by Jim Heskett
His head smacked against something, then he felt wetness on his forehead. Glass crinkling. A cut, blood running into his eyes. Then, his body moving through the air again, splashing down in sunlight. Outside the chopper. An ocean of tall grass. Individual blades caressing his face.
Time slowed as his eyes fluttered. Light and dark, light and dark.
His hearing came back. The sound of metal screeching. A helicopter blade striking the earth, cutting a deep rut in the grass. Chunks of green spewing into the air.
Next thing he saw, the two wooden crates containing the poison. They had both broken open, with a dozen canisters littered around them. Some inside the chopper. Some out on the grass. Had any exploded? He couldn’t tell. They looked whole from here.
Where was here? He was at least ten feet away from the helicopter. On the grass. Head fuzzy. Stomach hurt. He tried to draw a breath, but his lungs wouldn’t inflate. Like someone sitting on his chest.
Layne sat up, his head throbbing. A lazy hand wiped blood out of his eyes. He could hear sirens from behind him. Car doors opening and shutting. Muted sounds of people shouting. He thought maybe he heard his name but wasn’t sure. In his head, it sounded like the helicopter alarms were still blaring, but that couldn’t be right.
The helicopter had landed at an angle, mostly in tact, minus the skids. Front window shattered. The pilot was sprawled half in and half out that front window, impaled on a section of glass that had managed not to shatter completely. Still had a big hole in his head, too. Jonah had given him that hole. Where was Jonah?
Layne squinted to look around for him. His old partner was in the grass, not far from the pilot. Face up, coughing. With each violent shudder, he spat blood into the air. But, he was alive. His face was cut to pieces, more red than flesh colored. Looked like he had taken a trip through the glass of the front window on his way out. But, he still had two legs and two arms. He was still breathing.
Farhad was twenty feet from the plane, face down in the grass. The dent in the earth formed a human shape around him, like a white chalk line from the old detective movies. He had landed so hard, he’d made a slight depression in the earth.
Layne stared at him for several seconds, not moving. On the ground next to Farhad was one canister of the poison, sitting straight up, as if the universe had lovingly placed it there. As far as Layne could tell, this one had not shattered to release its contents.
Layne stood, and the world tilted left and right. He tried harder to breathe and was able to draw air, but not much. The wetness on his forehead dribbled down into his eyes. He tried to blink it away, but couldn’t. The world turned red. With another swipe from a hand that felt broken, he cleared his eyes.
Farhad still down, still not moving.
Layne took a step toward the body in the grass. The gun he’d taken from Farhad was in his waistband.
When his foot landed, he had to spread his arms wide to balance and keep himself upright. His body told him to crumple. To give up.
But, he couldn’t. He had to make sure Farhad was dead. He wobbled and fell to one knee. His eyes shut, but he forced himself to stand. He had to do this. With a gurgling yell, Layne rose to his feet again and took another step.
He had to end it.
INTERLUDE #6
New Orleans, LA | Six Years Ago
Layne casts a suspicious eye at Jonah. He’s standing in the bedroom occupied by a man now dead in the kitchen, Satori Watanabe. They’ve turned off comms. They’re isolated from the outside world. Both holding their weapons, standing in front of a small suitcase sitting on an end table next to a dresser.
Jonah is open-mouthed, his face a mix of awe, anxiety, and opportunity. His gaze flicks back and forth between Layne and the suitcase.
“What’s in there?” Layne asks. “What’s going on here?”
“You ready for this?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be ready for, man, so you might as well show me.”
Jonah flips back the top of the suitcase in the bedroom. Inside are a wealth of coins. Forty of them, sitting in a felt display case, in four rows of ten each. Each coin is roughly the size of a nickel, but Layne doesn’t recognize the design. A ring of stars surrounding the profile of a woman who could be the statue of liberty, possibly. The year 1913 imprinted at the bottom. Layne’s never seen anything like it before.
“What am I looking at?” Layne asks. “Is this American currency?”
