The Heir Hunter (49 page)

“There’s two thousand dollars inside your wallet, along with your fraudulent birth certificate. A driver will take you over the border to Canada. Once you get there, you’ll have two options. You can cross back over into the States, in which case you’ll promptly be arrested to face every last one of the charges I just told you about. Your second option is to keep moving. Go somewhere far away and keep your mouth shut. If you ever set foot here again, I’ll know about it, and I’ll see to it that you are put away for the rest of your life. Am I making myself clear?”

Nick managed a slow nod.

“Do you have any questions before I send you off?” Gordon asked.

Nick looked down at his wallet. He had dozens of questions, a hundred probably, but he wasn’t about to risk any one of them. He shook his head slowly.

“Your driver’s waiting for you.”

Nick turned to walk, but Gordon suddenly grabbed his forearm.

“Watch yourself,” was all the director said. He released his arm. “I want to speak to the girl for a minute.”

Nick approached the waiting car and slid into the backseat.
The driver half turned to him as he started the engine. He was fiftyish with a fat crooked nose and deep wrinkles around his dark eyes. His cheeks were ruddy and newly shaven. He nodded and gave a slight smile, but Nick didn’t notice. He had swiveled to watch through the rear window as Gordon led Alex into the backseat of the limo he had ridden in. The doors closed. Were they taking her away? Maybe it was better for her if they did.

Less than a minute later, she was out. She walked quickly toward the car, then ran the last thirty yards. When she sat in the back next to him, her face was paler than he had ever seen it.

“Let’s go, driver,” she said.

“What did he say?” Nick whispered to her, but she shook her head. It would have to wait.

The driver reversed direction and gassed it. Gordon and a dozen agents stood like statues and watched solemnly. Arminger leaned over the hood of one of the limos, refusing to even look. The gravel spit and ground beneath the tires as they accelerated out of the lot and found the road.

When the car was out of sight, Director Gordon climbed into the back of the limo. His deputy director slid in from the other side before he could react.

“This is insane,” said Arminger. “I can’t believe this.”

Gordon looked exhausted and suddenly very old. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone at that moment. Especially his current company.

“I’m not happy about it,” he said. “Newland and I agreed, though. With Merchant gone, this problem disappears.”

“He tried to
murder
a police officer,” exclaimed Arminger, incredulously.

“And luckily for him, he failed. The officer will live, and the senator’s committee will no longer be jeopardized.”

“How do you figure that? What assurance do we have that he’ll keep his mouth shut once he’s in Canada?”

“Very little. But he would definitely talk if he was put on trial in Hudson.”

“Who exactly was driving that car?”

“It’s an agent with the New York State Department of Justice. I told Newland he would have to assume all responsibility for releasing him. Now step out of the car. I’m riding alone.”

“What did you tell the girl?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” snapped Gordon. “Step out of the car.”

“But how is—”

“Get out of the damn car!”

Arminger reluctantly exited, slamming the door behind him. Gordon instructed the driver to head south, back to Albany. The driver started the engine, then paused. Gordon leaned forward, staring through the windshield. A car was speeding up the road, flashing its headlights and heading straight for them.

S
UN MERGED INTO
horizon, shooting laser beams of light over the highway. The shadows of the countryside stretched across the endless expanse of pavement. The forestland on both sides of the road was turning black with the end of the day.

They had driven for five minutes in complete silence. Nick was studying the back of the driver’s neck as he struggled to bring a semblance of sense to it all. It was impossible. What had just happened didn’t add up. He could not believe in any way, shape, or form that they were being set free. And that was what was now frightening him.

He sneaked a sideways look at Alex. She was staring ahead, refusing to look back at him. Her hands were wrapped together, her knuckles white. She gave him a quick glance and mouthed something he couldn’t understand, and at that moment he could see it clearly in her eyes. She was scared, so afraid she could barely turn her head to him. She was keeping something to herself, something he had perhaps missed, and whatever it was was terrifying her.

Nick turned to the driver. “Where are we going?” he asked.

The dark eyes rose to the rearview mirror.

“Where are you taking us?” he repeated.

