Twice Dead (36 page)

“Your father is a very bad man, Rebecca, very bad, indeed. You have no idea what he's done, how many innocent people he's destroyed.”

“I know that he shot your wife by accident a long time ago, and that you swore to get revenge. All the rest of it, it's a fabrication of your own crazy mind. I don't think anyone has killed more people than you have. Listen to me, please. Why not stop it all now? My father was devastated when he accidentally shot your wife. He told me you had brought her with you, faking a vacation when you were really there to assassinate that visiting German industrialist. Why did you use your wife like that?”

“You know nothing about it. Shut up.”

“Why won't you tell me? Did you really believe that she wouldn't be in any danger if you took her with you?”

“I told you to shut up, Rebecca. Hearing you talk about that wonderful woman dirties her memory. You're from his seed, and that makes you as filthy as he is.”

“All right, fine. I'm filthy. Now, why didn't you want my father to come here with me? Don't you still want to kill him?”

“I will, never fear. How and when I do is up to me, isn't it, Rebecca? Everything is always up to me.”

“What am I doing here alone? Why did you take Sam if you only wanted me to come here to Riptide?”

“It got you here quickly, didn't it? You'll find out everything in time. Your father was smart. He hid you and your mother very well. It took me a very long time to find you two. Actually, it was you I found first, Rebecca. There was an article about you in the Albany newspaper that was picked up in syndication. It talked about you. I saw your name and got interested. I found out about your mother, your supposedly dead father, and then I learned about your mother's travels each year. It was then I knew. Most of her trips were to Washington, D.C.”

He laughed. Her skin crawled. “Hey, I'm real sorry about your mother, Rebecca. I had hoped to get to know her really well, but then she had to go so quickly into the hospital. I suppose I could have gotten into Lenox Hill easily enough and killed her, but why not let the cancer do it? More painful that way. At least I hoped it would be. But as it turned out, your mother didn't have a lick of pain, that's what a nice nurse told me. Then she patted my arm in sympathy. She went away in her mind and stayed there. No pain at all. Even if I had come to her, she wouldn't have known it, so why bother?

“But you're different, Rebecca. I have you now and I will have your father, too. I will kill that bloody murderer.” She heard the rage now in his voice, low and bubbling, and it would build and build. She heard his breathing, harsh but more controlled now, and he said finally, “I want you to get in your car and drive to the gym on Night Shade Alley. Do it now, Rebecca. That little boy is depending on you.”

“Wait! What do I do when I get there?”

“You'll know what to do. I've missed you. You have a lovely body. I touched you with my hands, ran my tongue all over you. Did you know I left that toilet bolt on that agent's bed at NYU Hospital? It was for you, Rebecca, so you would know I was all over you, looking at you, feeling you, rubbing you. You hoped when you unscrewed that bolt that you could smash it in my eye, didn't you?”

She was shaking with fear and rage, each so powerful alone, but mixed together they quaked through her, making her light-headed.

“You're an old man,” she said. “You're a filthy old man. The thought of you even near me makes me want to vomit.”

He laughed, a deep laugh that was terrifying. “I'll see you very soon now, Rebecca. And then I'll have a surprise for you. Never forget, this is my game and you will always play by my rules.”

He hung up. She knew in her gut that wherever he was hiding this time, there wouldn't have been any way to trace the call, no matter how sophisticated the equipment. All the others knew it, too.

She depressed the button. They'd heard everything. They knew exactly what she knew now.

She didn't take anything with her, except her Coonan. When she got into the Toyota, she again pressed the small button, then started the car. “I'm leaving for the gym now.”

Her precious mother, she thought. She'd escaped him by falling into the coma. He'd been in the hospital, asking about her. It was too much, just too much.

