Saturday, 12:52 A.M.
Alvin Marshall Bonnier, age twenty-seven, also known as Mars Krupchek, was wanted in connection with four counts of homicide in Tigard, Oregon. The local authorities theorized the following chain of events based on witness interviews and forensic evidence: Bonnier, who lived alone with his mother at the time of the murders, abducted and raped his next-door neighbor, Helene Getty, age seventeen, and disposed of her body in a wooded streambed near their homes. She had been strangled and repeatedly stabbed in the chest, abdomen, and vaginal area. Mrs. Bonnier, an invalid suffering from crippling arthritis, subsequently discovered Getty's bloodstained panties and left Reebok tennis shoe, also splattered with blood, in her son's bedroom. She confronted her son, at which time Alvin stabbed his mother to death in the living room, then carried her body to the bathroom, where he dismembered it. Bonnier wrapped the limbs and torso in newspapers and plastic trash bags, then buried these remains in Mrs. Bonnier's rosebed. Neighbors stated that when the boy was young, Mrs. Bonnier made switches from the thorny rose branches with which she beat the boy. Bonnier kept his mother's head in the refrigerator, but transferred the head to the trunk of the family car several days later. With his mother's head along for company, he befriended sixteen-year-old Stephen Stilwell at a local shopping mall and enticed the boy to take a drive, probably offering cigarettes and beer. Instead, Bonnier drove Stilwell to a nearby abandoned drive-in movie theater, where he sodomized the boy, then stabbed him repeatedly. He placed Stilwell in the trunk with his mother's head, then drove to the same area where he had disposed of Helene Getty's body. Upon arrival at that location, he discovered that Stilwell was still alive, whereupon he cut the young man's throat, mutilated his genitals, and abandoned the body without attempting to conceal it. Witnesses at the shopping mall were able to provide a description of Bonnier and his automobile. Twelve days later, an eighteen-year-old high school senior named Anita Brooks hitched a ride with Bonnier after missing her bus. Instead of bringing her to school, Bonnier drove to a nearby lake, where he strangled her before branding the victim's breasts and vagina with her own cigarettes. Evidence gathered at the scene indicated that he had placed his mother's head on a nearby picnic table, probably so that she could watch the mutilation. Bonnier immediately returned home, parked his car in its usual spot, then, so far as the police know, departed the area. Authorities discovered Anita Brooks's body first. Alvin Marshall Bonnier was not identified as the suspect until two days later when neighbors investigated the foul smell coming from the Bonnier residence and summoned the police, who located his mother's body between the roses. Stilwell and Getty were found within the following week.
Talley listened to Mikkelson's recitation of the facts with a growing sense of urgency that Martin read in his expression.
'What in hell is happening?'
Talley raised his hand, telling her to wait.
'Mikki, they're positive that Bonnier and Krupchek are the same person?'
'That's affirm, Chief. The palm print he left in Kim's matched dead on, and the Bureau guys brought a copy of the warrants fax from Oregon. I saw the photo. It's Krupchek.'
'What's happening out there now?'
'The VICAP hit automatically notified the FBI. The detectives here have locked down the scene to wait for a team from the LA field office.'
Talley checked his watch.
'What's their ETA?'
'I dunno. You want me to check?'
'Yeah.'
Talley filled in Martin while he waited for Mikkelson. As Martin listened, her face grew closed and uncertain, but Mikkelson was back on the line before she could respond.
'Chief?'
'Go, Mikki.'
'The Feds should be here within a couple of hours. You want us to wait for them or come back to York?'
Talley told her to come back, then snapped the phone shut. He ran his hand across his head and stared toward the cul-de-sac.
'This is fucking great. I've got the mafia outside and fucking Freddy Krueger in the house.'
Martin watched him calmly.
'This changes things.'
'I know it changes things, Captain! I'm trying to save my wife and daughter, but I have to get those kids out of that house.'
'Because of Krupchek? They've been in there all day with him, Talley. Another few hours won't matter.'
'It matters. All of this matters.'
Talley left Martin at the command van and found Jones briefing his people at their vans. Jones saw Talley approaching, and separated from the others. Talley noted that Jones appeared apprehensive, resting a hand on the MP5 slung from his shoulder.
'What's up, Chief?'
'We have a problem. One of the three subjects in the house isn't who we thought. Krupchek. His true name is Alvin Marshall Bonnier. He's wanted for multiple homicides in Oregon.'
Jones smiled tightly, like Talley was making an unfunny joke.
'You're shittin' me.'
'You're going to be swimmin' in shit when you hear this: The real FBI are on their way. This isn't bullshit, Jones or whatever your name is. The Sheriffs pulled a palm print from the minimart these assholes robbed. They got a VICAP hit. You know what that is?'
Jones wasn't smiling anymore, but he didn't look concerned, either.
'I know.'
Talley explained that detectives from the Sheriff's Homicide Bureau were presently at Krupchek's home awaiting the arrival of FBI agents from the LA field office.
'They'll visit that house, then they'll come here, and they won't leave. By morning, this place is going to be covered with FBI, including a real FBI SWAT team.'
'We'll be gone by then. We're breaching the house as soon as I hear back from the man.'
'I want to go in now.'
Jones shook his head.
'Not until I get the call.'
Talley couldn't tell if Jones was suspicious or simply didn't understand.
'Listen to me. It's different now. This isn't just three turds holding a family hostage anymore. Those kids are in there with a lunatic.'
'It'll be fine, Talley.'
'We're talking about a man wanted for multiple homicide, Jones. He cut off his own mother's head and keeps it in the freezer.'
'I don't give a shit.'
'He's psychotic. Psychotics decompensate in stressful situations, and this guy has been in a pressure cooker all day. If that happens, he might do anything.'
Jones was unmoved.
'We'll breach when I get the call. It won't be long.'
'Fuck you.'
'After the call.'
Talley walked away. He saw Martin watching from the command van, but didn't know what to say to her. He recalled his conversations with Rooney, and decided that Rooney did not know that Krupchek was really Alvin Marshall Bonnier. If Rooney was knowingly associating with a serial killer, it would mean he derived a vicarious pleasure from Bonnier's company. Rooney's need to be seen as special would have forced him to drop hints of Bonnier's identity in hopes of impressing Talley, but Rooney had not done that. Rooney didn't know, which meant that Rooney might as easily end up Bonnier's victim as the rest of them.
Talley glanced back at Jones. He and his men were waiting together at the rear of their van. Waiting for the call.
Talley decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He had to warn Rooney and Thomas, and he had to get those kids out of there.
Then he heard screaming from the house.
Dennis reached for the Stoli bottle and fell off the couch, landing on his face and knees in a pool of vodka. His ass was in the air, pointing toward the front of the house, toward the cops who filled the cul-de-sac.
Dennis patted his ass, and giggled.
'Too bad you cops can't see this! You can kiss my skinny white ass right here.'
Dennis collected the bottle and pushed to his feet. He caught himself on the sofa arm to keep from tipping over, then took his pistol from his waist. Holding it made him feel better. The television showed a woman on her knees, pushing a rolling platform back and forth on the floor. Her abdominal muscles were so beautifully defined that she looked like an anatomy chart. Dennis watched her with a sense of profound loss, then raised the pistol to his own head.
'Bang.'
He lowered the gun.
'Shit.'
Dennis dropped his gun onto the couch, then considered the money. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills lined the coffee table. He fished the remaining packs of cash from his pockets and fanned the bills like a deck of cards. He had tried every way he could think of to keep the money, but failed. He had tried to get a car and a helicopter, and he had tried to buy Talley, and all of that had failed. He had tried to find a route out of the house, but the cops had him locked down. Dennis Rooney had run out of ideas, and now he was thinking that maybe his parents and teachers had been right all along: He was stupid. He was a small-time loser, who would always be a loser, living on dreams. A panicked urge to run with a bag of cash, sprinting through the shadows in a final lame attempt to get away swept over him, but he believed in his heart that the cops would kill him and he did not want to die. He didn't have the balls for it. As much as he wanted this money, Dennis Rooney admitted to himself that he was a chickenshit. His eyes filled with tears of regret and shame. Kevin was right. It was time to quit.
Dennis wiped the snot from his nose, and pulled himself together.
'I guess that's it, then.'
He tossed the money into the air, watched the fluttering green bills fall around him, then called Kevin.
'Kev!'
Kevin didn't answer.
'Mars!'
Nothing.
'Shit!'
Dennis lurched to the hall and made his way to the kitchen. It was still wrapped in shadows, lit only by the glare from the police lights shining in through the French doors. He wanted a glass of water, and then he would call Talley. He thought he might be able to trade one of the kids for a conversation with an attorney, then see what kind of deal he could cut for himself before surrendering.
'Kevin, goddamnit, where are you?!'
Here the sonofabitch had begged to surrender, and now that Dennis was ready, the wimpy puss wasn't around.
'Mars!'
The voice from the other side of the kitchen startled him.
'What are you doing, Dennis?'
Dennis wheeled around like a tall ship under sail, squinting into the shadows.
'Where's Kevin?'
'He's not here.'
'Where is he? I need to see him.'
Dennis wanted to get things straight with Kevin before telling Mars. Part of him was afraid that Mars might try to stop him.
Mars took shape in the light. Dennis thought he must have been in the pantry, or maybe the garage.
'Kevin left.'
Dennis grew irritated, not understanding.
'That doesn't help me, Mars. Is he in the security room, the office, what? I've got to talk to him.'
'He didn't want to stay here anymore. He left.'
Dennis stared at Mars, understanding, but not believing it, telling himself that Kevin could not have deserted him.
'Wait a minute. Are you telling me that he left, as in went out the door and surrendered to the cops?'
'I overheard him talking to the girl.'
'SHIT! That FUCK!'
'I'm sorry, Dennis. I came down to find you.'
Dennis felt sick. If Kevin had surrendered and taken the kids with him, he had taken Dennis's last chance to cut a deal with Talley.
'Did he take those kids with him?'
'I don't know.'
'Jesus, Mars! Get upstairs and see! If he took those kids, we're fucked!'
Mars went for the stairs without another word, and Dennis raged at the top of his lungs.
'KEVIN!! You ASSHOLE!'
Dennis threw the vodka bottle at the Sub-Zero so hard that his shoulder flashed with pain. He stalked back to the den for a fresh bottle. Even when he wanted to surrender, things got fucked up.
Thomas heard Dennis and Kevin fighting through the air-conditioning vent. Kevin wanted them to give up, but Dennis wouldn't. Thomas knew what that meant: If Dennis wouldn't give up, the three turds might stay here for days, and one of them might try to do something to his sister. Thomas had seen the way Mars watched her.
The shouting died quickly. Thomas waited for someone to come upstairs, but the hall remained silent. He decided that they were trying to sleep.
Thomas slipped back into his closet and returned to the crawl space. He thought about stopping in Jennifer's room to tell her what he was doing, but he knew she didn't want him to mess with the gun. He worked his way across the house, stopping at the air vents to listen, but all he heard was the television playing in the den. The rest of the house was silent.
Thomas let himself down through the ceiling hatch into the laundry room, climbing down from the hot-water heater to the washer to the floor. It was dark, lit only by some slight dim light filtering from the kitchen through the pantry. He had to use his flashlight.
Just as he reached the floor he heard Dennis shouting for Kevin and Mars. Dennis was close, just on the other side of the kitchen or maybe in the family room. Thomas panicked. He started climbing back to the ceiling, but then Mars answered Dennis, and Thomas stopped. They were talking. Thomas was still scared, but he was so close to the gun that he didn't want to once more leave without it. He strained to listen. Dennis was cursing Kevin; they weren't coming this way, they weren't looking for him.
