Witness to Death (33 page)

They drove in silence.

Pressing his face against the cold glass of the window, John tried to relax. He tried to slow everything down, focus on the dashboard, like he did when he was a passenger and drove over a river. Focus on the dash, and let everything else slide away. It wasn’t working.

“I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” Omar said.

John took a deep breath.

“When you came to me, is this how you pictured it would go? That you’d be dragged here as a prisoner?”

John shrugged. What else was there to say?

Nearly an hour later, after driving through Vernon and making a series of turns that threw off his sense of direction, he felt the asphalt give way to rocks. Outside the area was a clear field, no trees, nothing but gravel and yellow snow, getting whiter farther away from the road.

He’d never been here before.

“Where are we?” he said.

Thabata didn’t reply. But when John looked out the front windshield he saw a large metal hangar, like something from an airport. At the apex of the roof was a large S in a circle, the logo for Michelle’s father’s business. He’d never mentioned this place before. John only knew about the office in the city and the warehouse out in Pennsylvania.

The car rolled to a stop about thirty yards from the hangar. Thabata’s hands shook as he pulled at the door and opened it.

John got out of the car, and the cold air punched him in the face. He gasped for air, and felt his lungs expand slowly. His windpipe burned. The rest of his body felt as if he’d just gone jogging, tired and sore. He wished all this was happening in the summer time.

It was a stupid thought.

Two men in black trenchcoats rushed from the hangar and pulled out guns.

John raised his hands. Omar shook his head, and opened and closed his fists.

And then Robert Sandler appeared. He came from a small entrance next to the hangar doors. Sandler was also wrapped in a black trench coat. He squinted against the fading daylight, eyed Thabata, then turned and looked at John.

“You’re alive,” he said, his feet crunching against the ground.

John’s throat closed, and this time he found it hard to swallow.

“Mr. Sandler, is Michelle all right?”

“Come inside.” Sandler turned and held his arm out toward the building.

“Where’s Frank?” John called out.

“Come inside, both of you. It’s too cold out.”

John and Omar followed Robert Sandler through the small door to a canyon sized interior. At least it felt like a canyon. When the doors shut, the sound echoed off the high ceilings and far walls. Two helicopters rested at the far end, beside several boxes with the Sandler emblem stamped on it. Another man in a trenchcoat sat at a desk writing. When the trenchcoats led Omar Thabata through the door, the seated man’s face broke into an inane smile and he sat back, as if he’d just gotten a pardon from the President.

“Where’s Michelle?” John said.

“She’s fine. As is her boyfriend. Although—” Sandler looked at Thabata. “He’s suddenly become useless.”

Sandler held out his hands, pressing them forward slowly, as if asking John to be patient, all would be explained soon.

“What happened at the motel? How did you get out?”

“There was an open window,” John said. “I’m quick.”

Sandler eyes were small slits, and his jaw locked. His face turned red.

“And why are you with
him
?” Sandler gestured at Thabata.

“I brought him,” Omar said. “Thought you might want to see him. He came to me, seemed to know a lot. I thought maybe you could take care of him. If they traced it back to me, it would mess everything up.”

“Ah, Omar, I’m glad you’re here. I’m sure you’re still enthusiastic to carry out the plan.”

“Sort of,” Omar said.

“Why do you say that? Everything is in place now.”

Omar slouched a bit. He shook his head again. “Not right now. We’ll talk later. I want to make sure I have it right in my head.”

Sandler turned back to John and nodded at the far wall. “So glad you’re here. Maybe you’ll get to see an old friend of yours.”

John looked back over his shoulder.

He saw the woman who had jammed a knife into his back standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed. A gun was in a holster on her belt.

He turned back toward Sandler.

“Did you have Ashley killed?” John asked, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. The two trench coats turned their guns away from Omar and towards John. John felt his heart beat faster.

Michelle’s father only smiled. “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe you can do something for me, by going with these men. You’ll see Frank if you go with them.”

“And Michelle?”

Sandler shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe at dinner.”

John hesitated a step, before walking toward the armed men.

“You’ll be fine,” Sandler said. “I just want you to see Frank, and realize that he’s okay. For now, at least.”

