by Phil Swann
»»•««
Ben didn’t know where he should go after leaving Stevie’s house. Going to see Sarah was pointless now and might even be cruel. The last thing the poor woman needed was for her dead husband’s brother showing up asking a bunch of idiotic questions. But he knew he didn’t want to go home, and he sure didn’t want to talk to anybody. He needed to think and be alone.
Steering the narrow two-lane back roads of middle-Tennessee had been his means of therapy since he was a teenager—and right now, he needed a session more than ever. He couldn’t believe he’d spent the entire day with Stevie, talking, laughing, and telling stories, both old and new. It was the most time he and Stevie had spent together in…he couldn’t recall how long. It amazed him how not only pleasant the afternoon turned out to be, but healing, as well. Yes, the realization that Timon Baros was completely mad was disheartening, but in a way it also brought a modicum of peace. Stevie was right, it was time for acceptance. Things are the way they are, and the past can’t be changed. He needed to come to grips with that. He also knew it was time to take serious stock of his life. It was time to grow up. He figured his entire life had been much like the broken yellow line he was now chasing down the winding ribbon of ancient asphalt beneath him; disjointed, sometimes connected, but more often than not, just a haphazard blur of faded and neglected nonsense. That needed to stop. He had to start making decisions based on a realistic vision of how he wanted to spend his days and the person he wanted to become. In short, he needed a purpose.
After two hours and a half tank of gas, Ben was considering heading back home when he passed a road sign that made him smile. He hadn’t been over there in years, but now it seemed like the only logical place for him to be. He slowed the car and made a U-turn. Ten minutes later he was out of the car and standing on a deserted shoreline by Percy Priest Lake.
The enormous manmade reservoir east of Nashville was once the Lambros family’s Saint-Tropez. Hardly a weekend in the summer went by when they weren’t here. He looked around and was flooded with memories: Mom with her cocoa butter and Jane Austin, Dad toting fishing tackle and endless bags of charcoal briquettes. For Tommy and him, this lake was the locale of sunken treasure, great naval battles in huge rubber inner tubes, and countless hours of high seas adventures. Later, as teenagers, it became the secret rendezvous point with a girl, or an impromptu Malibu beach party with friends. A mile or two down the trail was where the Lambros family yacht used to be moored. Ben chuckled. The Lambros yacht, as his father referred to it, was in actuality a secondhand pontoon boat with a top speed of eleven miles per hour, when it ran at all. But it was theirs, and the old man couldn’t have been prouder. Ben tossed a rock into the water and watched the ripples disperse.
“Benjamin,” said a voice behind him.
Ben jerked around.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Timon Baros stood at the trailhead wearing the same clothes as the night before, only looking more tired and less composed. “I’ve tried calling you all day but—”
“Son of a bitch!” Ben yelled. “You’re following me again.”
“I’m sorry. As I said, I tried—”
“How did you find me out here? Have you been tailing me all day?”
“Did you learn anything? Did you find out about those numbers? Is there—”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“That’s not important!” Baros shouted.
“The hell it’s not!” Ben shot back.
“Benjamin, please,” Baros said, reclaiming some calm. “The situation has become critical. I cannot stress enough how important it is you tell me what you’ve learned.”
Ben moved toward the old man with his finger pointing at him. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned, Baros. My brother thought you were a fruitcake, that’s what I learned. He was placating you, going along with your cockamamie story just to make you happy. See, as it turns out, he was a pretty swell guy after all. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Well, pal, I don’t have such a problem. So here it is: you’re fucking out of your mind, and the last thing I need in my life right now is more crazy. So get the hell out of my face and leave me alone. And if I ever catch you following me again, I swear to God my next call will be to my lawyer, who’ll slap a restraining order on your ass so fast you won’t know what hit you. Do you understand?”
