the 13th Hour (16 page)

"Nick said . . ."

"He's with you?" Julia looked toward Marcus's house. "He rushed out of here so quickly, is he scaring you?"

Marcus stood up as Julia arrived at his side. He looked at her as if he
were
seeing a ghost. The image on Nick's phone was so disturbing, so real, that as he looked upon her now, the memory of it chilled his spine despite the eighty-eight-degree temperature.

"You look like shit, Marcus." Julia said half in jest. "Can I get you anything?"

Marcus shook his head.

"Okay, then can you please explain why you were running over here so quickly?"

"It's . . ." Marcus was at a loss for words, unable to speak of what he had just seen on the cell phone screen two minutes earlier.

"You heard about my near death?"

Marcus was in shock, confused about what she was referring to.

"I still can't get over all of those people . . . dead. The plane just falling out of the sky." Melancholy filled her voice. "I'm so lucky to be alive. I'm tasting every breath, I'll never take life for granted again. It makes you believe in fate, Marcus. I almost died today."

M
ARCUS STEPPED BACK
into his library looking as if he had just been punched in the gut. He stood there a moment, trying to regain his composure.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Marcus said, his chest swelling in anger as he yelled. "Don't screw with me."

Nick sat in the leather chair staring at his friend and shook his head. "I would never joke around with something like this."

Marcus collapsed into the high-back wing chair by his desk, emotionally exhausted. He looked around the room for two minutes; Nick could see his mind working. Marcus closed his eyes and put his head back.

"You're asking a lot. This an awfully big leap of faith, Nick."

"I know," Nick said quietly. His eyes pleaded with his friend. "I'm sorry to involve you, but you're the one person I trust, the one person I know who wouldn't think I was insane for telling this story."

"Do you see me in the future?"

"Yeah, a few hours from now." Nick nodded. "You're right by my side; you're my advocate when they try to say I'm the one who killed Julia."

"My God." Marcus placed his hands over his temples and squeezed as if he was keeping his head from exploding. "This is insane."

"I know." Nick nodded.

"How does it work?"

"I can't explain it," Nick said quietly. "And this could all be some nightmare, but I know she dies if I don't find her killer."

"And what will you do when you find him?"

"I don't care about the consequences."

"You didn't answer my question," Marcus said.

"You know exactly what I'm going to do."

"And if there is more than one?"

Nick stared at him. "I'll kill them all."

Marcus walked over to his brass-rail bar, grabbed two Tiffany crystal glasses off the shelf and poured two Johnny Walker Blue Label scotches. He walked back and handed one to Nick. "I don't know about you, but I need something to calm my mind, to keep me from slipping into confusion."

"Thanks," Nick said, tilting his glass in appreciation toward Marcus. "I need to find whoever pulls that trigger," Nick said.

"If you get her out of here, out of Byram Hills, she won't be home when the gunmen arrives."

"True, and I do send her away, an hour and a half from now, but that's not going to stop them from coming for her. Julia avoided death by not being on that plane, yet she was killed later in the day. Who's to say if I pull her away from that bullet they won't just kill her later? That's why I have to find the man who pulls the trigger now while I still have a way, while I still have time on my side."

"I can barely keep this straight in my head," Marcus said.

"Believe me, I've been dealing with this for hours and I still can't get my hands around it," Nick said. "Every move I make has repercussions, consequences on the events I already saw happen. By coming here, by telling you all of this, I'm changing the future in ways I can't foresee.

"Three hours from now, because I've told you what happens, you won't try to stop me from going into my own house to try to figure out who killed Julia; three and a half hours from now, you won't find me with her body; in four hours you won't lead me back here to your house, offer me scotch." Nick held up his glass, "and be a friend.

"We sat right in this very room. You called your buddy, Mitch Shuloff, said he was the best attorney but that he'd be late. Plus he owes you a grand for the Yankee win last night."

Marcus stared at Nick as if he had just performed a miracle. "I never told anyone that. That's totally nuts."

"Well, everything changes now."

"Nick," Marcus said, looking at his friend. "Some things don't change. I'll still do all that for you."

"No," Nick said.

"Yeah--"

"No, you won't, you won't be here, because I'm asking you to take Julia and get as far away from Byram Hills as you can. Don't let her out of your sight."

"But I thought you already did that, that she leaves an hour and change from now?"

"I did, she drove off at 5:59, but if you go with her, if she leaves with you within this hour instead of an hour and a half from now, she'll have someone looking out for her, she'll be that much safer."

"You know I'd do anything for you guys."

"I know," Nick said, his head nod saying so much more.

"You know my buddy, Ben Taylor? I think we'll go hang out with him. She'll be in pretty good shape at the home of an ex-military guy."

"Great."

"How will I know when everything's safe?"

"I'll find you."

"What if I don't hear from you?"

"Then go to the police, because I'll be dead."

