Phantom Limb Page 29

  “C’mon, Sykes. Let me take the fucker out. Right now.”

  Sykes shrugged, hands still in his pockets. “A tempting thought, Max, but I’m wondering if there’s anything else Dr. Rinaldi can tell us. About the Four Horsemen, for instance.”

  “You’re in luck, Sykes. I’ve finally found out what you were talking about. And who the Four Horsemen are.”

  “I doubt that. They all wore ski masks when they enjoyed the company of Lisa Campbell.”

  “Three of them did, before James Harland put on his own mask. But even so, he was stupid and cocky enough to introduce them by name to Lisa. Big-name VIPs, whose identities are now known. Should be fun watching the news the next couple days.”

  “I don’t believe you. Lisa was in no state to remember.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Besides, why would she come forward with the names? She’s going to be ruined when James shows the video at that ludicrous anniversary gala.”

  “If she’s going to be ruined anyway, why not name names? Tell the world who the sick bastards were that assaulted her? She’ll have nothing to lose, right?”

  Sykes finally lifted a hand from his pocket. Rubbed his narrow chin thoughtfully.

  “I must concede your point there, Doctor. And I know Jimmy Harland well enough to know that he’s champing at the bit to show that video. It’s his chance to destroy both his despised stepmother and his equally despised father.”

  “So you and James are best bros, eh?”

  He chuckled. “Hardly. Client and provider, at best. He and his fancy friends needed an inconspicuous arena for their sexual explorations. And I provided it. Though, yes, after a while we became intimate enough for him to tell me his plans for that video. However, it’s not my concern what a client chooses to do once they’ve made a record of their escapades.”

  “Though you usually keep a copy, like you said. Except not this time. James had a computer whiz buddy download it to an encrypted flash-drive. One that can’t be copied, and can only be opened with a pass key. And only James has it.”

  “Yes. Damned clever of him. Apparently he has more brains than I gave him credit for.”

  Griffin angrily cleared his throat.

  “We gotta get goin’, Sykes. C’mon, let’s wrap this up.”

  Sykes glowered at him.

  “Do you hear the sound of an approaching seaplane? Because I don’t. Nonetheless, I agree I’ve spent enough time exchanging pleasantries with Dr. Rinaldi.”

  He turned back to me.

  “Though it is a shame, really. I have so few people I enjoy talking with.”

  I smiled. “You could always let me live. Hell, I’ll talk your ear off.”

  He spread his bony hands. “See what I mean? Where can one find amusing banter anymore? I so regret having to kill you. I mean that sincerely. But if I don’t, your interference in my business will go unpunished. Which sets a terrible precedent among my associates. I trust you understand?”

  “Completely. But let me ask two questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  “You knew about James Harland’s plans for the video, which means you knew how much Charles Harland valued his wife. Not to mention the extent of the old man’s fortune.”

  “That’s right. He’s obscenely rich.”

  “So I understand why you decided to kidnap Lisa. I even think I understand why you called yourself ‘Julian’ when you made your ransom demands.”

  “I admit, I was allowing myself a bit of fun. Plus anything that could possibly misdirect the authorities was certainly an added benefit.”

  “So my first question is this: Did James have anything to do with the kidnapping? Did he help you hack into the house’s security system, for example? Or let you know about Lisa’s comings and goings?”

  Sykes laughed again. “Good Lord, James had nothing to do with kidnapping Lisa Campbell, I promise you. As to helping me get into and manipulate the security system, you can’t be serious. He spends so much time inside a bottle he can barely help himself to the bathroom. You know, I’d heard rumors that old man Harland had nothing but disdain for James. Believe me, it’s no surprise why.”

  “So then how did you know to send Griffin to snatch her at my office? How did you know about our appointment?”

  Instead of replying, Sykes nodded over at Griffin.

  “How did we know, Max?”

  Griffin gave me a sardonic look. “I waited outside the house and followed her to your office. Easy as pussy.”

  Inwardly, I almost groaned. Just as Gloria had guessed, the kidnappers had been keeping tabs on Lisa, waiting for the right moment to strike. When she was alone, unsuspecting. Away from any security detail.

