The Winner

by David Baldacci

  “Yeah. If you’re right about all this—”

  Riggs finished for him: “The guy just killed his own sister. I’d hate to see what he’d do to a nonfamily member.”

  Riggs hung up. For the very first time he actually felt hopeful. He was under no delusions that Jackson would be around for the FBI to take into custody. He would be flushed out, cut off from his home base. He’d be pissed, full of revenge. Well, let him be. He’d have to cut Riggs’s heart out before he’d get to LuAnn. And they wouldn’t be sitting targets. Now was the time to keep on the move.

  Ten minutes later they were in the car heading for points unknown.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Jackson boarded the Delta shuttle for New York. He needed additional supplies and he was going to pick up Roger. He couldn’t count on him to travel by himself and get to where he was supposed to be. Then they would head back south. During the short flight Jackson checked in with the man following Charlie and Lisa. They had made a rest stop. Charlie had talked on the phone. No doubt checking in with LuAnn. They had gone on and were now close to reentering Virginia on the southern side. It was all working out very well. An hour later, Jackson was in a cab threading its way through Manhattan toward his apartment.

  Horace Parker looked around with intense curiosity. A doorman for over fifty years at a building where average apartments covered four thousand square feet and went for five million, and the penthouse that covered triple that space and went for twenty mil, he had never seen anything like this before. He watched as the small army of men in FBI windbreakers swept through the lobby and into the private elevator that went only to the penthouse. They looked deadly serious and had the weaponry to prove it.

  He went back outside and looked up and down the street. A cab pulled up and out stepped Jackson. Parker immediately went over to him. The doorman had known him for most of his life. Years ago he had skipped pennies in the lobby’s massive fountain with Jackson and his younger brother, Roger. To earn extra money he had baby-sat them and taken them to Central Park on the weekends; he had bought them their first beers when they were barely into puberty. Finally, he had watched them grow up and then leave the nest. The Cranes, he had heard, had fallen on hard times, and they had left New York. Peter Crane, though, had come back and bought the penthouse. Apparently, he had done awfully well for himself.

  “Good evening, Horace,” Jackson said cordially.

  “Evening, Mr. Crane,” Parker said and tipped his cap.

  Jackson started past him.

  “Mr. Crane, sir?”

  Jackson turned to him. “What is it? I’m in a bit of a hurry, Horace.”

  Parker looked upward. “There’s some men come to the building, Mr. Crane. They went right up to your apartment. A bunch of them. FBI. Guns and everything, never seen nothing like it. They’re up there right now. I think they’re waiting for you to get home, sir.”

  Jackson’s reply was calm and immediate. “Thank you for the information, Horace. Simply a misunderstanding.”

  Jackson put out his hand, which Parker took. Jackson immediately turned and walked away from the apartment building. When Parker opened his hand, there was a wad of hundred-dollar bills there. He looked around discreetly before stuffing the cash in his pocket and taking up his position by the door once more.

  From the shadows of an alley across the street, Jackson turned and looked up at his apartment building. His eyes kept going up and up until they came to rest upon the windows of the penthouse. His penthouse. He could see the silhouettes move slowly across the windows, and his lips started to tremble at this outrageous invasion of his home. The possibility that they could have traced him to his personal residence had not occurred to him. How in the hell? He couldn’t worry about it now, though. He went down the cross street and made a phone call. Twenty minutes later a limousine picked him up. He called his brother and told him to leave his apartment immediately — not even bothering to pack a bag — and meet Jackson in front of the St. James Theater. Jackson wasn’t sure how the police had found out his identity, but he couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t wind up at Roger Crane’s apartment at any minute. Then he made a quick stop to gather together some necessary supplies from another smaller apartment he kept under a phony name. Under the ownership of one of his myriad corporate shells he maintained a private jet and full-time crew at La Guardia. He called ahead so that the pilot on duty would be able to file his flight plan as quickly as possible. Jackson did not intend to spend time twiddling his thumbs in the waiting area. The limo would take them right to the plane. That accomplished, he collected his brother from in front of the theater.

  Roger was two years younger and slimly built but wiry like his older brother. He also shared the same shock of dark hair and delicate facial features. He was certainly curious about his brother’s abrupt return to his life. “I couldn’t believe you called like that out of the blue. What’s up, Peter?”

  “Shut up, I need to think.” He suddenly turned to his younger brother. “Have you seen the news?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t usually watch TV. Why?”

  He obviously didn’t know of Alicia’s death. That was good. Jackson didn’t answer his brother; he settled back in the seat, his mind racing through a seemingly infinite number of scenarios.

  In a half hour they were at La Guardia Airport. Soon they had left the Manhattan skyline behind on their way south.

  The FBI did converge on Roger Crane’s small apartment building, but a little too late. Yet they were far more intrigued by what they had discovered at Peter Crane’s penthouse.

