The man beat his arms furiously, trying desperately to get out of the water. Travis knocked the knife out of his hand, then held him down by the shoulders. Cavanaugh ran out from behind the pool table, grabbed her gun, and trained it on the man in the tub. “Don’t kill him,” she said.
“I’m not letting him out just so he can come after us again,” Travis grunted. “As long as he’s fighting me, he stays in the water.”
As if on cue, the man stopped struggling. Travis grabbed him behind the shoulders and placed a half Nelson lock around his neck. Once he was sure he had the man under control, he hauled him out of the water. Cavanaugh kept her gun trained on his skull the whole time.
The man’s face was red and flushed and he looked as if he hurt. “Look at all this high-tech equipment he’s packing,” Cavanaugh said. She searched him, then systematically removed every gadget and weapon he carried, much of it now waterlogged and ruined. “This is the same man who attacked me at the library.”
“Persistent son of a bitch,” Travis muttered.
Cavanaugh ripped the man’s stocking cap off his head. Travis’s eyes widened.
It was Curran McKenzie. Mary Ann McKenzie’s brother.
65
6:30 P.M.
ONCE TRAVIS’S EYES HAD retracted back into his head, he murmured, “This is the rape victim’s brother.”
“I know,” Cavanaugh said, nodding. “I saw him in the courtroom, remember? Just after he talked to you. I believe you described him as an obnoxious wimp.”
“Well, I got the obnoxious part right.” He tightened his grip around Curran’s neck. “Where’d you learn the commando tactics?”
“In the army,” Curran spat out. “Green Beret, for your information.”
“Where’d you get the spiffy CIA-issue equipment?”
Curran struggled futilely against Travis’s grip. “I’ve maintained a few connections.”
“Great. A man of mystery.” He withdrew a canister from Curran’s belt. “What’s this? A time bomb disguised as a roll of film?”
“Just a roll of film. For the cameras.”
Travis fingered the tiny binoculars. “And I guess this is how you spy on your neighbors.”
Curran ignored him.
“So what’s the story, super spook? Are you working for the Outfit or the FBI?”
A pained expression crossed Curran’s face. “Neither one.”
“Then what—”
“I’m on my own.”
“On your own? Not a Green Beret anymore?”
“I had a disagreement with my commanding officer. Several, actually.”
“But why are you following us? What do you want?”
Curran twisted his head around as much as Travis’s grip permitted. “I want you dead.”
“Me? Dead?” Travis stared back at him, dumbfounded. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”
Curran looked straight ahead and kept his mouth shut.
Cavanaugh pushed her gun into Curran’s ribs. “Answer him.”
“It’s not what you did to me,” Curran replied curtly. “It’s what you did to my sister.”
Travis released Curran’s neck. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your sister.”
“You had everything to do with humiliating her in court. You’re doing everything you can to help Moroconi escape punishment for what he did to her.”
“I was defending Moroconi, if that’s what you mean. The prosecution’s case against him is flimsy at best. Even scum are entitled to a fair trial. If you take that away, the whole system falls apart.”
Cavanaugh stepped between them. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for a civics lesson, Travis. Look, Curran, I’m on the prosecution side of the courtroom. You can trust me. This desire to exact vengeance by projecting your anger onto the defendant’s lawyer is very common, although most people don’t do it with Puukko knives and laserscope rifles. But surely you can see you’re misdirecting your anger. Your beef is against the men who attacked your sister.”
“If I knew who those men were, I’d go after them,” Curran said. “In the meantime, I’ll settle for Byrne.”
“Great.” Travis slumped down beside the hot tub. “Just what I need. Someone else who wants to kill me.”
“There are others?”
“Take a number, kid. I’m not sure you’re even in the top five.”
“Look, Curran,” Cavanaugh said, “I’m sympathetic. I share your frustration. But I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. Why don’t we all put away our big guns and just talk for a few minutes? Then you can decide if you still want to kill Travis.”
Travis stared at her. “Put our guns away! And what if he decides he still wants to kill me?”
“One thing at a time, Travis. Can we talk, Curran?”
Curran frowned. “I suppose. As long as Byrne doesn’t try to get away.”
“He won’t. I’ve got the car keys. Mario!”
Mario crawled out from behind the pool table. “Yes?” he whispered.
“Show us to the den, Mario, and unlock the liquor cabinet. We’re going to have a nice, friendly chat.”
While Mario retired to his master bedroom to pull himself together, Cavanaugh tried to convince Curran that Travis was as much a pawn as his sister had been. She explained that Travis had been appointed to represent Moroconi, that he had precious little choice in the matter, and that once appointed, he had an obligation to do his best to exonerate Moroconi. Most important, she tried to convince him that the last thing on earth Travis needed was another person trying to kill him.
“Who are these other people?” Curran asked, still suspicious. “Did you humiliate their relatives in public, too?”
Travis ignored the barb. “I thought one group was the FBI, but the FBI has never heard of them. I thought the other group was the mob, although the FBI assures me the mob has been cleaned out of Dallas. The paper trail leads to some corporation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Join the club.”