Thomas hurried into the utility room. He cupped his hand over the flashlight and flicked it on again, just long enough to mark the spot in his mind where the gun box waited on the highest shelf. He rested the flashlight on the bench, then climbed onto the bench.
He went up onto his toes, stretching as tall as he could, but the box was still out of reach. He flicked on the light again, and spotted a gallon metal paint can at the edge of the bench. He pulled it into position, put one foot on it, and stepped up. The paint can creaked, but held. He stretched high again, and this time his hands found the gun box. He had it! Thomas pulled the box from the shelf, then lowered himself from the can and climbed down from the bench. His heart pounded with excitement. The box was a lot heavier than he had imagined! It felt as if a cannon were inside!
Thomas opened the box and lifted out the gun. It felt as heavy as a brick, way too big for his hand. Thomas didn't know its caliber or anything about it, even though his father had let him fire it once when they had gone to the pistol range. It had kicked so hard that his hand stung!
Thomas would need his hands free to climb, so he pushed it into his pants. The gun made him feel powerful, but scared at the same time; he was buoyant with confidence that he could protect himself and Jennifer, and that now they could get out, but he didn't want to hurt anyone. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it.
Thomas was on his way back to the laundry room when his foot slipped from under him. He almost fell, catching himself on the bench just in time. He explored the floor with his foot, and found something slippery and wet. He lifted his foot. His shoe came free with a tacky sound. Thomas turned on his light. A dark liquid like oil was spreading on the floor. He followed it with his light. It was coming from the broom closet. Thomas opened his fingers to let out more light. The oil was red.
The closet door zoomed close in Thomas's mind's eye as if he had telephoto vision. The cramped space in the utility room shrank as the door grew larger. The gun was forgotten, leaving only the door and the viscous red liquid seeping out from beneath.
Thomas stared at the door. He wanted to open it. He wanted to run.
He stepped across the red pool, reached for the knob, but couldn't touch it. His fingers hovered an inch away.
Open it!
Thomas gripped the knob carefully, terrified that whatever was on the other side of the door might try to hold it closed. He slowly pulled open the door.
Kevin fell out, collapsing in a lifeless heap at Thomas's feet, his dead arms thrown around Thomas's legs.
His throat was slashed, his head lolling on white bone; the horrible second smile was locked in silent laughter.
His eyes were open.
Thomas screamed.
Jennifer listened at her door, pressing her ear to the cold wood, hoping to hear Kevin return. He only had to go down the hall to reach Thomas, but he was taking so long that she feared Mars or Dennis had interfered. Her stomach knotted and she pressed her fists into her belly in a useless attempt to make it stop. The knife hidden in the waist of her pants pricked her skin, making her gasp. She rearranged the blade to make it more comfortable.
The hall outside her door creaked.
Kevin!
She heard the nail being pulled from the doorjamb. She was excited and happy and ready to run. She wanted to see her father again! She wanted to hug Thomas so tight that he squirmed! She wanted her Mommy!
The door swung open, and Mars stepped inside, tall, wide, and massive as a bear. She jumped back so fast that she almost fell.
His smile made her think of bad boys burning ants.
He said, 'Were you expecting someone else?'
She backed away from the door, wishing that Kevin would come back right now because Mars was so awful and gross.
She forced herself to meet his eyes without looking away.
'I'm not expecting anyone except the police.'
Mars nodded agreeably.
They'll be here soon. You probably don't have long to wait.'
She cursed her smart mouth; she didn't like anything he said or how he said it or his expressions. She just wanted him to leave.
Mars stepped into the room and pushed the door shut. He held the big nail that they used to wedge the door. He tapped it absently on his leg, tap-tap, tap-tap. Jennifer didn't like that he closed the door. She didn't like that he tapped the nail. She crossed her arms protectively over her breasts.
'What do you want!'
Mars watched her with bright nervous eyes that didn't match with his slack-jawed expression. It was as if he wasn't in the room with her, but was on the other side of a glass wall, here but not here, outside looking in, in his own horrible world.
'What do you want?'
'Kevin left without you.'
She felt herself flush. Her arms tightened so fiercely that her nails dug into her flesh, and she wanted to scream.
'He wanted me to tell you. He thought about it and decided it was just too risky to sneak past Dennis with you and your brother, so he went by himself. He said to tell you he was sorry.'
Jennifer shook her head, not knowing what was real and what wasn't, what he knew or what he didn't, or if her only hope of getting out of here had slipped out the door without her.
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
Mars came closer.
'No? Well, it doesn't matter. All the lights are almost off.'
'What are you talking about?'
Mars seemed to grow as he got closer, filling the room. Jennifer backed away.
'Good boys turn off the lights so that no one can see them doing bad things in the dark. My mother told me that.'
Jennifer's rear end bumped into her desk. She had gone as far as she could and now Mars was very close. He touched the nail to her chest, tap-tap.
'Don't touch me.'
Tap-tap.
'Stop it.'
Tap.
'Kevin's gone. Dennis is gone. Your father is gone. The little fat boy, he's gone, too. Now we can have fun.'
He pressed the nail onto her chest, a steady pressure that hurt but did not break her skin. Jennifer tried to lean away, but there was nowhere to go. Mars raked the nail slowly down between her breasts. Jennifer stared into his eyes, watching him watch her, her vision blurred with tears. His eyes were black pools, their surface rippled by secret winds. He knew he was doing something bad; he knew he was being naughty. He didn't watch the nail; she sensed that his pleasure came in seeing her fear. Jennifer slid her hand down along her belly. She worked her fingers beneath the waist of her pants, searching for the knife. He pushed the nail harder. He was breathing harder. She wanted to scream.
'Do you like this?'
Jennifer jerked the knife free and stabbed, striking out blindly, trying to force him away. The stiff short blade struck something hard. Mars grunted in surprised pain, like a dog coughing, as they both looked down. The knife was buried high on his chest in his left shoulder.
Mars whimpered, a pathetic moan, his face knotted with pain.
Jennifer pushed at him, screaming, trying to get away, but he didn't move. He grabbed her throat, squeezing hard, pressing his hips into hers to pin her to the desk.
He grabbed the knife with his free hand, whimpered again, then pulled out the blade. A crimson flower blossomed from the wound.
He looked back into her eyes, then brought the knife to her face. He squeezed harder, cutting off her breath.
'You're going to enjoy this.'
Jennifer felt herself fainting.
The scream from the rear of the house cut through the alcohol, surprising Dennis more than startling him. It was high-pitched like a girl shrieking, followed by bumping, slamming noises that came from the far side of the kitchen near the garage. Dennis pulled out his gun, shouting.
'What the fuck was that? Who is that?'
It couldn't be Mars, who had just left, or the two kids, who were both upstairs unless that chickenshit Kevin had taken them. Maybe Kevin had returned.
'Kev? Is that you, you asshole?'
Dennis turned on his flashlight and swept the light beam across the kitchen. No one answered and nothing moved.
'Goddamnit, who's there?'
No one answered.
Dennis flashed the light toward the French doors, paranoid with the notion that the police were tricking him.
'Talley!'
Nothing.
Dennis pushed the gun ahead of him and eased through the kitchen toward the garage.
'Is that you, fat boy?'
Nothing.
'Kevin, if that's you, say something, goddamnit. Mars said you left.'
Nothing.
Dennis stepped into the pantry, shining the light through into the laundry room beyond. The floor was covered with a growing red stain that oozed toward him. Dennis frowned, not understanding. He took a step closer, then another. He saw his brother on the floor. Dennis lowered the gun, and straightened.
'Kevin, what the fuck? Get up.'
A deep trembling started at his center, filling him, growing until his entire body shook and the light beam danced mindlessly around the small room.
'Kevin, get up.'
Dennis walked on mile-long legs without feeling. It was hard to keep his balance. He stopped at the edge of the pool of blood and shined the light on his brother. He saw the open neck, the grotesque white bone within the flesh, the wide, staring eyes. Dennis turned off the light.
The fat boy and the girl could not have done this.
Mars.
Mars lied.
Mars killed Kevin.
Dennis backed out of the pantry into the kitchen, then ran for the stairs.
'Mars!'
He took the stairs two at a time, intent only on finding Mars, killing him. Halfway up, he heard the girl scream.
'MARS!'
Dennis slammed into the girl's door, shoving it open so hard that it crashed against the wall. Mars had the girl by her throat, pinned against her desk. Dennis aimed his gun.
'You're dead, you fuck.'
Mars calmly pulled the girl in front of him, blocking Dennis's aim. Dennis saw the knife and the growing bloodstain on Mars's left shoulder.
Mars smiled at Dennis with wide-eyed innocence.
'What's wrong, dude? What are you so pissed off about?'
Dennis could see the terror on the girl's face, her eyes swollen and red. She managed a word.
'Please.'
Dennis raised his gun. He didn't want to shoot past her, but he wanted that fucker Mars square between the eyes. He wanted to make Mars scream.
'This fuck killed Kevin. He cut his damned throat. There's blood everywhere.'
Like he needed her absolution.
The girl closed her eyes and cried harder.
Dennis should have been ready, but he wasn't. He should have pulled the trigger, but he didn't.
And then it was too late.
Mars lifted the girl by the neck and rushed forward, charging Dennis, crossing the short space in no time at all. Dennis hesitated only a heartbeat because he didn't want to shoot the girl, but that was too long. The girl crashed into him, the full force of Mars's weight behind her, knocking Dennis backwards into the hall. Then the girl was cast aside, Mars was on top of him, and Dennis saw a glint off the knife as it came down.
Rational thought was beyond him; he was filled with a suffocating fear that drove him to run, to get out, to move. Thomas did not know that he screamed. He slipped in the blood, falling hard into the red pool, then slipped again as he climbed onto the washer. He clambered up into the crawl space, cutting his hands and knees as he scrambled across the rafters. He couldn't move fast enough, once banging his head so hard that he saw bright flashes. He had the gun now. He could save himself. His only thought was to reach Jennifer. The two of them would run downstairs and out the door, and neither Mars nor Dennis could stop them. He had the gun!
Thomas heard Jennifer's door crash open as he squeezed through the hatch into her closet. He froze, listening, and heard voices. Dennis was shouting at Mars. Mars was holding Jennifer as Dennis faced him, shouting that Mars had cut Kevin's throat. Thomas drew the gun from his pants, big and heavy and awkward, but he didn't know what to do. Dennis had a gun, too!
Then Mars pushed Jennifer into Dennis, and all three of them sprawled into the hall. Thomas crept into the room. Mars grunted like a pig when it eats, drool streaming from his mouth as he stabbed Dennis over and over. Jennifer was crawling away, splattered with blood.
'Jen! C'mon!'
Thomas darted past Mars into the hall, and grabbed Jennifer's arm. He pulled her toward the stair.
'Run!'
The two of them stumbled away as Mars heaved to his feet. His eyes were wild and darting. He was bigger, stronger, faster; Thomas knew that he would catch them.
Thomas whirled around and jerked up the pistol with both hands.
'I'll shoot you!'
Mars stopped. He was streaked with blood, and breathing hard. Blood dripped from his face. Even more blood painted the walls and floor. Dennis bubbled like a fountain and moaned.
The pistol was heavy and hard to hold. It wobbled, even though Thomas held it with both hands. Jennifer pulled at his shoulder, her voice a frightened whisper.
'Keep going. Let's get out of here.'
They backed away, Thomas trying to hold the gun steady.
Mars walked after them, matching them step for step.
Thomas pushed the gun at him.
'Stay away! I'll shoot you!'
Mars spread his arms as if to embrace them. He continued walking.
'Remember what I told you when I tied you to your bed?'
Thomas remembered: I'm going to eat your heart.