Timon Baros closed his eyes. “I presume Mr. Donnellson led you to this opinion of me? Yes, that would make sense. I should have warned you that might happen should my name come up. That was a mistake on my part.” Baros let out a long sigh. “Benjamin, Mr. Donnellson believes what he does because your brother and I created that identity for me.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“The best way to sell a lie is to wrap it in enough truth to make it plausible. Thomas and I decided he should characterize me as a foolish yet harmless old friend of your father. That way, it would be easier for the two of us to continue our relationship.”
“Unbelievable,” Ben said, shaking his head. “You have an answer for everything.”
“It’s true, Benjamin. Everything I told you last night about your father, your brother, our relationship, it’s all true. Your brother was in possession of something powerful people would kill for…have already killed for. And he gave it to you, even if you don’t know you have it, you do have it. I am absolutely sure of it. Because, my dear friend, you are a Lambros.”
“Go to hell, Baros,” Ben replied, turning to walk away.
Ben only heard the shot after feeling the whistle of the bullet go by his left ear and obliterate the tree limb behind him. Reflex alone, not a conscious decision, caused him to fall to the ground. Once there, he wasn’t sure why.
“Benjamin, stay down!”
Ben heard the words but couldn’t compute their meaning. He began to stand.
“Benjamin, stay down!”
Though still not sure what was happening, Ben followed the order anyway. He looked for Baros, but the old man wasn’t standing where he was a moment ago.
“Benjamin!” Baros shouted again.
He looked to his right and saw Baros lying on the ground as well.
“Is someone shooting at us?”
“Stay down,” Baros ordered again. “Are you wounded?”
Ben actually had to think for a moment. “No, I’m…I’m not.”
“Whatever you do, don’t get up, Benjamin.”
“Holy shit! Someone is shooting at us. Help, help!”
“Benjamin, stop yelling.”
“Someone is shooting at us!”
“We need to get into the woods.”
“What?”
“Crawl to that rock, then get up and run like hell into the woods. Go, Benjamin!”
Ben scooted across the ground on his stomach, staying as close to the earth as humanly possible. Sharp pine cones and jagged rocks scratched his hands and ripped through his clothes as he pulled himself across the dirt. He could taste the adrenaline in his mouth. His ears were sensitized to every sound around him. Was that another gunshot? Maybe. He couldn’t tell. Every noise was a threat. At any moment he was sure it would all be over. He wondered if he would feel the bullet. Would it hurt? Would he hear the gunshot, or would it be like someone just turned out the lights?
“Now, into the woods. Go! Hurry, Benjamin!”
Timon Baros’ words pulled Ben into the moment, and fear transformed into a sudden burst of rage. Ben stood and ran as fast as his legs would move, his eyes never straying from the wooded area ten yards in front of him. Once in, he fought his way over fallen branches and shrubs, lifting his feet as high as he could to miss the hidden tree trunks doing their best to end his sprint. Thirty seconds in, the woods finally won. Ben stumbled, falling hard onto a patch of mossy ground beside a large oak tree. His heart pounded in his throat, and his chin rattled with fear as he crawled behind the tree and closed his eyes. He nearly jumped to his feet and started running aga
in when seconds later Timon Baros hobbled up.
The old man grunted as he fell down on the ground beside him. “Very good, Benjamin,” Baros said, breathing extremely hard. “We can’t be seen in here.”
Ben began frantically searching his pockets.
“What are you looking for?”
“My phone. I need to call 911.”
“No, you cannot do that,” Baros said.
“The hell I can’t, someone just shot at us.”
“Benjamin, you mustn’t,” Baros begged, grabbing Ben’s arm.
Ben pushed the old man away. “Look, I don’t know what they do where you’re from, but here, when you get shot at, you call the police.”
“And if you do, we’ll both be dead before midnight.”
Ben stopped cold.
Baros continued, “Benjamin, we cannot trust anyone, least of all law enforcement. I fear, despite my best efforts, I am too late. The Kerykes know I’m here.”
“Who?”
“I will explain later, but for now we have a more pressing problem.” Baros opened his tweed jacket. His shirt was covered in blood.
