by Eric Bernt
“Are we going to walk there, Skylar?”
“No, I think it would be better if we drive.”
“I don’t know how to drive.”
“That’s okay. I do.”
“Do you have a license?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Have you ever gotten a ticket?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do wrong?”
“I was speeding.”
“How fast were you speeding?”
“I don’t remember, but it was faster than the posted limit.”
Eddie took a moment to consider what he should do. “I have been told many times that everybody makes mistakes.”
“Some more than others.” She was thinking of her faith in Dr. Fenton.
He watched her with interest. “You are moving very fast. Are we in a hurry?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want anyone to try and stop us. The sooner we leave, the better.”
Realizing it wasn’t a true-or-false statement but a judgment, he took a moment to consider his response. He didn’t like judgments. They were too hard to understand. But he did like Skylar. That much he was certain of. “Okay.” Together, they quickly carried the echo box and laptop out of Marcus Fenton’s office and headed toward the front entrance. “Skylar, do you know the address of where we are going?”
She paused. “No, but I have it in my office. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, I would. Private spaces reveal much about people. My room is a good example. At least seventeen people have told me they’ve learned a lot about me just by being inside my room. I would like to know more about you, so, yes, I would like to visit your office.”
They veered up the stairs. Eddie counted each one. Seventeen steps to reach the second floor. Thirty-one steps down the hall. Skylar’s was the fifth office on the left. It looked out onto the yard where they had taken their walk to nowhere in particular. Eddie stared out the window as Skylar riffled through the papers in the many file boxes labeled Parks, Edward, searching for his childhood address. She couldn’t find it. “Shit.”
He practiced saying the word just like she had said it. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
She kept looking.
Eddie said, “Three seventeen West Susquehanna Avenue, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 19122.”
“What’s that?”
“The address.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew it?”
“You didn’t ask. You asked if I wanted to see your office.”
“Let’s go.” She led him quickly out the door and down the stairs.
Eddie counted the same number of steps in the hallway and down the stairs that he had counted on the way up. Thirty-one and seventeen. Nothing had changed. That was a relief.
They carried Eddie’s equipment out the door and to her car. Skylar glanced toward the beige Impala, which remained empty. Thank God. She placed the echo box and the laptop supercomputer in her trunk, then opened the front passenger’s door for Eddie.
“I haven’t been inside a car in eight years, four months, and eleven days when I was taken to a dentist’s office for minor oral surgery.”
“There’s no time like the present.” She helped him into the seat.
“No, there is not. Every moment is unique and can never be repeated.” She made sure he was buckled in before getting in the driver’s seat. “Won’t the security guard try to stop us, Skylar?” Eddie stared at the driveway guard, whose back was toward them, as Skylar pulled out of her parking space.
“I’m pretty sure he’s only concerned about keeping people away.” Her voice quivered. She was nervous.
And Eddie could hear it. Which made him uncomfortable. He clenched his hands and started to fidget, particularly when he saw the security guard’s holstered sidearm. “Did you know the security guard has a gun?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I will be scared if he tries to shoot us.”
“I will be scared, too.” The guard continued facing out, but Skylar decided not to take any chances. “Eddie, would you do me a favor, and put your hands over your ears for a minute?”
“Okay.” He covered his ears and started counting seconds as Skylar hit the gas. VROOM! She accelerated past the gate before the guard ever had time to close it.
It took him a moment to process what had just happened. Then he grabbed his emergency phone. “Mr. Barnes, we have a problem.”
CHAPTER 32
Michael Barnes’s Office, Harmony House, May 27, 10:27 a.m.
The call from the Harmony House gate guard was nothing to panic over. Sitting in his office, Barnes asked the obvious question. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
Barnes was not a man who riled easily. Over the course of his various careers in the military, law enforcement, intelligence, and security, he’d been shot at too many times to count. He’d been hospitalized from injuries sustained on seven different occasions, two of which were life threatening. He had pulled his own trigger more times than he could remember. Three different people he cared about had died in his arms. One was the only woman he ever really loved. That was thirteen years ago. It was only after she was gone that he’d been free to become the machine he was now.
The guard answered nervously. “I didn’t see the vehicle until it was too late. My focus was on approaching traffic, not departing.” He tried not to sound too guilty, or too apologetic, either. After all, it was his boss who had instructed him to focus on external threats and not internal ones.
Barnes was angry. Not at the gate guard. At Fenton. Barnes had warned him that something like this could occur. Warned him repeatedly. But Fenton refused to listen. He felt that too much internal security might make their patients feel threatened, which could inhibit their progress. And, after all, progress was the only reason they were there. So Barnes took the less visible approach of thoroughly investigating every single employee of the facility, as well as keeping tabs on each of them.
Barnes believed this current situation would be cause to change their security measures going forward, but this was a consideration that would have to wait. Now was a time for action. “Was the echo box in their possession?”
