Extreme Denial (33 page)

To the left of the guards, parallel to them but not wanting to arouse their suspicions by stepping behind them, Decker scanned the room and focused his attention on the fireplace.

Giordano listened to the phone, shocked. “You dumb bastard, you’re really serious. You’re going to hold me up for a million bucks....I
don’t need reminding
her testimony can put me away for life.” Giordano’s expression became even more fierce. “Yes, I know where that is. But midnight’s too soon. I need more time. I need to ... I’m not stalling. I’m not trying to double-cross you. All I want is to solve my problem. I’m telling the truth. I’m not sure I can get the money by midnight....Here’s a gesture of good faith. The guy you talked to at the start of your call—he’s the guy you wanted us to take out in Santa Fe as part of the deal. Your buddy, Steve Decker.”

As Giordano and everyone else in the room looked at him, Decker’s reflexes tightened.

“He paid us a visit. Called me up and wanted to come over for a heart-to-heart. He’s standing right in front of me. Want to come over and visit? ... No? Don’t you trust me? ... Okay, here’s my offer. We’ll do him for you. You prove the woman’s dead. I’ll prove Decker’s dead. You’ll get the million. But I can’t get you the money by midnight.” Giordano scowled. “No. Wait. Don’t.” He slammed the phone onto its cradle. “Bastard hung up on me. Midnight. Says midnight or it’s no deal. Thinks I’ll pull a fast one if I’ve got more time.”

“Where are we supposed to meet him?” Frank asked angrily.

“The scenic lookout two miles north of here.”

“In Palisades State Park?”

Giordano nodded. “The bastard’s right here in the neighborhood. We leave the money and Decker behind the refreshment stand.”

“And McKittrick leaves the woman?”

“No. He says he
won’t
do the job until he’s positive we don’t try to follow him after he leaves with the money.”

“Shit.”

Giordano turned toward the wall of leather-bound books. He pressed a portion of the wall, releasing a catch.

“You’re actually going to give him the money?” Frank asked.

“What choice do I have? I don’t have time to second-guess him. Diana Scolari can’t be allowed to go into that courtroom tomorrow. I’ll deal with McKittrick later. He can’t hide forever. But right now ...” When Giordano tugged, the large bookshelf slid away from the wall, revealing a safe. He quickly worked the combination, yanked open the door, and pulled out bundles of cash, setting the rubber-banded packets onto the desk. “There’s a briefcase in that closet.”

“Suppose McKittrick takes the money and
still
lets her testify.” Frank went for the briefcase. “Or suppose he asks for more cash tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’ll give him more cash! I won’t spend the rest of my life in prison!”

“We can try to follow him,” Frank said. “Or we can grab him when he shows up to get the money. Believe me,
I’ll
make him tell us where the woman is.”

“
But what if he dies before he talks?
I can’t take the risk. I’m seventy years old. Prison would kill me.”

For the third time, the phone rang.

“Maybe that’s McKittrick again.” Giordano grabbed it. “Talk to me.” He frowned toward Frank. “I can’t understand a word he’s saying. He must have turned his scrambler off.” Furious, Giordano switched his own scrambler off, then blurted into the phone, “I told you ... Who? Decker? For Christ sake, he isn’t here anymore. Quit calling about him. He’s gone. One of my men drove him back to the city....Shut up and listen.
He’s gone.
”

Giordano slammed down the phone and told Decker, “So much for your insurance policy. Think you can threaten
me
, huh?” He turned to the guards. “Take this prick out to the cliffs and do him.”

Decker’s stomach felt frozen.

“Just before midnight, dump him behind the refreshment stand at the scenic overlook. Frank’ll be there by then with the money,” Giordano said.

“
I’ll
be there?” Frank asked in surprise.

“Who else am I going to trust with the money?”

“I thought
we
were taking it.”

“Are you nuts?
You’re
not the one who might be indicted tomorrow. If I get caught being involved in this ... Hey,” Giordano told the guards, “what are you hanging around for? I said take him out and do him.”