  Suddenly, before another word was exchanged, I heard the distant sound of an engine. Coming closer. Out over the river.

  Sykes and Griffin heard it, too.

  “And that sound means our time is up, Doctor. The seaplane is about to arrive.”

  “I still have my second question.”

  Griffin growled. “Jesus fucking Christ…!”

  But Sykes, enjoying himself, sighed indulgently. “Make it a quick one, Dr. Rinaldi.”

  “Sure thing. Did you ever intend to release Skip Hines after I showed up?”

  “Not for one moment. Sorry to say, I lied.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Quite simple, really. I promised Max here he could shoot you, though I’m sure he wishes he had the time to make your death a lingering, exceedingly painful one. Instead, I suppose it’ll have to be the traditional execution-style bullet to the head. Bang, and then you’re gone.”

  Again, Sykes glanced at his partner. “Sorry, Max. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

  Griffin gave me a dark smile. “I can live with fast and dirty. No goddamn fun, but efficient as hell.”

  “After which,” Sykes continued, “Max and I will take the tug’s dingy over to where the seaplane has landed and climb aboard. Once safely in the air, I’ll press the trigger button and Skip Hines—along with this old tub—will be scattered in pieces to the night wind. Two useless relics disposed of, for the price of one. Not bad, eh?”

  I was barely aware of his words now, my ears pricked for the rising whine of the seaplane as it neared. Echoing over the river, not far beyond the tug’s walls. Then I heard it cut its engines, which meant it was getting ready to make its approach.

  As if on impulse, I glanced back at Skip. His head had lifted, eyes once more wide and awake. I don’t know how much he’d heard of my conversation with Sykes, but I could tell he knew the sound of that plane’s arrival wasn’t good news. For either of us.

  “Well, Doctor…” Sykes’ voice brought my head around again. “I’m afraid this is good-bye. At such a moment, I suspect you’d have to agree with Schopenhauer. He maintained that life is something that should not have been. Kind of a Gloomy Gus, I’ll grant you. But not entirely wrong. No, sir, not entirely.”

  Then he nodded at Griffin, who raised his gun. I knew I was too far from him to try anything. And he was too good a shot.

  Two-handing it, Griffin pointed the automatic at the space between my eyes.

  For some reason, I didn’t close them. Instead, I returned his narrowed gaze with my own unblinking stare.

  “Go ahead, you son of a bitch. Do it!”

  Suddenly, I heard a gun go off.

  But it wasn’t his.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Max Griffin uttered a short, startled howl of pain and clutched his left shoulder. Blood oozed from his fingers. His body jolted by the bullet’s impact, the revolver flew from his other hand. Skittered across the oil-stained floor.

  “Freeze, Griffin! FBI!”

  Sykes and I were both caught off guard. Too stunne
d to move. Even after I’d recognized the voice. Young. Female.

  Then, at almost the same time, we each saw Griffin’s revolver on the floor and dove for it. Sykes was closer than I and quickly scooped it up. But before he could bring it to bear, I was on him.

  My arms outstretched, I tackled him at the waist and brought us both crashing down to the floor. I landed on top and managed to grab his hand holding the gun. With a fierce cry, I slammed his thin wrist against the grimy floorboards, knocking the gun free. I heard the bones of his wrist snap. Break.

  I didn’t know what was happening behind me. All I heard was Griffin cursing, and Gloria’s footsteps coming into the room.

  But my eyes were riveted on Sykes. My fists clutching the loose folds of his shirt collar, I was aware of the freakish insubstantiality of the body beneath mine. Shifting position to steady myself, I heard the brittle bones of his ribs splinter under me. It was as if I’d wrestled a skeleton to the ground.

  Instinctively, I rolled off his splayed, emaciated body. Keeping one hand firmly clasped at his throat, I felt revulsion as he smiled up at me. His teeth small and unnaturally white beneath that crease of a mustache.