Ben instinctively pulled away. “Christ, you’ve been shot.”
“It would appear so. Please, we must get to your car.”
“I have to call an ambulance, I’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
“No,” Baros said, swallowing hard, trying to suppress the pain. “Benjamin, listen to me carefully. We cannot call an ambulance. We cannot go to the hospital. We cannot call the police or go back to your house or my hotel. We must disappear.”
“But someone tried to kill you.”
“No,” Baros said, shutting his eyes, obviously in agony but also frustrated. “Benjamin, you still don’t understand. I was shot, but it’s you they wanted to kill.”
»»•««
No matter how much Ellie protested, Inspector Chamberlain remained firm: Beatrice Whitt’s actions were not a matter for Scotland Yard. He handed Ellie his business card with an invitation to call should any new information come to light. Done and done. The police weren’t two minutes out the door before Ellie had made her decision. She sat down at the computer.
“What are you doing, ma’am?” Stewart asked.
Ellie didn’t answer.
“Dr. Scotes?” Stewart asked again, not sure he’d been heard. “Is there—”
“Looking up flights. I don’t care what Inspector Gadget says, Bea’s in trouble.”
“You’re going to go to Nashville and look for her, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Ellie answered without hesitation.
“But…have you ever been to Nashville, ma’am?”
“No.”
“So—”
“Stewart,” Ellie said, without looking up, “I have no answers for you. I don’t know how I’m going to find her. I don’t know the first place to start looking when I get there. I don’t know anything. I’m sure I’m completely mad, but I just can’t sit around here and do nothing. I’m going to go find Bea. Damn!” Ellie said, slamming her hand on the desk. “The only flight doesn’t leave for another four hours, and that only gets me as far as New York. It’s going to take me sixteen bloody hours to get to Nashville.”
“Maybe I can help,” Stewart said, taking out his cell phone.
“How?”
It appeared to Ellie the young Scotsman stiffened while he waited for his call to be answered. “Hello, Father, Stewie here…very good, sir. Father, I have a situation at work where I could use your assistance. Could I make use of the jet tonight?”
Ellie’s eyes opened wide.
“Yes, sir, to America. Time is an issue, and any assistance would be most appreciated by not only me but my colleague as well.” Stewart’s expression never changed as he listened. “Thank you, Father, most kind, indeed. You have no idea how helpful this is. Give Mum my love. Yes, of course, I will. I’ll see you soon. Ta-Ta.” Stewart ended the call and turned to Ellie. “The plane is at Heathrow. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“But…but,” Ellie stammered. “How…”
“Oh…I thought you knew, ma’am,” Stewart said, gathering his belongings into his backpack. “My family, we’re quite rich.”
»»•««
The large man peered through the scope and watched Ben and Timon dash toward the woods. He was repositioning himself for another shot when he heard voices coming down the trail. He lowered the rifle and within seconds had the weapon dismantled and placed in a harmless looking green duffle bag. He casually walked out of the brush and into an open meadow used for public parking just as the two young hikers, one male, one female, exited a trailhead twenty yards away.
“Howdy,” the female hiker said, offering a pleasant smile.
“Hello there,” the large man replied, opening the door to his truck.
“Fantastic day, isn’t it?” the male hiker said.
“Doesn’t get much better,” the large man replied, tossing the duffle inside.
“Well, you take care now,” the female hiker said, getting into a small car.
“I’ll do just that. Y’all take good care too.”
The large man smiled as the couple drove off, offering one last wave as they pulled onto the main road. His smile quickly disappeared when he looked back across the lake to where Ben Lambros and Timon Baros had been. As he expected, they were now nowhere in sight. He removed a wad of tobacco tucked inside his floppy jowls and threw it onto the ground.
