Extreme Denial (37 page)

4

“The signal’s weak!” Decker stared at the illuminated dial on the receiver. His wet clothes clung to him.

Esperanza drove even faster. Barely taking the time to turn on the windshield wipers, he spotted a break in traffic, roared onto the interstate, and began passing cars.

“Jesus, I’m freezing.” Decker pawed at the switch for the car’s heater. With the awkward, almost senseless fingers of his right hand, he fumbled to saw Esperanza’s knife across the knot that secured the rope to his left wrist. He studied the dial on the receiver. “The signal’s stronger.” The needle shifted. “Watch! He’s off the interstate. He’s to the left of us up ahead!”

Quicker than expected, the Oldsmobile’s headlights revealed a rain-obscured off-ramp, a sign for Route 9.

“It parallels the interstate,” Decker said. “The needle says he’s reversed direction! He’s heading south.” Decker barely avoided nicking himself as the knife sliced all the way through the rope on his wrist. Blood tingled into the veins of his left hand. He massaged the painful groove that the rope had made on his wrists.

“You told me to make it look real,” Esperanza said.

“Hey, I’m still alive. I’m not complaining.”

At the end of the off-ramp, Esperanza veered left across the bridge over the interstate and sped left again, accessing Route 9, hurrying south, approaching a string of taillights.

“The signal’s even stronger!” Decker said. “Slow down. He could be in any of these cars ahead of us.” He severed the rope around his other wrist. Blood flowing into his hand made his fingers less cumbersome, allowing him to cut harder and faster at the coils around his ankles.

Despite the hot air from the car’s heater, he continued to shudder. Troubled thoughts tortured him. What if McKittrick had already killed Beth? Or what if McKittrick guessed that he was being followed and discovered where the homing device was, throwing it away? No! I can’t have gone through this for nothing! Beth
has
to be alive.

“The needle says he’s turning again. To the right. Heading west.”

Esperanza nodded. “Four cars in front, I see headlights turning. I’ll slow down so he doesn’t see us turn after him.”

Anticipation bolstered Decker’s strength. He wiped his forehead and looked at his hand, disturbed by the crimson on his palm. Not corn syrup mixed with red food dye. Coppery-smelling, this was unmistakably the real thing.

“I don’t know how much help it will be, but here’s a clean handkerchief I found in the glove compartment,” Esperanza said. “Try to stop the bleeding.” As he followed McKittrick, steering to the right off Route 9, passing a sign that read
ROCKMAN
ROAD,
Esperanza flicked off his headlights. “No point in advertising. I can barely see his taillights in the rain, so I’m sure he can’t see
us
at all.”

“But you’re driving blind.”

“Not for long.” Esperanza turned left into a lane, reilluminated his headlights, made a U-turn, and drove back onto Rockman Road, steering left, again following McKittrick. “In case he’s watching his rearview mirror, which I’d certainly be doing in
his
place, he’ll see headlights pull onto the road from his left, which is the wrong direction for anyone to be following him from the interstate. He won’t be suspicious.”

“You’re very good at this,” Decker said.

“I’d better be. When I was a kid, I ran with gangs. I had a lot of practice in following and
being
followed.”

“What straightened you out?”

“I met a police officer who got through to me.”

“He must be proud of the way you turned out.”

“He died last year. A drunk with an attitude shot him.” A blinding flash was followed by a rumble that shook the car.

“Now we’re getting lightning and thunder. The storm’s worse,” Decker said.

“Shit.” But it wasn’t clear if Esperanza referred to the storm or his memories.

The next time lightning flashed, he pointed. “I see a car.”

“The signal on the receiver is strong. The needle’s straight ahead,” Decker said. “That must be McKittrick.”

“Time to pull off the road. I don’t want him getting suspicious.” Past a sign for the town of Closter, Esperanza let McKittrick proceed straight ahead while he himself turned to the right, went around a block, and came back onto Rockman Road. By then, the headlights of other cars had gone by and filled the space between the Oldsmobile and McKittrick’s vehicle.

“The receiver indicates he’s still ahead of us.” Decker’s cold, wet clothes continued to make him shiver. Tension made his muscles ache. The places on his back and chest where he had landed falling down the bluff were swollen, throbbing. It didn’t matter. Pain didn’t matter. Only Beth did. “No, wait. The needle’s moving. He’s turning to the right.”