They reached the landing. Jennifer started down the stairs.
Mars walked faster.
'I'm going to cut out your heart. But I'm going to cut out your sister's heart first, so you can watch.'
'Stay away!'
Fear amped through Thomas like electric current. His body shook with it, and his bladder let go. He didn't want to shoot; he was scared to shoot, scared that it would be wrong even though he feared for his life, scared that he would be punished for it and would burn in hell and branded a bad person who had made a terrible awful mistake, but Mars came on and he was too scared not to shoot, too scared of that awful knife and the blood that dripped and ran over everything and that Mars really would do it, would cut out his heart, and Jennifer's, and eat them both.
Thomas pulled the trigger.
Click!
Mars stopped, frozen at the sharp sound.
Click!
The gun didn't fire.
All the things that his father had showed him at the pistol range came flooding back. He gripped the slide hard and pulled back to load a bullet into the chamber, but the slide locked open and did not close. Thomas glanced down into the open action. The magazine was empty. The pistol was unloaded. There were no bullets. There were no bullets!
When Thomas looked up again, Mars smiled.
'Welcome to my nightmare.'
Jennifer screamed, 'Run!'
Thomas threw the gun at Mars and ran, following Jennifer down the stairs. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and vomit. Jennifer reached the front door first, and clawed at the handle, but the door would not open.
'Open it!'
'The deadbolt is locked! Where's the key?'
The key wasn't in the lock. Thomas knew with certain dread that it was probably upstairs in Dennis's bloody pocket.
Mars pounded down the stairs, closing the ground between them. He would be on them in seconds. They would never reach the French doors or garage before he caught them.
Jennifer grabbed his arm and pulled.
'This way! Run!'
She pulled him toward their parents' room. Thomas realized that she was taking him to the safest place in the house, but Mars was getting closer, off the stairs now and out of the entry and right behind them.
Thomas raced after his sister down the hall, through their parents' bedroom, and into the security room. They slammed the steel door and threw the bolt in the same moment that Mars crashed into the other side of the door.
The world was silent.
Thomas and Jennifer held each other, shaking and scared. All that Thomas could hear was his own heavying breath.
Then Mars pounded on the door, slow, rhythmic thuds that echoed through the tiny room… boom… boom… boom.
Jennifer squeezed Thomas, whispering.
'Don't move. He can't reach us in here.'
'I know.'
'We're safe.'
'Shut up!'
His father had told him that the door could stop anything.
The pounding stopped.
Mars cupped his hands to the door and shouted to make himself heard. His muffled voice came through the steel.
'You're bad. You're bad. You're bad. Now I'm going to punish you.'
Mars hit the door once more, then walked out of the room.
Thomas remembered the cell phone.
He clawed it out of his pocket, and turned it on.
The cell phone chimed as it came to life.
'Thomas! Look!'
Jennifer was watching Mars on the monitors. He was in the entry by the front door. He picked up the two containers of gasoline, then walked through the house splashing gasoline on the walls. He smiled as he worked.
Jennifer said, 'Ohmigod, he's going to burn us.'
The cell phone chimed again, and Thomas glanced at the display. The battery indicator flickered.
The cell phone was going dead.
Saturday, 2:16 A.M.
Mars turned off the remaining lights as he passed them. The entry hall turned black. The office followed, then the den. Mars knew that the police would see the rooms fail like closing eyes, and wonder why the house was dying.
Mars went to the kitchen first. He found matches in a jar by the range, then blew out the pilot lights. He splashed gasoline over the range top and gas line, then moved back toward the master bedroom, carefully pouring an unbroken trail of gas along the walls. He loved moving through the house. Shadows gave him the power of invisibility; darkness was his friend. Mars regretted that he would never see his mother again, but only because he enjoyed torturing the rotten bitch. He heard her voice even now, alive in his head:
I hate to see a boy do bad things! I hate to see a bad boy, Marshall! Why do you make me punish you this way?
I don't know, Mama.
This will make you a better man.
She didn't like to see a boy do bad things, so now he made her watch all the bad things, and sometimes even made her participate. He regretted that she wasn't with him now; he would have enjoyed introducing her to Kevin and Dennis.
Mars emptied the first bucket of gasoline, then used the second, continuing the trail of gas into the bedroom. He splashed the bed and the walls and the security door. Then he took out the matches.
Thomas dialed Talley's number and pressed the button to send the call.
The phone died.
'Thomas!'
'The battery's low! You never charge it!'
Jennifer snatched the phone from him and pressed the power button. The phone chirped as it came to life, but once more failed.
Jennifer angrily shook the phone.
'Piece of shit!'
'Do you think he's really gonna do it?'
'I don't know!'
'Maybe we should run!'
'We would never get past him!'
Thomas watched as Jennifer pried off the cell phone's battery. She rubbed the copper contacts hard on her shirt sleeve, then licked them before snapping the battery back onto the phone.
'What are you doing?'
'Thomas, I live on this phone. I know every trick in the book for making it work.'
Mars grinned at the monitors, then lit a match. He held it up to make sure that they saw it. The tiny flame was a glob of flickering white on the monitor screen. He let the flame grow, then brought it close to the door.
Thomas grabbed Jennifer's arm.
'He's going to do it!'
Jennifer pushed the power button. The phone chirped again as it came to life, and this time it stayed on. She jammed the phone into his hands.
'Here! It's working!'
Thomas punched in Talley's number, then glanced up at the monitors. Mars was staring into the camera as if he saw directly into their eyes and hearts. Then Thomas saw his lips move.
'What's he saying?'
Jennifer grabbed Thomas and pulled him away from the door.
'He's saying good-bye.'
Mars tossed the match.
The room erupted in flame.
When Talley heard the first scream from the house, he took a position behind a Highway Patrol car. The CHiPs in the cul-de-sac shifted uncomfortably because they heard it, too. Talley couldn't tell if the voice was male or female, but there had only been the one scream. Now the house was still.
Talley moved to the nearest Highway Patrol officer.
'You on the command frequency?'
'Yes, sir. You heard that in the house? I think something's going on.'
'Give me your radio.'
Talley radioed Martin, who acknowledged his call without comment. Talley moved down the line of patrol cars, listening hard for something more from the house, but it was silent.
Then, room by room, the lights went off.
Talley saw Martin approaching, and moved out to meet her. The scream had scared him, but the silence now scared him more. Jones was too far away to have heard.
Martin huffed up, excited.
'What's going on? Why is the house so dark?'
Talley was starting to explain when they saw a dull orange glow move inside the house at the edges of the window shades. He thought it was a flashlight.
His phone rang.
'Talley.'
It was Thomas, incoherent from shouting and from a weak connection.
'I can't understand you! Slow down, Thomas; I can't understand you!'
'Mars killed Kevin and Dennis, and now he's burning the house! We're in the security room, me and Jennifer! We're trapped!'
The cell connection faltered again. Talley knew that the boy must be getting low on power.
'Okay, son. Okay. I'm coming to get you! How much power do you have?'
'It's dying.'
Talley checked his watch.
'Turn it off, son. Turn it off, but turn it on again in two minutes. I'm on my way in!'
Talley felt strangely distant from himself, as if his feelings were bound in cotton. He had no choice now; he would act to save these children. It didn't matter what the Watchman wanted, or Jones, or even if it put Jane and Amanda at risk. He pulled Martin by the arm, taking her with him as he ran back along the street toward Jones, shouting instructions as they ran.
'Krupchek's torching the house! Get the fire truck up here!'
'What about Jones?'
'I'm getting him now. We're going in!'
'What about your wife?'
'Get the fire truck, and tell your people to stand by; if Jones won't move, we'll go in without him!'
Martin fell behind to use her radio. Talley ran toward Jones.
'Krupchek's torching the house. We have to go in.'
Jones glanced toward the house without expression.
Talley could see that Jones didn't believe him.
'We're waiting to hear from the man.'
Talley grabbed Jones's arm, and felt him stiffen. Behind them, the fire engine rumbled to life and swung around the corner.
'The house is burning, goddamnit. Krupchek has those kids trapped in the security room. We can't wait.'
'That's bullshit.'
'Look at it!'
Talley shoved Jones toward the house.
Flames were visible in the den window. Police radios crackled as the perimeter guards reported the fire, and the officers in the cul-de-sac openly milled behind their cars, waiting for someone to do something. Hicks and the Sheriff's tactical team trotted toward Martin.
Jones seemed frozen in place, anchored by his expectation of the Watchman's call.
Talley jerked his arm again, pulling him around.
'I'm breaching that house, Jones. Are you coming or not?'
'We go when the man says. Not before.'
'We can't wait for the man!'
'They'll fuckin' kill your family.'
'Those kids are trapped!'
Jones gripped his MP5. Talley slipped his hand under his sweatshirt and touched the.45.
'What? You want to shoot it out with the chief of police here in the street? You think you'll get the disks that way?'
Jones glanced at the house again, then grimaced. None of this was in the game plan. Everything had suddenly grown beyond their control, and Jones, like Talley, was being swept forward by the storm.
Jones decided.
'All right, goddamnit, but it's just us going into that house. We'll secure the structure, then retrieve the disks.'
'If you don't get your people on the hump, the firemen will get there first.'
They made their assault plan as they ran to the house.
The flames built slowly, growing up the doors and the walls like flowers on a trellis. Mars followed the flames as they crept along the trail of gas he had made through the house. He thought that the fire would spread with a whoosh, but it moved with surprising lethargy. The air clouded with smoke that smelled of tar.
Mars wanted music.
He went to the den, where he remembered a nice Denon sound system. He tuned to a local hip-hop station, and cranked the speakers to distortion. He helped himself to a bottle of scotch, then returned to the bedroom.
The bed was a raging inferno. Fire covered the doors and walls, and a layer of smoke roiled at the ceiling. The heat made him squint. A layer of smoke roiled at the ceiling. Mars took off his shirt and drank. He checked the Chinaman's gun, saw that there were still plenty of bullets, then took out his knife.
Mars crouched at the far side of the room, far from the flames and below the smoke. He watched the door. He hoped that if the security room grew hot enough, and the children grew frightened enough, the kids would open the door to escape.
Then he would have his way.
Two men would breach the front door, two the French doors; Talley and Jones would breach through a window to enter a guest bedroom located next to the master. Once inside, Jones would radio the sixth man, who would shatter the sliding doors in the master bedroom to distract Krupchek from the bedroom door, which would be the point of egress for the assault. All of them would carry fire extinguishers to suppress the flames.
Talley didn't have time to get his own vest from his car. He borrowed a vest from one of the CHiPs, strapping it over his sweatshirt, then slung a fire extinguisher over his shoulder. The firemen ran out their hoses, remaining under cover until word would come down that the hostiles had been neutralized.
When they agreed on the assault plan, Talley phoned Thomas. The connection was even weaker than before, and this time Talley told him to keep the phone on. Powering up the system probably cost more power than it saved. If Jones thought anything of Talley and the boy talking, he did not comment.
Martin edged close to Talley as Jones deployed his men.
'What do you want me to do?'
'I don't know.'
'You just going to let them leave with the disks?'
'I don't know what I'm going to do, Martin. I don't know. I just gotta get those kids.'
Talley finished strapping on the vest and adjusted his radio. Everything moved quickly and efficiently, without wasted moves or words. When he was set, he looked over at Jones.
'You ready?'
Jones seated his helmet, then shook himself a last time to settle his equipment.
'Remember, Talley.'
'Let's just do this damned thing.'
Jones set off for the house. Talley let him get a step ahead, then turned back to Martin.
'If I don't get out, don't let him leave. Bring in the detectives and try to save my family.'
'Just make it your business to get out.'
She turned away before he could answer and shouted at her SWAT team to remain in place.
