Extreme Denial (36 page)

It was still a great risk. “Insane,” as Esperanza had kept telling him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” But what was the alternative? If the drop-off didn’t occur exactly as McKittrick expected, if Decker’s body wasn’t there as promised, McKittrick might become suspicious enough not to take the money, fearing that the briefcase was booby-trapped. But the money was what Decker’s plan was all about, the money and the homing device that Decker had hidden with the money. If McKittrick didn’t take the money, Decker would have no way to follow him to where Beth was being held captive. No matter how Decker analyzed it, there wasn’t an alternative. McKittrick
had
to find Decker’s corpse.

“Do you love Beth that much?” Esperanza had asked before he tied the plastic bag over Decker’s head. “To risk your life for her so completely?”

“I’d go to hell for her.”

“To learn the truth about her feelings toward you?” Esperanza had looked strangely at him. “This isn’t about love. It’s about pride.”

“It’s about hope. If I can’t trust love, nothing matters. Put that straw in my mouth. Tie the bag.”

“Decker, you’re the most remarkable man I ever met.”

“No, I’m a fool.”

Lying in the puddle, breathing slightly, fighting panic, mustering all the discipline of which he was capable, Decker struggled against the temptation to second-guess himself. As his lungs demanded more air, he thought, Perhaps there
had
been another way. Was it possible that all he wanted was to show Beth the lengths he would go to demonstrate how much he loved her?

Desperately needing to distract himself, he recalled the first time he had seen her, two months ago....Could it have been only that recently? It seemed forever ... in the lobby of the real estate office—how she had turned toward him, how his heart rhythm had changed. Never before in his life had he felt such instant attraction. In his imagination, he saw her again vividly, her lush auburn hair reflecting the light, her tanned skin glowing with health, her athletic figure making him self-conscious about the contour of her breasts and hips. He was spellbound by her elegant chin, her high cheekbones, her model’s forehead. He imagined stepping close to her, and suddenly his imagination shifted to the evening they had first made love, her blue-gray eyes and sensual lips so close that they were a blur. He’d kissed her neck, drawing his tongue along her skin, tasting salt, sun, and something primal. He’d smelled her musk. When he had entered her, it was as if all his life he had been only half of a person, but now he was complete, not only physically but emotionally, spiritually, filled with well-being, at last blessed with a purpose—to build a life with her, to share, to be one.

2

In a rush, his senses returned to the present—because, amid the distant drone of traffic and the pelting of the rain, he heard sounds from the bluff behind him. Although the plastic bag muffled his hearing, apprehension heightened his awareness. The sounds he heard were labored breathing, footsteps slipping on wet rocks, branches being snapped.

Dear God, Decker thought. He had been waiting to hear a car pull off the interstate and approach this section of the scenic lookout. But McKittrick had been here all long, below the guardrail, hiding on the slope. He must have seen Esperanza drag me behind the building, Decker told himself. He must have seen Esperanza dump me into the puddle, leave the briefcase, and drive away. If Esperanza had said just one word to me, if he had made any attempt to cushion me, McKittrick would have realized instantly that this was a trap. He would have shot us.

Decker shivered from the understanding of how close he i had come to dying. The cold rain made him shiver, also, and I at once he strained to subdue the reflex. He didn’t dare move. He had to achieve the appearance of lifelessness. In the past, J when he had been about to embark on a dangerous assignment, he had relied on meditation to calm himself. Now he did so again. Concentrating deeply, he fought to purge himself of emotion, of fear, of longing, of apprehension, of need.

But his imagination could not be denied. He envisioned McKittrick peering over the rain-swept bluff and scowling at the darkness. McKittrick would be nervous, wet, cold, impatient to finish this and escape. He would be holding a weapon and prepared to shoot at the slightest provocation. He might have a flashlight. He might risk exposing himself by turning it on and aiming the light at the ropes around Decker’s arms and legs. If so, he would definitely let the light linger on the plastic bag that covered Decker’s head.

Footsteps touched down on wet gravel, as if McKittrick had stepped over the guardrail. This was the moment, Decker knew, when McKittrick might shoot to make sure that Decker was in fact dead. Simultaneously, to prevent his chest from moving even slightly, Decker stopped breathing. His lungs immediately demanded more air. The suffocating pressure in his chest began to build. His oxygen-starved muscles ached with intensifying need.

