Vanish (23 page)

having met us.

After a moment, he releases a deep breath. “Jesus,” he murmurs. “Whoever these people are,

they play for keeps.” He turns his attention back to the road. I know he is afraid, because I can

see his hands clenching the steering wheel. I can see the white of his knuckles. “Ladies,” he

says softly, “I think it’s time to vanish.”

Jane closed her eyes and surfed the crest of pain like a wave rider.
Please let this one be over

soon. Make it stop, make it stop.
She felt sweat bloom on her face as the contraction built,

gripping her so tightly that she could not moan, could not even breathe. Beyond her closed

eyelids, the lights seemed to dim, all sounds muffled by the rush of her own pulse. Only

vaguely did she register the disturbance in the room. A banging on the door. Joe’s tense

demands.

Then, suddenly, a hand closed around Jane’s, its grasp warm and familiar. It can’t be, she

thought as the pain of the contraction eased, as her vision slowly cleared. She focused on the

face gazing down at her, and she went still in wonder.

“No,” she whispered. “No, you shouldn’t be here.”

He cupped her face, pressed his lips to her forehead, her hair. “Everything’s going to be fine,

sweetheart. Just fine.”

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

He smiled. “You knew I wasn’t too bright when you married me.”

“What were you thinking?”

“About you. Only about you.”

“Agent Dean,” said Joe.

Slowly, Gabriel rose to his feet. So many times before, Jane had looked at her husband and

thought how blessed she was, but never as much as at this moment. He carried no weapon,

held no advantage, yet as he turned to face Joe, he projected only quiet determination. “I’m

here. Now will you let my wife go?”

“After we talk. After you hear us out.”

“I’m listening.”

“You have to promise you’ll follow up on what we tell you. You won’t let this die with us.”

“I said I’d listen. That’s all you asked. And you said you’d let these people go. You may have

a death wish, but they don’t.”

Olena said, “We don’t wish anyone to die.”

“Then prove it. Release these people. Then I’ll sit here and listen for as long as you want me to.

Hours, days. I’m at your disposal.” He stared, unflinching, at their captors.

A moment passed in silence.

Suddenly, Joe leaned toward the couch, grabbed Dr. Tam’s arm, and yanked her to her feet.

“Go stand by the door, doctor,” he ordered. He turned and pointed to the pair of women on the

other couch. “You two, get up. Both of you.”

The women didn’t budge; they just gaped at Joe, as though certain this was a trick, that if they

moved, there would be consequences.

“Go! Get up!”

The receptionist gave a sob and stumbled to her feet. Only then did the other woman follow

her. They both edged toward the door, where Dr. Tam still stood frozen. Hours of captivity had

so cowed them that they did not yet believe their ordeal was about to end. Even as Tam reached

toward the door, she was watching Joe, waiting for his order to halt.

“You three can leave,” Joe said.

The instant the women had stepped out of the room, Olena slammed the door shut behind them

and locked it again.

“What about my wife?” said Gabriel. “Let her go, too.”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“Our agreement—”

“I agreed to release hostages, Agent Dean. I didn’t say which ones.”

Gabriel flushed in anger. “And you think I’m going to trust you now? You think I’d listen to a

goddamn thing you say?”

Jane reached for her husband’s hand, and felt tendons taut with rage. “Just listen to him. Let

him have his say.”

Gabriel released a breath. “Okay, Joe. What do you want to tell me?”

Joe grabbed two chairs, dragged them to the center of the room, and set them down facing each

other. “Let’s sit, you and me.”

“My wife is in labor. She can’t stay in here much longer.”

“Olena will attend to her.” He gestured to the chairs. “I’m going to tell you a story.”

Gabriel looked at Jane. She saw, in his eyes, both love and apprehension.
Whom do you trust?

Joe had asked her earlier.
Who’d take this bullet for you?
Staring at her husband, she thought:

There will never be anyone I trust more than you.