* * *

N
ICK QUICKLY BROUGHT
Marcus up to speed, telling him everything that had happened to him in each hour, and telling him what information he had gathered, from the St. Christopher medal, to the blue Impala, to the flying bullets at Julia's office, to what he had just seen in Hennicot's place.

"Let me ask you a question," Marcus said. "On the bottom of the letter, there was that strange writing . . ."

Nick pulled out the letter and looked at the bottom:

"I'm not sure what it says," Nick said.

"I've never seen that language before."

"Neither have I, but I don't have time to worry about it."

"What ultimately happens to you?" Marcus asked.

"They arrest me for her murder."

"My God, this is insane."

"That's what you say when they come to arrest me right here." Nick pointed at the library.

"You're arrested?" Marcus asked in disbelief. "Here?"

"You nearly knocked out the cops trying to stop them." Nick smiled. "I never thanked you for that."

"You're welcome," Marcus said with confusion. "I think--this is nuts."

"They kick in your door."

"What door?" Marcus asked through gritted teeth.

"Two doors, actually," Nick said apologetically. "Front and library."

"Dammit. They're both expensive."

"But you'll be happy to know the Yankees beat the Red Sox again."

"Ooh, that's another thousand Mitch owes me. I should give him a call now, offer him double or nothing."

"They win off a Jeter grand slam in the bottom of the ninth, six to five."

"Oh, I'm definitely calling him."

Nick smiled but it faded as he handed a sheet of paper to Marcus. "I've got the license plate of the car driven by her killer."

"Nick," Marcus said, trying to be a voice of reason in an illogical situation. "Give it to the police."

"For a murder that hasn't happened?"

"You can't screw around with this. Call them."

"I already did; they weren't very helpful." Nick took a deep breath. "Every cop in town is at the crash site. No one is going to deal with this before she is killed."

"You should show them the picture on your phone."

"They'd lock me up as crazy and then she'd still die."

Nick picked the watch up off the desk and looked at the time: 4:30. "Please, help me find who owns the car? I don't have a lot of time."

Marcus looked at Nick with sympathetic eyes as he picked up and dialed his phone. "Helen?" he said, and continued without waiting for her response, "I need you to pull Nancy, Jim, Kevin, George, Jean, KC, Jackie, and Steve into the conference room now. Fire drill."

"Can I borrow your computer?" Nick whispered.

Marcus nodded as Nick sat down in front of the three screens, each filled with financial models, stock tickers, and news wires.

"Use the center one," Marcus said he walked out of the library, the phone pressed to his ear. "This is what I need . . ."

Nick placed the Palm Pilot in front of the computer and sent the files via infrared to Marcus's system. As before, six files popped up on the screen.

He quickly jumped to the second file, the multiple video images filling the screen. There was no audio, giving the footage a cheap, student-film feel. With a click of the mouse, Nick highlighted and enlarged an image, allowing him to focus entirely on the large, brushed-steel door. He fast-forwarded to the point of the door slowly opening to reveal the dark-haired man and froze the video.

He hit print and pulled the grainy but distinctive image from the printer. The man was painfully thin, dressed in a white oxford, his face gaunt, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

Nick looked hard at the printed image and back up to its original on the monitor, but couldn't see inside the collar of the man's shirt. Nick dug in his pocket and pulled out the St. Christopher medal, checking its length, realizing that it would hang below the man's shirt to at least the second button.

Nick clicked play and watched the video for a few more seconds before the image turned to white snow. He fast-forwarded through twenty more minutes of the white static before the file ended.

He went on to the third file, finding images of bedrooms and living rooms, fast-forwarding, finding no movement throughout the twenty-minute snippet. On the fourth and fifth files he saw images he recognized, images of the safe, the storage facility, views of hallways and conference rooms. The images cycled from the unbroken display case where a host of elegant swords, knives, and guns had rested before they were snatched away, to Hennicot's office, to the imposing steel safes where both doors were closed and secured. Then, starting at 11:15 on the time print, the images from both files turned to white snow.

Nick clicked on the sixth and final file, but instantly hit a roadblock. A window popped up stating File Not Recognized. He checked it again, reloading it from the Palm Pilot as Marcus came back into the room.

"It looks encrypted," Marcus said, looking over Nick's shoulder. "Probably an eyes-only file."

Nick pulled out and looked at the pocket watch. Only ten minutes left in the hour. He hadn't gleaned as much information from the files as he thought he would.

"What did you find?" Marcus asked.

"Not much." Nick handed the printed image of the man to Marcus. "It looks like the robbery started at 11:15 on the button."

"Okay," Marcus said as he studied the picture. "You've got a face. That's a pretty good start."

"If I had a month, yeah. I've only got a few more hours."

"You may have gotten a face but I got a bit more," Marcus said, reading from the fax printout in his hand. "Your Chevy is a rental."