The footsteps paused near him. Decker had prepared himself and showed no reaction when a shoe pushed at his upright shoulder flipping him onto his back. Through closed eyelids, Decker was able to see the filtered glare from a flashlight as McKittrick studied the plastic bag’s seal against Decker’s face. Decker had shifted the cutoff section of straw toward a corner of his mouth and inhaled imperceptibly so that the bag was deeper past his lips. He felt light-headed. Desperate to breathe, he concentrated on kissing Beth; his mind filled only with her. Swirling, he felt swallowed by her.

McKittrick grunted, perhaps with satisfaction. At once the flashlight was extinguished. His lungs threatening to burst, Decker heard quick footsteps through water as McKittrick presumably hurried toward the briefcase. But now other sounds confused Decker, clicks, scrapes, aggravating his apprehension.
What were those sounds? What was McKittrick doing?

Understanding came in a rush. McKittrick was transferring the money to another container, suspicious that Giordano might have put a homing device in the briefcase. Good instincts, but Decker had anticipated. The homing device wasn’t secured to the briefcase. Decker had used a knife to cut out the interior of one of the packets of cash. He had inserted the homing device and then had resecured the rubber bands around the packet so it appeared no different from any of the others.

Decker heard McKittrick grunt again, this time with effort. Something flipped through the air, then clattered down the bluff. The briefcase, Decker realized. McKittrick had thrown it away. He didn’t want to leave any indication that this area behind the rest rooms had been used as a drop site. But if he had thrown away the briefcase ...

Jesus, he’s going to do the same with me. Decker barely kept his oxygen-deprived body from showing his panic as McKittrick grabbed his shoulders, dragged him violently backward, roughly hefted him up, and doubled him over the guardrail. No! Decker mentally screamed. The next instant, he felt weightless. His body struck something. He flipped off it and again felt weightless. His bound arms hit something beneath him. Unable to restrain the impulse, he moaned in pain.
Had McKittrick heard him ?
He toppled, rolled, hit something else, imagined that he was about to begin the long, deadly fall all the way from the Palisades bluff to the Hudson River, and suddenly jolted to an agonizing halt, his head banging against something.

Dazed, he felt something liquid inside the plastic bag. I’m bleeding! The hot sticky fluid streamed from a cut on his forehead and began to fill the plastic bag. No! He didn’t care if McKittrick now saw him move. There wasn’t a choice.
He had to breathe.
The plan had been for McKittrick to take the money, leave Decker, and hurry away. At that point, Decker would have reinserted the piece of straw in the hole in the bag and breathed as best he could until Esperanza—alerted by the moving needle on the receiver that the money had been taken—returned to free him. But Decker had never once considered that McKittrick might try to dispose of the body. Decker never would have attempted the plan if the terrifying thought had occurred to him. Pm going to die. The cord that was tied around his neck, securing the plastic bag to his face, dug into his skin, making him feel strangled.

Frantic for air, he worked the piece of straw from the corner of his mouth and poked it through the hole in the bag ... or tried to—he couldn’t find the opening. Unable to control his body, he exhaled forcefully, expanding the bag, and with equal force, totally unwilled, he inhaled. This time, the bag filled his nose and mouth. Like a living thing, it gripped tightly to his skin. The makeup and blood beneath it caused it to stick fast. Esperanza will never find me in time!

Thrashing, he turned in the rain toward whatever he had landed on and rubbed his face along whatever it was that supported him, searching for anything that was sharp, a branch, a jagged outcrop of rock,
anything
that would snag the plastic bag and tear it open. The surface was wet and slick. He banged his head against something—a rock—ignored the pain, and continued squirming. But he felt in slow motion. The blood that continued to slick his face and fill the plastic bag gave him the sensation of drowning. For all he knew, his movements were about to topple him over a precipice. What difference did it make? He was doomed if he didn’t....

