Off the Chart (19 page)

“Daddy, Daddy.”

Sugarman finished loading the Glock nine and laid it on the bed next to the Remington shotgun. He'd been hearing the voice off and on for twenty minutes, a faint, ghostly call that seemed to rise from the black fog swirling in his chest. When he'd first heard it, he'd raced through the house in a stumbling frenzy, searched every closet and beneath all the furniture, even torn open the refrigerator door. But it had been an illusion. Her voice disembodied, floating up from the vaporous black pit of hope and despair that roiled inside him.

Now he was locked in a blind, methodical rage. Ignoring this phantom voice that mimicked Janey so well, determined not to be distracted again from his task. The charlatan was trying damn hard, insinuating and shrewd, but it wasn't throwing him again. By God, he was not going to surrender to some softheaded fantasizing in which he swooped down heroically from the clouds and grabbed his little girl and sailed back up into the heavens with her joyful laugh
and her cool breath bubbling against his throat. He was keeping himself hard. Staying tough and aloof. There was work to do. A plan to execute, no time to dawdle.

A while back he'd heard talk that Vic Joy had built a brick house on his estate. Though Sugarman didn't have Vic's address, he was nearly certain he'd recognize the place from offshore. It had to be the only property anywhere in the Keys with a brick structure. If he didn't see it on the first pass, he'd pull into one of Vic's marinas and ask a gas pump jockey.

When Sugarman completed his preparations, he'd ready his Boston Whaler, make sure the fishing poles were visible in the rod holders, and then cruise down to Islamorada, twenty miles south. First thing he'd do was a slow pass to evaluate security and possible cover—trees, shrubs, any vegetation along the shoreline. Then at twilight he'd work his way back up the coast, anchor the boat, and wade ashore, carrying the arsenal he was assembling on the blue quilt.

He'd strap the dive knife to his ankle. Take the two other handguns, the Beretta and the Smith, that were on the top shelf of his closet. Extra ammo in the pockets of his black jeans, an extra clip for the nine, pistols in each pocket of his black windbreaker. He'd already cut a coil of dock line into three-foot sections, just the right length to bind up any of Vic's security people he came across. He had a lead-weighted fish-stunning bat out with his tackle box. He'd carry that in his right hand, the nine-millimeter in his left. He'd have to rig a sling for the shotgun so he could wear it on his back.

Daddy, Daddy?

The voice was tired and frayed and seemed to echo across the cavernous expanse inside his gut, a void that was widening and deepening with every breath he took. But he wasn't going to make another ridiculous tour of the house. Yield to the frantic impulse. He wasn't going to go spinning off into the stratosphere. That wouldn't do Janey any good. And he wasn't going to let Jimmy Lee Webster throw him off, either. So what if there was no help from law enforcement? And so what if this time, he wouldn't even have Thorn at his side? He'd manage alone. This was his daughter, by God. No assistance required.

Last night on the walk home from the Holiday Inn he'd raged and
muttered at Thorn for that first mile, but he couldn't keep the flames of fury going. Now, after weighing it a few hours more, the darkest emotion Sugar could summon was a deep sadness.

Sugar took the box of .38 shells out of the underwear drawer and dumped them in a heavy, clinking pile on the quilt.

Thorn was just being Thorn. He couldn't help himself. The guy was simply a product of a violent and unlucky past and the ingrown, rebellious disposition that came from living such a reclusive life.

Sugarman wasn't actually mad at Thorn, just deeply, terminally disappointed. And on this occasion, he'd decided to take a serious break from the guy. Maybe even use the time to rethink the whole friendship. Though Sugarman was pretty sure whatever Thorn's part had been in bringing on this catastrophe, it was innocent, an unintended consequence of his mulish nature, the bottom line was simple. Innocent or not, Thorn had somehow managed to put Janey in danger. So screw him. Screw him, screw him, screw him.