Talley caught up to Jones at the corner of the house outside the guest bedroom window. They heard music, loud and throbbing within the burning house. Talley was thankful for it, because the noise of the music and the fire would cover their entrance. They pulled away the screen, then Jones used a crowbar to wedge open the window. He pushed aside the shade, then gave Talley a thumbs-up, saying the room was clear. They lifted the fire extinguishers into the room, then they waited. They would not enter the house until the others were in position. Talley took the phone from his pocket and checked in with Thomas.
'Thomas?'
'I'm here, Chief.'
The boy's voice broke up, salty with static.
'We're almost there. Three minutes, maybe four. As soon as we get Krupchek, the firemen will come in.'
'It's getting hot.'
'I know. Is Krupchek still in the bedroom?'
Talley wanted to keep the boy talking. If he was talking, he wouldn't have time to think about how scared he was. Neither would Talley.
'He's sitting on the floor by the – '
The cell line went dead.
'Thomas? Thomas?'
Nothing.
The boy's phone had finally failed.
Jones glanced over his shoulder at Talley, and twirled his finger. They were spooling up, getting ready to launch.
'Let's go, goddamnit.'
Jones jabbed his finger at the window.
'Go!'
Jones went first, Talley giving him a boost up, then scrambling inside after him. The room was lit only by the low wall of flame that barred the door to the hall. The master bedroom door was only ten feet away. Jones shot the bolt on his MP5; Talley popped the slide on his pistol. They turned on their flashlights, then met each other's eyes. Talley nodded. Jones keyed his mike.
'Now.'
Talley heard the sliding glass doors in the master bedroom shatter at the same time that the front door blew inward off its hinges.
Two fast shots came from the master bedroom. Talley and Jones charged down the hall as a third shot cracked in the bedroom, then they were through the door.
The bedroom was an inferno. The man who had shattered the glass doors was down, writhing in agony. Talley glimpsed a flash of movement from his right and saw Krupchek heave up from behind a Morris chair, chest bare and glistening, an angry, strictured smile on his face. Krupchek screamed, a high-pitched screech, as he swung his pistol, pumping out shots even as Talley and Jones fired. Krupchek stumbled backwards, arms windmilling as he fell into the flames, thrashing and still screaming. Jones fired two short bursts into him and he was still.
They unstrapped their fire extinguishers as Jones's other men cleared through the door, covering the room with their weapons.
Talley shouted, 'We're clear!'
Jones pointed at the first two, then the fallen man.
'You and you, him, out to the van.'
Talley blasted gouts of CO2 at the burning security door, and shouted for Jones to help.
'Jones! The kids are in here.'
Jones shoved the next man toward the door.
'The office is at the front of the house. Make sure the hall is clear.'
'Help me get these kids!'
Jones and the last man joined Talley at the wall. Their CO2 extinguishers hissed like dragons. The red walls turned black as the flames engulfing them died. Talley banged at the door with his fire extinguisher.
'Thomas! It's me!'
The fire on the walls licked to life again, eating away the paint.
'Thomas!'
Talley fogged the door as it opened. The boy and his sister stood back, wary of the heat. Jones grabbed Talley's arm.
'They're yours, Talley. We're getting the disks.'
Talley let them go. He blasted the walls around the door again to beat back the flames, then stepped through and took the boy's hand.
'We're going to move fast. Stay behind me.'
Jennifer crowded next to him, nervously peering around him into the room.
'Is he dead?'
Talley ached when he saw her. Jennifer and Amanda were close to the same age. They wore their hair in the same cut. He wondered where Amanda was now. He wondered if she was looking for her own monster.
'He's dead, Jennifer. Come on. You guys did great.'
Talley hurried them along the hall, using the fire extinguisher whenever the flames crowded too close. He paused only long enough to switch his radio to the Bristo frequency, and called Mikkelson.
'Mikki!'
'Go, Chief!'
'The kids are coming out the front. Take care of them.'
When they reached the entry, Talley could see into the office. Jones and his men were searching Smith's desk. Talley pulled Thomas aside out of their view, knowing that these were his last few moments to save his own family. The Watchman would know that they had entered the house. He would be calling Jones for a report, and he would be expecting the disks.
Talley bent close to the boy.
'Are the disks still up in your room?'
'Yeah. With my computer.'
Talley pointed at Mikkelson waiting in the cul-de-sac, and pushed the kids through the door.
'Go to her. Go!'
Talley waited to see that both kids ran toward the cars, then he slipped up the stairs. The air on the second floor was dense with smoke so thick that it choked the beam from his flashlight to a dull glow. He couldn't see more than a few feet. He worked his way along the wall and found Rooney lying outside the first door. Red bubbles clustered on Rooney's chest and mouth like glass mushrooms. Talley couldn't tell if he was dead or alive, and didn't take the time to check. He kicked Rooney's pistol away, then looked in the first room long enough to realize that it belonged to Jennifer. He moved down the hall. The second room belonged to the boy. Talley found his computer on the floor at the far side of the bed. One disk sat on the floor, the other in a disk drive beside the keyboard. Talley held the light close to read their labels, his heart pounding, and saw that he had them – disk one and disk two; the only leverage he had that could save his family!
'Talley!'
Talley jerked at the voice, then saw that Martin was standing in the door. Her helmet was cinched tight and her pistol was at her side.
'Did you find them?'
He joined her. The smoke was heavier now. Talley saw flames at the end of the hall.
'Where's Jones?'
'They're tearing up the office. They haven't found the disks.'
'The boy had them in his room.'
Talley showed her the disks. He wanted to find a way out without seeing Jones and started for the stairs. Martin grabbed his arm. She brought up her gun.
'Give them to me.'
He was startled by her tone. He glanced at the gun, then saw that Martin was watching him with anxious eyes.
'What are you talking about?'
'Give me the disks.'
He glanced at the gun again, and knew with certainty that Benza owned her.
Talley shook his head.
'When did they get to you?'
She thumbed off the safety lever.
'Give me the disks, Talley. You'll get your family.'
He knew that he wouldn't. He knew that once Benza was safe, anyone who knew anything about Smith's relationship to Sonny Benza would die.
Talley stepped back, holding the disks at his side. Once she had the disks she would kill him. It would be easier that way.
'Where's Jones?'
'Still downstairs. He doesn't even know.'
'What are you going to do, Martin? Tell them I was shot in the confusion? You going to blame Krupchek and Rooney?'
'If I have to.'
'How much are they paying you?'
'More than you'll ever know.'
She raised the gun higher.
'Now give me the disks.'
The flames crept up the stairwell at the end of the hall. Talley saw their twisting red glow through the smoke, and something moving in the glow.
'Give me the disks, Talley. It's the only way to get out of this alive.'
A shadow lifted itself from the floor.
'Rooney's alive.'
Her eyes flicked once to the side, then came back to him. She didn't believe him.
'Give me the disks!'
Dennis Rooney lurched into the light, eyes glassy and dripping with blood. He had found his gun.
'Martin!'
She turned, but not in time. Rooney fired before she could swing her gun to him. Something hard slapped Talley in the chest. The next bullet caught Martin in the thigh, and the third in the cheek beneath her right eye. Martin spun slowly into the smoke as Talley drew his weapon and fired.
Saturday, 2:41 A.M.
The heavy bullet from Talley's combat pistol bounced Dennis Rooney off the wall, leaving a gory smear of blood. Talley planted a knee in Rooney's chest and knocked away his gun, but this time Rooney was dead. Talley listened for the sound of Jones's team coming up the stairs, but he couldn't hear anything over the crackling, snapping sound of the fire.
He radioed Mikkelson.
'You got the kids?'
'We heard shots!'
'Do you have the kids?'
'Yes, sir. They're safe.'
'The FBI agents took out a wounded man. Three of them went to their van.'
'Ah, roger. We saw that.'
Talley's mind raced. He had taken the offensive, and now he had to finish the assault. Time was his enemy. He had to take the fight to the Watchman and press his advantage.
'Get Jorgenson and Cooper. If Larry's back, get him, too. Arrest them. Strip their radios and cell phones, cuff them, and don't let them communicate with anyone.'
'Ah, arrest the FBI?'
'They're not FBI. Arrest them, Mikki. They are armed and dangerous, so you watch your ass. Have someone bring them to the jail, but do not – I repeat, do not – let them talk to anyone: No phone calls, no press, no lawyers, nothing. Don't tell anyone about this. Do you understand?'
'Ah, sure, Chief.'
'Stand by.'
Everything now depended on speed. The Watchman might learn that his people were being arrested, but his information would be spotty and incomplete; he wouldn't know what had happened or why, so he wouldn't act against Jane and Amanda until he knew the details. Talley was counting on that. He was betting his family on it. If Talley had any hope of saving his family, he had to do it before the Watchman knew what he was doing.
Talley pushed the disks under his vest and ran to the stairwell. The fire in the entry had jumped to the stairs and was climbing the walls. The smoke was a twisting orange haze. Talley crept down the stairs with his eyes on the office, then crossed to the door just as one of Jones's men stepped out. Talley aimed at his face, touching his own lips to motion the man quiet, then stripped his pistol and MP5. Talley handcuffed him and pushed him into the office.
Jones was frantically searching the floor around the desk, his flashlight beam dim in the haze; the drawers had been pulled, their contents scattered. The second man was stripping books from the shelves. They both looked up when Talley pushed the first man to the floor.
Talley trained his gun on them. He no longer felt the fire's heat; he was so amped on adrenaline and fear that he was totally focused on the two men in front of him.
'Hands on your heads, lace your fingers, turn around with your backs to me.'
Jones said, 'What the fuck are you doing?'
The second man swung his MP5, but Talley squared him with a round, the heavy.45 punching through his vest. Talley had fired ten thousand practice rounds a year every year on the LAPD's combat training range when he was with SWAT. He didn't have to think about it.
Talley brought his gun back to Jones.
'Lace your fingers. Now!'
Jones raised his hands, then slowly turned. He laced his fingers over the top of his head.
'You're fucking up, Talley. They've got your family.'
Talley stripped the second man of his weapons, never taking his gun from Jones. He tossed the weapons to the side, checked the pulse in the man's neck, then went to Jones. He took his pistol and MP5, tossed them with the others, then ripped the power cord from Smith's computer. He forced Jones onto his belly, then pulled his hands behind his back. He pressed the gun to Jones's neck.
'Move, I'll fucking kill you.'
Talley planted his knee in the small of Jones's back, then tied his wrists. He wanted to get Jones out of the house, but he didn't want to do it on television. He keyed his radio.
'Mikki?'
'Jesus, Chief, are you all right? We heard more shots.'
'Have the firemen move in, then roll your car to the back of the house on Flanders Road. Meet me there.'
Talley knew that the television cameras would be trained on the firefighters. He wanted everyone's attention on the front of the house, not the rear. He didn't want the Watchman seeing this on television.
'What's going on?'
'Do it!'
Talley pushed Jones and the surviving man to the rear of the house. The fire was consuming the house; wallpaper was peeling off the walls and chunks of drywall fell from the hall ceiling. When they reached the French doors, Talley changed his radio to the Sheriff's command frequency and told the officers on the back wall to kill their lights. The backyard plunged into darkness. Talley pushed the two men outside and hustled them straight to the wall. When the Sheriff's sergeant-supervisor saw that Talley had two FBI agents bound, he said, 'What the fuck's going on?'
'Help me get these guys over.'
Mikkelson and Dreyer were climbing out of their car by the time Talley jumped to the ground.
The SWAT officers stared at Jones and the other man. Here they were, the backs of their vests blazoned with a huge white FBI, cuffed and dragged over the wall. The sergeant again asked Talley what was happening, but Talley ignored him.
