Near Death (32 page)

Joe was getting uneasy. “Let me get Erica. She can
probably help you.”

He shut the door and silently cursed himself for being sloppy, roused Erica from her bed next to Tara’s and told her to take care of the situation. She shushed him not to wake up the girl, pulled on a robe, and hurried down where she chatted with the oil man and authorized a delivery. When the truck finally lumbered off, Joe relaxed and went for a walk and a smoke. When Davis Fox came jogging back up the drive Joe told him about the small drama.

Instead of making his next fuel stop, Bailey went back to his office, sat at his desk and rang the Bar Harbor Police Department. “Yeah, this is Jim Bailey over at Bailey’s Oil. I think I just seen one of the Bliss fellows everyone’s been looking for. Over at High Cliffs. Recognized his face from the news. Maybe I’m crazy but I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

Forty-four

14 DAYS

They were preparing a celebratory feast. Erica was roasting a leg of lamb and everyone was helping out with the fixings, even Joe Weller, who usually begged off kitchen duty. Alex was due back in a couple of hours and they wanted to welcome him with a great meal and good wine. The kitchen TV was just loud enough for them to be able to follow the breathless news flow from New York City, where the mass Bliss intoxication was wreaking havoc.

Joe had talked with Alex after lunch on their prepaid mobiles. The mission had gone flawlessly and Alex was ebullient. They were taking their time heading back to Maine, staying comfortably below the speed limit.

“Are you ready for the endgame?” Alex had asked Joe.

“You know I am.”

“Two weeks to go. We’ll be leaving Maine soon.”

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Sam’s got a half a dozen offers on the net. We’ll sort through them and make a decision. How’s the girl?”

“According to Erica, sleepy but pouty,” Joe had answered.

“Tonight’s her night,” Alex had said softly so as not to wake Jessie. “I’ll do it after dinner then process her sample.”

“Looking forward to it,” Joe said.

“You won’t believe it. It’s amazing.”

It had been sunny most of the day but by five o’clock a sheet of clouds moved in and the sky whitened. In the kitchen, boiling pots were steaming the windows.

“I’ll get Erica to check on the meat,” Leslie said.

“You’re incapable of opening the oven door and checking yourself?” Davis joked.

“I have math genes, not cooking genes,” she replied.

The doorbell rang.

Joe put down his beer and unpocketed his gun. “Shit, what now? Vik, have a peek out the dining room.”

Vik scrambled off and was back in several seconds. “It’s the oil man again.”

“Christ. Go see what he wants.”

“Should we do anything?” Davis asked.

“It’s probably nothing,” Joe answered, but he clicked off the safety.

Vik opened the door. The Bailey oil truck was in the
driveway. Jim Bailey looked at him for a moment like a scared rabbit and without saying anything bolted to his left.

In an instant, Pete Avakian was filling the doorway in full protective gear. The Hostage Rescue Team, hastily flown in from Quantico that morning, streamed in left and right from behind the truck.

Avakian pulled Vik outside by his sweater. Another agent immediately Tasered him to the ground before he could utter a word and three men dragged his slight body away. Two columns of agents entered the front door and Avakian radioed, “We’re inside.”

From the kitchen, Joe heard a noise and called, “Vik, everything all right?” He moved cautiously toward the front hall.

There was a crashing sound in the great room followed by a
BOOM
as a flashbang grenade broke through the glass and exploded. A second FBI team that had motored to shore on a Zodiac and scaled the cliffs burst in.

Through the kitchen window Joe caught sight of a flak-jacketed agent in the back yard and loudly swore. He ran up the rear kitchen staircase seconds before agents entered pointing weapons and shouting at Leslie and Davis, “FBI! Get your hands up and don’t move!”

In terror, both were thrown to the floor and handcuffed. “Where’s Tara O’Malley?” Avakian screamed at them.

“Don’t say anything,” Davis said defiantly, but Leslie began to cry and said, “Upstairs.”

Avakian shouted into his radio, “She’s upstairs. We’re going up the rear stairway.”

Cyrus was standing on the gravel drive next to Minot. Neither was wearing protective gear. When he heard Avakian’s transmission he rushed ahead, Minot shouting at his back, “For Christ’s sake, Cy! You agreed to hold off till they got her!”—but he was through the front door.

Joe ran into Tara’s bedroom. The girl had just awoken and looked dazed. Erica was standing helplessly in the middle of the room. “Joe, what’s happening?”

