Broadsmith leered at her, tapping the gun against his hip impatiently. “First of all, you were supposed to lure them both. I don’t know how you managed to let them separate,” he spit, referencing Rick. “You called and said there was a change of plans and to meet you here, and so I did. I can’t believe you allowed this to get so out of hand. It’s going to take even more time to fix this mess. Hey, how'd you get up here if the door is locked?”
Janine narrowed her eyes threateningly at him. “Do you really want to know?”
“No, because I don’t care. You want to know something? You’re always screwing things up,” he growled as the winds wailed loudly. “This isn’t the first time a plan has fallen apart on your watch. That incident with Michaels, for example. Who leaves filled gas cans in the trunk of a car? Oh, and by the way, what kind of a moron fills up gas cans to burn a body but forgets to check the car’s gas gauge? You almost got me blown up in that car, too, you stupid Commie! I don’t know why you . . .”
The moment her attention was divided, I ripped my hand from her clutches. Her sharp nails scratched me as I pulled away. I shivered uncontrollably as I backed away from them. They stood together, blocking the door, and Broadsmith kept the gun pointed at me. As my teeth chattered and my heart rate increased, they slowly moved toward me, forcing me to back toward the edge of the building. Janine stepped forward, grabbed my purse, and threw it on the ground. Despite the fact that wind was whipping across the rooftop, I heard nothing. All the noises of the happy shoppers and enraged drivers so many floors below me were muted. Numbness was washing over me. Finally, unable to take the agonizing silence any longer, I dared to speak.
“Why?” I heard the word escape my lips in a whisper. They shared a sadistic grin.
“You didn’t back off,” Broadsmith replied. Feeling a little braver, I shook my head.
“No, why kill David Michaels?”
“For the same reason Martin Conway was disposed of,” Janine sneered in a thick, Russian accent. “He stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. Just like you.”
Broadsmith lowered his gun.
“Both Conway and Michaels had the same damn idealistic approach to business,” he spit. “They both wanted to do the right thing. Neither one felt right overcharging the customers. God forbid they take a little off the top for themselves or do a little business with other governments. I worked beneath those two idiots for nearly five years! Five years! I didn’t know the truth about Conway’s death until a few years later because I was a nobody with the company at that time,” he explained, talking to no one in particular. He hugged himself tightly as a strong gust of wind whipped up and engulfed us all in its biting snare.
“How'd you know that he turned state’s witness?” I pressed. They gave each other a knowing smile.
“Oh, let’s just say that even the FBI has its price," Broadsmith winked. "Not everyone there lived by the same standards as Michaels. We found the right guy and compensated him very well for keeping us informed. Mr. McCready had no intention of letting an issue arise that threatened him or the company again. Conway came too close to destroying it all. When our FBI mole told us the day of Michaels’ testimony, Mr. McCready decided what needed to be done.”
“So where'd you fit in if you were a nobody?”
Broadsmith scowled, and a glint of rage in his eyes made me fear I had pushed too hard. Janine’s reply clearly interrupted his train of thought.
“He was, as you Americans say, in the right place at the right time,” she answered glibly.
“I still don’t get it. If Michaels was going to testify against you, how did you get him to meet with you? According to his family, he was trying to avoid Hepstadt & Lower because the stabbing at Rockefeller Center really spooked him.”
Janine laughed. It was a cold, emotionless laugh. It was the type of laugh someone devoid of joy would offer and assume it was an acceptable facsimile. It was a laugh that chilled me to my very soul.
“He didn’t make plans to meet with us, foolish girl. He planned to meet with his FBI contact in Cambridge. When he arrived that night, we were waiting for him. As soon as he saw me, he knew the truth,” she purred, recalling the event with delight. “But by then, it was too late.”
“What'd you do to him?” I demanded. I remembered the terrified look in David Michaels’ eyes on the videotape when he uttered what he feared would be his last words to his wife.