Reluctantly, Gabriel turned his attention back to Joe, and the two men sat facing each other. It

looked like a perfectly civilized summit, except for the fact that one of the men had a gun

resting in his lap. Olena, now stationed on Jane’s couch, held an equally lethal weapon. Just a

nice little get-together with two couples.
Which pair will survive the night?

“What did they tell you about me?” said Joe. “What’s the FBI saying?”

“A few things.”

“I’m crazy, right? A loner. Paranoid.”

“Yes.”

“You believe them?”

“I have no reason not to.”

Jane watched her husband’s face. Though he spoke calmly, she could see the strain in his eyes,

the tight muscles of his neck. You knew this man was insane, she thought, yet you walked in

here anyway. All for me . . . She suppressed a groan as a new contraction began to build.
Keep

quiet. Don’t distract Gabriel; let him do what he needs to do.
She sank back on the couch,

teeth gritted, suffering in silence. Kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, on a single dark smudge

on the acoustic tile.
Concentrate on your focal point. Mind over pain.
The ceiling blurred, the

smudge seeming to bob in an unsteady sea of white. It made her nauseated just to look at it.

She closed her eyes, like a seasick sailor woozy from rocking waves.

Only when the contraction began to ease, when the pain at last released its grip, did she open

her eyes. Her gaze, once again, focused on the ceiling. Something had changed. Next to the

smudge there was now a small hole, almost unnoticeable among the pores of the acoustic tile.

She glanced at Gabriel, but he was not looking at her. He was completely focused on the man

sitting across from him.

Joe asked: “Do you think I’m insane?”

Gabriel regarded him for a moment. “I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t make that determination.”

“You walked in here expecting a crazy man to be waving a gun around, didn’t you?” He leaned

forward. “That’s what they told you. Be honest.”

“You really want me to be honest?”

“Absolutely.”

“They told me I’d be dealing with two terrorists. That’s what I was led to believe.”

Joe sat back, his face grim. “So that’s how they’re going to end it,” he said quietly. “Of course.

It’s how they
would
end it. What kind of terrorists are we supposed to be?” He glanced at

Olena, then laughed. “Oh. Chechens, probably.”

“Yes.”

“Is John Barsanti running the show?”

Gabriel frowned. “You know him?”

“He’s been tracking us since Virginia. Everywhere we go, he seems to turn up. I knew he’d

show up here. He’s probably just waiting to zip up our body bags.”

“You don’t have to die. Hand me your weapons, and we’ll all leave together. No gunfire, no

blood. I give you my word.”

“Yeah, there’s a guarantee.”

“You let me walk in here. Which means that, on some level, you trust me.”

“I can’t afford to trust anyone.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I refuse to go to my grave without some hope of justice. We’ve tried taking this to the

press. We
handed
them the fucking evidence. But no one gives a shit.” He looked at Olena.

“Show them your arm. Show them what Ballentree did to you.”

Olena tugged her sleeve above her elbow and pointed to a jagged scar.

“You see?” said Joe. “What they put in her arm?”

“Ballentree? Are you talking about the defense contractor?”

“Latest microchip technology. A way for Ballentree to track its property. She was human

cargo, brought over straight from Moscow. A little business that Ballentree operates on the

side.”

Jane looked back at the ceiling. Suddenly she realized that there were other fresh holes in the

acoustic tiles. She glanced at the two men, but they were still focused on each other. No one

else was looking upward; no one else saw that the ceiling was now riddled with punctures.

“So this is all about a defense contractor?” said Gabriel, his voice perfectly even, revealing no

hint of the skepticism he surely felt.

“Not just
any
defense contractor. We’re talking about the Ballentree Company. Direct ties to the

White House and Pentagon. We’re talking about executives who make billions of dollars every

time we go to war. Why do you think Ballentree lands almost all the big contracts? Because

they
own
the White House.”

“I hate to tell you this, Joe, but this isn’t exactly a new conspiracy theory. Ballentree is

everyone’s bogeyman these days. A lot of people are itching to bring them down.”