  I turned and looked up. Gloria Reese, armed with a Glock, had Griffin backed up against a bulkhead. The big man glowered at her, his huge hands held up, shoulder high, palms out.

  Gloria kept her feet wide apart to maintain her balance against the sway of the boat. Her service weapon was gripped in both hands, arms out straight. Her breath coming in quick bursts. Every instinct I had told me that Griffin was going to make some kind of move. The moment he saw one.

  Without taking her eyes off him, Gloria called over to me.

  “You okay, Danny?”

  My fingers still gripping Sykes’ collar, I didn’t answer, nodded instead across the room at Skip Hines. Straining against his ropes, he stared at us in disbelief, as though silently screaming for one of us to untie him.

  “They’ve rigged Skip with C-4,” I said. “We’ve got to—”

  I almost missed it. With the barest whisper of movement, Sykes’ hand snaked down to his pants pocket. Slipped inside.

  I knew what he was reaching for. What had been in that pocket the whole time. The trigger. To detonate the explosives strapped to Skip’s chest. To finish his victim, and himself, and everyone else.

  Without thinking, I grabbed his hand through the pocket’s fabric and squeezed with all my might. He cried out, a harsh, guttural scream, as the bones in his hand cracked. But I didn’t care. Savagely, I yanked his hand out of the pocket, his gnarled fingers still clutching the transmitter.

  It was no bigger than a penknife, with a recessed plunger at the top. His thumb rested on the button, and he was straining mightily to press it. To will his fingers to obey his mind’s command. But his fingers were now only so much crushed bone and cartilage. Useless.

  Eyes wide, sweat sheening his narrow brow, Sykes could only watch in horror as I peeled back his thumb and snatched the transmitter from his grasp. A hoarse gasp rose from his throat. A sputtering, inarticulate keening of frustration and rage.

  “Jesus Christ,” Gloria said in a hushed tone, as she glanced involuntarily at Sykes. Letting her gaze shift from Max Griffin for only a moment.

  But that was all the time he needed. With surprising quickness for a man of his size, he lunged at her. Still on my haunches next to Sykes, I was too far away to stop him.

  “Gloria!” I shouted.

  Griffin crossed the distance in two long strides. Backlit by one of the racks of lights, his immense shadow literally engulfed her. As he reached for her with those powerful hands—

  Startled, Gloria stumbled backwards, but kept her two-handed grip on her gun. And started firing.

  I watched as she pumped the entire clip into Griffin’s chest. At first, his forward momentum—or maybe his inchoate rage—kept him on his feet. Staggering, but coming closer and closer…

  And then he was falling forward, arms flailing. Dead, but still moving. Collapsing on top of her.

  Gloria rolled away as Griffin sprawled face-first onto the floorboards, which groaned in protest. She’d barely managed to get out from under him, though she took some of his considerable weight on her shoulder as he hit the floor.

  Still clutching the transmitter, I hauled Sykes to his feet. He almost instantly buckled and doubled over, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. In my hand, he felt like a thin wrapper of flesh over a twisted scaffolding of bone and soft, stringy muscle.

  With Gloria’s help, I maneuvered Sykes into a second chair by the bulkhead. After popping another clip into her weapon, she pointed it at his head. But it was obvious from his dulled eyes and constant grimace of pain that most of the fight had gone out of him. His fingers curled like desiccated claws on his lap.

  I hurried over to the porthole and tossed the transmitter into the river. As I did, I could see in the haze of moonlight the outlines of a compact seaplane, engine idling, propellers lazily spinning. Black water lapped at the plane’s pontoons. But I couldn’t make out the pilot’s face, an indistinguishable blur in the dim light of the cockpit.

  I called to Gloria. “The plane’s arrived.”

  This brought some life into Sykes’ drawn features, despite his obvious agony. Gloria smiled down at him.

  “Darn, looks like you’re going to miss your ride.”

  He glared at her, as though too affronted by his present circumstances to lower himself to reply. I felt as if I could actually see his rattled self-regard re-constituting itself. The protective, narcissistic shell forming once again around his fragile ego.