“Move that chest in front of the door!” She was frozen. “Do it!” he screamed, waving his gun wildly and pulling the cell phone out of his pocket with his free hand. When Alex answered he shouted, “The FBI’s here! Turn around!”

“Bloody O’Malley!” Alex said. “Where are you?”

“In the girl’s room.”

“Do what you have to do, like we discussed. And Joe, I’ll see you on the other side, mate.”

“I’ll be there with fucking bells on.”

“I love you,” Alex said.

“You too.” Joe threw the phone down.

Erica still hadn’t moved. She stood between Joe and Tara, her jaw trembling.

“Move out the way,” Joe told her.

“Don’t, Joe. Leave her alone.”

“I said
move!
”

“No!”

Joe squeezed off a round. It passed cleanly through Erica’s heart and lodged in the wall behind her. She seemed to sigh as she dropped to her knees; Joe now had a clear line of sight to Tara. The girl cried out for Erica and began to climb out of bed.

Joe aimed for her forehead.

Avakian booted the door open and he and a second agent were in the room. They didn’t shout a warning. That instant they opened fire and put six bullets into Joe’s upper back, and when he pitched over, Avakian planted two in the side of his head to be sure the job was done.

Cyrus was at the doorway. Tara was screaming and spattered in blood. He rushed in, swept her into his arms and out the door. “Daddy’s here, baby! Daddy’s here.”

“We’ve got two suspects down in a front bedroom!”
Avakian shouted into his radio. “The girl is safe. Repeat, Tara is safe.”

From the hall Cyrus called out to Avakian, “Is that Alex Weller?”

Avakian flipped the body on its back with his foot. “I think it’s his brother.”

From downstairs an agent came on the air. “There’s a guy in the kitchen who says Alex Weller’s not here, that we’ll never get him.”

No, we’ll get the bastard
, Cyrus thought, squeezing Tara to his chest.
I’ll get him
.

Forty-five

14 DAYS

“Where are we going to go?” Jessie asked wearily, staring at the leafless trees along the highway.

“I’ve got a place we’ll be safe,” Sam said, and after batting it around for a while, Alex made the decision. They turned at the next exit and reversed direction, heading south, toward New York.

An hour north of the city, news of the Bar Harbor raid reached the radio. Joe Weller and Erica Parris were dead. Three others were captured. Tara O’Malley was rescued. Alex Weller was still at large. Cyrus O’Malley released a statement through the FBI thanking his colleagues for their courageous help in recovering his daughter.

No one in the van spoke for a long while. Sam and Jessie silently wiped away their tears while Steve clenched and unclenched his fist. He whispered he’d never see Leslie again. He was sure of that.

Alex finally said, “I’m not sad for Joe and Erica and you shouldn’t be either. We all know they’ve made it all
the way over. Imagine how happy they are, how lucky they are to be done with all the bullshit. We’ll be with them soon enough, but we’ve still got work to do to. Leslie, Davis, and Vik will be okay. Don’t worry about her, Steve. Leslie’s strong. And you will see her again. If not here, then there.” He patted the big man on the back and sighed. “I think it’s time for Cyrus O’Malley to stop trying to stop us. It’s funny, I hate the man’s guts but I think I know a way to make his life better.”

It was late when they crossed the Bronx River and exited onto city streets. Sam found a parking space in front of a shuttered bodega, killed the engine and said, “Welcome to Walton Avenue.”

It was chilly and not many people were out. Sam had them stay in the van and hustled to the building entrance: scuffed black doors in a soot-white-brick apartment block. He pressed a buzzer and when he heard a crackling “Hola,” he said, “Hi Ma, it’s me.”

Asuncion Rodriguez was thin with severely pulled-back hair streaked with gray. She cried when she saw her son at the door of her sixth-floor apartment and shifted back and forth between relief and anger. Where had he been? Why hadn’t he called? Was he okay? Was he in trouble? Why had
he dropped out of school? What would his father have said?

Everything was all right, he told her. He was with good people, doing important things. He was sure his father would approve. Then he said, “Ma, I’ve got friends with me. Can we stay a few days?”

When Alex, Jessie, and Steve marched through her door, Mrs. Rodriguez stared at Alex and kept firing angry looks at her son. Before Sam could make introductions, she muttered an apology, pulled Sam into her bedroom and scolded, “You think I don’t know who that is? You think I don’t know? What have you gotten yourself into?”

