The Betrayer (42 page)

He needed all his faculties now, needed to be sharp and strong and clear.

And yet he felt as if he were wavering on the edge of a precipice, being battered by a wind that somehow came from all directions.

“It doesn’t look to me like you’re up to donating anyway,” Dickey said.

Johnny ignored that.

Dickey started to ask Johnny if he had injured his collarbone during the car crash in Brooklyn, if he could recall actually striking it at some point or if the pain just came out of nowhere, but before he could get more than a few words out, the passenger door of Smith’s car swung open. Then the driver’s door opened, too.

Johnny’s father and Smith were hurrying through the rain toward the Mercedes.

Dickey reached across the seat and opened the passenger door. John Coyle didn’t get in, simply ducked his head and spoke through the open door. Johnny looked at the man standing behind his father.

Smith, the smoker, dressed in jeans and a leather café racer jacket over a hooded sweatshirt.

The man Johnny had shot in the chest.

Smith locked eyes with Johnny, then nodded once. Johnny returned the greeting.

“We’ve got Fiermonte,” John Coyle said.

He was holding a small device — the micro-digital recorder that had been concealed in Smith’s bullet-resistant vest.

His tone, however, was less than triumphant.

Grave, even.

“What’s wrong?” Dickey said.

John Coyle’s eyes went to his son. “They have Cat and your girlfriend.”

Dickey was looking at Smith. “Who has them, exactly?”

“Fiermonte, Gregorian, and the woman Fiermonte brought in from Detroit,” Smith answered. “And Morris is on his way there now.”

“On the way where?” Dickey demanded.

“Fiermonte has a place in Westchester,” Smith said. “Since that knuckleheaded Russian spy ring got busted by the FBI in New Jersey a few years ago, he began taking all kinds of extreme precautions. He and Morris use the place to meet with their Russian contacts and exchange info. Verbal and face-to-face, no calls or e-mails or texts.” He paused, took a breath, then said, “Cat’s been drugged. She’s unconscious in one of the upstairs rooms.”

“And Haley?” Johnny said.

Smith looked at him. “She’s in the other room.” He had something else to say but was clearly hesitant to speak it.

Everyone could see that.

“What?” Dickey said.

“Fiermonte made me take their clothes. So they couldn’t escape.”

Johnny and Dickey glanced at each other furtively, and then Johnny looked at his father.

John Coyle caught this exchange between his friend and son, and, by the way he looked at Dickey, it was obvious Johnny had been told the truth about the danger Haley and Cat now faced.

About the man holding them.

The man — the trusted family friend — the Coyle children had known all their lives.

But before John Coyle could say anything, Dickey spoke.

“I think we’re out of time, John. Donnie will know he only has a few hands to play here. And none of them end well for the girls.”

Nodding, John Coyle looked again at his son.

Soldier to soldier now more than father to child.

With his eyes on Johnny, John Coyle said to Smith, “How far away is Fiermonte’s house?”

“I can get you there in a half hour. But the state police can get there a lot sooner.”

“No police,” John Coyle said.

Johnny understood why; they were four men — a fugitive, a traitor, a mobster, and an undercover agent — who each still had reasons to remain, for now, unseen and unknown.

Under the radar, off the grid.

“It’s time for your resurrection, John,” Dickey said.

Immediately, John Coyle’s eyes shifted to the cell phone clutched in his son’s hand.

The look on the man’s face was even graver than it had been a moment before.

Johnny felt his grip on the phone tighten even more.

“I’m going to need you to give that to me,” John Coyle said.

Johnny wanted to know why.

“Do you trust me, son?”

Johnny nodded. “Yes.”

“Then give it to me, please.”

This Johnny didn’t understand.

But he nonetheless handed the phone to his father, who quickly removed the battery and handed the two pieces to Dickey.

“I’m assuming the place is secluded,” John Coyle said to Smith. “If he uses it for secret meetings.”

“It is.”

“Do you know the layout? Inside and out?”

“Yes.”

“When are you due back?”

“Now. But I’m supposed to pick up supplies on my way, so that’ll buy me some time.”

“Will they see your car from the house?”

“The driveway’s pretty long, and there’s a point about halfway up when headlights point at the house and light up all the front rooms for a few seconds.” Smith nodded. “They’ll know I’m coming.”

John Coyle nodded. “Good. Let’s make sure they see exactly what they’re expecting to see.”