The pressure in his chest intensifying, Decker saw one of the guards reach beneath his suit coat to pull out a gun. Decker’s body was like a spring wound to its tightest coil. The coil was suddenly released. While Giordano had been arguing with McKittrick on the phone, Decker had choreographed what abruptly happened now. Next to the fireplace, he had noticed a set of tools. With eye-blink speed, he grabbed the long, thin, heavy log pick and whipped it around, striking the guard in the throat. The guard’s larynx made an audible crack. His windpipe swelling shut, in agony, unable to breathe, the guard dropped his pistol and clutched his throat. He fell back against another guard, who was already dead, falling from the impact with which Decker had struck the top of his skull with the metal tool. As a third guard tried to pull a pistol from beneath his suit, Decker threw the pick with such force that it speared the guard’s chest. The next thing, Decker was diving to the floor, grabbing the pistol that the first guard had dropped, shooting the fourth guard, shooting Giordano, shooting ...

But the only other target was Frank, and Frank wasn’t in the room any longer. Using the hanging draperies to protect himself from broken glass, Frank had lunged against a French door, smashed through its windows, and disappeared past the draperies and into the storm. Decker fired but missed. He barely had time to register that the briefcase was gone from the desk before the guard who had been speared managed to brace himself against a chair and aim his pistol.

Decker shot him. Decker shot the guard who had been at the front door and now rushed into the room. Decker shot the pit bull who charged in after him. He had never felt such a fury. Pausing only for the second it took him to flick off the lights, he ran toward the French doors. Wind gusted through the broken glass, billowing the draperies into the room. He thought of the arc lights outside and the lack of cover near the house. He imagined Frank aiming from behind one of the few large trees that Giordano’s security staff had permitted. Even if Decker managed to shoot out the arc lights, his white robe would be an obvious target in the darkness. He tugged it off and threw it on the floor. But his skin, although tan, was pale compared to the night. His body, too, would be an obvious target in the darkness.

What am I going to do? It’ll soon be midnight. I have to get to that scenic lookout. Grabbing a second pistol from one of the fallen guards, Decker spun and rushed into the hallway. At the same moment, to the right, a guard burst into the hallway through a door at the back. Decker shot him.

Rain swept in through the open door. Decker reached the exit, pressed himself next to the door, and peered toward the arc lit grounds at the back of the house. Seeing no sign of Frank, he ducked back out of sight and flinched as a bullet from out there blasted away part of the doorjamb. He noticed a row of light switches and flicked them all, sending this portion of the house and the grounds into darkness.

Immediately he charged through the open door and raced across rain-soaked grass toward a series of low shrubs that he had seen before he shut off the arc lights. The rain felt shockingly cold on his nakedness. He dropped flat behind the first shrub and squirmed forward as a bullet tore up lawn behind him. He reached another shrub, and unexpectedly, his chest and groin were no longer pressed against soft grass. Instead, he was in a flower bed, crawling across stalks and mud. The stalks scraped his skin. Mud. He smeared it onto his face. He rolled in it, trying to coat himself, to conceal his skin. He knew that the rain would soon wash off the camouflage. He had to move quickly.

Now! He surged to his feet, almost falling on the slick ground as he scrambled toward the cover of a large tree. The tree seemed to expand, its trunk becoming double. A figure whirled in surprise, lurching away from the trunk. As Decker dove to the spongy lawn, the figure fired toward where Decker had been, the muzzle flash disorienting, the bullet zipping above Decker. Decker shot three times, saw the figure drop, and darted closer, taking cover behind the tree.

Had he shot Frank? Staring toward the fallen man, he could see enough to determine that the man wore a suit. Frank had not.

Where
is
he? The shots will alarm the neighbors. The police will soon be here. If I don’t get my hands on Frank before then, I’ll never have the chance.

From the other side of the house, he heard a rumble, a garage door opening. Frank isn’t hiding out here, waiting to shoot me! Decker realized. He ran for the garage!

Decker knew that there might be other guards, that they might be aiming at him from the darkness, but he couldn’t let that hold him back. He didn’t have time for caution. With the father dead, there was no certainty that Frank would go through with the plan to give McKittrick the money. What would be the point? Beth’s testimony wasn’t against Frank. He might keep the money and tell McKittrick to do whatever he wanted with Beth. She wasn’t important anymore. McKittrick would have no choice except to kill Beth to keep her from telling the authorities about him.