“He’s a good man, Ma. A great man. I want you to keep an open mind. Please do that for me. If you turn us away, we’ll have big problems.”

Her mind turned to practical matters. “Where will everyone sleep?”

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “The girl can have my bed. The guys can sleep on the sofa and the floor in the living room. We’ll be fine.”

She frowned. “You take the sofa,” she insisted, waggling her finger.

Marian ran down the hospital corridor as fast as her high heels permitted, with her husband fast-walking behind
her.

Cyrus and Emily were outside Tara’s room, close together, quietly talking.

“How is she?” Marian called out.

“She’s weak but okay,” Cyrus said. “She’s asleep but you can wake her up.”

She drew within inches of his face. “I hate you for this,” she spat. “If it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t have been involved.”

Cyrus stayed mute; Emily couldn’t. “I’m not sure that’s fair or helpful,” she said.

“Why are
you
here, Doctor Frost?” she hissed.

“Cyrus called me. I was concerned about Tara.”

Marian looked at her icily then brushed past to see her daughter.

“You all right, Cyrus?” Marty said.

“Thanks for asking, Marty, I’m fine. We got lucky today.”

When they were alone again Cyrus said, “I’m going to hang around here tonight, in case Tara wants to see me.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Emily said. She grasped his hand and held it for several seconds before a nurse appeared from a nearby room and she had to let go.

FBI interrogators questioned Davis, Leslie, and Vik intensively for two days until they were satisfied they had no idea where Alex Weller was. They all refused to reveal with whom Weller was traveling and nothing could change their steadfast resolve to protect their compadres.

Cyrus immediately went back to working leads. All the killed and captured in Bar Harbor were members of Weller’s Uroboros salon, so it stood to reason that those still with him too were members. If the FBI could discover their identities, they might get a lead on the whereabouts. Weller’s girlfriend, Jessie Regan, was missing and Cyrus was confident she was one of them. Another man had been positively ID’d: a delivery driver for the Beaver Brook Water Company. He was found dead in the cab of his truck, a carbon monoxide suicide.

That left two other men, seen on CCTV footage making water deliveries in New York: one small, one large with a beard, both in bulky jackets and pulled-up hoodies, neither seen full face. From their physiques, neither could be identified as Alex Weller and their identities remained unknown.

Cyrus and Avakian took a break and got lunch at the Kinsale Pub near their office. They sat at one of the barrel-topped tables eating sandwiches. Avakian looked
wistfully at the bar while sipping soda through a straw.

“We’ll come back after work to get you a real drink,” Cyrus promised.

“When’s that going to be?” Avakian wondered. “We’ve been going nonstop.”

Cyrus produced the list of known Uroboros members. Emily had been helpful. She recalled the names of a couple of them from her single meeting. Interviews led to more names, two of whom were now deceased, Virginia Tinley and Arthur Spangler, apparent Bliss suicides.

Cyrus unfolded the paper and took out his pen. “We know the list isn’t complete, but let’s do what we’ve always done, divide and conquer. You take half and I’ll take half and let’s meet back here around seven.”

“Yeah, okay,” Avakian grunted. He sniffed the beer fumes in the air and tossed his striped tie over his shoulder to avoid staining it with fallout from his pastrami sandwich.

A chubby middle-aged man entered the pub with a young Asian woman and the two were seated at a table near the bar. Larry Gelb kept his beret and coat on and nervously fingered a menu while his girlfriend, Lilly, walked quickly past Cyrus’s table on her way to the bathroom.

At once, Gelb rose from the stool looking ashen,
grabbed his chest and sank to his knees, groaning. One of the waitresses saw him fall and screamed for someone to call an ambulance.

Cyrus sprang up and hustled to the man’s side. Avakian sighed and reluctantly left his pastrami to help his partner.

“You okay?” Cyrus asked Gelb, feeling for his neck pulse.

“My heart,” Gelb managed through clenched teeth.

“Do you have any medicine with you?”

“Maybe my pocket.”

Avakian started rifling through the man’s pockets, coming up empty. The manager came over and told them the paramedics were on the way.

Lilly came out of the ladies’ room and went straight for Cyrus’s table. When she was certain all eyes were on the commotion, she emptied a stick of Bliss into Cyrus’s Diet Coke and one into Avakian’s Dr Pepper and stirred with their straws. Then she ran to Gelb and sank to the floor in hysterics. “What happened? What happened?!” she screamed.