Jonah nods, his eyes glued to the coins like a child marveling at the biggest collection of candy he’s ever seen. “It’s American. Rare coins, like some of the rarest in the world.”
“Why did you cut off comms with Harry?”
“These are 1913 Liberty Head nickels. The real deal.”
Layne bites his lower lip. In the silence, he can hear drums and a trumpet from somewhere off in the distance, maybe back at the bar across the alley, or maybe from an impromptu street musician jam session. “Okay, so, Satori has a bunch of collector coins in a suitcase. What does that mean?”
Jonah puts his pistol in his lap as he sits on the bed. “Are you serious?”
“Yep, I am. I have no idea what liberty nickels are. Some kind of big deal, like worth a lot of money?”
“It’s probably the most valuable coin in the world. There are five known coins, in museums and with collectors. This is forty of them. Are you not getting what an insane find we stumbled on here?”
“I get that you’re excited about what we’re looking at. I get that I’ve never seen coins that look like this before, and you think they’re special, for some reason. How much are they worth?”
Jonah rubs his chin. “This is probably sixty to a hundred million dollars’ worth right here, depending.”
“You’re joking.”
Jonah shakes his head, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath. “I’m not. Not in the slightest. You don’t understand. This is like finding a lost chapter to the Bible or the goddamn dead sea scrolls. Nobody knows these exist.”
The realization dawns on Layne. “This is why you cut comms. You think we’re going to keep these coins for ourselves.”
“Of course we are. This is our way out, Layne. This is a lifetime supply of never having to hunt down people and assassinate them. Never having to sit in a sweaty treehouse in Vietnam for a week to make sure some dissident drives over a landmine in the jungle, or sitting in a bunker in Helsinki, waiting for a message to come over ham radio. This is a lifetime supply of never having to eat Daphne Kurek’s shit, ever again. You don’t see it?”
Layne kneels down in front of the coins. He lightly touches one with a finger. For a coin so old, it’s in remarkable condition. Shiny. “How would this work?”
Jonah grins. “Now, you’re starting to get it.”
Layne’s fingers trail over the other coins, touching the ridged edges of each. How did Satori come into possession of them? Obviously, he stole them from somewhere. These coins belonged to someone. But now, if they tell Control about this, they’ll be logged as mission evidence. And, due to the covert nature of this mission, they’ll be put in an anonymous box and placed on a shelf in the bowels of a government building. There, the coins will sit in the darkness for the next hundred years.
Layne’s heart beats against his chest. “Seriously, how would this work?”
“We find a buyer or buyers. It has to be quiet, but I know people who can help with this. We’ll take a big hit, of course, selling them in gray markets. But, we can clear ten or fifteen million each. That’s life-changing money, Boy Scout. That’s starting fresh money.”
Jonah is right. With even a fraction of what Jonah claims they’re worth, Layne can get out. He can fund his security business and never have to do Control’s dirty work ever again. Enough money to last him a lifetime, to do whatever he wants. Start his business. Start a family.
“What do you say?” Jonah asks.
48
Layne took a step across the field, toward Far
had, face down. Jonah was also on the ground, only a few feet away. Neither of them had moved since Layne had managed to push himself upright and start walking. Dead or alive? Layne didn’t trust his blurry vision to know for sure.
He could hear police and other uniformed personnel behind him. Maybe even the roar of sirens, or maybe not. They were speaking, but he couldn’t hear anything they were saying. All their words were lost underneath the deafening ringing in his ears.
Layne gripped the pistol he’d taken from Farhad, trying to stay upright. Woozy, bleary, he could feel blood running down his forehead and dribbling onto his cheeks. His head weighed a million pounds on his neck.
Farhad’s head lifted. He also had a river of blood running down his face, but his eyes were open. His eyes were full of venom and life. He was conscious, and, even more, seething with rage.
