False Witness (45 page)

Leaning over the desk, Xu reached into the safe-deposit box and unfolded the paper. He spread it out before him and began studying its complex mathematical schemes. Hoffman wondered how much of the formula the mob leader really understood. Did he even realize it was encrypted?

“This thing better work,” Xu said sharply.

They were interrupted by a brief knock on the door and a turning of the dead bolt. A customer assistant entered, closed the door, and stared at the men, a cell phone and keys in one hand, a bank document in the other. Her name tag identified her as Tricia Martsen.

Xu stood up and stiffened, stuffing the paper in his suit coat pocket.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hoffman,” she said, holding out the document as she walked toward them. “But access to this safe-deposit box is supposed to require the signature of both you and Mrs. Hoffman.”

“It's not a problem,” David said quickly. “She asked me to come by and get something for us. If you want, you can give her a call.”

“I really am sorry,” Ms. Martsen said, stopping a few feet from the men. She smiled, but it wasn't convincing. “Procedures.”

Xu stared at her for a second, intensity coiling every muscle. “We were just leaving,” he said.

Xu started to go around her, but the startled assistant shuffled half a step to the side and held her ground. “You've already accessed the box,” she sputtered. “We will need to at least call.” She extended the cell phone . . .

And jammed the antenna hard into Xu's neck, her face turning dark with hatred.

The veiled Titan stun gun did its debilitating work, sending a hundred thousand volts through the body of the shocked triad leader. The auburn-haired assistant with the thick glasses pulled the gun back a few inches as Xu fell to his knees, moaning in pain, bracing himself with one arm against the wall of the room. But as David Hoffman stepped toward his wife, he saw Xu's posture stiffen, an almost-instantaneous, miraculous recovery. A steely look flashed across Xu's face, the eyes of a warrior.

Xu spun and rose, the speed of a black belt, his right hand knocking the stun gun from Stacie's fist. David had not hesitated. In the split second it took Xu to spin toward Stacie, David lunged, using his head as a battering ram, hoping to rearrange Xu's face to match Dennis Hargrove's, the Vegas bounty hunter. Xu deftly sidestepped David and flipped him like a rag doll to the floor. David landed hard on his side, the pain from the already-broken ribs nearly crippling him.

Sprawled on the floor, David heard a
thwack
behind him. He looked up just in time to see the results of a vicious blow Stacie had landed with the safe-deposit box, the corner slicing into the back of Xu's skull, spattering the wall and desk with drops of blood. David watched Xu's eyes roll back in his head as the force of the blow sent him crashing into the wall a second time. He slid to the floor and lay there motionless, his head tilted awkwardly to the side.

Before David could struggle to his feet, Stacie had dropped the safe-deposit box and recovered her stun gun, driving it once again into Xu's shoulder. He convulsed, his body jerking involuntarily, his eyes vacant. As David stared, she held it there for ten seconds . . . fifteen . . . twenty. Her face was contorted into an animalistic intensity.

David grabbed her around the shoulders, winced as the pain shot through his ribs again, and pulled her away from the fallen man. “It's okay,” he said softly. “It's okay.”

76

David and Stacie dragged Xu into a corner of the small room so that his body would be behind the door if anybody looked in.

“He's breathing,” David said.

“Thank God,” Stacie murmured, mostly to herself. “I almost killed him.”

“It's okay, babe,” David said. He slowly raised the shirt he was wearing and pulled the electrodes off his body. Just lifting his arms made the pain slice through his broken ribs.

Stacie looked at the electrodes wide-eyed. “What're they?” she asked.

“My leash.” He finished removing them and reached out to hold Stacie by the outside of both arms. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She looked as bad as he'd ever seen her. The auburn wig had become skewed in the fray, her glasses knocked to the floor. She looked frightened and weary, the large brown eyes shooting around the room. He gently embraced her, but she soon pulled away. “I don't know how long Isaiah can keep Cynthia Lawson on the phone,” Stacie said. “We need to return this box and get out of here.”

“I didn't know Xu would actually come in with me,” David said. “I thought he would send one of his men. I was worried he might recognize you.”

“For a moment, I thought he did,” Stacie said.

She opened the door, and David walked into the main bank lobby. He tried to stand as straight as possible, but the ribs wouldn't allow it. After closing the door to the private room, Stacie joined him.

“Anything else, Mr. Hoffman?” she asked.

“No. I think that about does it.”

Slightly stooped, David walked out of the bank and took a right toward the atrium and food court. A few seconds later, after returning the lockbox, Stacie followed. They walked quickly across the food court and toward the side entrance for the Sheraton Hotel.

“It's almost over now,” he said.

“I've heard that before.”