Janine no longer seemed to be affected by the bitter winds. She walked calmly around the roof, the excitement of the macabre event warming her twisted soul from within. “Oh just a little question-and-answer session,” she purred again. “Something I learned from my father. He worked for KGB.”
I glanced over at Broadsmith and he, too, was clearly recalling the events. His expression was momentarily pained, and he looked as white as a New England winter morning at the memory of Janine’s so-called discussion with Michaels. He shuddered before sneering at me when he realized I had witnessed his weak moment.
“When I realized that no one else knew what he had uncovered, I was satisfied and ended the discussion,” she added, her eyes lighting up with passion. It didn’t take a genius to realize Michaels’ life ended with the close of that conversation. Since the thought of David Michaels’ premature and violent death was too much to bear and I feared I would break down, I quickly shifted the focus of our discussion.
“I get why you had no problem selling our military technology to your own countrymen,” I bravely interrupted, “but why did McCready do it? Didn’t he realize the danger he put his own country in?”
Janine laughed snidely. “You are so foolish. There is no such thing as patriotism in business. Only money. He did it for money.”
I was running out of ways to stall and it was clear that Broadsmith and Janine were tired of standing outside in the cold. Once her impassioned sadistic memories had faded, she wrapped her trench coat around herself tightly and glared at Broadsmith. He nodded and lifted the gun once more.
“All right. Back over to the edge,” he ordered, his breath coming out in thick white clouds. I swallowed hard and slowly walked to the edge. Impatiently, he waved his gun at me. “All right now, jump.”
All the fear and anxiety of the past forty-eight hours came to a head at that moment. I have never been an emotional girl. I was raised to believe that emotions showed weakness. Emotions were to be suppressed. Emotions were to be addressed at a later time. In solitude. I felt my eyes sting as tears began to well in them. I tried to blink them away, but it was useless. My abductors stared at me with a joint mixture of contempt and irritation. Finally, realizing I would not go quietly, Broadsmith waved the gun at me.
“Just push her.” Without a thought, Janine approached. Despite the tears and the fear, my naturally sarcastic nature appeared.
“So he gives all the orders now, does he?” Oh my God, I froze. Did I really just say that? Of all the stupid things to . . .
Surprisingly, Janine stopped and narrowed her eyes at Broadsmith. He groaned in response, still waving the gun as his impatience mounted. Realizing I had hit a nerve, I pressed on.
“Now I get it. You got an MBA from Columbia to be a company yes-man. Over twenty years invested and you've got nothing to show for it. All you do is what you’re told. Really makes me rethink going back to school . . .”
She sneered and narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m no yes-man,” she snarled. “I am Mr. McCready’s executive assistant.”
“My mistake. You’re a secretary.”
She charged at me and was within inches of my face, her steely eyes boring into me. She pointed back at Broadsmith. “He’s nothing. I do much more for the company than he does.”
“But he has the higher status and larger paycheck,” I countered. Wow, I marveled. I am either a complete moron or a total genius. If I can just s
tall a little longer, maybe . . .
“Janine! It’s freezing out here. Just push her already. I’m ready to get off this rooftop and out of Boston. I hate this town.”
Janine turned her hate-filled eyes on him. “Why don’t you just shoot her?”
Broadsmith grit his teeth. “Because that’s not the plan. This has to look like a suicide.”
“A suicide?” I was surprised to hear my own voice again. “Why do you think anyone would believe I committed suicide?”
“There are any number of reasons you couldn’t handle life anymore,” Broadsmith yelled over the shrieking winds. “Your dead-end job, financial troubles, relationship troubles . . .”
“Relationship troubles?”
Broadsmith smiled. His smile was even more disturbing than his sneer. “Yes, like the love triangle you’ve created between yourself, Michaels’ son, and that loser who works for you.”
Broadsmith’s detailed knowledge about my personal life frightened me. As far as I knew, he only became aware of my involvement in this case when I left a message with his secretary. He took my stunned silence as an admission and continued.