“Good evening to you too,” Kragen said amiably. “I’m taking you to the Canadian border. Didn’t they tell you?”

“Not everything,” replied Nick. “Who are you anyway?”

“Nobody important, although I suppose you could say I’m your best friend tonight. I’m with the New York State Department of Justice. You’ve got nothing to be concerned about. In just a little while, you’ll be on your way. There’s a car waiting for you over the border, then it’ll be up to you to lose yourself.” He glanced back at the mirror. “I don’t know who you know, friend, but they’ve got serious pull. This thing’s been a real headache for everybody.”

“Who exactly do you work for?”

“We don’t need to bother with that. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. You’ll be on your way in just a little while.”

Nick watched the woods stream by and considered the situation. If they truly were being sent on their way, why didn’t the FBI take them to the border? Perhaps this transfer was their way of washing their hands of it. But did the feds have the power to do a switch like this? Most incredible of all, did whoever wanted him released actually trust him to keep his mouth shut once he was gone? If they wanted that assurance unequivocally, there was really only one way they could get it.

He glanced back through the windshield again. Rush hour traffic was lessening. Was it paranoia or was the dark blue car one hundred yards behind following them?

There was ten minutes of tense silence before a phone in the front seat began to ring. Kragen pulled it from his coat pocket.

“Yes . . . right . . . north of Glens Falls . . . good . . . appreciate it.” He hung up.

“Who was that?” demanded Nick.

“Supervisor. Just making sure we’re on track here.”

Nick sensed this was a lie. It had been too careful a conversation, with quick, one-word responses. Completely unrevealing. The driver’s hands were wrapped tightly
around the wheel. Nick noticed his rough, powerful fingers. He noticed something else as well. The little finger of the right hand was missing.

Arminger ejected the tape and quickly reached for the sheaf of papers. Gordon was simply sitting back, a stunned look on his face. He felt as if he might get sick right there on the leather seats of the limousine.

“Holtzmann,” said Arminger, flipping through pages. “Ludwig Holtzmann. I don’t see any mention of Martin Schmidt.”

“Maybe because there is no Martin Schmidt,” said Gordon, his head back. “Dear God, I knew it. I knew it in the Oval Office. Goddamnit—something wasn’t right.”

“So you actually believe all of this?”

“I believe enough of it.” Gordon grabbed his phone. “I want every police car and highway patrolman from here to Canada alerted. We have to stop that car!”

The road signs flew by like green tombstones: W
ARRENSBURG
, C
HESTERTOWN
, P
OTTERSVILLE
, S
EVERANCE
. The rays of the fallen sun were withdrawing in defeat.

Nick was concentrating on the back of the driver’s head when it suddenly came together for him. Gordon’s words surged through him like electricity. He could feel the hair stand on the back of his neck as his breathing picked up. Was he crazy, or did the director’s parting words suddenly make sense?

Traffic had thinned on the highway. Nick checked his watch. It was five-thirty. The flight was scheduled for six and they were now nearly an hour north of the airfield. Something had to be done now.

“I need you to pull over,” he said.

Nick saw the driver’s eyebrows rise in the rearview mirror.

“What’s that?”

“Nature’s calling. Pull over.”

“What? Merchant, I’ve got my—”

“Look, we’re still a long ways from the border,” Nick said. “I can’t possibly wait. Pull the damn car over. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kragen thought for a second, then clicked the turn signal and pulled slowly onto the gravel lip lining the freeway. Nick could see the edge of the road dip down a slope and lead to a cluster of trees twenty feet beyond.

“Just make it quick,” Kragen grumbled. “We’re on a timetable here.”

Nick nodded to Alex and ducked out of the car quickly. The slope was gravelly and loose, perfect for a nicely choreographed slip. He reached the bottom of the hill and slid down nicely to a knee, grabbing and placing a golfball-sized rock into his coat pocket. He threw a look back as he approached the trees. Kragen had stepped halfway out of the car and was watching him closely, his hands in his coat pockets. Nick positioned himself behind a tree, pissing air. Nightfall was almost on them now, and the sooner the better for what he was about to do.

“Let’s move it, Merchant!”