Hearing a car engine, Decker raced toward the open back door of the house. Someone shot from the darkness, a bullet walloping next to Decker as he rushed into the house, but he didn’t return fire. His only thought was to reach the front and hope to get a shot at Frank when he drove past toward the gate. He threw open the door and crouched naked, aiming.

Headlights flashed. A large dark sedan, a Cadillac, rushed past, a blur in the rain-swept night. Decker fired, hearing glass shatter. The car roared toward the gate. Decker fired again, hearing a bullet puncture metal. Abruptly he heard another sound: the drone of the gate as it started to open. And yet another sound: sirens in the distance.

The Oldsmobile remained in front of the house, where the gunmen had left it after bringing Decker from Manhattan. As the Cadillac’s taillights receded toward the gate, Decker raced down the steps toward the Oldsmobile. He yanked open the driver’s door, stared in frantic hope, and saw that the key had been left in the ignition.

The interior light made him a target. Stooping to get in and slam the door to shut off the light, he heard footsteps behind him. Caught off balance, he spun, aiming toward the open front door, where the hulking shadows of two guards suddenly loomed into view, their handguns raised. At the same time, he was terribly conscious of urgent footsteps on the opposite side of the Oldsmobile. Another guard! He was trapped. The guard on the opposite side of the car shot at him, his handgun roaring once, twice, bullets zipping over Decker’s head, and Decker didn’t have a chance to pull the trigger of his own weapon before the two guards at the open front door lurched backward. Two more shots dropped them, and with a shock, Decker understood that it wasn’t a guard on the opposite side of the Cadillac. It was—

Esperanza shouted, “Are you all right?”

“Yes! Get in! You’re driving!”

“
What happened to your clothes
?”

“No time to explain! Get in and drive!”

Hearing the fast-approaching sirens, Decker scurried toward a bush on the right side of the front steps.

“Where are you going?” Esperanza shouted, throwing Decker’s travel bag into the Olds, sliding behind the steering wheel.

Decker fumbled beneath branches. He scrabbled and clawed to find what he was looking for, finally snagging it: the tiny transmitter that he had hidden under the bush when he had pretended to fall after his arrival here. He opened the Oldsmobile’s rear door and leapt in, yelling, “Frank Giordano’s in the car that just left! We have to catch up to him!” Before Decker could slam the door behind him, Esperanza had started the car, put it into gear, and stomped the accelerator, swerving along the curved driveway toward the front gate. The gate was closing. Beyond it, the Cadillac’s taillights disappeared to the right. To the left, the sirens were louder. Straight ahead, the gap between the right and left portions of the gate became narrower.

“Hang on!” Esperanza shouted. The Oldsmobile roared into the gap. The left portion of the gate scraped along the car’s side. The right portion struck the car’s other side, and for an instant, Decker feared that the car would be jammed to a stop. Instead, when Esperanza stomped even harder on the accelerator, the Oldsmobile rocketed through the opening with such force that the two portions of the gate were twisted and yanked off their moorings. Decker heard them clatter on the wet pavement behind him. Esperanza swung the steering wheel. Tires skidding through puddles, throwing up water, the Oldsmobile slid sideways onto the murky road, straightened, and roared after the Cadillac.

“Damned good!” Decker said. Shivering, he remembered that Giordano had told a bodyguard to put his clothes in the car. Checking the backseat, he found them.

“Comes from learning to drive on mountain roads,” Esperanza said, speeding after the Cadillac. “When I was thirteen.” Decker pulled on his underwear and trousers, chilled by their dampness. Simultaneously he stared out the rear window in search of the flashing lights of police cars. Despite the nearness of the sirens, the night remained dark. Without warning, the night became even darker as Esperanza extinguished the Oldsmobile’s lights.

“No point in letting our taillights tell the police where we’re headed,” Esperanza said.

A half block in front, the Cadillac’s brake lights came on as Frank swerved to the left around a corner. The moment he disappeared, flashing lights sped into view behind Decker. Sirens wailing, police cars stopped at Giordano’s estate.

“They haven’t spotted us yet, but they will,” Decker said, hastily putting on his shirt. “They’ll see our brake lights the moment you slow down to go around that corner.”