'Martin's inside. The second floor. She's been shot.'
Talley got the response he wanted. The SWAT cops poured over the wall and rushed toward the house.
Talley shoved his prisoners toward Mikkelson's car.
Jones said, 'You're finished, Talley.'
'I'm not the guy with his hands tied.'
'You know what he's going to do, don't you? You understand that?'
'I've got the disks, you motherfucker. We'll see how much your boss wants them now.'
When Mikkelson saw the two FBI agents, she pooched out her lips in confusion.
'Jesus. Did I miss something here?'
'These people aren't FBI.'
Talley pushed the first man into the backseat of their car, then shoved Jones against the fender.
'Where are they?'
'I don't know. I'm not part of that.'
'Then where is he?'
'I don't know.'
'What's his name?'
'It doesn't work like that, Talley. He's a voice on the phone.'
Talley searched Jones's pockets as he spoke, and found Jones's cell phone. He pressed star 69, but nothing happened.
'Shit!'
He pushed the cell phone in Jones's face.
'What's his number?'
'I don't know any more than you.'
Talley kneed him in the stomach.
Dreyer said, 'Holy shit.'
Talley slammed Jones into the car.
'You fucking well know his number!'
'I want to talk to an attorney.'
Talley kneed him again, doubling Jones over. Mikkelson and Dreyer squirmed uneasily.
'Ah, Chief…'
'These bastards have my family.'
Talley cocked the.45 and pressed it into Jones's cheek.
'We're talking about my wife and daughter, you sonofabitch. You think I won't kill you?'
Talley wasn't on Flanders Road anymore; he had stepped into the Zone. It was a place of white noise where emotions reigned and reason was meager. Anger and rage were nonstop tickets; panic was an express. He had been all day coming to this, and here he was: The SWAT guys used to talk about it. You went to the Zone, you lost your edge. You'd lose your career; you'd get yourself killed, or, worse, somebody else.
Talley bent Jones backwards across the trunk of the car. He had to reach the Watchman, and this man knew how. He didn't have time to wait for the Watchman to call. He needed the Watchman off guard. Time was his enemy.
'He calls me. Just like with you.'
Talley's head throbbed. He told himself to shoot the sonofabitch, put one in his shoulder joint and make him scream. Mikkelson's voice came from far away.
'Chief?'
The white noise cleared and Talley stepped back from the Zone. He lowered his gun. He wasn't like them.
Jones glanced away. Talley thought he seemed embarrassed.
'I don't call him. He calls me, just like with you. That's how they stay safe. Just hang on to the phone. He'll call.'
Talley stared at Jones's phone, then dropped it to the street and crushed it. He had the Nokia, but if it rang, he would not answer it. If the Watchman placed the call, the Watchman would expect him to answer. Talley didn't want to do what the Watchman expected.
'Put him in a cell with the others.'
Everything seemed like it was ending even before it began. He couldn't stop now. Once you breached the structure, you pressed on until the end. If you stopped, you died.
Smith would know. They trusted Smith with their closest secrets. It had all come back to Smith again.
'Where are the kids?'
'Cooper has them with the paramedics. They're okay. We finally got the mother, Chief. She's flying back from Florida.'
'Tell Cooper to meet me at the hospital. Tell him to bring the children.'
Talley wiped the smoke from his eyes as he looked back at the house. The fire was eating its way through the roof. Tongues of flame lapped beneath the eaves even as silver rainbows of water arced over the house. Talley could smell the fire on his skin and in his clothes. He smelled like a funeral pyre.
Seymore was trading Adderall for cold dim sum with a news crew from Los Angeles when a string of dull pops snapped from the direction of the house. The Los Angeles remote producer, a skinny kid with a goatee and no life experience, stopped his discourse on news selection as a political vehicle. 'What was that?'
Ken Seymore recognized the sound right away: Gunfire.
Seymore knew that Howell hadn't launched the breach, because Howell would have told him. He trotted to the nearest news van to find out what was happening. The tech there monitored a police scanner tuned to the Sheriff's tactical frequency.
'You guys get anything on that?'
The tech waved him silent. He listened to the scanner with a bug in his ear, because their news director didn't want anyone else to hear.
'They called up the fire company. The goddamned house is on fire.'
'What was the shooting?'
'That was gunfire?'
'Hell, yes.'
The tech waved Seymore quiet again and tuned his receiver, working through the frequencies.
'The SWAT team went in. Shit, they got casualties. It sounds like they got the kids. Yeah, the kids are coming out.'
The technician pulled the plug from his ear and shouted for his producer.
A heavy column of smoke rose into the light from the helicopters, and then another string of pops echoed over the neighborhood.
Seymore took out his phone.
The local stations resumed live coverage because of the fire. Flames lapped from the windows on the left side of the house, but the fire at the rear, back by the pool, was going pretty good. Fire crews hosed the roof and shadows ran along the perimeter, but the aerial shot was so murky that Howell couldn't tell who was who or what was happening, just that everything was going to hell.
'You sure Jones's people got hit?'
'They said it was FBI, so it hadda be Jones's guys. We're getting this shit off the scanner.'
'They get the disks?'
'I don't know. It's happening right now; no one's talking to us.'
'Why the fuck did they go in?'
'I thought you gave'm the green light.'
'It wasn't me.'
'Hang on a sec; there's more traffic on the scanner. Okay, they're saying two FBI agents came out and both kids. The kids are out.'
Howell tried to stay calm.
'Who's in the fuckin' house?'
'I don't know.'
'Is Jones still in the goddamned house?'
'I don't know.'
'Where's Talley?'
'I don't know.'
'You're paid to know, goddamnit. That's why you're there.'
Howell broke the connection, then punched in Jones's number. The phone rang once, then a computer voice came on telling him that the user had left the service area or turned off his phone. Howell called Martin. He let her phone ring fifteen times, and finally hung up.
'Fuck!'
He dialed Talley's number and listened to the Nokia ring. He let it ring twenty times, and then he snapped his phone shut so hard he thought he might have broken it.
Talley rolled code three all the way to the hospital. He beat Cooper, arriving a few minutes after three A.M. The parking lot was almost deserted; the remaining press camped by the emergency room entrance. Talley parked at the side of the hospital to avoid them, but got out of the car because sitting was difficult. He leaned against the door with his arms crossed, watching the street, then realized he was still wearing the bullet-resistant vest and the radio. He took them off and tossed them into the backseat. He found the Nokia, and dropped it onto the front seat.
The Nokia rang.
Talley hesitated in the door of the car, thinking the Watchman had finally heard about the house. He stared at the ringing phone as if he was hiding from it, as if any movement might draw the Watchman's eye and the Watchman would somehow know that Talley was there. Talley should have turned the goddamned thing off. He wanted the Watchman to wonder.
Talley felt his chest tighten, and realized that he had stopped breathing. The phone stopped ringing as Cooper turned into the parking lot. Talley took a breath, then raised his hand, but Cooper was already turning toward him.
Talley watched carefully as Thomas and Jennifer got out of Cooper's car. They looked pale and tired, and their eyes were anxious with apprehension. Talley knew that they might seem fine now in the initial elation of being released, but later there could be nightmares, flashbacks, and other symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Jennifer reminded him of Amanda all over again. Talley felt himself lifted by such a swell of feeling that he wanted to both cry and hug them, but he only let himself smile.
Jennifer said, 'Are we going to see our father?'
'That's right. Did Officer Cooper tell you about your mother? We spoke with her in Florida. She's flying back now.'
They beamed. Jennifer actually said, 'Yay.'
Talley put out his hand.
'We didn't really meet before. My name is Jeff Talley.'
'I'm Jennifer Smith. Thank you for what you did.'
She shook his hand firmly, her smile blinding. Thomas shook his hand as if it were serious business. They stood so close together that their arms touched, and both children stood very close to him. He knew that this was normal. He was the man who had saved them.
'It's good to finally meet you, Thomas. You were a big help. You were very brave. You both were.'
'Thank you, Chief. You're really dirty.'
Jennifer rolled her eyes, and Cooper laughed.
Talley glanced at his hands. They were streaked with soot and sweat, as was his face.
'I guess I am. I haven't had time to clean up.'
Jennifer said, 'He can be so rude. You should look at yourself, Thomas. You've got ash on your nose.'
Thomas rubbed at his nose, but his eyes never left Talley.
'Is our daddy okay?'
'He's doing better. Let's go see him.'
Talley brought them through the side entrance. He held their hands, letting go only to badge an orderly who led them through the hospital to the emergency room. Everyone they passed stared at them. Talley knew that it was only a matter of time before word spread to the press that the chief of police had brought the hostage children to their father. When the press knew, the Watchman would know.
Talley refused to bring the children through the ER admitting area. The orderly led them past the hospital laboratory along a hall that the ER personnel used to bring samples to the lab. Klaus and Reese were no longer present, but a nurse that Talley recognized from before stopped them.
'You're the Chief, aren't you? May I help you?'
'I'm bringing the Smith children to see their father.'
'I'd better get Dr. Reese.'
'Fine, you go get her. We'll be in the room.'
Talley found Smith's room without waiting. He thought that Smith would be sleeping, but Smith was staring at the ceiling, his eyes blinking. He was still wired to the monitors.
Jennifer said, 'Daddy?'
Smith lifted his head enough to see, and then his face registered surprise and elation.
The kids ran to him, both to the side of the bed without wires, and hugged their father. Talley waited in the door, giving them a moment, then entered and stood at the end of the bed. Jennifer cried, her face buried in her father's chest. The little boy wiped at his eyes and asked if it hurt.
Talley watched. Smith wrapped his arm around Jennifer and held Thomas's arm. He looked up past them, met Talley's eyes, then hugged his children tighter.
'Thank God you're all right. You're all right, aren't you? You're okay?'
'Mommy's coming home.'
Talley stepped up behind Jennifer.
'We reached your wife. She's in the air now.'
Smith met Talley's eyes again, then looked away.
Talley said, 'Your family is safe.'
Smith nodded, still not looking at him.
'What happened to the three men?'
'They're dead.'
Thomas pulled at his father's arm.
'Daddy, our house is on fire. We almost burned.'
Thomas jerked his father's arm again, then coughed a great shuddering sob and buried his face in his father's stomach. It was all coming out now, all of Thomas's tension and fear. Smith stroked his son's hair.
'It's okay, partner. It's okay. You're safe. That's all that's important.'
Talley waited until the boy had calmed, then squeezed Jennifer's shoulder.
'Could you guys wait in the hall for a second? I need to talk to your dad.'
Smith glanced up, then nodded to send his children to the hall. Jennifer took Thomas's hand and led him outside. Smith took a deep breath, let it out, then looked up.
'Thank you.'
Talley took out the two disks.
Smith stared at them, then looked away again.
'Did you tell my kids?'
'No. They'll have questions. Thomas helped me get them. He opened them on his computer.'
'It wouldn't mean anything to him.'
'He'll wonder. He's going to ask sooner or later.'
Smith sighed again.
'Shit.'
'Those are good kids you got there. That little boy, Thomas, he's something else.'
Smith closed his eyes,
Talley watched Smith, wondering if there was anything he could say to get this man to help him. He had negotiated with hundreds of subjects, and that was the game: Figure out what they needed to hear and say it; find their buttons and push them. All of that seemed beyond Talley now. He didn't know what to say. He glanced over at Thomas and Jennifer standing in the hall, and felt a pain so deep and pure that he thought it might break him. If he could just get Jane and Amanda back, he would never let them go.
He patted Smith's arm.
'I don't know where you come from or what you've done in your life, but you'd better do right by those kids. You've got your family now, Smith. They're safe. Help me get mine.'