Layne raised his pistol, but Farhad held up a canister of poison as he pushed himself up to a kneeling position. He held it to his chest as he stood. He wobbled but maintained his balance. Glass had shredded his shirt, exposing the right half of his chest, littered with at least a hundred cuts. Sunlight bounced off the pieces of glass jutting from his body. A puddle of blood had formed on the ground around where he had been face-down only moments ago. Layne didn’t know how he could still live after all that, let alone stand.
Layne closed one eye to aim, but he couldn’t take the shot. Blowing that canister might spread the poison far and wide. Besides, he couldn’t focus. The world shifted around him, and he saw as many as four Farhads at a time. Blurry. Vision thumping like music.
Gritting his teeth, Layne lowered the pistol.
And then, Farhad did the unthinkable. He scooted over and jerked Jonah to his feet. Layne’s old partner seemed helpless to resist as Farhad pulled him up like a rag doll.
Farhad wrapped an arm around Jonah's neck, brandishing the canister in his other hand, pushed out like a gun. Jonah's eyes shot open. He too had a face red with blood. A piece of glass the size of a fist stuck out from his stomach. Blood dribbled from his lips.
“Don’t shoot!” Layne shouted to whoever was behind him. At least, he thought he was shouting. “He’s holding a canister of a deadly substance. If it blows, we’re all dead.”
“You murdered Omar Naseer!” Farhad screamed. “You should die a thousand deaths for what you’ve done.”
Layne held his hands out, keeping the gun pointed to the side. No way he could take a shot.
“Let him go, Farhad. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. If you don’t bleed out in the next few minutes, the cops will take you. It’s over.”
Jonah coughed, and a spew of blood came out of his mouth, coating his chin. He looked barely able to maintain consciousness. If Farhad let go, Jonah would crumple to the ground.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to have that talk, Layne,” Jonah said, blood running down his neck. “I wanted to tell you. There's no time. I’m sorry.”
Before Layne could say anything in return, Jonah drew a knife from his pocket. His hand jittered as he tightened his grip around it, the blade pointed inward.
Farhad craned his neck down to see what Jonah was doing, and his eyes widened at the sight of the knife. He released his hold on Jonah, but it was too late.
Jonah stabbed backward, ramming the knife into Farhad’s stomach. Farhad stepped back, wailing, and Jonah fell forward, onto his face. Instantly motionless in the grass.
Farhad, wincing in pain, moved the canister in front of his body. Both hands on it.
Layne broke out into a run, headed for him. Twenty feet apart. Layne’s feet felt like concrete slabs striking the earth. His hands swung wildly as he ran, but he squinted to keep Farhad in focus.
Farhad’s bloody hands struggled to control the canister, but he didn’t drop it. With one hand, he gripped the side. The other hand moved up, toward the top. Toward the release valve.
Layne pushed himself harder, ignoring the pain and the ringing in his ears. Ten feet away.
Farhad put one hand on the valve on top. His fingers gripped it.
Layne lunged, hands out. He collided with Farhad, and they both slammed into the ground. Layne felt his stomach push against the hilt of the knife, driving it deeper into Farhad’s stomach. The man below him screamed in agony. Their blood mixed as Layne pressed down.
The canister thunked to the ground, rolling in the grass and settling five feet away.
Farhad screamed, and Layne used his bulk to hold him down. As Layne faded into the darkness, he heard the sound of the cops closing in.
49
Layne sat up in the hospital bed when Harry and Serena entered the room. Or, he tried to sit up, but the pain in his upper torso kept him from rising. He still felt like a sumo wrestler had decided to take up residence on his chest.
“Easy,” Harry said, his face drained of all color. “You don’t look ready for that.”
“Couple broken ribs, no big deal,” Layne said, and his voice came out thick and gravelly. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since the nurse a few minutes ago. Or had that been hours ago? He was drugged enough that time was more of a liquid than a solid. The rhythmic beeping of the machines in the room constantly tried to drag him down into sleep.
“You guys okay?”