Curran was silent for a moment. “Do you think these people who are after you could be the same people who attacked my sister?”
“I don’t know,” Travis said honestly. “Moroconi always claimed someone had framed him. At the least I think they know something about it.”
“Then I’m in.”
Travis blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I’m in. I’ll help.”
“Forget it. I’m not letting you anywhere near a weapon.”
“Wait a minute,” Cavanaugh said. “What exactly are you saying, Curran?”
“I’m saying I want to help you.”
“What do you think we’re going to do?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. I listened in on part of your conversation with Mario after you hauled him out of the hot tub. You’re going after Moroconi.”
“So?”
“So, I’m coming along. If these people know who attacked my sister, then I have as much right to go after them as you do.”
“This isn’t just a vigilante mission,” Travis insisted. “They’ve kidnapped a little girl. I have to find her by midnight or they’ll kill her.”
“Then you’d better have me along.”
“He has a point, you know,” Cavanaugh said. “He’s far better trained for this sort of mission than either of us.” She eyed Curran carefully. “And you promise you won’t hurt Travis till we’re done?”
“I promise. Till we’re done.”
“Good. Travis, I think we should let him join the party.”
Travis threw up his hands. “Cavanaugh, he tried to kill me!”
“But he promised not to try again. Till we’re done.”
“Oh, well then. If the man who’s been stalking me for days promises, then fine. Here, Curran. Have a machete.”
“I think he’s okay,” Cavanaugh said. “Just a little headstrong.”
“Just a little—” Travis walked
up to Curran and grabbed him by the lapel. “Look, Mr. Green Beret. How do I know you won’t kill me in some gruesome super-secret way the first opportunity you get?”
“I gave you my word.”
“I’d prefer a more tangible form of security.”
“Like what?”
Travis pushed him away. “Forget it. Come on, Cavanaugh. We don’t have time to mess around with him.”
“No!”
The sudden rise in Curran’s voice took them both by surprise. Curran’s face was transfixed by some new, unrecognizable emotion. He seated himself in an armchair and stared into the fireplace.
“Mary Ann is more than just my sister,” he said quietly. “She’s my twin.”
Of course. Travis had noticed the similarity in their features before.
“When we were growing up, we did everything together. We were the best of friends. She was always frail, timid. I was her protector. I was supposed to look out for her.
“I remember a time when we were in the fifth or sixth grade. I was supposed to walk her home, but I got sidetracked with some of my friends on the football team. Some bully hassled her on the way home. Actually, I think he had a crush on her but didn’t know how to show it. Anyway, he pushed her down and scraped up her knee. She ran home crying. She scared so easily. When I saw her, I put my arms around her and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mary Ann. I should have been with you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.’ ”
Cavanaugh gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “Curran, you’re not to blame for what happened to your sister.”
“Oh?” His eyes burned into hers. “What do you know about it? I was visiting her when it happened. We had shared a pizza earlier that evening. I walked her back to her sorority house and heard her say she was going to that bar to find her roommate.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “I could have gone with her. She invited me. But it was late, and I was tired. So I left her alone. Just when she needed me most.”
The three of them were quiet for several protracted moments. Only the crackling of wood in the fireplace disturbed their thoughts.
Travis walked out of the room and down the stairs. A few moments later he returned carrying Curran’s gun.
“Here,” he said, tossing it into Curran’s hands. “You can come.”
Curran’s eyes slowly rose to meet Travis’s. “You trust me with this?”
“You said you wouldn’t try to kill me. At least not for a while. Right?”
Curran nodded. “Right.”
Travis grabbed his own multistrike weapon and threw it over his shoulder. “Good enough for me.”
A tiny smile appeared on Curran’s face. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all, Byrne. For a lawyer.”
66
6:53 P.M.
KRAMER HAD BEEN SUSPICIOUS from the start. After all, less than twenty-four hours ago, Mario had fired him and said he was to have no further association with the family. Now Mario wanted him to come to his home immediately. Was this some kind of setup? In fifteen years of working for Mario, Kramer had never been invited to his home. He hadn’t even known where it was, and he suspected that his lack of knowledge was no accident. What the hell was going on?
To compound his suspicion, Kramer had seen a Jeep parked on the side of the private road leading to Mario’s home, about five hundred feet from the front gates. Odd parking place, and not a car he would expect Mario to be driving. As if that wasn’t enough, he found a green Hyundai parked not far from the Jeep. A quick call from his car phone told him the Hyundai was stolen.
Something unusual was happening at Mario’s house.
As he approached the front door Kramer heard voices. Two voices, maybe three. None of them was Mario’s. They were coming closer, approaching the front door.
Best to play it safe, Kramer decided. He’d fucked up too many times already; he wasn’t taking any more risks. He ducked behind some tall hedges lining the driveway and waited to see who came out the door.
“I’m familiar with that area,” Curran said as he, Travis, and Cavanaugh exited Mario’s house. “I’ll drive.”