When Sugarman finished tucking all the pistols into his Nike duffel, he lugged the bag to the front door and set it down and went into the kitchen to throw together lunch. There was a whole day of sunlight to kill before he could mount his assault on Vic Joy's compound. He had to keep his mind busy, his focus sharp. He knew he could use a nap—an hour or two of shut-eye would probably do wonders, though he probably couldn't sleep and was, when he thought about it, concerned that if he did lie down and relax his vigilance, Janey's voice would seep into him again, her fright and confusion and horror resounding in his head until all his momentum and certainty were lost.

He tugged the cooler from the shelf above the refrigerator and broke some ice cubes free from their trays and dumped them in. He crammed plastic bottles of water into the ice. As he was zipping the cooler shut, once again Janey's voice registered in some murky region of his head. But this time her voice was different. Not the mournful tone the phantom had used before. Now her words came as a whisper, hoarse and far away, and then there was another sound. It took him a moment to identify it. Something like the pop and sputter of static.

Sugarman lifted his head, tensed, listened a moment more to what was clearly the fizz and crackle of electronic interference, then he
whirled from the counter and sprinted to the back bedroom.

He halted at the antique desk, dropped into the chair. Tilted up the screen of the laptop, which he'd folded down two nights before after seeing the man dressed as a pirate holding his daughter in his arms. He ran his finger across the touch pad and the dark screen fluttered and buzzed, then came to life, and Janey was there. The picture fuzzy with the white sputter of a badly strained reception. But it was her. His daughter, her face taut, blond hair messy.

“Janey, my God. Where are you?”

“Where were
you,
Daddy? I've been calling you all morning.”

“Oh, God,” he said. “Well, it's okay. I'm here now. Are you all right?”

He bent closer to the screen, touched a finger to the black plastic frame.

“I think the battery is running down, Daddy. There's no electricity. Nowhere to plug it in and recharge. I don't know how long is left.”

“Don't worry about the battery, sweetheart. Where are you? I'll come get you right now. Where?”

“He brought me in an airplane. The man we saw in the kite thing flying over Thorn's house that day. Remember that man?”

“Yes, I know,” Sugarman said. “Vic Joy.”

“It's raining here, Daddy.”

“Are you all right, Janey? Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?”

“I'm all right. They didn't do anything to me.”

She turned her head and looked to the right. All he could see of the background was dark planks. Some kind of cabin or hut or paneled room.

“There's a bathroom, but it's dirty. And there's no toilet paper. And the water smells funny. I drank some of it, but then I realized it stunk and I spit it out and didn't drink any more.”

“That's good, Janey. Now where are you? Do you have any idea?”

“There's noises outside. Birds I've never heard, and shrieks and other noises, too. I'm really tired. But I'm afraid to close my eyes.”

Sugarman rubbed his hands together, his thoughts scattered wildly, something flapping in his chest like a caged raptor.

“How long were you in the airplane, Janey?”

“What? I can't hear you, Daddy.”

The picture was breaking up, freezing, then moving ahead in choppy spurts. Her voice a half-second out of sync with her lips.

Sugarman repeated his question and Janey said, “I don't know. All night, I guess.”

“All night!”

“I fell asleep,” she said. “When I woke up we were landing. We landed on the water, Daddy. I thought we were crashing.”

“On the water. Okay.”

“There were two men. Mr. Joy, and the other one was big, with hairy arms. Both of them used the
f
word a lot.”

“And what did you see when you landed, Janey? Was it light?”

“The sun was just coming up. But I had my eyes closed. I was scared we were going to crash. I didn't know the plane could land on water. It was bumpy, that's all.”

“Listen, Janey. We're both going to have to be calm. We're going to figure this out together. Okay?”

“I'm tired,” she said. “I want to go to sleep, but I'm afraid.”

“Is the man who took you there still close by, Janey?”

“He left. They put gas in the airplane and left.”

“You're alone? There's no one there?”

“They nailed boards over my windows so I can't get out. But I can see pretty good. It's a jungle, I think. I can see palm trees and vines and mangroves, I think. They let me keep my binoculars.”

“Do you have food, water?”

“Subs,” she said. “Turkey and cheese with cucumbers and lettuce and mayonnaise.”