The two men took John by the arms and started walking him toward a long hallway past the desk. John went without another word.

The trenchcoats slapped handcuffs on John once he was far enough down the hall, out of sight of anyone in the main area of the hangar. His shoulder erupted when they pulled his arms behind his back. He felt new drops of blood roll from his shoulder blade to the small of his back. Small drops, as if from a leaky hose.

The men pushed John into a small room with a metal bookcase and two swivel chairs and nothing else. They slammed the door behind him, and John heard the lock click in.

Sitting on one of the chairs was Frank Carnathan. His face was swollen, black and blue. His neck was beet red.

John let out a long sigh and said, “Well, here we are again.” He tried to shift his shoulders to ease the burning, but just sent another shockwave down his arm.

“What are you doing here?” Frank said.

“I’m here to save Michelle. Or that was the plan. I came with Omar Thabata.”

“Where is Omar?” Frank was also handcuffed, and when he stood up he stumbled a bit.

John craned his neck in the direction of the door. “In the hangar.”

Like a swimmer coming up for air, Frank’s body seemed to relax and tighten up at the same time. His eyes lit up, his shoulders bunched together, and he went into a crouch. He looked at the floor for a long time.

John thought about getting to the motel with Michelle. He thought about seeing her on the bed this morning and lying next to her. He pictured Hannah. He pictured Ashley. Then he watched Frank, and his skin prickled.

“He let that woman—Christine—torture Michelle,” Farnk said, standing back up.

John felt a lead ball form in his stomach. “Is she…?”

“Said she was fine. I haven’t seen her since.”

“What happened? Tell me what they did to her.” John said. His thigh muscles relaxed as he settled his weight onto the stool.

Frank told him, and John’s arms and legs shook as if
he
was being tasered. He wanted to get up, run to the door, and bang on it until a guard came. He wanted to tear Sandler’s head off. How could Michelle’s father let this happen?

When Frank finished the story, they sat silently. John couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing that would help, anyway.

Focus on your breathing, John.

“What about you? Why didn’t they kill you?” John asked when he finally got his nerves settled.

“They’ll be here for me soon. Sandler thought I knew where Omar was. Now that Omar’s here, they don’t need me.”

John stiffened. “Sandler probably doesn’t need you sniffing around the bomb either.”

Frank tilted his head slightly and squinted.

John relayed Omar’s story. Expecting Frank’s eyes to widen, or his arms to shake was too much. He didn’t react. John answered Frank’s questions as clearly as possibly, making sure he mentioned Ameritech in the process. That seemed to clear something up for Frank, as he nodded when John talked about it.

Frank said, “I was getting close. A man named Weller was my boss in the DHS. Turns out he was on Sandler’s payroll.”

John shrugged, sending more fire through his body.

“So he set me up to be kidnapped on the waterfront, maybe dump me somewhere for a few days.”

“Why didn’t they just kill you? They killed Ashley.”

“I think they wanted me to find evidence that would help blame a competitor for the attack.”

John wanted to shrug again, but didn’t. Let Frank work it out at his own pace.

“This isn’t making any sense. Sandler and Weller aren’t idiots,” he said. “They put me right in the line of fire and now it’s blowing up in Sandler’s face. Weller is dead, and I don’t even know why.”

It seemed there were things both of them knew, and neither of them were saying. Pieces of information that were floating around the edges of their conversation, that Frank couldn’t put his finger on.

“Ashley got me close. She told me something was going on, was trying to feed me information about Sandler. She was my contact at Sandler Industries.”

The lead ball in John’s stomach thickened.

“What the hell was she—?”

Frank looked at John, and again John got the feeling that the answer was close. Mumbling to himself, Frank leaned his back against the door. John couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“She was the one you saw me with in Starbucks.”

John’s head hurt. He kept seeing Ashley taking her last breath. Her eyes widening slightly as she told him she didn’t want to see him anymore. Her smooth skin as they made love.

“I know,” he said. “I figured that part out. But I couldn’t figure out why. I thought you were sleeping with her.”

Callahan took a deep breath. “That was why you followed me that night, wasn’t it?”