72 Hours (A Thriller) (41 page)

She smiled.

“I agree.”

She reached across the table and cupped his big hand in both of hers.

“So tell me, what are you going to do when this is all over?” she asked.

“Sleep.”

“Want some company?”

He considered her a moment.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said.

She smiled again.
 
“I have a vacation home in Vail.”

Archer shrugged.
 
“I haven’t skied in years.”

“Who said anything about going outside?”

“OK, you’ve talked me into it.”

Lindsay tucked strands of blonde hair behind her ear and winked at him.

Then the satellite phone rang.

CHAPTER 113

Noella Chu had shadowed them to both the motel and the doctor’s office.
 
She was parked in the Kia in an alley behind the diner on the opposite side of the highway from where Archer and Lindsay were finishing breakfast.
 
She had dialed the number to the satellite phone from memory into the cheap disposable prepaid cell she’d purchased at the truck stop.

When Archer answered, she made him wait.
 
She stared out the windshield and listened to the sound of Archer’s voice.
 
Lindsay Hammond and Ryan Archer would both die because they were in way over their heads.
 
There was not a shred of doubt in Noella Chu’s mind.

“Are you ready to listen?” Noella Chu asked.

“Let me speak to Penny.”

“That is not going to happen.”

“Not a problem,” Archer said.
 
“I will take Lindsay Hammond and disappear, and you will miss out on your shot at the five hundred million dollars.
 
Is that what you want to happen?”

Noella Chu remained unfazed.

“Where is Simeon?” she asked.
 
“Where is Raj?”

“You aren’t dealing with Simeon or Raj.
 
You are dealing with me now.
 
Happy birthday.”

“And who are you?”

“Just a guy.”

“Do you have a name?”

“I’ve been called a lot of things.”

“I think I’ll call you Archer.”

Silence.

Archer and Lindsay had left money on the table to cover breakfast and had wandered outside, drifting across the gravel parking lot toward the Hummer.

“How do you know my name?” he said into the satellite phone.

“Because I know everything there is to know,” Noella Chu answered.

“Get on with it,” Archer demanded.
 
“Tell me how you want to do this.”

“You will drive down the dirt road toward the old church.
 
Stop when you get within one hundred yards.
 
Then sit and wait for further instructions.”

“When?” Archer asked.

“Right now.”

*
   
*
   
*

The city of Los Angeles spread out beneath them as far as the eye could see.
 
It was a city Gaston Dunbar knew well.
 
A city he loved.
 
But now he sat with his eyes closed inside the helicopter, ignoring the view, not interested in watching the tangle of asphalt and humanity passing beneath them.
 
He was content to insulate himself within the walls of his own thoughts.

The rotors thundered overhead.

The helicopter drifted over power lines, over endless clusters of congested residential subdivisions, and over office towers of glass and steel.
 
They circled above 11000 Wilshire Boulevard, setting gently down on the helipad atop the tall building.
 
Blackwell was the first man out.
 
He hooked a meaty hand under Dunbar’s arm and ordered him to exit the chopper.

Dunbar dropped to the roof and instinctively ducked his head against the wash from the rotor blades.

Special Agent Kline gestured with his head.

“Move!” he yelled over the roar of the turbine.

They went through a steel door on the roof.
 
Followed a short flight of stairs to a landing and entered an elevator.

Dunbar proceeded as ordered without uttering a word.

The elevator opened onto a massive open floor plan filled with a vast cubicle farm and glass offices stacked along the walls.
 
Dunbar was ushered through a corridor and into a windowless office.
 
There was a long table with folding legs inside the room.
 
A sagging, tired-looking cardboard box with its flaps folded into an interlocking pattern sat atop the table.
 
Two thick, sober-looking men stood behind the table waiting for Dunbar and his escorts to enter the room and shut the door.

Kline shook hands with the men.

Both men glared at Dunbar.
 
One of them nodded at the cardboard box, and Blackwell stepped forward and folded open the flaps.
 
It was stuffed full with thrift clothes and an assortment of wigs and eyeglasses and shoes.

In ten minutes Dunbar was transformed.
 
He now had long black hair and a frazzled beard held to his head by an elastic band.
 
He donned a long-sleeved flannel shirt and the first pair of denim jeans he’d worn since the day of his incarceration.
 
The final touch was a pair of glasses with oversized heavy plastic frames and nonprescription lenses.

The man standing before them was no longer recognizable as Gaston Dunbar.

“Anonymous enough for you?” Blackwell asked.

The two men behind the table offered their approval.

“OK,” Kline said.
 
“The cars are in place, waiting downstairs.
 
Let’s get him loaded and move out.”

The elevator dumped them into an underground parking structure.
 
There were three identical dark unmarked sedans lined up and ready to roll.
 
The cars were staffed with a full detail of federal agents.
 
They loaded Dunbar into the middle car, with Kline seated on one side of him, and Blackwell on the other.
 

“Are the choppers in the air?” Kline said to Blackwell.

Blackwell nodded.
 
“Affirmative.”

