Stuart Woods - Heat

“Oh, yes, sir!”

Coldwater pressed a palm onto the top of Jesse’s head. “God, Jesse and I have heard you. He is with us now, his wound healed. Give him the strength to go forward with us!” Coldwater released Jesse and sank back into his chair. The spell seemed broken.

Jesse struggled to his feet and sat down. He grabbed his drink, took a large swig and tried to slow his breathing.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Jesse,” Coldwater said. “I have these... visitations from time to time, when I am told things. Did it all make sense to you?”

“Yes, sir; I had a wife and three little girls, and they were killed in a car accident.”

“What about the fourth child?”

“I don’t know about that, sir; it didn’t make any sense to me, unless it was really one of my girls.”

“Yes, that must have been it.” Coldwater stood. “Our time is up for today. Will you come and see me again?”

“I’d like that, sir,” Jesse said, rising.

Coldwater took Jesse’s arm and steered him toward the door. “Jesse, God has work for you to do here with us. Will you join us? Will you do His will?”

“Yes, sir; I want to be with you,” Jesse said earnestly. “You just tell me what to do.”

“I’ll have something for you soon,” Coldwater said. Then he pulled Jesse to him and embraced him in a bear hug.

Jesse had the breath crushed from him. He put his arms around Coldwater, feeling small. The muscles in the man’s back were as hard as nails.

Coldwater held him at arm’s length. “Goodbye, my good friend. I will see you again soon.”

“Goodbye, Pastor,” Jesse said, and allowed himself to be shown out of the study.

Pat Casey was waiting for him and led him to the squad car, saying nothing.

Jesse sat in the passenger seat of the car, staring out the windshield. What had happened back there? Had Coldwater, in the middle of that spiel , somehow tapped into his soul for that moment? Carrie still remembered him, Coldwater had said. He hoped to God the man was right. Casey silently delivered him to his truck, then said goodnight. Jesse drove home slowly, thinking of Carrie. She was never far from his mind.

He’s made you,” Kip Fuller said.

“I don’t think so,” Jesse replied. He was in the woods behind the Wood Products plant, on his lunch hour. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think so.”

“He couldn’t just pull something like that out of a hat, for Christ’s sake. How could he possibly know about your daughter? I’m pulling you out of there.”

“No, no, Kip; listen to me. It’s just possible that he could have broken the Jesse Barron cover; I don’t know how, but since I’m not Barron, it’s possible. What’s not possible is that he could figure out who I really am. There’s just no way he could do that.”

“You have a point,” Kip admitted.

“No, I think it was something real, just for a minute there. He used what Casey had told him about Barron, and then he just... I don’t know, he read some part of me.”

“Now, that’s really scary.”

“There are people who can do that, you know, and I suspect that Coldwater is a very intuitive guy. That’s the mark of any good con man, knowing how to read his mark.”

“But you think you’re in now?”

“I think so. I’ve had a formal invitation from the man himself, and I’ve accepted. Let’s see what happens next.”

“I want to know about it if Coldwater comes up with any more stuff about your past life, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Kip.”

“I mean, sometimes it helps to have another valuation of what’s going on, not to just trust your own perceptions.”

“I have a feeling I told you that when you were a rookie.”

Kip laughed. “You probably did.”

“I’ve got to get back to work; I’ll call you when I can.”

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Kip said.

Jesse cut the connection, folded the phone and put it into the false bottom he had made in his lunch box. He would transfer it later to the safe under the truck for charging.

Back in his office he found Herman Muller waiting for him.

“I was looking for you, Jesse,” the old man said.

“Sorry, Herman; I walked back up in the woods a ways to have my lunch.”

“Jesse, I’m going to ask you to do one of those things for me that I don’t want to do anymore.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to go to New York for me next week. I’ve bid on a good-sized job — chipboard and plywood for a new hotel that’s building next year, and the architects want to see somebody from Wood Products up close. It’s the sort of job that could lead to others, but to tell you the truth, I just hate New York City. I swear, I think it’s hell on earth, and it just scares me to death.”

Jesse did not share Herman’s feelings about the city. “I’d be glad to go, Herman,” he said, trying not to sound too happy about it.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. What do I have to do?”

“They want to know about our plant and our production facilities — capacity, quality, reliability. I’d send one of my salesmen, but to tell you the truth, they’re more comfortable talking to lumberyards than architects, and I think you’d handle yourself better.”

“Well, thank you, Herman; that’s high praise.”

“I want you to take some pictures of our plant and equipment and write up a little history of the company and some of the jobs we’ve handled, like the ski resort in Park City. Do whatever you think will make up a good presentation.”

“I’ll get right on it, Herman.”

Muller nodded and went back to his own office. Jesse leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. New York! He hadn’t been there in years. He’d take Jenny, and they’d have a good dinner or two, maybe see a show. The phone rang.

“Jesse Barron.”

“Jesse, it’s Pat Casey.”

“Hi, Pat.”

“Listen, can you stop by the station for about an hour on your way home tonight?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Sure. I’ll see you a little after six.” He hung up the phone. Maybe he was about to be let inside at last. He picked up the phone and called Jenny.

“How’d you like a weekend in New York?” he asked gleefully.

There was a shocked silence for a moment. “I don’t know,” she replied.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Herman’s sending me on business. We’d have a terrific time.”

“Can we talk about it when you get home?”

“Sure we can. Oh, I’ve got to make a stop on the way. I should be there around seven or seven-thirty.”

“I’ll make dinner for seven-thirty, then.”

“Perfect; maybe I’ll pick up a bottle of wine on the way.”

“Sounds good.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

He was disappointed in her reaction to the possibility of a New York trip; he’d thought she’d be dying to go, to get out of this little town for a change.

Jesse stopped at the liquor store and chose an extra-good bottle of California Cabernet, then he drove over to the police station.

The place was quiet, with only one officer on duty. Pat Casey met him in reception. “Hey, Jesse. Come on back here with me.” Casey led him down a corridor to the rear of the station. He opened a door with a four-digit combination, and showed Jesse inside.

Jesse was careful to memorize the combination. You never knew. But something he saw in the room nearly made him forget the numbers. Sitting on a table in the center of the room was something he had not seen for a long time, and the sight of it made his blood run cold.