Chapter Nineteen
“I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing,” Ben said, speeding down Interstate 40 with a tight grip on the steering wheel. He was covered in dirt, and the two-inch bloody gash on his forearm hurt like hell, but that was the least of his concerns. He glanced over at Timon Baros. The old man was slumped in the passenger seat, the color in his face fading fast. “Christ, I’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“No hospital,” Baros coughed. “It’s not safe. Is anyone following us?”
“What? Following us?” Ben hadn’t even considered that. He checked the rearview mirror. “No. I mean…I don’t think so…I don’t know.”
“I was supposed to protect you. I’m sorry, Benjamin, I have failed.”
“Protect me? You’re the one that’s shot.”
“I need…I need you to know…” Baros’ voice trailed off and his eyes closed.
“Hey, Baros. Wake up. Timon, open your eyes!”
Timon Baros opened his eyes as ordered. His breath was labored, and his voice was getting weaker with each word. “Yes…I hear you, Benjamin.”
Ben saw the sign above the freeway, and the idea came to him immediately. It was an insane idea, but at the moment he had nothing else. “Okay, I’m getting you help.”
“No hospital.”
“I’m not going to a hospital just…hang on.”
Ben followed the sign onto I-24 north until it merged with I-65. He exited at Trinity Lane and made a sharp right turn off the exit ramp without stopping. Two quick turns later and Ben found himself in an area many Nashvillians referred to as “the wrong side of the tracks.”
Though much of East Nashville had now become the trendy destination of the affluent hipster set, the gentrification hadn’t yet reached this far north of the city. Here, government housing, boarded-up storefronts, and condemned warehouses were still the rule more than the exception. Ben slowed and studied each building he passed. He’d only been to the place he was looking for once, and he wasn’t sure he even remembered what the building looked like. It was starting to feel hopeless when he finally saw it, an old gas station that had been renovated and refaced in white stucco. The sign in front had no words, only a red cross with a caduceus painted in the middle. “That’s it!” he shouted. Ben drove down the alley behind the building and brought the car to a stop beside a dumpster. He opened his car door and looked over at Timon. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll be right back.”
The rear entrance to the clinic was a windo
wless white door reinforced by a wrought iron security gate. It was obvious patients never came and went from here, but Ben knew entering through the front was out of the question. He looked for a buzzer and saw none. He tried opening the gate, but it was locked. Seeing no other choice, he began shaking the gate as hard as he could. Finally, he heard someone unlatching a lock. The door opened ajar, and a young African-American woman in green scrubs stuck out her head. “Please use the front door, sir.”
“I need to see the doctor, is she in?”
“Yes, but you need to use the front door. We’ll be happy to help you.”
“But I’m…I’m…” Ben honestly didn’t know how to refer to himself. “Just tell her—”
“Ben?” came a voice from inside. “Is that you?” The door opened wider, and the nurse moved aside. A stunning woman with shoulder length red hair, soft emerald green eyes, and wearing a white lab coat appeared in the doorway. “Ben, what are you doing here?”
“Hi, Sarah,” Ben replied. “I need help.”
»»•««
Dr. Sarah Lambros and the young nurse attended to Timon Baros while Ben stood silently in the corner. It had taken all three of them to get the wounded man out of Ben’s car and into the clinic. Thankfully, Sarah refrained from asking any questions, her first concern being to save the old man’s life. But Ben knew the questions would come eventually.
Sarah pulled off her bloodied latex gloves and tossed them into a basket. “He’s stabilized. Connie, let’s keep him on saline and make sure those bandages stay clean.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Ben asked.
“The bullet was a clean exit, and it appears it didn’t hit any major organs. He’s in pretty good shape for his age, but he’s lost a lot of blood, and his pressure is still dangerously low.”
Ben didn’t reply, and Sarah stared at him for a long moment.
Ben broke the silence. “I guess you want to know—”
“Not here,” Sarah interrupted. “Connie, we’ll be in my office.”
Ben followed Sarah out of the examination room, down a stark white plaster and tile hallway, and into a small, unimpressive room he supposed Sarah called her office.