“Unknown, sir. The device was not in view, but they could have placed it inside the vehicle before I saw them.”
Barnes turned to one of his many computers and typed in a series of instructions. An electronic map of Harmony House and the surrounding area appeared on the screen. Courtesy of the transmitter affixed to the right rear wheel well, a blip representing Skylar’s Honda was seen moving away from Harmony House toward I-295. Barnes didn’t worry about where she was going. He would find her no matter where she went. He speed-dialed Marcus Fenton at his home number.
Fenton was in the garden when his phone rang. “What?”
Barnes’s voice was without emotion. “Something’s happened.” He went into the details, describing Skylar’s exact arrival time and departure time with Eddie.
Dr. Fenton did not respond the way Barnes had expected him to. There wasn’t even a hint of anger in the old man’s voice. “You realize what this means, don’t you?”
Barnes didn’t feel like guessing. “Why don’t you tell me, sir.”
“It means the echo box is working.”
This took Barnes by surprise. “How can you be sure of that?”
“Why else would she have taken him with her?”
“I can think of a number of reasons.” He was principally thinking of grief and revenge, but was certain he could come up with a half dozen other motivations if he cared to.
“You don’t know her like I do.”
Barnes shook his head, deciding not to challenge his employer’s hubris. “Enlighten me.”
“There is no way she would put Eddie at risk unless something extraordinary occurred. She thinks either he’s in danger, or that he can help her. The only reason she would think either was because he’d go
tten the box to work.”
Barnes didn’t give the theory much credence, but didn’t care to engage his superior on the matter, either. All he cared about was getting the patient and the doctor back where they belonged. That was his job, one he was so very good at. “I’m tracking her vehicle. I’ll be dispatching a team to retrieve them and the device.”
“Make sure they do it without upsetting Eddie or damaging the box.”
“Copy that.” He said it with sharp intensity. His mission parameters were clear: handle the doctor and the patient with kid gloves. With everyone else, use a chain saw, if necessary. Collateral damage was tolerable. Loose ends were not. Time was of the essence. He glanced at the electronic map where Skylar could be seen continuing toward I-295 as he contacted his two-man team, Charlie and Danger.
Charlie was Abraham Hirsch, a Tennessee boy who had been a budding MLB prospect until he threw out his arm during his senior year of high school. Danger was Merrill Lutz, a third-generation Army Ranger from Maryland who’d seen more than his fair share of special operations by the time he was approached by Michael Barnes.
This would be their first field test together. Each had accomplished a great deal in the clandestine arts separately before going to work for Barnes, but none of that mattered now. All that mattered was how they performed for him. In this moment. On this task.
The game was on.
CHAPTER 33
I-295 North, Outside Bellmawr, New Jersey, May 27, 10:29 a.m.
Skylar gripped the steering wheel tightly, repeatedly glancing in the rearview mirror of her Accord to see if anyone was following them as they sped north, following the signs to I-95. No one was. At least, no one she could see.
“Fifty-six . . . fifty-seven . . .” Eddie’s hands were still over his ears as he finished counting seconds to one minute. He had been doing so ever since Skylar had asked him to put his hands over his ears for a minute as they sped past the Harmony House gate guard. As Eddie put down his hands, he cringed. “Does your engine always sound like this?”
“Like what?”
“Very high pitched and whiny and unpleasant.”
She looked down to her speedometer to see that she was going almost a hundred miles per hour, and quickly slowed down to eighty. “I didn’t realize how fast we were going.”
“Why not?”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She thought of Jacob, and what he must have looked like lying dead on the subway tracks, cut in half; of Dr. Fenton, and how fatherly he’d come off during their first interview. What a bastard. What a cruel and heartless bastard.
Eddie looked at the top of Skylar’s head, searching for what was on her mind. “I don’t see anything.”
She glanced briefly toward him. “It’s just an expression, Eddie.”
“I don’t like expressions.”
“I meant to say that I was thinking about something else and got distracted.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“A lot of different things.”
Eddie nodded. “If you want help reading the speedometer, I can do it for you.”
She nodded. “Great.”
He leaned over to watch the fluctuations of the speedometer. “Eighty-two. Eighty-three. Eighty-four.”
“Once a minute would be fine.”
“I can also keep a log of the speeds, if you would like me to. Do you have a notebook and a number-two pencil I could use?”
She shook her head. “I don’t.”
“I have extra notebooks and pencils in my room at Harmony House. We could use those.”
“No, Eddie. The logs can wait.”
“I’ll just memorize them, then.” He nodded reassuringly. Once a minute for the rest of their drive, he would glance at the speedometer and mentally log their speed. He stared at the passing countryside out his window. He wasn’t admiring the beauty so much as looking for something familiar. Something to latch on to. But most of the houses and buildings and malls were built after Eddie had arrived at Harmony House, and he had never left the grounds. Not once. The lack of familiarity was disconcerting. Things were different. That made him uncomfortable. And that was not good.
