Half-Past Dawn (33 page)

But above all, it was Mia’s voice that rang in his ear. He had spoken to her from Cristos’s car. It wasn’t imagined. It was not the wishful thinking of a grieving man. He heard her desperation, her surprise at his being alive.

He had known Ryan for too many years to count; he had always been a good friend, someone he could always count on. He couldn’t imagine him lying to him, making up some elaborate story. But was he, too, being manipulated? Was he drawing conclusions off facts that he couldn’t possibly verify himself in such short order? Had he fallen into the trap of being fed information that could only lead to one conclusion? Jack couldn’t imagine his friend toying with him. He had seen Ryan’s pain when Ryan told him of his cancer diagnosis; he had seen his agony at seeing Jack tied to the bed. And above all, Ryan was not one to fake tears or grief at the loss of a friend’s wife at the behest of the FBI. Ryan believed everything he told Jack … and Ryan believed he was crazy.

He and Emily had left the room to consult further on Jack’s “condition” and “illusions,” leaving him alone for the last ten minutes, which felt more like ten hours.

They never explained how Mia died, simply implying that she died in the car accident, but he had seen her kidnapped, driven away. Or had he? Everything was so murky. Had his mind played tricks on him? Had he blocked out what he had seen, suppressed the tragedy of her death? Had she been lying there next to him on the riverbank, or was she drowned in the car only to be washed downstream? Had her death been the impetus for his insanity, for some desperate act within a reality of his own making? Did a crazy man ever know he was crazy, or did he simply create his own reality?

And he thought about the parallels to Cristos. Was it coincidence that he, too, had
risen
from the afterlife? Both had been declared dead: Jack by the newspaper, Cristos by the coroner. The world, in both cases, was convinced of their passing only to have them walk the earth again. Had his current state of mind been brought about by Cristos’s prophetic statement of death not being the end, the implications being that he couldn’t die? Could Jack’s mind have truly snapped, creating this elaborate scenario all in order to do what he had failed to do: save the woman he loved?

Jack looked at his bandaged arm. It wasn’t injured as the nurse had said; the mehndi tattoo was real, his visit to Professor Adoy was real … the warning of death to come tomorrow at dawn was …

If he could somehow tear away the bandage, see the tattoo once more, it would be the anchor that could pull him back to reality, that could give his mind the footing it so desperately needed now. It could wipe away any and all doubt. For if the elaborate tattoo was there, it meant that someone had been with him after the accident and had saved him, that it wasn’t all a figment of his imagination. It meant that he was being lied to, a cog in some conspiracy in much the same way as the system was manipulated to keep Cristos alive.

He pulled at his restraints, his arms straining with the effort, but it was to no avail. There had to be a way. He looked to the door, pondering escape. There were so many barriers in his way—FBI, police, building security—insurmountable obstacles, but so had been stealing the case from the basement of the Tombs.

But the biggest barrier was the fragility of his mind.

If it was a choice between an insane existence where Mia was alive or a reality where she had perished, he would simply choose the madness. And that sudden thought terrified him. Had he already made that decision subconsciously?

Hope was lost. It was lost for him, for his two girls, for Mia. And it was bone-crushing. To be faced with death by cancer was one thing. To have your body fail, as tragic as it was, was part of life. But to have your mind slip away, to have your wife ripped from existence, to leave your children alone in the world, was far more devastating, for there was nothing to cling to, nothing to give a glimmer of optimism, nothing but a forever night where the sun would never rise again.

He looked again at his arm and the thick white bandage. He just needed to see. What had once brought him confusion and panic could give him the one thing he would need. For if it was there, then,
truths
could be washed away, minds could be brought back
to sanity, and Mia, despite everything he had been told, could be brought back to life.

All Jack needed was a little hope.

F
RANK AND
J
OY
rode up the elevator to the fifth floor of the Tombs. Joy had spent the last several hours poring over the old case files on Cristos while cross-referencing them with the information on Cotis from Professor Adoy and the note of appreciation Jack had received with the blue necklace from the Cotis government. Hoping for some kind of link or clue, she found none.