The stakelike object snagged the plastic bag. His consciousness graying, he feebly jerked his head to the left, felt the bag tear, and used a final burst of strength to twist his head even farther to the left. The tear increased. He felt a chill wind against his forehead, the cold rain on his brow. But the plastic still stuck to his nose and mouth. He tried to breathe through the tiny hole at his mouth, but his efforts had twisted the plastic and sealed the hole. He thought he was going to choke on the piece of drinking straw in his mouth. I have to get the bag off my head! Feeling as if something inside him were going to burst, as if he were about to sink into a deep black pit, he made one last attempt to snag the bag on the sharp object, scraped his right cheek, and tore the bag totally open.

When he spat out the piece of drinking straw and breathed, wind seemed to shriek down his throat. The rush of cold air into his lungs was unbelievably sweet. His chest pumped convulsively. He lay on his back, trembling, gulping air, and tried to adjust to the realization that he was alive.

3

Alive, but for how long? Decker asked himself in dismay. Esperanza might not find me. If I stay out in the cold rain much longer, I’ll get hypothermia. I’ll die from exposure. Turning so that his face was toward the black sky, he tasted sweet rain, breathing hungrily, trying not to be alarmed by the force with which he shuddered and the pressure it put on his bound arms and legs. How long have I been down here? Has McKittrick gone? Did he hear me groan when I landed?

He waited in dread that a dark shape would clamber down the bluff toward him, that McKittrick would turn on his flashlight, grin, and aim his pistol. Indeed, all of a sudden, Decker did see a flashlight glaring at the top of the bluff, the beam moving toward the refreshment building, toward the guardrail, toward the refreshment building again, and, responding to the faith that he had felt growing in him, Decker shouted, or tried to shout, “Esperanza.” The word came out hoarsely, as if he had been swallowing gravel. He tried again, harder. “Esperanza!” This time, the flashlight beam froze toward the guardrail. A moment later, it blazed down the bluff, and Decker was able to see that the drop here was on an incline, a series of bush- and tree-studded levels that angled down toward the eventual sheer fall to the river.

“Over here!” Decker shouted. The flashlight beam streaked along the ledge toward him. Not far enough. “Here!” At last, the flashlight found him. But did it belong to Esperanza? Faith, Decker thought. I’ve got to have faith.

“Decker?”

Esperanza! Thanking God, Decker felt his heart pound less furiously as the familiar tall, lanky figure climbed over the guardrail and began a hurried descent.

“Be careful,” Decker said.

Esperanza’s cowboy boots slipped off a rock. “Holy—” He steadied himself, scurried lower, and crouched, using his flashlight to study Decker’s face. “There’s blood all over you. Are you all right?”

“I have to be.”

Esperanza swiftly cut the rope that held Decker’s arms behind him. With equal speed, he cut the rope that bound Decker’s legs. Although Decker’s muscles were cramped, he luxuriated in his ability to move.

“Hold still while I work on these knots,” Esperanza said. “Damn, the rain soaked into the rope and swelled it. I can’t get—”

“We don’t have time,” Decker said. “We have to get to the car. The homing signal is good for only a mile.
Help me up.
”

With effort, struggling not to lose his own balance, Esperanza helped him to stand.

“The circulation’s almost gone from my hands and feet. You’ll have to pull me up,” Decker said.

Grunting, straining, they worked up the slope.

“I parked about a hundred yards north on the shoulder of the interstate,” Esperanza said. “No headlights turned in toward the lookout. It was after midnight. I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to show up. But all of a sudden, the needle on the receiver moved—the homing device was in motion. I backed along the interstate’s shoulder to get to you as fast as I could.”

“McKittrick was hiding on a ledge.” Decker reached the guardrail, gasping with effort, climbing over. “He must have escaped through the trees. His car must be parked south of here or farther north than where
you
were. Hurry.”

Splashing through puddles, Esperanza reached the shadowy Oldsmobile before Decker did. He grabbed the receiver off the front seat. “I’m still getting a signal,” he said excitedly. “The needle says he’s driving north.”

Decker slumped into the front seat, managed to slam the door, and felt his body lurch against the seat as Esperanza tromped the accelerator. The Oldsmobile tore up gravel and fishtailed across the soaked parking area, speeding toward the rain-streaked headlights on the interstate.