The Last Family (43 page)

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tod said.

“Hello?”

“Paul?” The voice was light, the background full of static.

“Is that you, Joe?”

“Yeah. This is terrible.”

“The bomb?”

“Bomb? What … no bomb. Paul, we can’t find her!”

“What? Find who?”

Joe said, “Eve. She isn’t on the plane.”

“How the hell could she not be on the plane? Look in the can,” Paul said, his heart sinking.

“We did. Larry’s asking the stewardesses.… Wait a sec.…”

Paul could hear Joe talking with someone he assumed was Larry Burrows.

“She got off.”

“What?” Paul shouted. “How can anyone get off a fuckin’ plane?”

Paul listened while Larry mumbled something. The static grew louder, and Paul couldn’t make out but a few words.

“At the terminal? In DFW?” He listened for a few more seconds, then clicked back to Tod. “Anything?”

“Regularly scheduled flight,” Tod said. “That’s strange.”

“It gets stranger. Tod, that was Joe. Eve slipped them at DFW.”

“Then she got another flight.”

“Tod, see what took off in that window. After the Miami flight and right after the blast. Call me back.”

The telephone went dead and Paul turned it off. He sat for a minute in silence tapping the phone against his teeth as he thought. Something had been nibbling at his subconscious all day. Something Rainey had said.
“Six years ago, the day you were hit. Thorne, Joe, and I were standing around in a hospital waiting room in Miami covered in your blood.”
Then another piece, something Tod had said. The reason it had stuck in his mind.
“His only weakness is his mother. He has seen her every year on or near his birthday with one unavoidable exception six years ago.”

“Rainey, when did Martin break out of prison?”

“Day you were shot. Or maybe the day after that. I can’t remember exactly. We didn’t know it right off.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s it!” Paul yelled. Six years ago Martin had missed his rendezvous with Eve. It was when he was … 
This is the anniversary of Martin’s family’s deaths!

“What’s what?” Rainey asked.

Paul picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“What’s up?” Rainey asked.

“Thorne, it’s Paul. She slipped them. Eve slipped Joe’s team, but that doesn’t matter. She’s a red herring. Go red alert. Meet us at Lakefront Airport in forty-five minutes. Martin’s still in New Orleans.”

Dear God, why didn’t I see it?

Paul dialed the direct number for Tod Peoples and screamed at the cockpit door as he pressed the final numbers. “Turn around!”

“You sure?” Rainey asked as he stood, then stooped to avoid hitting his head.

“I’d stake my life on it.” Paul watched Rainey enter the cockpit.

The copilot came out into the cabin behind Rainey. “That weather’s already covering the area. Airport’s closed. We’d have to go to an alternate strip or wait a couple of hours to get in.”

“New Orleans!” Paul said. “Now! To Lakefront.”

“They’re closed, I said. Am I not making something clear? There’s no way to see the ground. There’s a thunderstorm passing through with moderate turbulence. That means it isn’t quite bad enough to twist us like a beer can, but enough to slap us out of the sky!”

“Then we’ll open it!” Paul yelled.

“It’s out of the question, sir.” The copilot spoke as if he were certain Paul simply didn’t grasp the situation. “Minimums won’t allow—”

“Turn back and land at Lakefront, or I’ll blow your fuckin’ heads off and fly it back myself!”

“But it isn’t possible. It’s suicide! The turbulence will take us out of the sky.”

“Don’t call Lakefront till we get close and then declare an emergency and put her down. Don’t tell me you can’t-just do it. Not doing it is suicide.”

The copilot went back into the cockpit, leaned over to speak to the pilot. The pilot turned and looked back over his right shoulder at Paul, who took out the Colt, held up it in plain view, and jacked a shell into the chamber. He let his arm down on the armrest, his wrist down, the pistol aimed at the floor. The plane banked sharply right and headed north by northwest for the Louisiana coast.

“We’re flying back into the storm?” Rainey asked.

“Yeah, you want out? They do.” He pointed absently at the cockpit.

“Where can I go?”

Paul smiled. “Say a prayer for us, Rainey. And for every one of our people in New Orleans.”

“I never stop praying, Paul. I’ve never stopped, and I think the first set’s being answered right now.”

“I should have stayed with them.”

Rainey nodded and muttered something about hindsight as Paul dialed Tod Peoples again. Rainey had never seen Paul so upset.