“Yes, I see his lights going off the road,” Esperanza said. “I don’t want to spook him by following him right away. Let’s pass where he turned and see where he’s going. He might be trying an evasion tactic.”

Having gone through the quiet heart of town, they reached the even quieter outskirts, and now, as lightning flashed, they saw where McKittrick had turned: a modest one-story motel. A red neon sign announced
PALISADES INN.
Attached plain units—about twenty of them, Decker judged—stretched back toward a murky area away from the street. As the Oldsmobile went by, Decker scrunched down out of sight, in case McKittrick was glancing toward the sparse traffic that had followed him.

Then the motel was behind the Oldsmobile, and Decker slowly straightened. “The needle on the receiver indicates that McKittrick isn’t moving.”

“How do you want to handle this?”

“Park off the street someplace. Let’s go back and see what he’s doing.”

Thunder shook the car as Decker picked up the pistol that he had taken from one of the guards at Giordano’s estate. He watched Esperanza pocket the Walther. “We’d better take the receiver with us. In case this is a trick and he starts to move again.”

“And then?” Esperanza asked.

“A damned good question.” Decker got out of the car and was instantly reassaulted by rain. For an angry moment, he remembered the cold rain that had been falling the night he had followed McKittrick into the trap in the courtyard in Rome. Then Esperanza was next to him, his baseball cap dripping water, his drenched long hair sticking to his neck. In the glare from passing headlights, Esperanza’s face looked leaner than usual, his nose and jaw more pronounced, reminding Decker of a raptor.

5

Rather than show themselves at the front of the building, they moved cautiously along an alley that led to the back. Decker noted that the units were made of cinder block and that there weren’t any rear exits. The only windows on the alley side were small and made of thick opaque glass bricks that would be extremely difficult to break.

Skirting the back of the motel, Decker and Esperanza concealed themselves behind a Dumpster and studied the front of the units. The needle on the receiver continued to indicate that the homing device was in one of them. Although eight of the twenty units had a vehicle in front, only four of them had lights glowing beyond closed draperies. Two of those units were next to each other, near the Dumpster that Decker hid behind. Decker didn’t need the receiver to tell him that the signal came from one of those latter units. A car in front of them, a blue Pontiac, made sporadic ticking sounds as its engine cooled. Rain pelting on the Pontiac’s warm hood vaporized into mist.

Hurry, Decker thought. If Beth’s in one of those rooms, McKittrick might be tempted to kill her as soon as he’s back with the money. Or if he checks the money and finds the homing device, he might panic and kill Beth before he tries to escape.

“Wait here,” Decker whispered to Esperanza. “Back me up.” He moved as silently as he could through puddles and paused next to the softly lit window of the last unit in the row. An intense flash of lightning made him feel naked. A deep burst of thunder shook him. The night again concealed him. Uneasy, he noted that the draperies didn’t meet fully, and he was able to see through a narrow gap into a room— a double bed, a cheap dresser, a television bolted to the wall. Except for a suitcase on the bed, it seemed unoccupied. In the middle of the wall to the left, a door was open, appearing to allow access to the room next to it.

Decker stiffened from more lightning and thunder, then shifted toward the next window. Despite the noise of the storm, he was able to hear voices, although he couldn’t distinguish what they said. A man was talking, then a woman. The male voice might have been McKittrick’s, the female voice Beth’s. Hard to tell. Maybe what Decker heard was only a conversation on the television. Unexpectedly, someone else spoke, a man with a severely distorted, deep, hoarse voice, and Decker was briefly confused until he realized that if Beth was in there, someone would have had to guard her while McKittrick went for the money. He imagined Beth tied to a chair, a loosened gag dangling from her mouth. He imagined the gag being reapplied and Beth struggling, her eyes bulging as McKittrick strangled her.

Do something! he told himself. After noting the room number on the door, he hurried back to Esperanza and explained what he intended to do. Then, staying among shadows, he rushed to the street, where he remembered having seen a pay phone at a closed gas station across from the motel. Quickly, he inserted coins and pressed numbers.

“Information,” a woman said. “For what city, please?”