As they emerged from the cab, they were greeted by the security desk officer, who sat behind thick bulletproof glass similar to the setup in the evidence room. Nolan Ludeke was at the end of a double shift, a shift that brought tragic surprises that he could never have anticipated.

Frank had known him for too many years to count, since back when Nolan was on the street. He had always spoken of retiring, moving to Florida with his wife, to be closer to his kids, but as that fateful day approached, Nolan realized that work was his life, and if work stopped, how far behind would the end of his life be? So he regrouped. His years of service and his reputation gave him the inside track on a job with little to no stress that would alleviate the forever fears of his wife getting that 3:00 a.m. call of death in the line of duty.

“Frank,” Nolan said in a warm greeting, buzzing him and Joy through.

“Hey,” Frank said as he walked through the heavy metal door, which closed with a thud behind him. “We’re here to see Jack.”

Nolan looked at the two. “I don’t know. He’s down the hall, the feds have two posted outside his door, and they’ve labeled him a suicide watch.”

“This still is under our jurisdiction, correct?”

“Come on, Frank, semantics.”

“What can you tell me?”

“They brought him in an hour ago. He was in rough shape, out cold. Tucked him in a psych room. A nurse patched him up. A couple of doctors came in, evaluated him, and declared him nuts. A hot-shot FBI guy has been all over this thing. I heard whispers of all kinds of mayhem downstairs on sub five, but no one will confirm a thing. The rumor is it’s not hard to connect Keeler to it, though that seems so wrong. I heard the guy was killed last night in a car accident along with his wife, but then he shows up here. Whole thing seems crazier than that mess years back with the mayor’s son.”

“We need to see him,” Joy said.

Nolan looked between the two. “I’ve got no problem with you seeing him. He’s a good man, as far as I’m concerned. Of course, getting past Tweedledum and Tweedledee may prove difficult.”

“Who else from the feds is up here?”

“Tierney, deputy director of the New York office. He commandeered an office down the hall, haven’t seen him in a while. I’m sure he’ll come blustering through shortly.”

“Let me ask, what kind of security you got on these rooms?”

Nolan’s eyes filled with concern. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of—”

“Nolan, relax. Just tell me.” Frank had a way about him; he was trusted and used that faith to bend people to his way of thinking. “I just need to know. You know I wouldn’t do anything stupid, particularly with Joy here.”

“The nut rooms are for nuts—nothing in there where you can hurt yourself, no long wires, cords, phones, pretty much free of everything except a bed and a bolted-down table. The doors are keylocked from the outside. No lock access on the inside, though there is a door handle. The room Keeler is in, five-oh-four, fits the bill perfectly.

“Has he had any visitors, family, an attorney?”

“No.” Nolan shook his head. “I don’t think anyone really knows he’s here. He is just anonymous patient nine-five-three-oh with no one permitted access.

“Well, I’m his friend, and I’m going to see him. Where’s this nurse?”

Nolan picked up his phone, spoke quickly, and hung up. “She’ll be right out. You’re going to cause a problem, aren’t you?”

“Nolan, I will not be breaking any laws, I promise you. But imagine if your best friend was stuck in a mental ward. Would you want to get to the bottom of it or just let him slip away into the system?”

“May I help you?”

Frank turned to see the blond nurse behind him

“I’m Susan Meeks.”

“Sue, these two are here to see Mr. Keeler.”

“He’s not to have any visitors—”

“So the only people who can have contact with him are the FBI and their doctors? Do you work for the FBI or the city of New York?”

“The city.”

“Who gave you the order not to let him see anyone?”

“Mr. Tierney.”

“Do you work for Mr. Tierney?”

“No.”

“Good, because Jack Keeler, as you know, is the DA for the city of New York. He was thought to have been killed this morning along with his wife, who is either missing or dead. He is being denied counsel, contact with his family, and all of his rights. I am his closest friend, and this here”—he pointed to Joy—“is his secretary. We are here to see him, and we will see him now unless you want to have a much larger problem that will be resolved by a judge.”

Meeks looked at Nolan.