He turned to Johnny.

“You up to taking point?”

Dickey was watching Johnny closely — Johnny could feel this but ignored it.

He dug deep.

He knew what his father had in mind, knew that Dickey’s size and his father’s size made Johnny taking point the only way to approach that house.

He also knew that with Jeremy and Cat out of the fight, it was up to him now.

And Haley.

Johnny eyed Smith’s black leather jacket, slick and shimmering like an animal skin in the rain.

The undercover agent had a slighter build, but not by too much.

The jacket would fit well enough.

Johnny looked back at his father and said, “Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Within minutes they were on the road, Smith’s car in lead, Big Dickey McVicker’s Mercedes SUV a few car lengths behind.

Two teams of two men, weapons loaded and at the ready.

John Coyle held a modified M4 assault rifle, a more compact version of the M16 he had carried in Vietnam during countless raids behind enemy lines.

Dickey and Johnny each had a .45 caliber Glock 21, and Smith had his Llama 9mm.

As Johnny drove, he let the sounds of the heavy rain drumming the roof above his head drown out all but the most necessary thoughts.

He hoped that the rain, and the cover it provided, would continue for at least another hour.

By then this would certainly be done.

The girls would be safe.

Haley would be safe.

No other outcome but that.

Johnny believed this.

Had to.

Had to see it play out again and again, envision exactly how he was going to achieve it.

The approach to the house, and what would be done once they were inside the house.

He would do whatever it took.

Accept no other outcome but success.

And if someone had harmed Haley, or threatened to harm her, or got in Johnny’s way, well, may God have mercy on his soul.

Haley heard a sound from outside, stood up from the cot, and walked to the window.

A car was parked behind Fiermonte’s, and a man had gotten out and was making his way up the path to the farmhouse. She couldn’t identify him at first; it could have been the man who had nodded at her returning. But if so, he was wearing different clothes — a long overcoat, suit pants, and dress shoes. And the car he’d arrived in was different.

It was, in fact, the unmarked sedan of a detective.

Someone else, then. Someone come to rescue them? A friend of Cat’s, perhaps. She was FBI. Maybe that’s who had been in the watch car outside the hotel? Colleagues of hers. She’d run from them because she didn’t know it was them. And somehow they tracked her here.

Haley watched as the man in the overcoat approached. Nothing in his body language said he was concerned about going unseen by anyone in the house. And he was hurrying, but his manner was that of a man eager to get out of the rain, not a man on a mission of life or death.

Also, his overcoat was buttoned, making reaching for a weapon quickly all but impossible.

The man reached the door and entered the house without knocking.

So was he part of this, too.

Whoever he was.

After a moment Haley heard voices — muffled, no audible words, just like in the moments before the undercover cop in the black leather jacket had left.

That was what, a half hour ago? Forty-five minutes? Hard to keep track of time when one is sitting in a strange, cold room.

Naked, barefoot, wrapped in an old blanket.

She decided that since she was up, she would search through the room again. She wasn’t sure exactly what for, it was simply a matter of doing
something
,
which
would be better than waiting.

Better than thinking, wondering, worrying.

Better than giving in to fear.

She opened all the dresser drawers again, this time lifting up the contact paper that lined the bottom of each one. Maybe something had slipped under them — a pin, sewing needle, paper clip.

Anything that could be used to pick the old lock.

Like her father had taught her.

It was dark, and she could barely see, had to feel around, try every corner, then try them again.

Nothing.

She returned to the closet and opened the door, intending to search through it like a blind person would, feeling every inch of every wall and corner, every shelf. But right away she saw something she hadn’t when she first searched it.

A sliver of light was coming through a small gap between where the floor and the back wall met.

Light from the room directly below — a room that before had most likely been unoccupied and unlit.

More important than that, though, with the closet door open, she could suddenly hear what was being said downstairs.

Muffled still, but words this time.

Removing the blanket, Haley quickly placed it on the hardwood floor and knelt.

She was sweating, every inch of her skin dotted with it. Her hair was damp, loose strands matted to her forehead and cheek.

And the closet was much colder than the room, so cold that she began to shiver hard.

But she didn’t care about any of that.

She placed her hands on the floor and lowered herself till she was resting on her elbows.

Moving as close to the sliver of light as she could get, she listened to the conversation below.

“So what do we do?” a man was saying.