“Closter, New Jersey. I need the number for the Palisades Inn.”

In a moment, a monotonous computerized voice said, “The number is ...”

Decker memorized the number, hung up, put in more coins, and pressed buttons.

After three rings, a weary male voice answered, almost sighing, “Palisades Inn.”

“Give me room nineteen.”

The clerk didn’t acknowledge the request. Instead, Decker heard a click, then a ring and another ring as the call was put through. He imagined McKittrick swinging toward the phone, his burly features expressing a mixture of surprise and puzzlement. After all, who would be calling him? Who would know that he was at that motel? McKittrick would be debating whether it was smart to answer.

The phone kept ringing. Ten times. Eleven times.

The clerk finally interrupted. “Sir, they’re not answering. Maybe they’re not in.”

“Keep trying.”

“But maybe they’re trying to sleep.”

“This is an emergency.”

The clerk sighed wearily. Again Decker heard a click. The phone on the other end rang, then rang again.

“Hello.” McKittrick’s voice was hesitant, at half volume, as if by speaking softly he hoped that his voice would not be recognizable.

“If you use your common sense,” Decker said, “there’s still a chance you’ll get out of this alive.”

The line became silent. The only sound Decker heard was the rain against the phone booth.

“Decker?” McKittrick sounded as if he doubted his sanity. “It’s been a long time since we talked, Brian.”

“But it can’t be. You’re
dead
. How—”

“It’s not
my
death I called to talk about, Brian.”

“Jesus.”

“Prayer’s a good idea, but I’m in a better position to help you than Jesus is.”

“Where are you?”

“Come on, Brian. I’m the guy who wrote the book on tradecraft. I don’t volunteer information. The next thing, you’ll be asking how I found out where you are and how many people are with me. But all you need to concern yourself about is that you’ve got the money and I want Beth Dwyer.” The line became silent again.

“If she’s dead, Brian, you don’t have any way to bargain with me.”

“No.” Brian made a tense swallowing sound. “She isn’t dead.”

Decker felt a sinking sensation, one of relief. “Let me talk to her.”

“This is very complicated, Decker.”

“It used to be. But tonight, things got simpler. Nick and Frank Giordano are dead.”

“How the hell—”

“Trust me, Brian. They’re not in the equation any longer. No one’s hunting Beth Dwyer. You can keep the money and let her go. How you got the money will be our secret.” McKittrick hesitated, his tense breathing audible. “Why should I believe you?”

“Think about it, Brian. If the Giordanos were still alive, I wouldn’t be talking to you. That would really have been my corpse at the drop site.”

McKittrick breathed harder.

“And it wouldn’t be
me
on the phone,” Decker said. “It would be
them
breaking through your motel room’s door.” Decker heard what sounded like McKittrick’s hand being put over the phone’s mouthpiece. He heard muffled voices. He waited, shivering from his wet clothes and his bone-deep dread that McKittrick would do something to Beth.

On the other end, something brushed against the phone’s mouthpiece, and McKittrick was talking again. “I need convincing.”

“You’re
stalling
, Brian. You’re going to try to leave while I’m talking to you. I’m not alone. The moment you show yourself at the door, there’ll be shooting, and I guarantee if Beth gets hurt, you’ll find out the hard way you can’t spend a million dollars in hell.”

Pause. Another round of muffled voices. McKittrick’s voice was strained when he came back on the line. “How can I be sure you’ll let me go if I give you Diana Scolari?”

“
Beth Dwyer,
” Decker said. “This might be a new idea to you, Brian. Integrity. I never go back on my word. When I worked for Langley, that’s how I was able to make deals. People knew they could count on me. And this is the most important deal I ever wanted to make.”

From Decker’s vantage point in the phone booth, he could see across the street toward the motel units stretching back toward the Dumpster. He could see Esperanza hiding behind that bin, watching the two motel units. He could see both windows go dark.

“Why did you turn off the lights, Brian?”

“Jesus, you’re that close?”

“Don’t try something stupid. You’re planning to use Beth as a shield and bet that I won’t risk shooting. Think. Even if I did let you escape with her, are you prepared to use her as a shield for the rest of your life? That plastic bag over my head back at the drop site proves I’m ready to take any risk for her. I would never stop hunting you.”