Mind's Eye (48 page)

When he was done, he said, “Megan Emerson is impressive when she’s getting advice. Let’s see how she does when she’s on her own.”

Fyfe’s phone vibrated again, on cue, and this time he answered, putting it on speaker for the entertainment of his guests.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Megan.

“I was taping your friends’ mouths shut,” explained Fyfe. “They’re a little too chatty for my taste.” He paused. “So you claim to have my brother. Can you prove it to me?”

“The proof is on this phone,” she replied. “Saved as a video file named
Cowan
. Have Tanya access it and put it on the monitors behind you.”

Fyfe told Tanya to comply, and seconds later the video began playing on the panic room monitors. It began with a close-up view of the front seats of a four-door sedan. Cowan had been propped up in the passenger’s seat and looked to be taking a nap.

The camera panned over to the floor of the driver’s seat. A deep, rectangular casserole dish had been placed on the carpet, six inches in from the brake and gas pedals. A pool of clear liquid filled the dish to about three inches in height. In the center of this pool, a blue candle, about the size of a tall can of soda, was being held in place by a heavy glass candleholder, which was fully submerged. A small, orange flame danced innocently at the top of the candle. One end of a wet cotton blanket, tied to the steering wheel, was hanging about a foot above the candle, with the other end resting on Cowan’s lap.

Finally, the camera panned to the back seat, where four large, plastic bottles of Kingsford lighter fluid, for barbequing, were lying on the floor.

The video ended, and began to repeat in a continuous loop.

“Did you see it?” said Megan.

“I saw it,” snapped Fyfe.

“Nick was relaying the highlights of your conversation to me,” she said, and Altschuler realized this must be why Hall had seemed to check out of the discussion periodically for extended periods. “And I learned you were planning to burn my friends alive. So I thought I’d return the favor.”

Megan paused to let this sink in. “Your brother is still in my car. I’ve drenched him and the blanket in lighter fluid. These things aren’t all that precise, but the candle I bought is
supposed
to burn down about an inch every thirty minutes. Which means that in an hour or so, it will have burned low enough for the flame to make contact with the pool of lighter fluid it’s sitting in. When it does, flames will shoot up and hit the blanket. If my calculations are correct, your brother’s entire body should be on fire about four seconds after that. Give or take a few.”

After another brief pause, she continued. “I have to admit I’m new at this. I had to Google,
delayed reaction fire,
to get ideas—using your brother’s phone, by the way. A few of the results involved kitchen timers, but I liked the simplicity of this one. Would you like me to send you a link to the YouTube video?”

“You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” hissed Fyfe.

“Yes. Yes I am. So here’s the deal. I want to be able to see Alex, Heather, and Nick, alive and well, in front of the living room window. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Where are you?”

“The more important question is, where is your brother? Where did I leave my car? Could be at the back of a huge parking lot. Maybe behind an abandoned church. Could be anywhere. Once I lit the candle, I took a cab back to your brother’s car, which I’m driving now. I’ll come to the front door. Let me in. Once I confirm that my friends are okay and we’re driving away, I’ll call you with your brother’s location.”

“A trade of three for one. That hardly seems fair.”

“What hardly seems fair to me is that a psychopathic butcher asshole was planning to kill my three innocent friends in the first place. I’ll be there in ten minutes. You can choose to kill me when I arrive, of course. But just know that if you do, your brother will become a bonfire long before you have any hope of finding him.”

Fyfe nodded. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

58

The man who would bring the West to its knees unlocked the cuffs that linked each of his prisoners, one to the other. “Get up!” he ordered Heather.

With her hands still cuffed behind her back, and her mouth taped firmly shut, this wasn’t easy, but she managed. Once she was on her feet, Fyfe had her turn around so he could unlock her cuffs. He then handed her keys and instructed her to free Altschuler, while he held a gun on both of them.

Altschuler grunted several attempted words at Fyfe, who raised his eyebrows in mild amusement. “What’s that, Alex?” he taunted. “I’m having a little trouble understanding you.”

Altschuler ceased his efforts at communication. He was trying to ask what Fyfe’s real plans were, but what did it matter? He knew the gist. Megan was walking into an ambush, despite how impressively creative her plan had been.

If Fyfe were to actually make the trade, to let them leave, his grand plan was over. He thought he now had the ultimate winning hand in the
Clash of Civilizations
, and he wasn’t about to give it up. Not for his brother. Not for anything.

If Fyfe’s brother had to be sacrificed, even burned alive, Altschuler was certain the man could accept that. In a religion that glorified martyrs, he might even be happy that his brother would secure a premium position in the afterlife through this sacrifice.

Megan was thinking like a Westerner, and believing Fyfe would as well. And Fyfe had taken advantage of her inexperience, brilliantly isolating her from Hall by rendering him unconscious, and making sure he and Heather were unable to shout a warning to her either. She had done remarkably well since Hall had stumbled upon her, but her Western thinking and feelings for Nick Hall were blinding her to the obvious.

And there was nothing Altschuler could do about it.

Fyfe instructed Altschuler and Heather to drag Hall’s unconscious body out of the panic room and to the front of the house. Even dragging him, and with two of them, it was backbreaking work. Lifting Hall up and seating him against the windowsill, with his face pressed awkwardly against the window, was harder still, but they finally managed.

While they struggled, Fyfe had Tanya unbolt both locks on the front door, and display the perimeter camera feeds on the television.

Fyfe’s phone vibrated once again.