“Frank, she’s good people. Lose the bluster.” Nolan turned to Susan. “He’s just upset. He’s doing the right thing. You can let him see Mr. Keeler.”

Susan nodded and led Frank and Joy to room 504 just down the hall.

“You know he’s very sick?” Susan said quietly.

Frank and Joy stared at her, confused.

“What kind of sick?” Joy asked.

Joy looked at them a moment. “You said you were close friends of his?”

“What kind of sick?” Frank asked, his voice stern. “We’re family. What kind of sick?”

Meeks inhaled, pausing. “He’s dying. Cancer.” Susan paused. “If you’re his friends, you should know that, because his file says he’s not dealing with it, nor has he told his wife.”

Joy looked away, trying to hold back her compounding emotions. Frank remained stoic, but the shock was visible in his eyes.

They arrived at the door to Jack’s room. Two FBI agents stood on opposite sides.

“Can we help you?” the first agent said.

“And you are?”

“Special Agent Matt Crews,” the taller agent said.

“Have you notified Jack Keeler’s family of his presence here? Have you notified anyone? Has he spoken to an attorney?”

“You need to speak to Director Tierney—”

“No, we are his family, and we are going in to see him.”

“I can’t permit that.”

“Has he been charged with a crime?”

“No.”

“Are you holding him against his will, then?”

“You need to speak to Deputy Director Tierney.”

“I don’t give a shit if you come in there with me, but I’m going to speak to the DA.” Frank nodded to the nurse, who slipped the key into the door and opened it.

Crews stepped in her way.

“You,” Frank said to Crews, “come in with me. And you,” he said to the other agent, “you go get your boss. Bring him in here to speak to me. You guys have crossed the line. You have denied this man his lawful rights, and there will be hell to pay.”

The short agent hustled off down the hall as Frank and Crews stepped into the room. Frank turned to Joy. “Get the car. If I’m not
down in fifteen, go home, because I won’t be leaving here for a long time.” And he closed the door.

“H
EY
, J
ACK
,” F
RANK
said, seeing his friend bound to the bed, his eyes red and tired.

“Frank.”

“They say you’re nuts.” Frank smiled.

“I think I am.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally admitted it. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Jack looked at him. “Yeah, but first, can you do me a favor and loosen my wrists?”

“Sure, just give me a second.”

Frank spun around, his gun drawn and aimed in Crews’s face. “Could you please kneel down?”

“They’re going to be here any second,” Crews said as he complied, putting his hands on top of his head.

“Which is why we have no time to waste.” Frank pulled out his first set of handcuffs and slapped a cuff on Crews’s right wrist. He pulled him to the other side of the bed, laid him on the floor, threaded the cuff around the bed leg, and slapped the other cuff around his left wrist. He pulled a handful of tissue from the side table and stuffed it into the agent’s mouth.

“Now, about that favor.” Frank nodded as he tore back the Velcro straps from Jack’s arms and released the strap around his chest. Jack sat up and quickly climbed out of the bed.

Without a word, he tore the layers of white bandages from his left forearm.

And he felt his heart fill with hope.

• • •

T
HE DOOR EXPLODED
open, and Tierney and the shorter agent, Philippe, charged in to find Jack out of the bed and standing in the corner. Philippe drew his gun as the door slammed closed behind him, but it was too late. Frank’s pistol was pressed against the back of his head.

“Either of you make a sound, he’s done,” Frank said, thwacking the agent in the back of the head with his pistol.

“What the hell, Frank?” Tierney yelled.

“What the hell, Gene?” Frank shot back. “You’ve got Keeler strapped to a bed, without counsel, family, anyone notified?”

Frank took his second set of cuffs and secured Philippe’s hands behind his back, threading the cuffs through the leg of the bed, where he was awkwardly crouched.

Frank turned his gun on Tierney and motioned him to the bed. “Get your ass in bed.”

Tierney glared at him. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I have every idea what I’m doing. Now, lay the fuck down.”

Tierney complied; Jack strapped him to the bed.

“You want to tell me what’s really going on?” Jack asked as he leaned over Tierney.

“You’re insane.” Tierney struggled against his bindings.