Smith blinked hard at the ceiling. He shook his head, then closed his eyes tight. He took another deep breath, then looked past Talley to his own children.
'Shit.'
'Yeah. Shit.'
Smith looked at him. Smith's eyes were wet.
'If you've got the disks, you've got everything. You can put them all away.'
'Who has my family?'
'That would be Glen Howell. He was coming to the house today. He's Benza's man on the scene.'
Talley touched his wrist.
'Gold Rolex here? Dark tan?'
Smith nodded.
Talley was getting excited. He had something now. He was close by the door and ready to breach.
'Okay, Smith. Okay. Glen Howell. He's been calling me, but now I need to call him. How do I reach him?'
Smith gave him Howell's phone number.
Saturday, 3:09 A.M.
Talley doubled the guards on Smith and his children, then hurried back to his car. He closed his eyes and tried to find focus. He was a crisis negotiator; Howell was a subject; Amanda and Jane were hostages. He had done this before; he could do it again. It was just him and the phone.
I'm going to kill this dog!
The overhead lights made the world purple. Talley looked up at the sky, but could see only a few stars past the bright lights. A few stars were enough; Jane and Amanda were under these same stars. So was Howell.
When his breathing was even and his shoulders relaxed, Talley got into the car. His task was to sound confident and controlled. His task was to assume control.
Talley punched Howell's number into the Nokia. His body began to shake with tension, but he fought it. He closed his eyes again. He breathed.
The Watchman answered on the second ring, sounding abrupt and irritated.
'What?'
Talley made his voice soft.
'Guess who.'
Howell recognized his voice. Talley heard it in the quality of the silence even before Howell answered.
'How'd you get this number?'
'Here are two words for you: Glen Howell.'
'Fuck yourself.'
'I think Sonny Benza is going to fuck you. I have his financial records. I have your SWAT team. I have Captain Martin. I have you. And I have Walter Smith.'
Howell's voice rose.
'I have your fucking family. Don't forget that.'
Talley kept his voice even. He knew that if he remained calm, Howell would grow more frightened. Howell would suspect that Talley was up to something, and, by suspecting it, he would believe that it was true. Howell's only way out now was through Talley. Talley had to make him see this.
'You know where you screwed up? If you had sat tight and let this thing play out, if you hadn't brought me into it or sent in your fucking animals, I would never have known. The disks would have slipped through the cracks, and Benza would be safe. Now you have to deal with me.'
'You're drowning in deep water, Talley. You're just some fuckin' cop who doesn't have a clue. You're killing your family. You're committing suicide.'
'I'll give you five minutes. Call Benza. Ask him if he wants to spend the rest of his life in prison.'
'I'll ask him how many times he wants me to fuck your daughter.'
'Ask him if I can keep the money.'
All Talley heard was the hiss of the cell connection.
'I have something else that belongs to you. I found some money in the house. Looks like almost a million dollars.'
Talley had learned from a hundred negotiations that all liars think everyone lies, all thieves think everyone steals, crooked people think everyone is crooked. The strain in the silence was the sound of Howell trying to read Talley just as Talley was reading Howell. He would be scared and suspicious, but he would also want to believe. His belief was everything.
Howell answered slowly.
'What do you want, Talley?'
'How much money did I find?'
'One-point-two million.'
'I'll sell you a pass. My wife and daughter, and the money, for the disks. If you hurt them, the disks go straight to the FBI and I'll keep the money anyway.'
Talley knew that Howell would never consider a straight-up trade, his family for the disks, because there was no reason for Talley to keep his word. But the money changed things. Howell would understand greed. He would see himself in Talley and believe that a cop might think he could get away with that.
Talley didn't wait for Howell to answer.
'I'll tell you how this is going to work. I'll bring the disks to the north entrance of the mall by the freeway. You bring my family. If they're okay, we'll trade. If I don't make it home tonight, my officers will still have Smith and your phony FBI SWAT team.'
'You make it home, you'll cut them loose?'
'I'll cut them loose.'
'Okay, Talley, I think we can do this.'
'I thought we might.'
'But not at the mall. We'll do this where I want to do this.'
'As long as it's not in the middle of nowhere.'
'The Comfort Inn west of Bristo.'
'I know it.'
'Be there in ten minutes. Someone will be waiting in the parking lot. One minute late, there won't be anyone there to find.'
Talley ended the call. He placed the Nokia carefully on the seat, then closed his eyes. The Comfort Inn was less than a mile away. He got out of the car, stripped off his sweatshirt, then strapped on the vest. He pulled the sweatshirt over it. He checked his pistol; one in the chamber, safety on. He left his radio on, but turned the speaker volume down to zero. He got back into the car. He still had much to do.
Howell was shaking when he put down the phone. Talley had caught him off guard and jammed him into making a deal that might be a setup, but he didn't see what other choice he'd had. His job was to recover the disks.
Howell picked up the house phone. Duane Manelli was sitting in a room two doors down with LJ Ruiz.
'I need you and LJ outside. Talley's coming here.'
'What the fuck!'
'I don't know if he's coming alone. Get your ass outside and set up to watch the area.'
'What happened to Jones?'
'Jones is down.'
Howell hung up. He checked his watch. He didn't want to make his next call, but he didn't have a choice about that, either. Making the next call scared him more than waiting for Talley.
He dialed Sonny Benza.
'Sonny? Sonny, wake up.'
Benza opened his eyes, and saw Phil Tuzee. Charles Salvetti was pacing by the desk, looking upset. Benza was stretched out on the couch, the three of them still in his office at four in the morning. Benza's back ached like a sonofabitch. Another fuckin' trip to the chiropractor.
'What?'
'Glen Howell's on the phone. We got a friggin' mess here. Look.'
Benza sat up and squinted at the television. Smith's house was in flames.
'Jesus Christ. What happened?'
'It's a fuckin' bloodbath. Howell's team went in, and everything went to hell. Now they're pulling bodies out of the place.'
'Did we get the disks?'
Benza knew the answer from Tuzee's expression. Acid flooded his stomach.
'No, skipper. Talley has the disks.'
Salvetti called from the desk.
'C'mon. Howell's on the speaker. He says we don't have much time.'
Benza went to the phone, trying to control his anger.
'What the fuck are you doing down there?'
Howell cleared his throat, leaving Benza to conclude that the man was rattled. Benza didn't like that. Glen Howell wasn't a man to rattle.
'It isn't working out the way we planned.'
'I guess it fuckin' well isn't.'
Howell explained the situation. Talley not only had the disks; he had Smith, Jones, and Jones's team. Benza saw himself killing Glen Howell. He saw himself driving Howell to the desert and chopping him into sausage with a machete.
'Sonny?'
Benza's rage cleared, and he saw Salvetti and Tuzee watching him. Howell was still talking. Sonny Benza was more frightened now than he had ever been in his life. He interrupted.
'Glen? Listen to me, Glen.'
He spoke softly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Salvetti and Tuzee watched him.
'I want to tell you something here, Glen, before you go any further. I trusted you to handle this, and you've fucked it up. You're letting me down here, Glen.'
'Sonny, Talley has the disks, but we can still get this settled.'
Howell's voice shook.
'It's good you've got a plan for that.'
'He wants the money that Smith was holding for us, the one-point-two. He gets his family and the money, he says he'll give us the disks and cut loose our guys.'
Salvetti said, 'Waitaminute. Are you saying that this asshole wants to be paid off? He's extorting us?'
'One-point-two is a lot of money.'
Tuzee shook his head, looking at Benza but speaking to Howell.
'It's a setup. He's baiting you to get the wife.'
'What other choice do we have?'
Benza answered, softly again, without waiting for Tuzee's or Salvetti's opinion.
'You don't have any other choice.'
Howell didn't answer for several seconds.
'I understand.'
'Hang on.'
Benza muted the phone. He stretched his back, trying to lessen the ache, but it only hurt worse. He tried to figure out which way to jump; either Talley was really trying to scam the cash or he wasn't. If Talley was setting up Howell, the next few hours would be a shit storm. Federal agents might already be pouring over the disks and petitioning for warrants. Benza knew that he should warn New York, but the thought of it made his bowels clench.
'Phil, call the airport and have the jet prepped. Just in case.'
Tuzee went to the other phone.
Benza took the speakerphone off mute. He didn't want to accept defeat yet; there might still be a way out.
'Okay, Glen, listen: I don't care about the money. If I gotta lose the cash to buy some time, so be it.'
'That's what I figured.'
'If Talley is setting you up, we're fucked anyway.'
'I'll give you fair warning.'
'Fuck you and your fair warning. Get the disks, then get rid of him. If you don't get the disks, you're gonna have a problem, Glen. You understand that?'
'Our guys will still be in custody. He's not going to cut them free until after he has his family.'
Benza glanced at Tuzee again. He didn't like the idea of killing his own employees, but he had done it before. He had to get rid of Smith, Talley, Jones and his crew, and anyone else who was vulnerable after tonight. That was the only way he would be safe.
'After Talley is dead, we'll take care of Smith and Jones and his people. That's the best way to do this. Everyone has to die.'
'I understand.'
Benza pressed the button to end the call, then went back to the couch.
Salvetti came over and sat next to him.
'This thing is goin' south, Sonny. We gotta think about that. We should warn New York. We let'm know what's comin', old man Castellano might cut us some slack.'
Benza considered that, then shook his head.
'Fuck New York. I'm not that anxious to die.'
'You sure about that, Sonny? We still got a few minutes here.'
'We lose those disks, the last thing I want is a conversation with that old man. Even prison looks good by comparison.'
Salvetti frowned.
'That old man has long arms. He'll reach us even in prison.'
Benza looked at him.
'Jesus, Sally, always the cheery word.'
Tuzee crossed his arms, and shrugged.
'What the fuck, we get those disks, we'll beat the Feds and Castellano will never know this happened. Things could still work out.'
Benza decided to pack. In case things didn't.
Saturday, 3:37 A.M.
Santa Clarita, California
Talley drove without lights, swerving far onto the shoulder whenever he passed an oncoming vehicle. He pulled off the road a hundred yards before the motel and left his car in the weeds, thankful for the black sweatshirt he had pulled on earlier. He tied a roll of duct tape to a belt loop, then shoved a handful of plastic restraints into his pocket. He rubbed dirt on his face and hands to kill their shine, then drew his pistol and trotted toward the motel. The moon was up, bright like a blue pearl, giving him light.
Talley guessed that Howell would post observers to warn him if the police were approaching. He worked his way to the edge of the motel property and froze beside a spiky-leafed manzanita bush, searching the shadows at the edge of the light for some bit of movement or blackness that did not fit. Talley had approached a thousand armed houses when he was on SWAT; this time was no different. The motel was a long two-story barn surrounded by a parking lot. A smattering of cars were sleeping outside the ground-floor rooms. Two huge tractor-trailer trucks sat at the rear; a third was parked near the street. Talley worked his way around the perimeter of the grounds, moving outside the field of light, pausing every two paces to look and listen.
He spotted one observer on the east side parking lot, sitting between the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler that had been docked for the night. A few minutes later, he found the second man hunkered beneath a pepper tree across the street on the west side. Talley looked carefully for others, but only two men were posted.
Manelli lay belly-down in the hard dirt at the base of a pepper tree, watching LJ Ruiz move between the wheels of the eighteen-wheeler. They were hooked up by cell phone. If either saw an oncoming vehicle or anything suspicious, they could alert the other, and then Glen Howell. Manelli didn't like it that he could see movement. This meant that LJ was bored, and bored men made mistakes.
He whispered into his phone.
'LJ, you in position?'
'Yeah, I'm here.'
'Settle in and stop moving around.'
'Fuck yourself. I'm not moving.'