“I don’t see Heather,” snapped Megan when he picked it up.

Fyfe motioned for Heather to get closer to the window.

“And how do I know Nick is still alive?”

“You should be able to see his breath against the window,” said Fyfe.

Fifteen seconds passed. “I’m coming in,” said Megan, obviously satisfied that the three prisoners were still alive.

Several additional minutes passed. Finally, the camera feed on the television showed Megan carefully approaching the front door. She was alone, as promised.

The handle turned, and the door swung slowly inward. Megan stepped inside. She tried to put on a brave front, but Altschuler thought she looked as skittish as a rabbit; not that he could blame her.

Fyfe, his gun raised, quickly worked his way around her and closed the door. “Megan Emerson,” he said. “Welcome back.”

Megan walked over to the three prisoners and inspected Hall carefully. “Help me bring Nick to the car,” she said to Alex and Heather.

Fyfe’s upper lip curled into a scowl. “You aren’t going
anywhere
,” he hissed.

Even though this had been utterly predictable, Altschuler’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Pull a double cross and your brother burns,” snapped Megan. She tried to sound in control of the situation, but her hands were shaking. “You know better than that.”

“I do love my brother,” said Fyfe softly. “But I love Allah more. I’m willing to sacrifice my brother for the cause, just as he would be willing to sacrifice himself.”

Megan searched Fyfe’s face for any hint of a bluff and found only icy resolve. There was absolutely no doubt that Fyfe would let his brother be burned alive without batting an eye.

The last of Megan’s brave exterior melted away and her eyes began to fill with tears. “I knew you might be psycho enough to pull something like this,” she said, thoroughly defeated. “But I had to take the chance.” She glared at Fyfe hatefully as a single tear slid down her face. “But at least I’ll die knowing I took your brother with me.”

“I don’t think so. I think you’ll tell me where he is.”

“You can
think
whatever the hell you want. But unless you let us leave here, your brother fries.”

Fyfe laughed. “You really do think you’re tough. But you’ve led a sheltered life. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to start by carving out your right eye with a knife. But I’ll leave your left eye alone, so you can see me kill your three friends in the most painful of ways. I can’t go as slow as I’d like, because Rashid’s candle
is
burning down, but it will be slow enough. They will suffer terribly. They will scream, and in the end, beg for me to kill them.”

He paused to let this sink in. “Or,” he continued, “you can tell me where my brother is. Right now. In which case I promise to give you all quick and painless deaths.”

“You can go fuck yourself!” spat Megan.

Altschuler could barely breathe. He considered attacking Fyfe, but he was too far away, and Fyfe would have plenty of time to turn and shoot him. But what did it matter? At least he would force him to end his life quickly. He tensed his muscles and planned out an approach in his head. His only chance was stealth. If Fyfe was preoccupied with Megan, maybe he could get close enough to lunge at Fyfe without him realizing it.

“Suit yourself,” said Fyfe, removing a switchblade knife from his pocket. “This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me,” he added, herding her toward the wall.

Altschuler willed himself to be silent and invisible and crept away from the window.

He managed four catlike steps before Fyfe heard him and turned, his gun drawn and his finger on the trigger. Altschuler closed his eyes.

But instead of the expected bullet to a kneecap or other vital part of his body, he heard a spitting sound coming from the back of the room.

“I don’t know, Fyfe,” said a deep voice, coming from the same direction. “This might hurt you more than you think.”

Altschuler opened his eyes and took in the scene. Behind him, a man was holding a silenced gun. In front of him, Cameron Fyfe was lying on the floor in a large pool of his own blood, which continued to pour from a gaping hole in the back of his head. The front door was splattered with so much blood it looked like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Heather sank to the ground while Megan fought back vomit.

As Altschuler took in the scene, the man who had spoken came into the room, his gun still held in front of him.

Altschuler hastily pulled enough tape from the bottom of his mouth to partially free his lower lip. “Who are you?” he said, his words garbled.

“I’m Colonel Justin Girdler,” the man said as he walked by Altschuler to the window. He grabbed the unconscious Hall by his shirt, and lowered him to the floor.

“So nice to see you again, Nick,” he said.

59

“Get away from him!” demanded Altschuler, his words still garbled by the tape over most of his mouth. “I can cure his ESP.”

Girdler shook his head. “Believe it or not, that’s the last thing I want.”

“It’s okay, Alex,” said Megan. “The colonel is on our side now.” She thought about this for a moment. “Well, sort of.”

Heather had joined Altschuler near the center of the room, and he took her hand in his.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Girdler to the two of them. “Let’s get that tape off you both, brew up some coffee, and have a little talk in the kitchen. Nick will be okay. He’ll be awake in a few hours. I know. The darts Fyfe used were from
my
gun.”

Ten minutes later the four of them were at the kitchen table once again, cups of steaming coffee in front of them. When they were all situated, Altschuler studied the colonel, watching carefully for any signs of treachery. “So you don’t plan to kill Nick anymore?”

“No,” said Girdler simply.

Heather had been watching him intently as well. “Good choice,” she said. “Because we wouldn’t want to have to hurt you.”

Girdler laughed. “I’ll say this for Nick, he can turn people who don’t know him into loyal friends in no time. I found myself liking him as well.”

“Thank you, by the way, for saving our lives,” said Heather. “But where did you
come
from? I’m guessing there is some explanation other than your arrival being the luckiest bit of good timing in history.”

“You’re right,” said Girdler. “Good timing had nothing to do with it. You owe it all to Megan here.”