She drove to Klondike's Gym in just over eight minutes. It sat right at the very end of Night Shade Alley, a big concrete parking lot in front, trees crowding in all around the rest of the two-story building. There were windows all across the front, lights filling all of them. There were at least two dozen cars in the big concrete lot. She'd been here once with Tyler. That had been in the middle of the day. Not nearly the number of cars there then. Perhaps since it was so hot during the day, the Mainers waited until the evening cool to work out. She drove in, picked a place that had no cars near it, turned off the engine, and sat there. Five minutes passed. Nothing. No sign of Krimakov, no sign of anyone at all.

She depressed the button on the wristband. “I don't see him. I don't see anything out of the ordinary. There are lots of people here.”

Everyone should be here by now. They were ready. They all wanted Krimakov. They would do absolutely nothing until they had Krimakov. Everyone had agreed on that.

There was nothing to worry about. “I'm going in now.” She got out of the car and walked into the gym. There was a bright-faced young man at the counter, looking like he'd just worked out hard. His clothes were sweated through. “Hi,” he said, and looked at her.

She wasn't wearing workout clothes.

She smiled. “I was here once before and I rented a locker in the women's locker room. My clothes are there. I need to pick them up.”

“I know you. You've been on TV, on every channel.”

“Yes. May I please come in now?”

“That'll be ten dollars. What are you doing here?”

She opened her wallet and pulled out a twenty. “I'm here to pick up my workout clothes.” He didn't even look up. She watched him for what seemed like forever as he got her a ten in change. He pressed a buzzer and she went through the turnstile.

The room was large, filled with machines and free weights and mirrors. The lights were very bright, nearly blinding. A radio played loud rock, booming out from the overhead speakers. There were lots of young people here tonight, thus the raucous music. There were at least thirty people throughout the big room. Upstairs were all the aerobic machines. She heard talk, music, groans, the harsh movement of the machines, nothing else.

What was she to do?

She walked back to the women's locker room. There were three women inside, in various stages of undress. No one paid her any attention. Nothing there.

She walked out of the dressing room, and this time she walked slowly, roaming through the big room, looking at all the men. Many of them were young, but there were some older ones as well, all of them different one from the other—fat, thin, in shape, paunchy. So many different sorts of men, all there on this night, working away. Not one of them approached her.

What to do?

A couple of young guys were horsing around, doing fake hits, laughing, insulting each other. One of them accidentally backed into the arm of an old chest machine. The big weighted arms weren't clicked in to a setting. When the young guy hit it, it swung out and hit her squarely on her upper right arm. She stumbled into a big Nautilus machine and lost her balance. She went down.

“I'm sorry. You all right?”

He was helping her up, rubbing her shoulder, her arm, looking at her now with a young male's natural sexual interest. “Hey, talk to me. You okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine, don't worry.”

“I haven't seen you here before. You new in town?”

“Yes, sort of.”

He was lightly touching her arm now, as if assuring himself that she was okay, and she tried to smile at him, assure him that she was fine. The other young man came up on the other side, vying with the first for her attention.

“Hey, I'm Steve. Would you like to go have a drink with me? I figure I owe you since I knocked you on your butt.”

“Or maybe you'd like to go with both of us? I'm Troy.”

“No, thank you, guys. I absolve you of all guilt. I have to leave now.”

She finally managed to get away from them. She turned once and saw them looking after her, smiling, waving, looking really pleased with themselves now that she'd looked back at them.

Neither of them was more than twenty-five, she thought. Well-built boys. She was twenty-seven. She felt ancient.

Finally, because she couldn't think of anything else to do, she went through the turnstile at the front of the gym. The young guy who'd let her in wasn't there. No one was there. She felt a ripple of alarm. Where had the kid gone? Maybe a shower. Yeah, that was it. He'd really been sweating.

She thought she saw a shadow outside the front door. It was one of the good guys, she thought, it had to be.

Where was Krimakov? He'd said she'd know what to do. He was wrong.