Rainey decided that if they landed, it was a sign from God. Then he would do what he had to do. He hoped Paul would not get in the way. But if he did, Rainey would walk over him and anybody else who got between him and Martin Fletcher. God was delivering Martin to him.

47

L
AURA LOVED THE SOUND OF THE RAIN AGAINST THE DECK OVERHEAD
, and she loved the hollow clanking of the scores of wind-driven halyards, their steel spring buckles against the aluminum masts, like some magnificent world filled with wind chimes. But the wind had become a wall of noise, and something sharp on the outside was catching the wind and had become a high-pitched whistle. Laura had drained two glasses of red wine to relax her nerves. Woody sat on the couch in his California-casual billowing silk shirt and white Italian pants. The shoulder holster looked completely out of place. Woody’s eyes were cold, the lines around them tight. He seemed even more distant than usual.

“You play golf, tennis?” Reid asked him.

“Golf some. Ride horses. Work out.”

“You must find this bodyguard thing boring,” Laura said.

“No,” Woody said. “Quiet is normal, but it’s always quiet before—”

“The storm?” Reid laughed. “Absolutely.”

Laura smiled. “I just hope it’s as quiet after the storm as it was before. I wonder what’s happening in Miami.”

“What did you do before?” Reid asked.

“This and that,” he replied.

“Where did you learn your violence? School or before? How does it feel to hurt people?”

“I don’t go around hurting people unless they want to hurt someone I’m shielding,” Woody said. “Someday you might have reason to be glad that I’m like I am. Thankful there are people like me so people like you can sleep safely.”

“I’ll just check on the kids. Reid, Woodrow, would you like a glass of wine?” Laura said.

“Glass of wine would be great,” Reid said. “I need to walk Wolf, and I’ll give the guards coffee while I’m out.”

“Give you a hand,” Woody said, standing.

“Don’t be silly. No sense getting that silk shirt wet. I need to take him out.”

Woody sat back down. “They won’t allow you off the boat,” he told Reid. “Orders from Masterson.”

Reid raised his eyebrows. “What kind of gun is that?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

“Glock,” Woody said.

“Could I see it? I’ve never seen a Glock up close. Never felt comfortable with pistols. Pistols are single-purpose instruments. I mean, they’re only good for shooting people with.”

“Well, as long as some people need shooting, I hope the guns’ll be around.” Woody pulled the Glock and stared at Reid.

“Would be a better world without them,” Laura said.

Woody removed the clip and the shell from the breech and handed it to Reid, grip first. Reid held the gun and aimed it at the wall. Then he gave it back. “Interesting. I remember them as being heavier. You keep a bullet in the barrel? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“In the chamber. We carry them armed so they’ll be
ready to use. Sometimes a split second makes the difference between walking and being carried.”

“Where’s the safety?” Reid held the gun out to Woody between two fingers.

“These don’t have a safety per se. They’re like revolvers in that—”

“Please.” The edge was apparent in Laura’s voice. “I’d rather you keep that put away. I mean, it isn’t really necessary to have it out armed, is it?” Laura said. “Paul never entered the house with a hot chamber.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Reid said. “I’m sure Woody here knows what he’s doing. But these walls are thin. What with the kids and all … I mean, if there was an accident …”

Laura went back toward the bathroom.

“No sweat,” Woody said. He put the magazine back in place and the extra bullet in his pocket.

Reid filled two of the plastic, insulated coffee mugs, snapped the tops in place, and put on the rain slicker. “Wolf!” he called. The dog jumped up and followed him to the door. Reid put the leash on the animal, and they started out, the coffee mugs in Reid’s left hand.

As soon as Reid was out the door, Woody took his gun out of the holster and slid the receiver back and forth slowly, careful that the action didn’t make a loud noise. Then he slipped the magazine out of the gun and put the bullet he had ejected for Laura’s benefit back into the chamber. He smiled to himself.
Civilians
.

Outside, the Hatteras’s halogen spotlight hit the agents, who were standing on the dock covered by large umbrellas. Reid pulled up the hood and stepped over onto the pier. The guards walked up. Wolf sniffed at their legs and wagged his tail. Though the dog was hunched against the wind, he didn’t seem to mind the rain. Reid looked back and saw Woody standing on the deck by the aft door, holding his telephone.

“Guys,” he yelled. “Thorne says we’re on a full red alert.”

“Why?” Alton yelled back.