“Eddie, are you okay?”
“I want to go back to Harmony House.” His hand started to twitch, like he was getting ready to slap himself.
“To get your notebooks?”
“I don’t recognize any of these buildings.” He pointed out the window. “Those offices weren’t there before. Or that Burger King. Or that Shell station. None of this was here.”
She took a deep breath and spoke with authority. “Eddie, please look at me.”
“Why?”
“Because I am familiar to you. Look at me and nothing else. Can you do that?”
“I can try.” He leaned closer to her so that she was all he could see. He couldn’t look at her for very long, and certainly not in the eyes, but he was able to keep bringing his gaze back to her.
“Is that better?” She already knew the answer.
He blinked repeatedly. “You’re pretty.”
She remembered the first time they met. That was the second thing he ever said to her, right after he asked what she’d been feeling when she left Dr. Fenton’s office after being hired. “You’ve said that before.”
“People who are pretty get told that a lot. Do you get told that a lot, Skylar?”
“By you, I do.” She smiled.
He kept staring at her as they got on the interstate. They quickly reached an interchange indicating that those traveling to Philadelphia should keep left. Eddie noticed the signs out of the corner of his eye as Skylar remained in the right lanes. “We’re going the wrong way, Skylar.”
“We need to make a stop first.”
“Where?”
She hesitated for just a second. “New York City.”
“I don’t want to go to New York City. I went there once when I was six years old. It was too loud. People in New York City yell too much. And honk their horns more than is necessary. The buildings are tall, and everything echoes. It’s much louder than Philadelphia.”
“We won’t stay there very long, but there is someone in New York who can help us.”
“How long is very long?”
“I don’t want to give you a specific number, because I never want you to think I lied to you.”
Eddie nodded, satisfied with her answer. “Why do we need help?”
“That is another thing you are going to have to trust me on.”
“That is now two things.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Will there be more things you will ask me to trust you on, Skylar?”
“I don’t know, Eddie. Probably.”
He nodded, as if processing the information, but he was only responding that way because he’d seen other people do it. It was one of the many physical responses he’d practiced a great many times. “There is one good thing about New York City.”
“What’s that?”
“Carnegie Hall. Many people believe it has the greatest acoustics in the world. I can’t say for sure because I have never been there, but I do know it was designed by an architect named William Tuthill in 1890. He was an amateur cellist who had what many people called a golden ear, which meant that he could hear things other people couldn’t.”
“Kind of like you.”
He paused to consider the similarity. He had never thought of himself as having golden ears. He tried to look at his ears in the rearview mirror. “Do you think I could build a concert hall like William Tuthill one day?”
“I think you could build an even better one.”
“I should probably go to architecture school first. Then learn to play the cello and serve on the board of the Oratorio Society of New York, because that is where William Tuthill met Andrew Carnegie. He’s the person who gave William Tuthill the money to build the hall, which is why it’s called Carneg
ie Hall. Have you ever been there, Skylar?”
“Yes, I have.”
“You’re lucky.”
Skylar could only shake her head. Lucky was the last thing she felt right now.
“Did you know the main hall has two thousand eight hundred and four seats?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Did you know it was one of New York City’s last big public buildings constructed entirely of brickwork with no steel frame, until one was added in the 1900s?”
“I do now.”
“After we stop in New York City, can we still go to my old house in Philadelphia? I want to hear my mother sing.”
“I promise we will.”
“A promise is a promise.”
“Yes, it is.” She reached into her purse and fished for something. She withdrew a business card, which Eddie read.
“Who is Detective Butler McHenry?”
“A policeman. He’s the person we’re going to see in New York City.”
“Are we in trouble?”
“No, Eddie.”
He made his BUZZER sound.
She clarified. “We are not in trouble with the police.”
“Who are we in trouble with?”
“People who are not the police.”
Eddie’s eyes opened wide with concern. “All of them?”
“No, Eddie. Only a few people.”
“How is the detective going to help us?”
“I want him to hear the conversation you replayed in Dr. Fenton’s office.”
“Why?”
“Because I think he will be interested to hear it.”
“Why?”
“I think it reveals that Dr. Fenton and the mystery man were involved in a crime.”
His eyes perked up with curiosity. “What kind of crime?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Because the mystery man is none of my concern?”
“For now, Eddie. Only for now.”
She dialed the number for the detective’s mobile phone.
CHAPTER 34
Red’s Sports Bar, Queens, New York City, May 27, 11:11 a.m.
Saturday was Butler McHenry’s day off. At least, it was supposed to be. He couldn’t remember a Saturday in months when something hadn’t called him to duty, but he had a good feeling about today. He’d already taken a six-mile run at a respectable eight-minute-mile pace, in order to balance out all the beer he was going to drink the rest of the day. He had every intention of spending the next ten hours on his favorite stool in his favorite sports bar, drinking his favorite beer.