She walked slowly back to the Toyota. The lights weren't bright in this part of the lot and that was why she'd elected to park here. She hadn't wanted to park close by other cars, hadn't wanted to take the risk of Krimakov hurting anyone else. Now she wished she hadn't because no one seemed to be about.

She reached out her hand to the door handle. Suddenly, without warning, she felt a sharp sting in the back of her left shoulder. She gasped, whirled around, but there was nothing, no one. Only the dim light from the lights overhead. No movement. Nothing. She felt herself slipping. That was odd—she was falling, but slowly, sort of sliding down against the door of her car.

TWENTY-SEVEN

“No,” she said into her wristband. “Nobody move. I'm all right. I don't see him. Don't move. Something struck me in the left shoulder, but I'm okay. Stay where you are until he comes out.”

She sat on the concrete, the unforgiving hard roughness against her bare legs. She put her head back, listened to her heart pounding, did nothing, unable to do anything. She wanted to cry out but she didn't, she couldn't, Sam's life was at stake, and if she did cry out, she knew Adam would come running. She couldn't allow that. What had he done to her? What kind of drug had he shot into her back? Had he killed her? Would she die here in the concrete parking lot at the gym?

Now she felt only light pain in her shoulder. She pressed back against the door and felt something sharp dig into her flesh. Something was sticking out of her shoulder. She said quietly, because she didn't know if Krimakov was near, “No, don't move. He shot me with something, and now I can feel some sort of dart sticking out of my back. Don't move. I'm all right. There's still no sign of Krimakov.” She reached both arms back and managed to grip the narrow shaft. What was going on here? Slowly, because it seemed the only thing to do, she pulled on the shaft. It slipped right out, sliding easily through her flesh, not deep at all, barely piercing the skin. She leaned over, suddenly light-headed. She believed she would faint but she didn't. “I'm all right. Stay hidden. It's some kind of small dart. Just a moment.”

She looked at the shaft she'd pulled out of her shoulder. There was something rolled tightly around it. Paper. She pulled it off, unrolled it. Her fingers were clumsy, slow.

She was still alone, still sitting by her car. No one had come out of the gym.

She managed to make out the black printing on the unrolled piece of paper in the dim light. It was in all caps:

“It says that Sam's at home. Nothing more. He signed it ‘Your Boyfriend.'”

What was going on here? She didn't understand, and doubted that any of the others did, either. She wanted to drive like a bat out of hell to get back to Jacob Marley's house, to find Sam, but she couldn't, she was too dizzy. Waves of light-headedness came over her at odd moments. She drove home slowly, watching for other cars, headlights behind her. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She knew they had to stay low. No one wanted to risk Sam's life by showing themselves too soon.

She was clearheaded by the time she reached Jacob Marley's house. She turned off the engine, sat there a minute, staring at the house. Everything was silent. The sliver of moon shone nearly directly overhead now.

There were lights on only downstairs. She remembered she hadn't even gone upstairs, hadn't wanted to, and then the phone had rung.

Had Sam been locked in her closet upstairs all this time where Krimakov had hidden himself waiting for her to get into bed?

She was into the house in under three seconds, racing up the stairs, picturing Sam tied up, stuffed in the back of her closet, perhaps unconscious, perhaps even dead. She yelled at the wristband, “Is everyone still there? Of course you are! I think you'd better still stay out of sight. I don't know what he's up to. You don't, either. Stay hidden. I'll find Sam if he's here.”

She dashed into her bedroom and switched on the light. The room was still, stuffy, closed up for too long. She pulled open the closet door. No Sam. She knew they could hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs, hear her harsh breathing, hear her curse when she didn't find Sam.

She went into every room, opened every closet, searched every bathroom on the second floor.

“No Sam yet. I'm looking.”

She called out to him again and again until she was nearly hoarse.

She was in the kitchen, pacing, when she saw the door to the basement. She pulled it open, flipped on the single light switch. The naked hundred-watt bulb flickered, then strengthened.