“That’s how we’re going to handle this little inconvenience. You were leading two guys on and, realizing you couldn’t choose between them, chose to take your life instead. This gives us the perfect way to get the guys out of the way, too.”
I felt nauseous as he described the terrible fight they would have after my suicide was made public. In a rage, Rick would shoot Jon and then take his own life. My head was spinning as I envisioned the two men I cared so deeply for being murdered because of me and their reputations ruined. I thought about both of them and my family as well. Despite having occasional issues with them, I still loved my family dearly, and it pained me to think of what this would do to them and to Heather, too. I glanced behind me and saw Faneuil Hall and the Marketplace far below.
Perilously perched on the edge of a high-rise that offered a spectacular view of Faneuil Hall is most certainly not how I pictured my untimely demise. Call me old-fashioned, but I was kind of hoping to go out in a more peaceful manner. Unfortunately, things don’t happen exactly how you plan them. I thought about all that had transpired and led to this.
“All right, that’s enough of this. Janine, push her now. I’m ready to get out of here.” He looked up at the sky. A few ashen clouds had rolled in and darkened the otherwise bright-blue sky with their incessant threat of snow or rain.
Janine, who was merely feet away, casually narrowed the gap. I don’t know what caused her to take such a cavalier approach to homicide. I used her underestimation of me and my training in karate to my advantage. Our encounter lasted only seconds. She charged at me with her left foot first. Using my right foot, I pulled her leg toward me, shifting her center of balance to her upper body. As she began to fall forward, her arms reached for me for both balance and to attack. Using my left arm, I deflected her counterattack and watched as her momentum and lack of balance propelled her off the roof of the fifteen-story building.
She let out a bloodcurdling scream that came abruptly to an end when she hit the pavement below. I turned away from the scene in horror; I had not intended to kill her. Shouts, car horns, and other various exclamations rose to the roof like a ghoulish chant. I was again filled with a panic that was only mildly subdued by the state of shock I was in. Broadsmith had run to the edge and looked over. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned away. It didn’t take him long to recover from the initial shock, and soon the gun was pointed at me again.
“That wasn’t very smart,” he chided, tightening his grip on the gun. “Now you’ve ruined a perfect plan.”
Although I was still near the edge, I had hurried forward several feet after Janine’s fall. Broadsmith had again positioned himself between the door and myself. While he vented and verbally attempted to come up with an alternate plan in vain, the door opened behind him, and the dark man and his associate quietly walked onto the roof. My heart dropped. McCready must have sent in reinforcements. To my surprise, however, the dark man pulled a wallet from his coat pocket and opened it, revealing a badge.
“FBI! All right, Broadsmith, drop the weapon!” he screamed while his corpulent partner pointed a gun at him. Broadsmith turned his back to me and faced the men, but did not drop his weapon. The dark man threw his badge to the ground and retrieved his own weapon, pointing it at Broadsmith as well.
“Well, gentlemen, this is quite a surprise. Where is Mr. Johns? He is such a dear friend,” Broadsmith laughed coldly as he mentioned the traitorous FBI agent who handed Michaels over to Janine Posey for blood money. The dark man winced at Johns’ name but did not falter.
“You have five seconds, Broadsmith,” he warned. “Drop your weapon now!”
“Or what?”
“We’ll fire.”
“Perhaps you’re a little blind. Do you not see this girl? You fire at me and you’ll shoot her, too.”
“No, I won’t. I’m an excellent shot,” the man scowled through gritted teeth. Broadsmith glanced back at me, considering his options. We were only a few feet apart.
“One!” the dark man bellowed. I felt something wet on my face. It had begun to rain.
“Two!” The rain started to come down in hard, thick sheets. I shivered uncontrollably. Broadsmith reached back for me, probably to use me as a hostage, but missed his target when the sound of gunfire echoed across the rooftop. Startled, I stared at Broadsmith. His eyes were wide as he examined himself. Behind him, the dark man held the gun up to the sky.