Wellington watched a third man climb out of the Town Car and walk past the outdoor café where he was sitting. The man was tall, six-three or six-four, and weighed at least two-fifty. He had a dark beard, short stubble on top, and a large earring in his left ear.

Wellington placed his newspaper on the table and dialed Isaiah as soon as the man was past. “Another one just went in the bank,” he reported.

“I know that,” Isaiah said. “I think you oughta go in there after him. See what's going on.”

The ink from the paper had already stained Wellington's sweaty hands. The thought of following this thug into the bank nearly made him stain his pants.

“What if he recognizes me?”

“They don't even know who you are.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“C'mon, you big wuss. Just go see what's going on. You can keep the phone on and talk to me the whole time if you want.”

Wellington took a deep breath, calming his nerves. “All right.”

He rose from his seat and checked in both directions—for what, he didn't know—then walked with great trepidation toward the door of the bank building. Wellington entered the lobby just as the thug was walking out of the SunTrust doors. The man stopped and looked in all directions.

“Did you say a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk?” Wellington said into his cell phone.

“No, you
didn't
say that,” Isaiah snorted. “Why don't you just tell him you're following him?”

Ignoring Isaiah, Wellington did a smooth left turn and pushed the button for an elevator. He counted to five and glanced over his shoulder. The man was heading toward the revolving door.

“Suspect leaving building,” Wellington whispered into his cell phone.

Just then, the man turned and looked straight at Wellington, freezing the law student in his tracks.

77

Wellington freaked and did the first thing that popped into his mind. When the elevator door opened, he jumped on.

“The guy spotted me,” he said to Isaiah, but his phone was showing no coverage on the elevator.

He rode the elevator to the second floor and hopped off. As soon as the doors closed behind him, Wellington pushed the Down button and called Isaiah.

“Where are you?” Isaiah shouted. “Our man just left the building; he's heading toward his car.”

“I'm coming,” Wellington said. “Just a second.” The elevator doors opened, and he jumped back on. He got off at the lobby and ran from the building, the closest thing to a sprint that Wellington Farnsworth had ever done.

David and Stacie Hoffman walked into the Sheraton lobby and began searching for the hunched-over body of Walter Snead. Because of his ribs, David had trouble taking deep breaths. He quickly scanned the front desk area, the couch and seating areas, and the empty bar.

“I can't believe he's not here,” David said.

Stacie had called Snead the night before and told him to meet them in the Sheraton lobby. He would rush them to Hartsfield airport for a flight out of Atlanta. Stacie had told Snead that she and David would likely have at least one triad member captured and possibly a location for where they were holding Jamie. She had given him no further details.

“What time did you tell him to meet us?” David asked.

“I told him to be here at 10:00 a.m.,” Stacie said, her face tight with frustration. “I told him to wait all day if he had to.” She pulled out her cell. “I'll call the feds myself.”

“I'll check outside,” David said. As he turned, two serious-looking men in blue blazers started walking his way. They had just appeared from a door that led to the parking garage. David's instincts told him to run.

“Mr. Hoffman,” one of them called out.

Stacie's head whipped around. She glanced at the men and darted for the front door. David followed as best he could.

They burst through the front door and almost ran into three additional men: one dressed like a bellhop, one in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, and a third man, dressed like an FBI agent, whom David had no problem recognizing.

Sam Parcelli flashed his badge.

“Huang Xu is in a private room for customers attached to the SunTrust Bank lobby right next door,” Hoffman gasped, wincing from the pain in his rib cage. The two men whom Hoffman had seen inside now joined them. “Stacie should be getting a call any minute from one of our lawyers, a kid named Isaiah Haywood, who will be following a couple of triad members back to their headquarters. They had blindfolded me, so I don't know where it's located.”

“A law student?” Parcelli scowled. “Whose idea was that?”

David and Stacie looked at each other, though neither fessed up. Parcelli nodded toward the two men in blue blazers. “Check out the bank,” he said. “Clear the building first. Get Hutchinson and Romano to join you.”

He turned back to Stacie and David. “You two are going with me.”

“We were supposed to meet Snead here,” David protested. “We've got other plans.”

“Those plans have changed.”

“Slow down!” Wellington shouted.

“Are you kidding? They're almost out of sight!”

Isaiah sliced through traffic, swerving from one lane to the next on Peachtree. At a red light, he looked left and right, waited for a break in the cross traffic, then darted through.

“What are you doing?” Wellington asked.

“I should have left without you,” Isaiah replied.

Unlike Isaiah, the driver of the Town Car was actually stopping at red lights, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Isaiah closed the gap by a block or so, then backed off. “Better not get too close,” he said.