They were both roughed up, covered in bruises. But, still standing, still fully aware and present. After everything that had happened over the last few days, Layne had to take all of that as a small comfort. He seemed to remember learning that Mariana had been killed, maybe by Serena. Or had she been arrested? The details were too fuzzy to recall.
"FBI and Homeland made several arrests today in New York and Florida," Serena said. "The people controlling Farhad are done. It's over."
Layne nodded. “Did Jonah make it through surgery okay?”
“That’s what we came to talk to you about,” Harry said, then his voice broke. Serena put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Harry took a breath to continue, but then he turned to listen to something behind him. Something coming down the hall. Layne knew the sound well. High heels clicking on the floor.
Inessa Parrish strutted into the room, with Cameron in tow. Why were they still here? They should have been gone. They should have left back to Denver this morning, but they apparently hadn’t.
Was it this morning? Was today still Saturday? The curtains were drawn. Layne couldn’t see if it was day or night outside.
A rush of various feelings coursed through him. Anger at Inessa for not leaving when she had said she would. Relief they were both okay, and Farhad’s minions hadn’t been able to get to them, despite staying in Redding throughout. Also, he felt the usual excitement at seeing his daughter, mixed in with the fear of what she would think of him, laid up in a hospital bed like this. As far as he knew, Cameron hadn’t ever seen this before. Layne remembered being terrified of hospitals when he was a little kid.
“Hey, little one,” he said as she and Inessa positioned themselves next to Harry and Serena.
“Hi, Daddy. Are you sick?” Cameron hid behind Inessa’s legs, only one eye poking out from the edge of Inessa’s pants.
“I’m okay, Cam. I’m only a little bit sick.”
A strange look passed between Harry and Inessa, once they were all in a line across from his hospital bed. Layne noticed it, but then let it go. His brain was too muddied to interpret those little gestures he normally could understand with ease.
He looked at Harry. “You were going to say something about Jonah?”
Harry pursed his lips and then gave a grave shake of the head. Serena lowered her eyes. They didn’t say anything, and they didn’t have to. Layne didn’t need words. Jonah hadn’t made it out of surgery.
Layne couldn’t be too surprised. Jonah had been tossed from the helicopter when it had crashed, flung like a rag doll twenty feet from the crash site. Must have broken half the bones in his body.
Not surprised, no, but he still felt the pain and loss sweep through him like bottoming out
on a rollercoaster. The pain meds were not able to dull that reaction.
“I’m sorry, Layne,” Harry said.
Layne cleared his thick throat and took a few breaths before responding. “You knew him as well as I did, Harry. I’m sorry, too. He gave his life to keep us all safe. That’s all we need to say about it.”
And then, the strangest thing happened. A look of powerful realization passed over Inessa’s face. In an instant, she went from her usual stoic calm to outright panic, which then bled into devastation. She let go of Cameron’s hand and took a step back, bumping into the wall. Tears streamed down her face. She wailed softly, covering his eyes with her hands.
At first, Layne felt confused. How could Inessa be so upset over the loss of this ex-shadow she didn’t know? Was he seeing this correctly?
And then, it all hit Layne at once. All the pieces fell into place. The other day, Jonah saying he felt so guilty about what he had done to Layne. Him insisting he meet up with Inessa and Cameron instead of going to separate hotels in Redding. The fact that Jonah had a brother who lived in Denver and said he would visit often, even though he hadn’t been in touch with Layne in almost six years.
Layne studied his daughter Cameron. He could see it in the shape of her nose, the curve of her chin. Layne had known since before his daughter had been born that he wasn’t her biological father. He’d divorced Inessa over it, but it hadn’t kept him from loving this little girl.
Layne had never asked Inessa who she had cheated on him with. He hadn’t wanted to know, because he’d decided he would raise Cameron as his own. Nothing could change that.
Layne looked down at his little girl, her eyes on her mother, weeping, leaning against the wall. She turned her tiny face toward him. Hands clutched over her little bump of a tummy.
“Daddy? Why is mommy sad?”