“Wait a second,” Travis said. “I said you could come. I didn’t say you could take over.”
“I just thought it made sense, since I know my way around.”
“I’ve lived in Texas all my life.” Travis walked down the front steps and started across the large driveway fronting Mario’s home. “I also know what some of the people on my tail look like. I’ll drive.”
“Suit yourself. I was just—”
Curran’s voice suddenly faded away. Travis turned and saw that Curran had disappeared. One moment he was talking to Travis, and the next—
Cavanaugh pointed behind him. Travis whirled around just in time to see Curran dive over the hedge lining the driveway. What the hell did he think he was doing? Had he gone totally off the deep end?
A few seconds later Travis understood. Curran was rolling on the ground, wrestling with someone. Someone who must’ve been watching them.
Travis ran around the hedge. To his surprise, the man on the ground beneath Curran was not Moroconi. It was an older man, a tall man with a long, prominent scar on the side of his face. Travis had never seen him before.
Curran already had the upper hand. He was by far the stronger of the two, and he had pinned the man’s shoulders down on the well-trimmed lawn.
The man reached inside his jacket for a gun. Curran knocked it away with a quick, decisive slap of his hand. The man’s other hand dipped inside his pants pocket and returned with a cigarette lighter. The man flicked the lighter, then pressed it up against Curran’s face. Curran yelled, startled by the sudden burning sensation, but his hold did not diminish.
Travis ran forward and kicked the lighter out of the man’s hand; it flew off into the hedge. Curran leaned forward and braced his arm just under the man’s chin.
“I could kill you in three seconds,” Curran said in a guttural voice. “And if you try anything like that again, I will.”
The man relaxed. He stopped fighting.
“Who the hell are you?” Curran demanded. “Why were you watching us? And why are you carrying a gun?”
The man looked at Curran, then stared at Travis for a long moment. Then he glanced at Cavanaugh, who had just stepped behind the hedge. He didn’t answer.
Curran brought his fists down on the man’s chest. “I asked you a question! Who are you?”
The man gasped for air. He hesitated, then slowly formed the words. “I’m Inspector Henderson. With the FBI.”
67
7:00 P.M.
“HENDERSON?” TRAVIS SAID. “WHY the hell are you sneaking around behind the hedges?”
The man shrugged, as best he was able with his shoulders pressed into the mud. “My goal is the same as yours. Finding Moroconi.”
“And trying to recover your precious list, I’ll bet,” Travis said.
The man hesitated. Then: “That’s right.”
“How do we know you are who you say you are?” Cavanaugh asked. “Have you got any identification?”
“No, I’m undercover. I don’t carry ID.”
“So how can you prove you’re Henderson?” Travis asked.
“Do you remember the password, Mr. Byrne? On the business card you received?”
Travis did. He didn’t have the card anymore, but he definitely remembered the password.
“Good. Hickory dickory dock.”
Travis answered. “The mouse ran up the clock.”
“And the cow jumped over the moon.” He grinned, crinkling his vivid scar. ‘Tricky, huh?”
“Yeah, you guys are regular geniuses.”
“So he is who he says he is?” Cavanaugh asked.
“I guess so,” Travis said. “I don’t know how else he could’ve known the password. I called the FBI number in the directory, Henderson, and they said they’d never heard of you.”
“We were trying to confuse you. Disorientation. After all, we wer
e told you were a dangerous killer.”
Curran did not relax his grip. “That still doesn’t explain why you were watching us. In hiding.”
“I didn’t know who you were,” he insisted. “I got a tip that something was going down at Mario Catuara’s place, but I had no idea who the players were, or who came out on top. For all I knew, you could’ve all been mob enforcers. I was playing it safe till I knew who you were. I was about to identify myself when George of the Jungle here leaped on top of me.”
Travis nodded. “Let him go, Curran.”
With obvious reluctance, Curran did as Travis instructed. The man brushed himself off and rose to his feet.
“Look, Henderson,” Travis said, “this whole affair is one gigantic mistake. I don’t have your list and I haven’t killed anyone. One of your own men killed that FBI agent.”
“I know.”
“You—” Travis stared back at him, stunned. “You know?”
“Of course.” He recovered his lighter from where it had fallen. “I’ll admit I was confused at first, but I figured it out eventually. One of our men went bad. Probably behind your alleged murder at the West End, too. Why would you want to kill those people? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Travis felt a wave of release rush through his body. “Then why are you after me?”
“After you? I’m here to help you.”
Travis leaned against Cavanaugh for support; this was more good news than he could handle in a single sitting.
“I think we’re both after the same quarry—Moroconi. Am I right?”
Travis agreed. Quickly, he told the man everything they had learned inside Mario’s house, especially about where Moroconi was headed.
“We’re on our way there now,” Travis said. “Why don’t you come with us?”
A slow smile spread across the man’s face. For some strange, inexplicable reason, the smile made Travis shudder.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” he replied.
“Good,” Cavanaugh said. “Maybe you could call for some FBI backup.”
Double Jeopardy Page 24