Haley didn’t recognize the voice, so she assumed it was the man in the overcoat who’d just arrived.

“We use her.”

This voice Haley did recognize.

It was Fiermonte’s.

“Which one?” the man said.

“Johnny’s girlfriend.”

“How, exactly?”

“If we’re going to flush him out of hiding once and for all, we need to motivate him in a way he can’t ignore.”

“And that is?”

“Maybe Johnny knows by now, or maybe he doesn’t and his father is still hiding behind Dickey.”

Haley leaned back slightly.

Johnny’s father was hiding behind Dickey?

Johnny’s father was alive?

But she didn’t have time to dwell on this, because the next thing Fiermonte said pushed that from her mind.

“Either way, photos of Johnny’s pretty little girlfriend in distress should set things in motion.”

Haley felt her mouth instantly go dry.

“What do you have in mind?” the man said.

“If Dickey has already reunited Johnny with his father, then things should happen pretty quickly. If not, it may take a little longer. Johnny will of course tell Dickey, and Dickey will have to pass it along to his father. Still, one way or another the man will come out. Even he won’t be able to sit back and let this play out.”

“How do we get the photos to Johnny?”

“The girl’s cell phone has a camera. And there’s only one number in its call history. We snap the pics of her with her own phone and then send them to that number.”

“If the phone has GPS, they could locate us the minute we turn it on.”

“It doesn’t. After we send the pics, we follow up with a text.”

“Saying what?

“That I want to meet with John face-to-face.”

“And he’ll just come. Alone.”

“Of course not. They’ll come in force, fully armed. We make one anonymous call, and the state police pull them over en route.”

“You want him to stand trial.”

“He has nothing on me. If he had, he would have made his move a long time ago. Yes, he and Dickey go to prison. Sing Sing would be my choice. Within view of John’s house in Ossining. I want them both to suffer, publically, and for the rest of their lives.”

“This sounds…personal, Donnie.”

“Dickey made fools of us all. John helped him. And Dickey’s still making fools of us. I bring the man in and everyone’s happy. The state attorney, our Russian friends, us. It’s a win-win.”

“What about his son?”

“Richter isn’t even half the man his father is. He’s no threat to us or the Russians. He’ll either work for them or end up dead.”

“And John’s kids?”

“While Johnny’s being held, the Thai authorities will file another request for extradition.”

Haley’s gut tightened.

“I thought it had already been refused.”

“It seems that they’ve found a witness to the whole thing. They’re waiting for the right time to refile.”

“I see. And how exactly did you happen to accomplish that?”

“New York isn’t the only city the Russians have assets in.”

“But wouldn’t it just be easier to have Johnny killed?”

“I told you, I want John and Dickey to suffer for the rest of their lives. Johnny’s their favorite, and always has been. The idea of him rotting away in a Bangkok prison ought to cause them a degree of pain.”

“Okay, but what about Jeremy?”

“He’s not a threat. Never was. If he survives, I doubt it will take long before he falls back on his old ways. And if we need to, we can always arrange for him to overdose. Another pretty young thing comes along, shows him kindness, then gives him some bad shit. But until then, knowing that his youngest is lost to addiction once again will only add to John’s pain.”

“And the girls?”

Fiermonte said nothing for a moment. Haley, her eyes fixed on the sliver of light, held her breath as she waited for his response.

But Fiermonte’s silence continued. Haley got the sense that he didn’t need to say anything, that the man in the overcoat somehow understood.

“That’s risky, Donnie,” the man said finally.

Fiermonte spoke in a flat voice. “People disappear all the time, Joe.”

“But Cat’s FBI.”

“She has no friends in the Bureau, trust me.”

“Why not just kill her?”

“I want John to know that his only daughter is somewhere out there in the world, doing terrible things to strange men just to stay alive.”

“And Johnny’s girl?”

“Her, too, though I think she might have a career in the movies, if you know what I mean.”

“Her father might be a problem. He has some credentials that…concern me. Her brother, too.”

“The Russians will take care of that for us. After all, we’ll be giving them two American girls to take to market.”

A pause, and then the man said, “So how bad do you want the pics to be?”

“No blood or pain. Humiliated and scared should do it. We want Johnny motivated, not murderous. And I want several pics sent, one every few minutes. I want him to feel bombarded, to think it’s never going to end.”

“So who gets the honors?”