  Masters and Berman, walking around the massive penthouse, came across Jackson’s makeup and archives rooms and his computerized control center.

  “Holy shit,” Berman said, his hands in his pockets as he stared at the masks, makeup bins, and racks of clothing.

  Masters held the scrapbook gingerly in his gloved hands. FBI technicians roamed everywhere collecting evidence.

  “Looks like Riggs was right. One guy. Maybe we can survive all this,” Masters said.

  “So what’s our next move?”

  Masters answered immediately. “We focus on Peter Crane. Put a blanket on the airports and train and bus stations. I want road blocks posted on all the major arteries heading out of town. You’re to instruct all the men that he’s extremely dangerous and a master of disguise. Send out photos of the guy everywhere, fat lot of good that’ll do us. We’ve cut off his home base, but he’s obviously got enormous financial resources. If we do manage to track him down, I want no unnecessary chances. Tell the men that if there’s the slightest threat, to shoot him down.”

  “How about Riggs and Tyler?” Berman asked.

  “So long as they don’t get in the way, they’ll be okay. If they get mixed up with Crane along the way, well, there’s no guarantee. I’m not going to jeopardize my men to make sure they don’t get hurt. As far as I’m concerned LuAnn Tyler belongs in jail. But that’s why we’ve got some ammo with her. We can send her to jail or threaten to. I think she’ll keep her mouth shut. Why don’t you go oversee the rest of the evidence collection.”

  While Berman did so, Masters sat down and read the background information on LuAnn that accompanied her photo.

  He was finishing up when Berman returned.

  “You think Crane’s going to go after Tyler now?” Berman asked.

  Masters didn’t answer. Instead he looked down at the picture of LuAnn Tyler staring back at him from the photo album. He now understood why she had been picked as a lottery winner. Why they had all been picked. He now had a much clearer idea of who LuAnn Tyler was and why she had done what she had. She had been destitute, stuck in a cycle of poverty, with an infant daughter. No hope. All of the chosen winners had shared this common denominator: no hope. They were ripe for this man’s scheme. Masters’s features betrayed the emotions he was feeling. Right at that very moment, and for a number of reasons, George Masters was starting to feel immense guilt.r />
  It was nearing midnight when Riggs and LuAnn stopped at a motel. After checking in, Riggs phoned George Masters. The FBI agent had just returned from New York and he detailed to Riggs what had happened since they had last spoken. After receiving this briefing Riggs hung up the phone and looked over at a very anxious LuAnn.

  “What happened? What did they say?”

  Riggs shook his head. “As expected. Jackson wasn’t there, but they found enough evidence to keep him in prison for the rest of his life and then some. Including a scrapbook on all the lottery winners.”

  “So he was related to Alicia Crane.”

  Riggs nodded grimly. “Her older brother, Peter. Peter Crane is Jackson. Or at least everything points that way.”

  LuAnn was wide-eyed. “Then he murdered his own sister.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Because she knew too much? Because of Donovan?”

  “Right. Jackson couldn’t take a chance on that. Maybe he shows up disguised or maybe as his true self. He gets what he wants out of her, maybe he tells her he killed Donovan. Who knows. She apparently was dating the guy. She might have gone nuts, threatened to go to the police. At some point he murdered her, I feel sure of that.”

  LuAnn shuddered. “Where do you think he is?”

  Riggs shrugged. “The Feds got to his house, but from the looks of the place the man has money to burn, a million different places he could go, a dozen faces and identities he could go there under. It’s not going to be easy to catch him.”

  “To finish our deal?” LuAnn’s tone was slightly sarcastic.

  “We handed the Feds his friggin’ identity. They’re at his ‘world’ headquarters right now. When I said we’d deliver him, I didn’t necessarily mean in a box with a ribbon on it, laid on the doorstep of the Hoover Building. As far as I’m concerned we’ve lived up to our end of the bargain.”

  LuAnn let out a deep breath. “So does that mean everything’s square? With the FBI? And Georgia?”

  “We’ll have some details to work out, but yeah, I think so. Unknown to them, I recorded the entire meeting at the Hoover Building. I’ve got Masters, the director of the FBI, and the attorney general of the United States herself, acting upon the authority of the president of the United States no less, all on tape agreeing to the deal I proposed. They’ve got to play straight with us now. But I’ve gotta be straight with you too. The IRS is going to put a big dent in your bank account. In fact after so many years of compounded penalties and interest, I’m not sure how much money you’re going to have left, if any.”

  “I don’t care about that. I want to pay my taxes, even if it takes everything I’ve got. The truth is, I stole the money to begin with. I just want to know if I have to keep looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

  “You’re not going to prison, if that’s what you mean.” He touched her cheek with his hand. “You don’t look too happy.”

