sense his sudden stillness. Gently, as if fearing to offend, she touched his shoulder.

  “But within minutes,” Rachel finished, “we will know Parnell’s decision.”

  Her skin felt cold. As they turned back to the screen, her hand stiffened.

  Parnell sat alone. There were circles beneath his eyes, and his round-bellied slouch seemed spiritless. His forehead glistened in the lights.

  For a moment he did not speak. “Phoenix,” he said dully.

  Somehow, Phoenix thought, it made him more aware of her.

  “How much—” Parnell choked, then repeated, “How much, how very much, you must hate me.…”

  Save her, damn you.

  “Please, do not hate her.” His voice faltered. “I—I’ve prepared the five million dollars.…”

  Phoenix felt himself slump, and then he touched the forehead of his hood.

  As if to soothe him, her fingers grazed his shoulder. Only Parnell’s silence made Phoenix look again.

  Parnell was shaking his head in bewilderment. “You’ve asked me,” he mumbled, “to explain something personal.…”

  Phoenix tensed. With palpable effort, Parnell made himself stare fixedly at the camera.

  “The only way I can do this … is talk to my wife. As if she were here, in front of me.…”

  Her hand stopped moving.

  “Lexie …”

  Phoenix felt his flesh rise. He could not look at her.

  “I wanted to protect you from this. Robert and I …”

  What would he say? What would she think?

  “You were so beautiful.…” As her nails dug into Phoenix’s shoulder, Parnell blurted, “God help me, I thought he wasn’t mine.…”

  She stood, trembling.

  It brought him to his feet. Suddenly, she shrieked at her husband’s image, “God damn you, he was yours.…”

  Parnell’s face fell in his hands.

  She turned from him, pale with shock. Her voice seemed to echo in the cabin.

  “He was ours.…” she whispered, to Phoenix.

  “Jesus,” Lord said.

  He stood with Moore behind two control consoles manned by technicians, sloping downward to a wall of television screens. Each showed Parnell at multiple angles and ranges.

  “Forgive me—” he mumbled to his wife.

  “Camera two,” the producer said, “and hold.”

  A close-up of Parnell covering his face filled all but one screen. Lord turned away, brushing past Moore.

  At the end of the hall, Danziger appeared, leading Parnell from the set.

  Lord walked toward them in the semidark.

  It took a moment for Parnell to see him. When he looked away, reflexively touching his glasses, Lord remembered their cross-examination. It seemed longer ago than it had been.

  “Will you do it now?” Parnell asked.

  Lord hesitated. “We need to talk, alone.”

  “Please, he’s waiting for your answer.…”

  “It’s nearly eight-thirty, Mr. Parnell. We’re running out of time.”

  Danziger’s shaken look moved from his client to Lord. “There’s an office down the hall,” he said.

  It was a room with one table. When the two men sat, Lord saw that Parnell had cut himself shaving. He stared at Lord’s watch as Danziger shut them inside.

  The watch read 8:23.

  “You ask a lot of me,” Lord said softly. “To save a woman I don’t know, from a terrorist I’m afraid of, when it seems that she’s started to help him.”

  Parnell reddened. “She’s a prisoner.…”

  “She’s also turning on you, and now I can’t be certain what she’ll do if I show up. She might even turn on me.” Lord paused. “If you can’t tell me exactly why this is happening, and what Phoenix has found to play on, I’m afraid you’ve asked too much.”

  Parnell’s hand tremored. “Please, I’ve just explained.…”

  “I’ve known my son for seven years now, Mr. Parnell. I’ve found better reasons for loving him than that he’s mine.”

  Parnell watched the time become 8:27.

  “He—” His throat sounded dry. “Robert was too close to Alexis.…”

  Parnell stopped, embarrassed by tears that jarred Lord with their suddenness. His eyes shut against them.

  “‘Close,’” Lord repeated quietly.

  Parnell swallowed. “It came between us … even when he was small, he hated me. I’d come to his room, and he’d cover his eyes. For years, he’d just cover his eyes, and wait for her.…”

  Lord watched his shudder of repressed emotion. Nothing followed.

  Softly, he asked, “Then why did Robert leave her?”

  Parnell touched his glasses. “There was an incident …” he began, and could not finish.

  Tears were running down his face.

  The watch read 8:29, Lord saw, but Parnell no longer knew.

  His voice startled Lord. “She would dress at the window,” he murmured. “Sometimes, her skin seemed to glow in the sun. So beautiful …” His speech became thick. “It was like that, the morning I went to Robert’s room.…”

  When Lord looked up, Parnell was pale.

  “His clothes were on the bed. We both could see his mother, through the curtain where he stood.” Parnell’s eyes opened in remembered shock. “When he turned, I saw what she had become to him.”

  Lord stared at the table. “So you told him to leave.…”

  “I offered him an arrangement.” The word echoed with shame. “If Robert left that morning, she would never know.…”

  Lord’s eyes rose to his. “Does she?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Parnell raised his head, and then turned away abruptly. “She was sickened,” he mumbled. “Sickened.…”

  Lord felt a slow, appalling comprehension. “You told her,” he said quietly, “before the kidnapping.”

  Parnell gave a convulsive nod. “Afterwards, we could never talk of it.” His voice rose. “How could we, when I refused to ransom him, and she’d been too ashamed to stop me.…”

  Lord could only stare. Turning, Parnell’s face was ravaged.

  “
You see,” he blurted, “part of me wanted him dead.”

  He was crying, Lord knew, from guilt.

  Parnell’s gaze broke. “This monster has opened it all up for her. Without him, it never would have happened. Never.…”

  For a brief moment, Lord thought of Carson. He could feel his own silence.

  “Please, Mr. Lord, it’s not her fault. She doesn’t deserve to die.…”

  Lord touched his arm, to stop him.

  Mute, Parnell stared at this, and then he saw Lord’s watch.

  It changed to 8:34.

  Alexis’s watch read 8:35.

  They faced the television, Phoenix standing behind her. He could not bring himself to watch her face.

  “At this moment,” Rachel said, “Parnell is closeted with Anthony Lord.…”

  To wait for them filled Phoenix with the angry dread of a child whose parents had locked the door. He could almost feel her heartbeat.

  Please, you bastard. Let her live.

  In his desire for this, he imagined leaving her on the deserted beach below, to be rescued once he called them. Perhaps still wanting to be with him, watching as he disappeared with Lord to make his final broadcast.

  On SNI, he would announce to them that she was safe. But when he turned the camera, Lord would be sitting in her place.

  As two hundred million people watched, he would gently place the Mauser to Lord’s temple, and pull the trigger.

  He would let the camera linger there, as his mind was now; the moment was so startling in its beauty that he could not imagine his movements following the blackout.

  Burying Lord’s body.

  Suddenly, he would be alone. Tearing apart the control room, dumping its pieces in the Eel, leaving his van and cabin as remnants of another nameless isolate who had simply disappeared. Telephoning SNI where to find Alexis. Still missing her.

  Escaping.

  Two weeks in the wilderness of Humboldt as they hunted him. Then a nighttime flight through California to Mexico, along the secret route of dope smugglers.

  Night again would cover his landing in the Cayman Islands. Then the hours until morning, with the Mauser for protection.

  At nine the next day, he would enter a selected bank, with five million dollars on his back.

  The bank would ask no questions. Through five different countries, they would transfer the money by wire to a numbered account in Switzerland. As they had for many others.