“Have our friend from Detroit do it. Gregorian’s pretty worked up. I don’t want this to get out of control. Anyway, he’d enjoy it too much, and I’d rather not reward failure.”

“We’re doing this right now, then.”

“Yes. Tell her to bring the girl down to the basement. And you’ll need to cover the wall with some blankets. I don’t want anything in the background that could prove the pics were taken here. And then I want the blankets destroyed. Understand?”

“And what about Gregorian?”

“What about him?”

“He still thinks he gets to kill John Coyle. He won’t be very happy when he learns you’ve been lying to him all this time.”

“That’s why Smith is going to put a bullet in the back of his head when the time is right.”

“He is?”

“I told him earlier that if he does this, he gets a full share instead of half.”

“When exactly will the time be right?”

“The moment John and Dickey are in custody. And
before
Gregorian finds out.”

“The same for our Detroit friend?”

“Yes.”

“Her boss won’t be too happy about that.”

“I’m not worried about him.”

“What about the bodies?”

“We’re on the border of a state forest for a reason.”

“I’m sure you’re aware of this, Donnie, but dead bodies are fucking heavy. And digging graves is a bitch.”

“That’s why we have Smith,” Fiermonte said. “If you see any other way, I’d be happy to hear it.”

The man was silent.

“Get going, Joe. We’re almost home-free. Soon enough there’ll be nothing left for us to worry about except where to hide all our money.”

“You want to supervise?” the man said. “Downstairs, I mean. You can be like one of Dickey’s porn directors.”

“No,” Fiermonte said flatly. “I’ll be upstairs.”

“I thought she was unconscious.”

“She is. But I know how to wake her.” He paused. “And I want her to know the truth about her father. That he put his career ahead of her welfare yet again. Just like he always did.”

“Jesus, Donnie, I hope you and I never become enemies.”

“Just don’t ever say no to me, Joe.”

Even listening through a crack, Haley knew that this comment both was and wasn’t a joke.

“C’mon, get going,” Fiermonte said. “Take care of this for me.”

Haley heard footsteps then — the overcoat man was leaving.

But shortly after the footsteps had started, they stopped.

And as they did, a sudden white light swept the room behind her.

The moving light even briefly lit up the closet.

Then as quickly as it had appeared, the light was gone.

“A car’s coming,” the man said.

He must have been passing a window and paused, Haley thought.

She heard another set of footsteps — Fiermonte’s, as he approached the window.

“It’s Smith.”

“About time,” the man said.

“Tell Rachel to get the girl downstairs, but don’t let her start till you get back.”

“Get back? Where am I going?”

“To help Smith. He’s bringing us some supplies.”

“It’s pouring out there, Donnie.”

“Just do it. Then get your ass downstairs. We finish this tonight.”

Footsteps again, then a door opening and closing.

Haley rose and wrapped the blanket around her trembling shoulders.

Her mind was reeling, her thoughts scrambling.

She knew she needed to get control of her head, otherwise there would be no way she could think through the panic that was gripping her.

Holding her so tight she couldn’t breathe.

She closed her eyes, took a breath in, let it out, then took another, let that one out.

Stomach rising, stomach falling.

She remembered being trapped in that guest room in Thailand.

And Johnny’s sudden action.

Decisive, unrelenting.

Three men killed, right before her eyes.

And just feet away.

It was, she knew, her turn now.

Her turn to become what Johnny had become for those terrible seconds, to fight for her life like an animal.

To fight for all of their lives.

She would not be used to bait Johnny.

Clarity came then.

The terror was still there, still rushing through her, but her mind was focused now on what was at hand.

All that she had to stop, no matter what.

Exiting the closet, Haley began another visual search of the dark room.

As before, she found only the dresser and folding cot, covered with a single sheet — black shapes in a blackness her eyes were becoming accustomed to.

But then she wondered something.

Did the cot have metal rollers?

She hurried to it, knelt down, and felt a roller — sure enough, it was metal, attached to the leg by a long bolt.

Standing up, she turned the cot onto its side, doing so as quietly as she could.

She gave the roller a try. It took all she had — attempting to unscrew it with her bare hand, resting for a few seconds, then attempting to unscrew it again — but finally the thing began to spin free, slowly at first, then faster.

The blanket fell from her shoulders but she didn’t bother to pick it up. She needed both hands now.

And once she had the roller free, she’d need both hands to tear off a long strip from the ratty bedsheet…