“Freshwater?”

“They left a cooler. Some ice, but it's mostly melted. Cokes and the sandwiches. Five sandwiches, all just alike. The foot-long ones.”

“There's no one else around? No one who could help you?”

“After the airplane left, I yelled till my throat hurt. Nobody came.”

Sugar rocked back in his chair and rubbed his hand across his mouth to smooth the crazy pain from his face.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, listen, Janey.”

But he had no idea what to ask or say. His chest felt like it was about to crack open, the giant hawk clawing its way out.

“I saw a kingfisher, Daddy. But it was different from any I've seen.”

Sugarman looked at her face on the screen. Tired but smiling with the memory of the bird sighting.

“Are you wearing your watch, Janey?”

She'd moved away from the screen and he saw only her ghostly outline, what appeared to be her back.

And then her face was there and the binoculars were in her hands.

“There's a sign, Daddy.”

“A sign?”

“On a post by the gravel road.”

“Great, great. What does it say?”

“I don't know. It's behind a palm frond. Maybe if the wind blows I'll be able to see it. I think there's a
G
, but I don't know for sure.”

“Okay, that's all right, no problem.” Sugarman's pulse was reeling. “Look, Janey, are you wearing your wristwatch?”

“Yes.”

“Is it working?”

“I think so.”

“My watch says eleven forty-five. What does yours say?”

He could see her peering at her wrist.

“There's something screeching out there, Daddy. It's running around right outside the window.”

She got up and turned her back on the camera. She was gone for a long moment, then her face was close again. “Wow, I couldn't see what was making the noise, but I saw a big blue butterfly right outside the window. It's shiny like tinfoil.”

“Iridescent,” he said.

“Big and blue and shiny. With a black edge along its wings.”

Sugarman was silent for a moment, thoughts scrambled, heart in disarray.

“Your watch, Janey, what time does it say?”

“Same as yours, Daddy. Fifteen minutes until twelve o'clock. It's very hot here. It's been raining and it's very hot.”

“Listen, sweetie. Listen carefully. Thursday night when the men first put you in the airplane, do you know what time that was?”

“They shot Dr. Andy. They shot all the other people, too, his clients.”

“I know,” he said. “That was terrible. But we need to put that behind us. We have to work on this, Janey. We need to concentrate, okay? It's important. You need to try to remember. It was nine o'clock on Thursday night when I saw the man dressed like a pirate on your Web camera. How long after that did you get on the airplane?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I didn't notice my watch.”

“Did they take the boat back to shore before you got on the airplane?”

“Yeah, after they shot the people, they put me down in Dr. Andy's cabin and locked the door and then drove the boat somewhere. I watched television and we drove for a long time and that's when they came and took me out of the cabin and put me on the airplane.”

“Okay,” Sugarman said. “Okay.” Trying to stay sharp, but everything was tangled in his head, wave after wave of emotion, going from trough to peak and back again in a half-second.

“What were you watching? What was on the TV, Janey, when they came and got you?”

“News and stuff. Mostly news, the weather, boring stuff. Dr. Andy can only get three channels on his boat. Is he dead?”

She was looking over her shoulder as if hearing something.

“There's lots of wildlife here, Daddy. Lots of birds.”

“And when you landed, the sun was just coming up? Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And you flew all that time in between? From when you got onto the airplane till they landed, there weren't any other stops?”

“No stops, just a long trip.”

“And the airplane, can you describe it?”

“It was little. Just the place where the pilot sits. Two seats up there, and a few where I was.”

“How many seats in the back, Janey? Where you were.”

“A few. I'm not sure.”

Sugarman said, “Sweetheart, does your computer have a little picture of a battery at the bottom of the screen?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It's half-full. But I don't know how long it goes when it gets like that. This is Dr. Andy's computer.”

“Will you be all right if we sign off now?”

“You've got to go, Daddy?”

“I need to think about this, sweetie, study a few things to help find where you are. You understand, don't you? We don't want your machine to die. We want to be able to talk as long as possible. Okay? Will you be all right?”