the 13th Hour (45 page)

J
ULIA RACED THROUGH
the main entrance to Westchester Airport, her foot burying the accelerator of the Lexus. She looked at the clock: 10:58. She was determined to make it, she wasn't about to let her plans for the evening, her plans for surprising Nick, disappear because she was late for a flight.

As she zipped past the private air terminal she couldn't help wondering what the unmarked police cars with their flashing lights were doing.

And then up ahead, racing toward her, were two TSA cars, the lights upon their roofs spraying the air with their red, white, and blue strobes. An ambulance could be seen in the distance coming her way. She hoped whoever they were racing to was all right, that it wasn't a matter of life and death.

But her curiosity quickly waned as she thought of Nick and the baby inside her. She couldn't wait to surprise him tonight.

N
ICK LAY ON
the ground, blood pouring out of his right side. Paul Dreyfus arrived and knelt, tearing off his own shirt, applying it to the large exit wound at Nick's back, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Oh, man," Dreyfus said, trying to make light of the severity of the situation. "How are you?"

"Ouch." Nick tried for humor, but it slowly faded. He had no idea what the bullet had pierced but whoever said being shot didn't hurt had never been shot. It felt as if he had been hit by a rocket, the tip of which had passed through his side.

The blood loss was enormous, pooling out beneath him on the black tarmac. His eyes began to drift as he grew ashen.

Suddenly, Nick's body seized up, his limbs rigid, his jaw clenched. And then he fell limp.

"Shit, we've got cardiac arrest. The blood loss is too much," Dreyfus yelled as he started CPR. "I really need a--"

But Shannon was already there, ripping open the AED, the police-issue automatic external defibrillator that was in his trunk. He turned it on. A subtle beep began growing as it built up a charge.

Dreyfus ripped open Nick's shirt. He tore the cross from his neck, dug through his pockets, removing the etched silver bullets, his keys, his cell phone; in the rear pocket he found the watch. He pulled out the antique, knowing its value, and placed it in his pocket, making sure he had cleared all the metal from Nick's body.

Shannon passed the electrode pads to Dreyfus, who affixed them to Nick's chest, his failing vital signs already being interpreted by the machine.

"Three, two, one," the electronic voice called out. "Clear."

And Nick's body arced up in shock as the pulse was sent through his heart's electrical system, fully stopping it so the body's natural process could restart it.

But Nick's body didn't respond. The AED began its ascending whine again, building up a charge.

"Three, two, one. Clear."

Nick rose again, before settling back down.

His heart restarted. His breathing was faint, but it was there.

"Where the hell is the ambulance?" Dreyfus shouted.

Nick's eyes opened to half mast, looking up at Dreyfus.

"The jet," Nick said, weakly.

Dreyfus took his hand and dangled the keys to his Cessna in front of Nick's half-closed eyes. "There'll be no plane crashes today. You just hold on."

Nick struggled to speak. "My--"

"Try not to speak." Dreyfus tried to calm him.

"My watch?" Nick whispered.

"No worries, it's in my pocket. I'll hold on to your stuff till we get to the hospital."

"What time is it?" Nick's voice was barely a whisper.

"What?" Dreyfus leaned an ear to Nick.

"The time," Nick struggled to say.

"It's 10:59," Dreyfus said, looking at his own watch. "Don't worry, the ambulance should be here any minute."

It didn't matter. There would be no plane crash, Julia would live, she was out of danger and Dance sat in the rear of Rukaj's limo on the way to his death.

Nick's heart slowed.

The world grew numbingly cold, and he felt a chill he had felt eleven times already, every hour. He had the same metallic taste in his mouth, but he knew he was not dancing in time anymore. The watch was gone, out of his reach.

But as he thought on it, it didn't matter. He'd removed Dance from the fateful moment, and without him there would be no plane crash in Byram Hills. Julia was safe, Marcus was safe, everyone was safe. He looked at the price of fate, trading his life so they could all live, and in his mind, the sacrifice was more than worth making.

He had become the focal point of time. Because he had been shot, Rukaj chose to kill Dance, making it impossible for him to endanger Julia, Marcus, Paul and Sam Dreyfus, Shannon, and McManus. Nick's actions here in the last five minutes, culminating in his death, would reverberate through the lives of countless people, most of whom would never even hear of Nicholas Quinn. People would get on planes, go on vacation, head off to business meetings, never realizing how close to death they had come.

But above all, most important, Julia would live.

He only wished he could see her once more, to hold her, to tell her that he loved her one last time, to apologize for getting caught up in the race of life, never appreciating the value of time, never living in the moment or understanding what was truly important. For in the end he was leaving her alone, leaving her with nothing.

From the edge of his vision, it began to creep in, a darkness that obscured his sight in spite of the bright morning sun. It muted the sounds around him, enveloping him in a heavy blanket, until the world finally went black.

And Nicholas Quinn died.

CHAPTER
13

J
ULY
28
10
P.M.

J
ULIA SAT IN THE
uncomfortable metal chair, her eyes bloodshot, and cried out. It was after 10:00, and a moonless night sky blanketed the world.

She had arrived in Boston on schedule and taken a cab to Dr. Colverhome's office. Seeing the remarkable vision of life on the screen filled her with a new emotion. She was a mother, her and Nick's child was alive and growing within her, and in seven and a half months would emerge to find parents who would love it unconditionally.

But then, as she was leaving the doctor's office, her cell phone had rung.

Marcus's voice was unnaturally calm.