  Quickly, I crossed the hold and gently removed the duct tape from Skip’s mouth. He let out a throaty sigh of relief.

  “Thanks, man. I thought I was fucked sideways.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank Agent Reese.”

  I began carefully loosening the straps holding the C-4 packets against his chest.

  “There oughta be a receiver wire in there somewhere.” Skip’s words were punctuated by a series of deep breaths. “For the signal from the transmitter.”

  “Got it.” I slid the wire out of the lead packet. Then I hurriedly untied him. He was hardly free of the ropes before he started shaking the stiffness out of his arms.

  I took another look out the porthole. The plane was still idling. Bobbing expectantly in the water.

  Gloria said, “Time to bring in the cavalry,” and took out her cell. Following protocol, she called the police first, then her superiors at the Federal Building.

  I leaned down to Skip. “And time to get you out of here.”

  He blanched. “Look, I don’t wanna be carried outta here like some goddamn cripple—”

  “Don’t worry. I brought what you need with me. It’s in my car.”

  Skip smiled, and held up his hand to clasp mine.

  “Like I told Charlene, Danny, you’re all right.”

  I bent and picked up Griffin’s revolver, still laying where Sykes and I had struggled. I handed it to Skip.

  “Do me a favor, okay? Keep it pointed at Sykes while Agent Reese is on the phone. If he moves, shoot him.”

  “Hell, yeah..!”

  Then, with a nod at Gloria, I went out to my car to get Skip his leg.

  ***

  Before the cops and the Feds could arrive at the scene, the seaplane had lifted off. I guess the pilot finally figured out that something had gone wrong, and didn’t want to stick around to find out what it was.

  Meanwhile, Skip had reattached his prosthetic, using the strip of duct tape as a makeshift replacement for the torn strap. Then he’d insisted on tying Sykes to the same chair to which he’d been bound. Now, grinning, he stood over him, Griffin’s revolver still in his hand.

  “I got this.” Skip indicated Sykes, who seethed in silence. Refusing to let us see hi
s obvious discomfort. Roughly bound to the chair, his crushed ribs and fingers must have been shot through with pain.

  “Go on, you two,” Skip said casually to Gloria and me. “Go out and wait for the good guys.”

  I regarded him warily.

  “Now that Sykes is safely tied up, can I have your word you’re not going to accidentally shoot him?”

  “Man, you’re a real buzz-kill. But yeah, okay.”

  Outside, Gloria and I sat on the edge of the dock. The starred night was cold, clear. A stiff wind buffeted the old tug moored behind us, its hull scraping the dock’s rough timbers.

  “So.” I looked at her profile in the scant moonlight. “How the hell did you know where I was?”

  “Easy. I bugged your car.”

  “What? When?”

  “When we were both in it earlier, on our way to talk to Payton. I knew you were right. For Sykes, it was intolerable that you’d get away alive after having messed up his plans. Forcing him to flee the country. So I put a GPS tracking device under your dashboard when you weren’t looking.”

  “Does Wilson know you did that? And that you followed me here, alone and without backup?”

  She shrugged. “He’ll know soon enough. He and Biegler are probably drag-racing right now to see who gets here first. So, no, he didn’t know. Nobody on my team at the Bureau knew.”

  “You went rogue, eh?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. I figured if Sergeant Polk could work solo, based on a hunch, then so could I. Serves Wilson right, anyway. The way he and the rest of the brass were freezing me out. Treating me like somebody’s kid sister.”

  I thought about it. “You’ll catch shit, Gloria. But you’ll also get a medal.”

  “Yeah. But probably not in that order.”

  She gave me a shy smile.

  “In case you’re wondering, I started tracking you right after the briefing ended this afternoon. I was just about to pull into the Three Rivers Motel when I saw you driving out.”

  “You spotted Skip’s room. The broken lock on his door.”

  “I put two-and-two together, yeah.”

  “Did you happen to ask at the registration office? Skip’s sister had tried calling earlier, but kept getting a busy signal. Then, when I showed up looking for Skip, the office seemed like it was closed. In the middle of the day.”