  She blushed and smiled at him. “I am.” Her smile quickly faded though.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  She blurted out, “Until they catch Jackson, my life’s not worth spit. Or yours. Or Charlie’s.” Her lips trembled. “Or Lisa’s.” She suddenly jumped up and grabbed the phone.

  “What are you doing?” Riggs asked.

  “I need to see my daughter. I need to know that she’s safe.”

  “Wait a minute, what are you going to tell them?”

  “That we can meet up somewhere. I want her near me. Nothing’s going to happen to her without it happening to me first.”

  “LuAnn, look—”

  “This subject isn’t open for discussion.” Her tone was ferocious.

  “All right, all right, I hear you. But where are we going to meet them?”

  LuAnn passed a hand over her forehead. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  Riggs said, “Where are they now?”

  “The last I heard, they were heading back into southern Virginia.”

  He rubbed his chin. “What’s Charlie driving?”

  “The Range Rover.”

  “Terrific. It’ll hold all of us. We’ll meet them wherever they are right now. We’ll leave the rental and head out. Go somewhere and wait for the FBI to do its thing. So call them and I’ll run up to that all-night burger place we saw on the way in and get us some food.”

  “Good enough.”

  When Riggs got back with two bags of food, LuAnn was no longer on the phone.

  “You reach them?”

  “They’re at a motel on the outskirts of Danville, Virginia. But I need to call them back and let them know when we’re going to be there.” She looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

  “We’re in Edgewood, Maryland, north of Baltimore. Danville is a little over a hundred miles south of Charlottesville, which means we’re about five or six hours from Danville.”

  “Okay, if we start right now—”

  “LuAnn, it’s after midnight. They’re probably in bed, right?”

  “So?”

  “So, we can catch some sleep, which we both really need, get up early, and meet them tomorrow around noon.”

  “I don’t want to wait. I want Lisa safe with me.”

  “LuAnn, driving when you’re exhausted isn’t real safe. Even if we start right now, we won’t make it until five or six in the morning. Nothing’s going to happen between now and then. Come on, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. And if Lisa knows you’re coming tonight, she won’t get a wink of sleep.”

  “I don’t care. I’d rather she’d be sleepy and safe.”

  Riggs shook his head slowly. “LuAnn, there’s another reason we might not want to hook up with them right now, and it has to do with keeping Lisa safe.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Riggs put his hands in his pockets and leaned up against the wall. “Jackson is somewhere out there, that we know. Now, the last time we saw him he was running off into the woods. He could have easily come back and followed us.”

  “But what about Donovan and Bobbie Jo Reynolds and Alicia Crane? He killed them.”

  “We believe he killed them, or had someone kill them. Or he could’ve killed all of them personally and hired someone to follow us. That man has a deep pocketbook; there isn’t much he can’t buy.”

  LuAnn reflected briefly on Anthony Romanello. Jackson had hired him to kill her. “So Jackson could know about your meeting with the FBI? He could know where we are right now?”

  “And if we go running off to see Lisa, then we lead him right to her as well.”

  LuAnn slumped down on the bed. “We can’t do that, Matthew,” she said wearily.

  He rubbed her shoulders. “I know.”

  “But I want to see my little girl. Can’t I do that?”

  Riggs thought for a few minutes and then sat on the bed beside her and held her hands with his. “Okay, we’ll stay here for the night. It would be a lot easier for someone to follow us at night and remain unseen. Tomorrow, we’ll get an early start and head down to Danville. I’ll keep an eagle eye out for anyone remotely suspicious. As an undercover agent, I got pretty good at that. We’ll take secondary roads, make frequent stops, and occasionally take the interstate. It’ll be impossible for anyone to tail us. We’ll meet Charlie and Lisa at the motel and then we’ll have Charlie take her directly to the local FBI office in Charlottesville. We’ll follow in our car but we won’t go in. I don’t want them getting hold of you just yet. But since we struck a deal with the Feds, we might as well avail ourselves of some of their protection resources. How’s that sound?”

  She smiled. “So I’ll see Lisa tomorrow?”

  He cupped her chin in his hand. “Tomorrow.”

  LuAnn called Charlie back, setting the meeting time at one o’clock the following day at the motel in Danville. With Charlie, Riggs, and herself around her little girl, Jackson could just come on and try something, because she liked their odds of survival under those circumstances.r />
  They slid into bed and Riggs wrapped his good arm around her slim waist and snuggled against her. His 9- mm was under his pillow, a chair wedged tightly under the door lock. He had unscrewed a light bulb, broken it, and sprinkled the remains in front of the door. Although he didn’t expect anything to happen, he wanted as much advance warning as he could get if it did.

  As he lay next to her he was both confident and uneasy. She apparently sensed this and turned to face him, her hand gently