Manelli didn't respond. LJ had stopped moving, so Manelli let it go. Duane Manelli had spent enough time on night recon training exercises when he was in the army to respect radio silence.
Manelli settled into the dirt.
Ruiz said something, but Manelli didn't understand.
'Say again.'
Ruiz didn't answer.
'I didn't hear you, LJ. What'd you say?'
Nothing came back.
'LJ?'
Manelli heard the rocks crunch behind him, then his head exploded with rainbow light.
Talley bound Manelli's wrists behind the man's back with the plastic restraints, pulling the leads tight. He secured Manelli's ankles the same way, then rolled the man over.
Talley slapped Manelli's face.
'Wake up.'
Talley slapped harder.
'Wake up, goddamnit. You're under arrest.'
Manelli's eyes fluttered. Talley waited until the eyes focused, then pressed the gun into Manelli's neck.
'You know who I am?'
'Talley.'
'Which room are they in?'
'They're not. Howell sent them away.'
Talley cursed under his breath. He didn't expect that Howell would have kept them with him, but he had hoped.
'All right. Where are they?'
'I don't know. Clewes took them.'
Talley had not heard that name before, Clewes, but it didn't matter. He had not heard of any of these people.
'Where did Clewes take them?'
'I don't know. In the car. Howell is gonna call him. I don't know what they're gonna do. That was between Clewes and Howell.'
Talley glanced at the motel, fighting down his panic. The passing seconds loaded onto his back like bags of sand. He was wasting time, and he needed a plan. He told himself to think. He chanted the SWAT mantra: Panic kills. If Jane and Amanda were being held somewhere else, he would have to force Howell to bring them back.
He looked back at Manelli.
'How many people does Howell have?'
'Five here at the motel, plus Clewes.'
'You and the asshole at the truck, leaves three inside?'
That's right, plus Clewes. He has more people, but I don't know where they are. They could show up here anytime.'
Talley thought it through. Three in the room. Three against one, with more on the way. None of it mattered. He had no other choice.
'Which room?'
Manelli hesitated.
Talley pushed the.45 harder into Manelli's throat. The sweat and dirt from his face dripped onto Manelli like muddy rain.
'Which room?'
Manelli sighed.
'One twenty-four. Let me ask you a question, Talley?'
Talley hesitated. He didn't have time for questions.
'What?'
'You're not just some hick cop?'
'No. No, I'm not.'
Talley covered Manelli's mouth with duct tape, then slipped across the road and returned to the parking lot, searching for room 124. He found the green Mustang on the far side of the motel, parked one parking place down from 124. A man in a blue knit shirt was standing by it, smoking. This man outside left two more men in the room. Talley saw a silver wristwatch on his left arm; this man wasn't Glen Howell.
Talley worked his way as close to the Mustang as possible. The man finished his cigarette, then leaned against the car. He was less than fifteen yards away. Forty-five feet. Talley told himself that it wasn't very far.
The door to room 124 opened, and a man with a dark tan stepped out.
'Keep your eyes open. He should've been here.'
Talley saw a gold Rolex on his wrist, and recognized the voice. Howell.
Talley released the safety on his pistol, and readied himself to move.
The Mustang man complained to Howell.
'This is bullshit. That chickenfuck ain't gonna come. We should get outta this shithole while we still can.'
'He'll come. There's nothing else he can do.'
Howell went back into the room, closing the door.
The Mustang man lit a fresh cigarette. When he turned away, Talley rushed forward.
The Mustang man startled at the sound, but he was too late. Talley hit him hard on the side of the head, using the.45 as a club. The Mustang man staggered sideways. Talley grabbed him around the neck from behind in a choke hold, and pushed him toward the room. He didn't want the Mustang man unconscious; he wanted him as a shield.
Talley moved fast now; he kicked the door next to the knob, busting the jamb, and shoved the Mustang man through, screaming his identification.
'Police! You're under arrest!'
Talley didn't think they would shoot him until they had the disks. He was counting on that.
Glen Howell brought up a pistol as he dropped into a crouch, shouting at a man with a big head seated by the window. The man rolled out of his chair and also came up with a gun, aiming from the floor in a two-handed grip as Howell shouted not to fire.
'Don't shoot him! Don't shoot!'
Talley shifted his aim between the two men, making himself as small as possible behind the Mustang man. Insects spiraled in from the night, hungry for the light.
Talley shouted, 'Where's my family?'
They sucked air like freight engines. No one was shooting, but if one person fired, everyone would fire. They each had something the other wanted. Talley knew it. He knew that Howell knew it. It was the only thing holding them back.
Howell abruptly released his gun, letting it swing free on his finger.
'Just take it easy. Take it easy. We're here to do business.'
'Where are they?'
'Do you have the disks?'
Talley shifted his aim to the man with the big head. He felt as if he was at the day-care center again, held hostage by men with guns.
'You know I have the disks, you sonofabitch. Where's my family?'
Howell slowly stood, hands out, letting his gun hang.
'Let's just take it easy. They're all right. Can I take a phone from my pocket?'
'They were supposed to be here.'
'Let me get the phone. You can talk to them, see they're okay.'
Talley shifted his aim from the big-headed man to Howell, then back again. Howell took out a cell phone and pressed in a number. Someone on the other end answered, and Howell told them to put the woman on. He held out the phone.
'Here. Talk to her. She's all right.'
Talley jammed his gun under the Mustang man's jaw, and warned him not to move. Howell brought the phone over, holding it with two fingers like a teacup. Talley took it with his free hand, and Howell stepped back.
'Jane?'
'Jeff! We're -'
The line went dead.
'SHIT!'
Howell shrugged, reasonably.
'You see? They're alive. Whether they stay that way depends on you.'
Talley tossed the phone back to Howell, then took out a single disk. This was where everything could go bad. This was where he took his biggest chance, and risked everything.
'One disk. You'll get the other when I have my girls. Not talk to them on the phone, but have them. I get my girls, you get the disks. You don't like it, tough. You kill me, everyone still goes to jail.'
He tossed the disk onto the bed.
Talley could read that Howell wasn't happy with just the one disk, but Talley was counting on that. He wanted Howell off-balance and worried. It was a negotiation. Talley knew that Howell would be weighing his options just as Talley weighed his; Howell would be wondering if Talley had the second disk with him, thinking that if Talley had both disks, Howell could simply shoot him and take the disks and this would be over. But Howell couldn't be sure. If he killed Talley, and Talley didn't have both disks, then Howell would be fucked. So Howell wouldn't shoot him. Not yet. And that gave Talley a chance to jam him into revealing Amanda and Jane.
Talley watched the tension play over Howell's face. Talley offered nothing.
Howell picked up the disk.
'I have to see if it's real.'
'It's real.'
'I have to make sure.'
An IBM ThinkPad with a Zip drive attached was set up on the nightstand. Howell sat on the edge of the bed as he opened the disk, then grunted at the contents.
'All right. This is one of them. Where's the other?'
'First my girls. I see my girls, you get the disks. That's the way it works.'
Sweat leaked from Talley's hair and ran down his neck. It felt like crawling ants. Howell would either take the chance or he wouldn't. Neither of them had any other choice. It had all come down to which one would break first.
It was a face-off.
Talley waited as Howell considered his options. Talley already knew what he would decide. Talley had left Howell no other choice. Howell picked up his phone.
Talley wasn't acting like a has-been cop who had been broken by the job and come to nowhereland to hide; he was carrying on like a full-blown SWAT tactical street-monster. But Talley was also scared. Howell knew that he had to use that fear; he had to make Talley so frightened of losing his wife and daughter that he stopped thinking. Howell figured that Talley had the second disk on him, but the only way he could find out was to kill him. If he killed Talley, and Talley didn't have the disk, Howell would be fucked. Sonny Benza's message was clear; Benza would kill him.
The phone at the other end rang once before Marion Clewes answered.
'Yes?'
Howell spoke clearly, never taking his eyes from Talley. He wanted Talley to know that Glen Howell held the lives of his wife and child in his hands.
'Bring them. Stop the car outside the room, but don't get out. I want to show him that they're all right.'
'Okey-doke.'
Howell watched Talley closely, and noticed that Talley tensed when Howell told Clewes to stay in the car. Talley didn't like that, but tried not to show it. Howell felt encouraged. He felt as if he had played a winning card.
'Don't hang up. It's very important that you stay on the line. I'll want to talk to you again.'
'All right.'
Howell lowered the phone. Clewes was parked behind a Mobil station down the street. He would be here in seconds.
'Okay, Talley, they're on the way.'
'I want more than just seeing them. I won't give you the disk until I have them.'
'I understand.'
Howell heard the car before he saw it. Clewes wheeled to a stop in the empty space next to the Mustang, the nose of his car framed dead-center in the open door. The woman, Jane, was in the passenger seat. The daughter was in the rear. They were both tied, their mouths taped.
Howell saw Talley move slightly toward the door and his wife, then catch himself before looking back at Howell.
'Tell him to get out of the car.'
Howell raised the phone.
'Marion?'
Outside, Clewes lifted his own phone. They could see each other clearly through the open door.
'Yes, sir?'
'Aim your gun at the woman's head.'
The world was comfortable here within Marion's car, which still held that yummy new-car smell; with the windows up, the engine idling, and the air-conditioning blowing softly, Marion could hear only the two women crying and the voice in his ear. He took no pleasure in their tears.
'Yes, sir.'
Marion had his orders. Just as Glen Howell's job was to recover the disks, Marion knew exactly what he was supposed to do and when he was supposed to do it. It was all about doing your job, being rewarded if you succeeded, being punished if you failed. Success or failure were defined by the disks.
Marion raised his gun to the mother's head. She trembled, and clenched her eyes. Behind her, in the backseat, the daughter moaned loudly.
Marion smiled warmly, trying to lend comfort, even as he watched the events within the motel.
'Don't worry, ladies. You'll be fine.'
His gun did not waver from its mark.
The world collapsed to an automobile only ten steps away. Talley saw everything happening inside the car with a clarity so great it seemed unreal: The man behind the wheel touched a small black pistol to Jane's temple. Glistening tears spilled from Jane's eyes. In the backseat, Amanda rocked from side to side, also crying.
Talley screamed, 'NO!'
Howell kept the phone to his mouth, speaking to Talley but also the man in the car.
'Give me the second disk or he'll kill your wife.'
'NO!'
Talley jerked his gun to the man in the car but was scared that the angle of the windshield would deflect his shot. This wasn't like when Neil Craimont had killed the man holding a gun to Talley's head at the day-care center; the man in the car was surrounded by glass. An accurate shot could not be guaranteed. Talley jerked his aim back at Howell. Everything was suddenly wrong; everything that he was trying to do had gone to hell.
Howell was winning.
'I'll kill you, Howell! You'll never get the disk!'
'He'll kill your wife, but your daughter will still be alive. Are you listening to this, Marion?'
Talley saw the man behind the wheel nod. Talley shifted his aim again, back to the man in the car.
'I'll fucking kill you! Can you hear that, you sonofabitch?!'
The man in the car smiled.
Howell spoke reasonably.
'I'll still have your daughter. Your wife will be dead, but your daughter will be alive. Do you see her there in the car, Talley? But if you shoot me, then he'll kill your daughter, too. Do you want to lose both of them?'
Talley aimed at the man in the car again. His breath was coming so hard that his gun shook. If he shot low, the bullet would deflect high, but he didn't know how much; anything short of a perfect shot would cost Jane's life. If Talley shot at the man in the car, Howell or the man with the big head would shoot him, and then all of them would be dead.
Howell said, 'The negotiation is over, Talley. I won.'
Talley glanced at Howell. He measured the shots; first the man in the car, then Howell, lastly the man on the floor. He would have to make all three to save his family. He didn't think that he could make them.