Nick emerged from the trees and stole a look down the highway behind them. Any pursuers seemed to have vanished. He stepped back up the slope and reentered the car. He waited for Kragen to slip the key back into the ignition as his fingers found the rock. It was at that moment that Alex tapped the side of his calf lightly with her foot. She was stooped forward a bit, her hands low in her lap. She held a small snub-nosed revolver.

Nick forgot the rock and inched closer to her as the car accelerated back onto the highway.

“You said we’ll have a car waiting for us?” he asked, reaching his hand to hers.

“That’s right,” said Kragen.

“How long until we’re there?” The gun was now in his hand.

“About an hour and a half, I’d say.”

Nick hesitated, then leaned forward and pushed the gun into his neck. “Pull over.”

Kragen stiffened in his seat and kept his eyes on the road. “You lost your mind?”

“Yes. Get to the side of the road now.”

Kragen eased the car to the edge of the freeway.

“What are you doing, Merchant? Think about this for a second.”

“I already have. Shut up and hand me the keys, then reach slowly into your jacket and give me the phone. Slowly . . .”

Nick kept the barrel pressed to his neck as the phone was handed back to him. He passed it and the keys to Alex.

“Raise your hands to your shoulders and slide over to the passenger door,” he ordered. Kragen shuffled over. “Now step out of the car. Slowly.”

Nick followed him out to the gravel border of the freeway. He kept the gun low.

“Down the slope. Move or you’re catching a bullet.”

“Stop and think, Merchant,” said Kragen, stepping down the embankment. “You’ve just been given a free pass. I’m your ticket out. You don’t want to do this.”

Nick said nothing until they were down out of view of traffic.

“Do you have a gun?” asked Nick. “Open your coat slowly.”

The shoulder holster was full. Nick reached over and snatched the gun. It was a large semiautomatic—a foreign make.

“Standard issue for you DOJ boys? I doubt it.” He put away the revolver and waved the barrel of Kragen’s gun toward the trees. “Move.”

“Merchant, if you get back in the car right now, I might—”

“You can walk or you can drag a leg behind you. I mean it.”

“Sure you know how to use that?” Kragen asked, and he lunged for him.

Nick squeezed the trigger quickly enough, but it was locked rigid. Kragen caught his arm with a swift chop, separating Nick’s hand from the weapon. Nick dodged a grazing punch and tackled Kragen to the ground. They rolled once and suddenly Kragen had the weight advantage and was jabbing at Nick’s face with rapid-fire punches. Nick caught him squarely in the face with a solid right, throwing him off. Kragen’s footing gave on the gravel as he tried to charge, and this gave Nick the time he needed to rip the revolver free and fire off a wild shot. Instantly, Kragen’s hands were in the air. Nick stood panting for a moment, gun extended, before walking up to him.

“You’re a damn fool, Merchant.”

“Get on the ground,” ordered Nick. “On the ground!”

Kragen did as he was told. Nick bent to a knee, grabbed a handful of his hair, and stuck the barrel to the center of his forehead.

“I’m gonna kill you right now,” he whispered, “unless I get answers. The way I feel right now, I may kill you anyway—”

The shout came from behind him. Alex hurried down the embankment and ran up to them.

“Nick, wait! You don’t know for sure who he is! Wait!”

Her words were barely registering. Nick’s eyes were locked on Kragen’s. He was shaking his head slowly, thinking of a dead woman by the name of Rose. “I know . . . who he is. . ..”

“We can’t be sure.” She grabbed his shoulder. “Check his ID.”

Nick shook his head slightly. His teeth ground as his finger tightened on the trigger. For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill a man, spread his brains out onto the
dirt. He took a deep, trembling breath before jumping to his feet and pushing Kragen hard with his foot.

“Roll on your stomach, hands over your head. C’mon—move!”

Kragen slowly did so. Nick stuck the barrel of the pistol against his neck as he slapped at his back pockets, feeling for a wallet.

“I want ID,” Nick demanded. “Where is it?”

“I’m not carrying any,” mumbled Kragen, his face to the dirt.

Nick grabbed him roughly by the back of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. He stepped back and raised the pistol to his face, pulling the hammer back with his thumb.