Woody shrugged. “Hey, you want to ask?”

Reid handed the two guards the coffee. “Thought you guys might be needing these. One of you can knock on the hull if you need anything else and I—”

“Thanks,” Alton said. “Appreciate the coffee. This weather is a bitch.”

“I was gonna take the dog for a walk,” Reid said.

“I’ll do that,” Alton said. “We aren’t supposed to let the group separate until we get an all clear. Now there’s a red alert. I’ll pass the word to the uniform guarding the gate,” Alton added as he walked away down the dock behind the dog.

“All right,” Reid said to Tom Nelson. “When he’s finished, just put him on deck, he’ll scratch at the door.”

He looked up, and Woody was gone back inside. “By the way, have you worked with Woody before?”

The agent shook his head. “No, Thorne and Sean neither, though. Big organization.”

“He’s DEA, too, isn’t he?”

Nelson laughed. “Depends on what
he
said he was. I haven’t asked, myself.”

Reid shrugged. “I guess he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t feel comfortable answering questions,” Reid said. “Seems nice enough, though. He gets on well with the kids.”

Reid went back inside, locked the galley door, and hung up his coat. “Brrrr,” he said. “The wind drives that rain straight through you. I’m gonna take a hot shower.” He looked into Laura’s eyes and lipped, “Join me?”

Laura shook her head. “I’m going to see if I can get Erin to go to sleep. I think she’s a lot more upset about Paul’s visit than she’s letting on.”

Reid turned to Woody. “Woody, listen for Wolf. They’ll turn him loose on the boat, and he’ll scratch to get back in.”

Woody opened a book that had been on the coffee table. It was a large photographic essay called
A Day in the Life of America
. “Back in twenty,” Reid said as he went down the hallway.

“Take your time, asshole,” Woody said to himself.

He watched Reid walk down the hallway. Then he waited for a few seconds, slipped off his shoes, drew his gun, and crept back to the aft cabin door. He listened there until he heard the shower running, then placed the gun back in the holster and returned to the lounge. He looked out the window at Tom Nelson’s legs as he moved by in the blowing rain. Then he turned and walked back toward the galley. He removed his shirt and hung it on the back of a stool and ran a hand through his wet hair. A bolt of lightning illuminated him, casting a bright white rectangle of light across the cabin.

Alton walked Wolf to the grassy area at the end of the dock. He spoke to the armed policeman who blocked the pier from the parking lot as he passed. There were several small sailboats on trailers on the edge of the parking lot, and Wolf started nosing around the tire of one. The agent looked out and could barely make out the flying bridge of the sport-fishing vessel where the SWAT sniper was positioned. He could see only a hazy form where the Coast Guard boat was anchored. A man under an umbrella moved briskly toward the yacht club. Alton walked that way, hoping the dog would relieve himself so they could go back out on the pier. There should always be at least two men on the pier near the boat. But with all the firepower around the place he wasn’t worried. The man was in Florida.

The dog led him to another pair of small sailboats on trailers and pissed against one of the tires.

“I have to go myself,” Alton said, looking around. “Hold it here.” He put the leash over a cleat on one of the trailered boats. He walked a few steps and, after checking again over his shoulder, opened his zipper.

As the agent began relieving himself, he heard something behind him and turned to see the policeman from the gate walking toward him, playing his flashlight on the ground in front of him. Then the uniform touched the brim of his cap and turned his back, unzipping his trousers to urinate. Alton looked down at the dog he was supposed to be walking. “Seems like we’re the ones with
weak bladders and you just stand there growling at our own people.”

The dog growled for a second time, and before Alton could turn, the cop locked an arm around his neck, pushed the round blade deep into the base of his skull, and with a quick wiper-blade motion ended the agent’s life. Martin Fletcher held the agent for a second, then released him to the ground. Then Martin pulled Alton’s coat off his body and put it over the recently purloined policeman’s uniform.

Tom Nelson was glad to have the coffee. He hated the close lightning because the accompanying thunder was deafening. He wasn’t concerned that he’d be struck, though. There were a thousand aluminum masts aimed at the sky, and his umbrella was a comparatively small target. He kept his eyes on the point where Alton and the dog would appear. “Red alert,” he mumbled. He saw Alton coming, all but pulling the dog along. He tried to make out the sniper’s roost on the Hatteras but couldn’t. In fact, he could barely see the row of boathouses or the Coast Guard vessel.