“But Olena can actually do it.”

Gabriel looked at the woman, his gaze dubious. “How?”

“She knows what they did in Ashburn. She’s seen what kind of people these are.”

Jane was still staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what she was now seeing. Needle-thin

lines of vapor were streaming silently from above.
Gas. They are pumping gas into the room.

She looked at her husband. Did he know this was about to happen? Did he know this was the

plan? No one else seemed aware of the silent invader. No one else realized that the assault was

now beginning, heralded by those fine streams of gas.

We are all breathing it in.

She tensed as she felt another contraction. Oh god, not now, she thought. Not when all hell is

about to break loose. She gripped the couch cushion, waiting for the contraction to peak. The

pain had her in its jaws now, and all she could do was grip the cushion and hang on. This

one’s going to be bad, she thought. Oh, this one’s really bad.

But the pain never reached its climax. Suddenly the cushion seemed to melt away in Jane’s fist.

She felt herself being dragged downward, toward the sweetest of sleep. Through the gathering

numbness, she heard banging, and men’s shouts. Heard Gabriel’s voice, muffled, calling her

name from across a great distance.

The pain was almost gone now.

Something bumped up against her, and softness brushed across her face. The touch of a hand,

the faintest caress on her cheek. A voice whispered, words that she did not understand, soft

and urgent words that were almost lost in the banging, in the sudden crash of the door. A

secret, she thought. She is telling me a secret.

Mila. Mila knows.

There was a deafening blast, and warmth splashed her face.

Gabriel, she thought. Where are you?

TWENTY-ONE

At the sound of the first gunshots, the crowd standing in the street gave a collective gasp.

Maura’s heart froze to a standstill. Tactical Ops officers held the police line as fresh gunfire

thudded inside. She saw looks of confusion on the officers’ faces as the minutes passed,

everyone waiting for word of what was happening inside. No one was moving; no one was

rushing the building.

What are they all waiting for?

Police radios suddenly crackled: “Building secure! The entry team is out, and the building is

now secure! Roll medical. We need stretchers—”

Med-Q teams rushed forward, pushing through the police tape like sprinters crossing the finish

line. The breaking of that yellow tape touched off chaos. Suddenly reporters and cameras

surged toward the building as well, as Boston PD struggled to hold them back. A helicopter

hovered overhead, blades thumping.

Through the cacophony, Maura heard Korsak shout: “I’m a cop, goddammit! My friend’s in

there! Let me through!” Korsak glanced her way and called out: “Doc, you gotta find out if

she’s okay!”

Maura pushed ahead, to the police line. The cop gave her ID a harried glance, and shook his

head.

“They need to take care of the living first, Dr. Isles.”

“I’m a physician. I can help.”

Her voice was almost drowned out by the chopper, which had just landed in the parking lot

across the street. Distracted, the cop turned to yell at a reporter: “Hey, you! Get back
now.
”

Maura slipped past him and ran into the building, dreading what she would find inside. Just as

she turned into the hallway leading to Diagnostic Imaging, a stretcher came barreling toward

her, wheeled by two EMTs, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She saw the

pregnant belly, the dark hair, and thought: No. Oh god, no.

Jane Rizzoli was covered in blood.

At that instant, all of Maura’s medical training seemed to abandon her. Panic made her focus on

the blood, and only the blood.
So much of it.
Then, as the stretcher rolled past her, she saw the

chest rise and fall. Saw the hand moving.

“Jane?” called out Maura.

The EMTs were already hurrying the stretcher through the lobby. Maura had to run to catch up.

“Wait! What’s her condition?”

One of the men glanced back over his shoulder. “This one’s in labor. We’re moving her to

Brigham.”

“But all the blood—”

“It’s not hers.”

“Then whose?”

“The gal back there.” He cocked a thumb down the hallway. “
She’s
not going anywhere.”

She stared after the stretcher as it rattled out the door. Then she turned and ran up the hallway,