“That was a warning, Broadsmith,” he called, raindrops pouring down his face. “And that was three.”
Broadsmith’s shocked expression turned to blind fury, and he turned back toward the FBI agents. I don’t know what came over me at that moment. I had the perfect opportunity to run since they were distracted, but I didn’t. While they continued their standoff, a personal ire began to fill me from within. I thought about David and Audrey Michaels and how their life together was cut short. I thought about how David did not get to watch Rick grow into the amazing man that he is. I thought about Janine and Broadsmith and McCready, how greed had led them to murder and to risk the safety of our great nation. And I thought about my family and what would have happened to them if Janine had succeeded in throwing me from the roof of the Dawes Hotel.
Without another thought, I sprinted toward Broadsmith just as the dark man yelled, “Four!” Using my cast, I smacked him in the side of the head as hard as I could. He let out a distressed cry that I echoed as searing pain radiated up my arm. He dropped his gun and grabbed his head before reaching for me. That was the opportunity the FBI needed. They charged and grabbed Broadsmith. Squirming like a worm when it is first pierced by a hook, Broadsmith fought them. Finally tiring himself out, he collapsed to the ground and they handcuffed him. It was over.
Chapter 29
The rain stopped, and the clouds parted, revealing another beautiful, blue New England sky. Despite this beauty, the fact remained that it was freezing and we were all soaked. Once the standoff ended, other agents swarmed the rooftop. Two agents whisked me off the roof and down the stairs, bundling me in a thick blanket. How much time passed after that is unknown to me. I sat in a hotel room, surrounded by agents asking me questions and paramedics addressing my arm and shoulder injuries. The shock-induced haze did not release me from its grasp until I heard a familiar voice.
“Man, they’ll let anybody stay in this dump.”
I looked up and past a paramedic who was trying to put an IV in my arm and saw Jon. I pushed past her and hugged him tightly. He laughed and returned the hug eagerly. We held each other until another familiar voice broke in.
“I can’t believe you let this chowderhead work for you.”
Standing in the hallway behind Jon was Henry O’Neal of Boston PD.
He offered a warm smile, and I couldn’t help but hug him, too. Startled, he let out a whimper before laughing and reciprocating. The paramedic was beside herself and insisted I sit back down on the bed. I grudgingly obliged, and Henry filled me in on the details. He explained that I had uncovered a key connection in the case which had eluded the police for years.
“We didn’t know Michaels was a state witness working with the feds,” he lamented. “I understand their need for discretion in a case with national security implications, but . . . they cut us out of the loop and considered Michaels’ murder collateral damage.”
“It didn’t help that Sam Johns was on Hepstadt & Lower’s payroll either,” I added. Henry nodded emphatically.
“You’re right. That’s what kept their case from going to court. They could never get an indictment because witnesses and evidence always disappeared, and they didn’t know where the leak came from.”
“So when did you learn about the FBI case?” Jon interrupted. He was now sitting on the bed beside me.
“Not until Rick checked the key out of evidence. The FBI became aware of you through various channels and decided they wanted to find out what we knew before tracking you and your case. Johns’ deception was exposed when he tried to destroy some evidence for Hepstadt & Lower after you began your investigation. It was perfect timing.”
“So that dark guy and his partner were following us at the FBI’s insistence,” I deduced. Henry nodded again. “I thought they worked for Hepstadt & Lower. They kept tailing Rick . . .” I trailed off, then looked up at Henry. “Where’s Rick?”
Henry’s lack of response caused me to feel uneasy. I turned to Jon for answers, but he could offer none. I felt a new level of panic rise as tears again began to well in my eyes. As I tried to control myself, a figure appeared in the doorway. My eyes were clouded by the tears, and I couldn’t make out who the person was.
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