Kline took a deep breath.
 
He glanced at Dunbar who had not opened his mouth since they left the ground in Marin County.

“Here we are, Dunbar.
 
In the heart of LA.
 
So let’s do it.
 
Tell me where they are.
 
Give me an address,” Kline said.

For a long moment, Dunbar appeared to be lost deep in thought.
 
He pressed the tips of his index fingers together, then touched them to his lips.
 
A faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
 
Then his eyelids fluttered open.

“I was just remembering the last time I saw their lovely faces,” he said, not much above a whisper.

“What are you talking about?”
 

“Oh, Sidney and Robin, of course.
 
On the night I killed them.”

Kline burned with rage from the inside out.

“Just give me the damn address!” he hissed.

Dunbar nodded.

“Take the 405 to the 10.
 
Then turn east,” Dunbar said.

*
   
*
   
*

The Hummer stopped a hundred yards out from the church as instructed.
 

“What were her instructions?” Lindsay asked.

“Told us to sit and wait.”

“In the road?”

Archer nodded.
 
“Yeah.
 
In the road.”

“How long do we wait?” she asked.

“As long as it takes.”

They waited an hour.
 
They saw nothing but clouds and dust.

Archer watched the church.
 
Watched the shadows shift as the sun traveled its patient arc across the sky.
 
Watched the horizon.
 
Flicked his eyes from mirror to mirror.

Another hour passed.

“Are you sure this is what she told you to do?”
 
Lindsay shifted in her seat.

“Be patient.”

Halfway through the third hour, he caught a flash of movement in the rearview mirror.
 
Turned to look out the back window.
 
A cloud of dust was visible rising off the road back toward town.

“OK, here we go,” Archer said, instinctively touching a hand to the Beretta.

“What is it?”

“Someone is coming.”

A white minivan approached slowly down the dirt lane.
 
It drew to within fifty yards and then rocked to a stop, the desert breeze tugging away the cloud of dust that had trailed behind the vehicle.

The minivan sat in silence, fifty yards out.

“Can you see anyone?” Lindsay asked.

“No.”

“What is she doing?”

Archer shook his head.
 
“I don’t know.”

The Kia minivan sat in the glare of morning light with its engine off.

Then the satellite phone rang.

Archer answered it.
 

“I’m here with Lindsay,” he said.
 
“Now what?”

“This is very simple,” Noella Chu said.
 
“Follow my instructions very carefully and we will both get what we came for.”

“I’m listening.”

“I want Lindsay to open her door and step clear of the vehicle with her hands raised in the air.
 
She will turn where she stands so that I can see that she is unarmed.
 
Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.
 
Tell her.”

The passenger door of the Hummer rocked open on its hinges.
 
Lindsay pivoted in her seat.
 
Swung one leg out and then the other, and dropped to the packed dirt surface.
 
She raised her arms over her head to display both empty hands.

“Good,” Noella Chu said.
 
“Now tell her to walk slowly to the church.
 
Tell her to go inside and stand in the doorway with her back to the open door.”

Archer swallowed hard, then looked at Lindsay.
 
He repeated the instructions to her.

Lindsay began the long march down the dirt lane.
 
She reached the three warped steps and opened the old wooden door.
 
The hinges groaned.
 
She stood in the doorway, facing in at the rows of darkened pews.
 

“Very good,” Noella Chu said.

Archer stared out across the dirt and weeds.
 
He could see Lindsay silhouetted against the dark interior beyond the open doorway of the church.

“Now, Mr. Archer, you are next,” Noella Chu said.
 
“Step away from the vehicle and let me see your hands.”

Archer pushed open his door and raised his hands into the dry breeze.

“Move to the rear of the vehicle.”

He did.

“Turn around, slowly,” she said.

His feet crunched over the dirt as he pivoted.

“Lift your shirt,” she said.

Archer hesitated a beat.

“Do it now, Mr. Archer.”

He reluctantly hoisted the tail of his shirt, but only enough to expose the pistol grip of the Beretta.

“Nice try, Mr. Archer.
 
Take it out and drop it on the ground.”

Archer slowly withdrew the gun from his waistband and pitched it into the dirt.

“Now, walk very slowly toward the van.”

Archer eased forward with his hands in the air.
 
He still couldn’t make out the person seated at the wheel of the van.
 
He stared hard at the windshield, hoping for a glimpse of Penny, some sign that she was in there and that she was alive.
 
When he was midway from the Hummer to the van, she ordered him to stop.

“Where is she?
 
Where is Penny?” Archer said.

Noella Chu did not answer his question.

Instead, the telephone line went dead.

Archer watched, listened, waited.

He never heard the gunshot.
 
Did not see the distant muzzle flash.
 
Was not aware of anything wrong until the bullet struck him square in the chest.
 
The impact of the big lead slug lifted him off his feet and spun him around.
 
He crashed facedown onto the road.
 
Pain rippled out across his body in a great wave.
 
He lay on the ground with his eyes closed, his blood turning black as it soaked into the dirt.