Howell said, 'Drop your gun, and give me the second disk. Give me the disk or he'll put her brain on the window.'
Talley's eyes filled because he thought they would all die anyway, but he still had one chance left. One small chance, because Howell and Benza still wanted the disks.
Talley dropped his gun.
The Mustang man jumped out of the way. Howell and the big-headed man charged forward. They scooped up Talley's gun and shoved him against the wall, pinning him like an insect to a board. Howell searched him even as Talley told him about the second disk.
'It's in my left front pocket.'
Talley felt numb. Defeated. Outside, the man behind the wheel climbed out of the car and came to the door. Talley watched Amanda and Jane in the car. Jane met his eye, and in that moment he felt buoyed by a tide of love that felt as if it could carry him away.
Howell loaded the disk into the ThinkPad.
Talley watched him open the disk, and took a grim pleasure in watching Howell's face darken and grow fierce.
'You sonofabitch. This isn't the disk. This isn't the second disk! It's a goddamned blank!'
Talley felt strangely removed from this room and these people. He glanced at Jane again. He smiled at her, the same small smile they had often shared at night when they were alone in bed, and then he turned back to Howell.
'I don't have the second disk anymore. I gave it to the Sheriffs, and they're giving it to the FBI. Benza's over. You're over. There's nothing either of us can do.'
Talley watched the disbelief float to the surface of Howell's face like a great slow bubble.
'You're lying.'
'I'm not lying. We're done here, Howell. Let us go. Let us go and save yourself the murder charge.'
Howell stood stiffly, like a mechanical man. He lumbered around the bed as if he was in shock, picked up his gun from the floor, and aimed it at Talley.
'Are you out of your mind?'
'I just want to take my family home.'
Howell shook his head as if he still couldn't believe that this was happening, and then he blinked numbly at the man in the door, the man who had been in the car.
'Kill every one of these people.'
Marion watched as Glen Howell opened the second disk. He was disappointed to see that Talley had tried to fake them out with a false disk, but he had expected as much. Talley was a policeman, after all; Marion had never expected that he would let a man like Sonny Benza walk away, not even with his family being held. In the end, turning over the disk to the proper authorities had been the right thing to do.
'Kill every one of these people.'
It was all about doing your job, being rewarded if you succeeded, being punished if you failed. Success or failure was defined by the disks, and Glen Howell had not recovered the disks.
Marion felt sad about that; he had always liked Glen Howell even though Mr. Howell hadn't liked him.
Marion had his orders.
Marion lifted his gun.
The man in the door whom Howell had called Marion raised his gun and aimed it squarely at Talley's face. Marion was a small man, ordinary in appearance, the type of anonymous man who would be invisible in a mall and impossible for witnesses to describe. An Everyman; average height, average weight, brown, brown.
Talley stared into the black hole of the muzzle and braced for the bullet.
'I'm sorry, Jane.'
Marion shifted his gun hard to the side and fired. He adjusted his aim, and fired again, then again. The first bullet took Howell above the right eye, the second the Mustang man dead-center in the left eye, and the third caught the man with the big head in the temple.
Marion lowered his gun.
Talley stood motionless against the wall, watching Marion the way a bird watches a snake.
Marion shrugged.
'Life is unforgiving.'
Marion crossed the room to retrieve the one good disk, pocketed it, then went to the car. He helped Jane out, then opened the back door and helped Amanda. He walked around the car, climbed in behind the wheel, and drove away without another word. Talley saw him using his cell phone even before he was out of the parking lot.
The motel was quiet.
A dark wind had blown through Bristo Camino, something beyond Talley's control, beyond his pain and his loss, and now it was gone. Now, only the three of them were left.
'Jane?'
Talley stumbled out of the room and ran to his wife. He hugged her with frantic desperation, then pulled his daughter close, squeezing them to him as the tears spilled down his face. He held them and knew then that he would never let them go, that he had lost them once and now had almost lost them this second time, lost them forever, and that he could and would never allow that to happen again.
It was over.
Saturday, 4:36 A.M.
Palm Springs
Sonny Benza didn't try to sleep again after they got off the phone with Glen Howell. He popped twenty milligrams of Adderall and snorted two lines of crank to prop himself up, then the three of them sat down to wait.
The first time the phone rang, he damn near jumped off the couch.
Tuzee looked at him, asking if Sonny wanted him to answer the phone. Benza nodded, saying, Yeah, answer it.
Tuzee answered.
'It's the airport. They wanna know where you want to go. They gotta file a flight plan.'
'Tell them Rio. We'll change it in the air.'
As Tuzee hung up, Salvetti said, 'They're still gonna know where we go. These jets fly so high that air-traffic control watches them all the way.'
'Don't worry about it, Sally. We'll take care of it.'
'I'm just saying.'
'Don't worry about it.'
The second time the phone rang, Tuzee answered without asking. Benza could tell from Tuzee's expression that this was the word.
Salvetti said, 'Shit.'
Tuzee punched on the speaker, saying, 'It's Ken Seymore. Ken, Sonny and Charlie are here. What do you have down there?'
'It's gone to shit. All of it's gone to shit. I'm still here at the development, but-'
Benza shouted over him. The fear in Seymore's voice infuriated him.
'I don't give a shit where you are. Do we have the goddamned disks or not?'
'No! They got the disks. Glen Howell and two more of our guys are dead. They got Manelli and Ruiz and I don't know who else. It's a goddamned clusterfuck down here. I don't know what happened.'
'Who killed Howell? Talley?'
'I don't know! Yeah, I think it was Talley. I don't know. Man, I'm hearing all kinds of things.'
Sonny Benza closed his eyes. Just like that it was gone, everything was gone, three low-class assholes break into a house and everything that he had worked for his entire life was about to end.
Tuzee said, 'You sure they got the disks?'
'Talley gave the disks to the Sheriffs. That much I know for sure. Then I don't know what happened. Glen got jammed up at the motel, they had a big fuckin' firefight or somethin', and now the FBI just rolled up, the real FBI. What do you want me to do?'
Benza shook his head; there wasn't anything Ken Seymore or anyone else could do.
Tuzee said, 'Vanish. Anyone who isn't in custody, take off. You're done.'
The line went dead without another word. Ken Seymore was gone.
Benza stood without a word and went to the great glass windows overlooking Palm Springs. He was going to miss the view.
Salvetti came up behind him.
'What do you want us to do, Boss?'
'How long do you figure we have before the Feds get here?'
He had a pretty good idea, but he wanted to hear it.
Salvetti and Tuzee traded a shrug.
Tuzee said, 'Talley will tell them what's on the disks, then they'll probably talk to Smith. I don't know if he'll corroborate or not.'
'He'll talk.'
'Okay, they'll want to detain you as a flight risk to give themselves time to write the true counts, so they'll get a warrant based on our alleged involvement with the killings and kidnaps in Bristo. Say they get a telephonic warrant and coordinate with the state cops out here through the substation… I'd say two hours.'
'Two hours.'
'Yeah, I don't think they can get here before that.'
Benza sighed.
'Okay, guys. I want to be in the air in an hour.'
'You got it, Sonny.'
Salvetti said, 'You gonna tell New York?'
Benza wouldn't tell New York. He was more frightened of their reaction than he was of battling the Feds.
'Fuck'm. Go get your families. Don't bother packing, we'll buy new when we get there. Meet me at the airport as soon as you can. Forty-five minutes tops.'
The three of them stood mute for a time. They were in deep shit, and all three of them knew it. Benza shook each man's hand. They were good and dear friends. Sonny Benza loved them both.
'We had a good thing here, guys.'
Charlie Salvetti started to cry. He turned away and hurried from the office without another word.
Tuzee stared at the floor until Salvetti was gone, then offered his hand again. Benza took it.
'All this will blow over, Sonny. You'll see. We'll get this straight with New York, and we'll be fine.'
Benza knew that was bullshit, but he appreciated Tuzee trying to cheer him. He even found it within himself to smile.
'Philly, we're gonna be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives. Fuck it. It's all part of the game.'
Tuzee smiled tiredly.
'Yeah, I guess so. See you at the airport.'
'You bet.'
Tuzee hurried away.
Sonny Benza turned back to the window. He admired the lights in the desert below, glittering like fallen dreams, and remembered how proud his father had been, how much the old man had bragged, Only in America, Sonny, only in America; right down the fuckin' street from Francis Albert!
Frank Sinatra had been dead for years.
Benza went to wake his wife.
Saturday, 7:49 A.M., Eastern time
New York City
Vic Castellano sat on his terrace overlooking the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was a beautiful morning, clear and pleasant, though it would be hotter than a sonofabitch before noon. He still wore the white terry-cloth bathrobe with Don't Bug Me on the back. He liked that sonofabitch so much he'd probably wear it until it was threads. He put down his coffee.
'I can tell by your expression it ain't good.'
Jamie Beldone had just come out to see him.
'It's not. The police have the disks. They have Benza's accountant, and several of his people. Once the Feds develop the information, we're going to have a fight on our hands.'
'But we'll survive it.'
Jamie nodded.
'We'll take a few shots, but we'll survive. Benza, that's something else.'
'That sonofabitch still hasn't had the decency to call. You imagine that?'
'It shows a lack of class.'
Castellano settled back in his chair, thinking out loud. He and Jamie had gone over this a hundred times last night, but it never hurt to go over such things again.
'We'll survive, but because of this Mickey Mouse West Coast asshole we're exposed to serious heat from the federal prosecutor. This means we've got just cause to seek redress.'
'The other families will see it that way.'
'And since the Feds are going to put Benza out of business, no one can beef if we take care of it for them.'
'It's a fair trade.'
Castellano nodded.
'All in all, it's probably good for everyone that all this happened. We can send somebody out west, take over Benza's end of things, and cut ourselves a bigger piece of the pie.'
'The silver lining that everyone will enjoy. What are you going to do, skipper?'
Castellano had known what he was going do for the past six hours. He took no pleasure in it, but he had it all arranged.
'Make the call.'
Beldone started back into the house.
'Jamie!'
'Yes, sir?'
'I want to be sure about this. That guy Clewes, Marion Clewes, he's kinda flaky. I don't want to just take his word that Benza fucked up. I want to know for sure.'
'I'm sure, Vic. I double-checked. I just hung up with Phil Tuzee.'
Castellano felt better. He knew that Phil Tuzee wouldn't steer him wrong. 'That's good enough. Make the call and finish this.'
Saturday, 4:53 A.M., Pacific time
Palm Springs, California
Benza's wife moved so slowly that he wanted to stuff a cattle prod up her ass. The kids were even worse.
'Would ya hurry it up, for chrissakes? We gotta get outta here.'
'I can't leave my things!'
'I'll buy you new things!'
'We can't leave our pictures! What about our wedding album? How can you buy a new wedding album?'
'Five minutes, you got five minutes! Get the kids and meet me out front or I'll leave your ass here.'
Benza trotted back through the house to the garage. All he carried was a blue nylon gym bag with one hundred thousand in cash, his blood pressure meds, and his.357. Anything else he needed he could buy when they landed; Benza had over thirty million dollars stashed in foreign accounts.
Benza hit the button to open the garage door. He tossed the nylon bag into the backseat of his Mercedes, then slid behind the wheel. He started the car, threw it into reverse, then hit the gas hard, backing in a wide arc toward the front door. He was moving so fast that he almost broadsided the nondescript sedan that blocked his path.
Flashes of light speckled the air around the sedan, exploding Benza's rear window. The bullets knocked him into the steering wheel, then sideways onto the seat. Sonny Benza tried to get the.357 out of his bag, but he didn't have time. Someone pulled open the driver's-side door and shot Sonny Benza in the head.