He told her that Shamus's jet was awaiting her at Logan International to take her immediately back to Westchester Airport where Marcus would be waiting to take her to the hospital.

The entire flight, her mind couldn't focus. How could one life be entering her world as another was being taken away?

Julia rose from her chair and stood over Nick. Seeing him wired and tubed, the steady beep of the heart monitor ringing constantly in her ear reminded her how close death really was. Nick had yet to awaken and she feared, despite everything the doctors said, he never would.

N
ICK WAS ENCASED
in darkness, lost in an abyss of despair. He kept seeing Julia dead on the floor, Marcus killed right in front of him, bodies tethered to the bottom of the Kensico Reservoir. He saw planes falling from the sky, fireballs, and black, acrid smoke rising up and filling the air. He saw the bodies of the dead, hundreds of them; he was stuck among them, aimlessly wandering, as their voices whispered in his ear.

And then Julia was there, filling his vision, her face whole and perfect, calling to him, coaxing him up, drawing him toward heaven.

And he opened his eyes to find her staring down at him, her eyes tear-filled and bloodshot.

"Hi," he whispered.

And she hugged him, all of her anguish at almost losing him pouring forth.

Julia finally stepped back and Paul Dreyfus stepped in, looking at his eyes, checking his vitals. "Glad to see you made it."

Nick smiled as his awareness slowly returned.

"This guy saved your life," Shannon said, emerging from the corner.

"I haven't pulled someone back from the brink since Vietnam," Dreyfus said. "The AED did most of the work."

"Don't listen to him," Shannon said. "He worked on you a long time to bring you back."

"I don't know how long." Dreyfus smiled as he palmed something from his pocket. He took Nick's hand and slid it to him surreptitiously. "But you do lose track of time when you're trying to save someone."

Nick knew instantly what Dreyfus had given him; once again in his hand, the familiar feel of the watch was somehow comforting, like a blanket to a child.

"Hey," Marcus said. He was leaning against the wall, towering over the moment.

"Hey." Nick could hardly get the word out, glad to see his friend alive and in one piece.

As he stared at everyone around him, Julia and Marcus, Dreyfus and Shannon, he felt as if he had just returned from Oz, his head filled with an impossible story that no one would understand.

But then he saw it, sitting on the table next to him: the dark mahogany box.

"Listen," Shannon said as he patted Nick's leg. "Brave thing you did today."

"Thanks," Nick said.

"I'm glad you're okay." Shannon walked to and opened the door. "I need to be getting home though, I've got to take on a new partner tomorrow, this punk named Brinehart, probably have to knock some sense into him. Listen, Nick, your friend Dreyfus filled me in a bit, but you still owe me some explanations. In the meantime, though, take care, get some rest."

And Shannon walked out the door.

"Thanks for coming down," Nick said to Marcus.

"Come on," Marcus said as he leaned over his friend, a devious grin on his face. "I'd take a bullet for you. And I don't say that to just anyone."

"Look, I know you're glad to see me," Nick said. "But your eyes are dancing with something else. Did you fall in love again?"

"You won't believe this," Marcus said, glad he could let out the building head of steam within him. "This young guy, Jason Cereta--"

"Cereta?" Julia asked, dumbstruck at hearing the name. "Blond guy, twenties?"

"You know him?"

"We flew to Boston together this morning."

"Really? Small world," Marcus said, trying to continue his story. "At any rate, he called a few minutes ago. Sharp as a tack, crafty as the devil, charming as all hell, kind of like a younger version of myself with hair." Marcus ran his hand over his bald head. "Just not as handsome.

"He ran off on his own to Boston today," Marcus continued, "and put my dream deal of owning Halifax Skis together. I'll have to hire a whole new team to deal with this coup but it will be worth it."

"Marcus, you need to do me a favor," Nick said, sitting up in the bed. "I know a guy. Just got his MBA, he's in the National Guard."

"Military guy, I like that."

"He's already had enough death in his life. You need to hire him."

"Without an interview?" Marcus said in surprise. "What's his name?"

"McManus. Private McManus."

"What a perfect military name his mother gave him. Does private have any other first name?"

"Smartass. It's Neil."

Marcus rubbed the back of his head. "It gives me such a headache taking chances on new guys, but if you say so, he's as good as hired."

The heavy pine door to the room swung open, and an incredibly old man entered. He walked with a long dark mahogany cane, the head of which was a carved elephant's head, the walking stick supporting his slow, shuffling gate. His hair was white, his pale skin wrinkled, seeming two sizes too large for his skeleton. But the eyes . . . The eyes were sharp and focused.

He was accompanied by Zachariah Nash, who wore his crisp doubled-breasted blazer and white, pleated linen pants. Nick recognized Nash full well as the man who had given him the watch, who had set him on his journey.

"Nick," Julia said, pointing at the older man, "this is Shamus Hennicot."

"Nicholas," Hennicot said with a bow of the head. "I'm so glad to see you alive. And I would like you to formally meet my attache, Zachariah Nash."

Nash tilted his head to Nick, as if he were meeting him for the first time. Shamus turned briefly to Paul Dreyfus and gave a subtle nod of recognition.

"Julia?" Nick took a deep breath and licked his lips. "Do you think maybe you could get me a Coke or something?"

"Of course." Julia smiled. She turned to Shamus and Zachariah with eyebrows raised in question.

"Nothing for us, dear." Shamus said.

"I can't believe you came down for this," Julia said. "It means so much to me."

"I understand you flew with my wife, today," Shamus said with a warm smile. "Pleasant flight, I hope."