Tess Gerritsen - Whistleblower

Slowly he hung up.

“Well? What’s the deal?” demanded Polowski.

“At 2:00 a.m. Saracen Theater.”

“Half an hour. That barely gives us time to set up a-”

“I’m going alone.”

Milo and Polowski stared at him. “Like hell,” said Polowski.

Victor grabbed his jacket from out of the closet. He gave the pocket a quick pat; the cigarette case was right where he’d left it. He turned and reached for the door.

“But Gersh!” said Milo. “He’s gonna kill you!”

Victor paused in the doorway. “Probably,” he said softly. “But it’s Cathy’s only chance. And it’s a chance I have to take.”

“He won’t come,” said Cathy.

“Shut up,” Matt Tyrone snapped and shoved her forward.

As they moved down the glass-strewn alley behind the Saracen Theater, Cathy frantically searched her mind for some way to sabotage this fatal meeting. It would be fatal, not just for Victor, but for her, as well. The two men now escorting her through the darkness had no intention of letting her live. The best she could hope for was that Victor would survive. She had to do what she could to better his chances.

“He’s already got his evidence,” she said. “You think he’d give that up just for me?”

Tyrone glanced at Savitch. “What if she’s right?”

“Holland’s coming,” said Savitch. “I know how he thinks. He’s not going to leave the little woman behind.” Savitch gave Cathy’s cheek a deceptively gentle caress. “Not when he knows exactly what we’ll do to her.”

Cathy flinched away, repelled by his touch. What if he really doesn’t come? she thought. What if he does the sensible thing and leaves me to die?

She wouldn’t blame him.

Tyrone gave her a push up the steps and into the building. “Inside. Move.”

“I can’t see,” she protested, feeling her way along a pitch-black passage. She stumbled over boxes, brushed past what felt like heavy drapes. “It’s too dark-”

“Then let there be light,” said a new voice.

The lights suddenly sprang on, so bright she was temporarily blinded. She raised her hand to shield her eyes. Through the glare she could make out a third man, looming before her. Beyond him, the floor seemed to drop away into a vast blackness.

They were standing on a theater stage. It was obvious no performer had trod these boards in years. Ragged curtains hung like cobwebs from the rafters. Panels of an old set, the ivy-hung battlements of a medieval castle, still leaned at a crazy tilt against the back wall, framed by a pair of mops.

Tyrone said, “Any problems, Dafoe?”

“None,” said the new man. “I’ve reconned the building. One door at the front, one backstage. The emergency side doors are padlocked. If we block both exits, he’s trapped.”

“I see the FBI deserves its fine reputation.”

Dafoe grinned and dipped his head. “I knew the Cowboy would want the very best.”

“Okay, Ms. Weaver.” Tyrone shoved Cathy forward, toward a chair placed directly under the spotlight. “Let’s put you right where he can see you. Center stage.”

It was Savitch who tied her to the chair. He knew exactly what he was doing. She had no hope of working her hands free from such tight, professional knots.

He stepped back, satisfied with his job. “She’s not going anywhere,” he said. Then, as an afterthought, he ripped off a strip of cloth tape and slapped it over her mouth. “So we don’t have any surprises,” he said.

Tyrone glanced at his watch. “Zero minus fifteen. Positions, gentlemen.”

The three men slipped away into the shadows, leaving Cathy alone on the empty stage. The spotlight beating down on her face was hot as the midday sun. Already she could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Though she couldn’t see them, by their voices she could guess the positions of the three men. Tyrone was close by. Savitch was at the back of the theater, near the building’s front entrance. And the man named Dafoe had stationed himself somewhere above, in one of the box seats. Three different lines of fire. No route of escape.

Victor, don’t be a fool, she thought. Stay away…

And if he doesn’t come? She couldn’t bear to consider that possibility, either, for it meant he was abandoning her. It meant he didn’t care enough even to make the effort to save her.

She closed her eyes against the spotlight, against the tears. I love you. I could take anything, even this, if I only knew you loved me.

Her hands were numb from the ropes. She tried to wriggle the bonds looser, but only succeeded in rubbing her wrists raw. She fought to remain calm, but with every minute that passed, her heart seemed to pound harder. A drop of sweat trickled down her temple.

Somewhere in the shadows ahead, a door squealed open and closed. Footsteps approached, their pace slow and deliberate. She strained to see against the spotlight’s glare, but could make out only the hint of shadow moving through shadow.

The stage floorboards creaked behind her as Tyrone strolled out from the wings. “Stop right where you are, Mr. Holland,” he said.

Another spotlight suddenly sprang on, catching Victor in its glare. He stood halfway up the aisle, a lone figure trapped in a circle of brilliance.

You came for me! she thought. I knew, somehow I knew, that you would…

If only she could shout to him, warn him about the other two men. But the tape had been applied so tightly that the only sound she could produce was a whimper.

“Let her go,” said Victor.

“You have something we want first.”

“I said, let her go! ”

“You’re hardly in a position to bargain.” Tyrone strolled out of the wings, onto the stage. Cathy flinched as the icy barrel of a gun pressed against her temple. “Let’s see it, Holland,” said Tyrone.

“Untie her first.”

“I could shoot you both and be done with it.”

“Is this what it’s come to?” yelled Victor. “Federal dollars for the murder of civilians?”

“It’s all a matter of cost and benefit. A few civilians may have to die now. But if this country goes to war, think of all the millions of Americans who’ll be saved!”

“I’m thinking of the Americans you’ve already killed.”

“Necessary deaths. But you don’t understand that. You’ve never seen a fellow soldier die, have you, Holland? You don’t know what a helpless feeling it is, to watch good boys from good American towns get cut to pieces. With this weapon, they won’t have to. It’ll be the enemy dying, not us.”

“Who gave you the authority?”

“I gave myself the authority.”

“And who the hell are you? ”

“A patriot, Mr. Holland! I do the jobs no one else in the Administration’ll touch. Someone says, ‘Too bad our weapons don’t have a higher kill ratio.’ That’s my cue to get one developed. They don’t even have to ask me. They can claim total ignorance.”

“So you’re the fall guy.”

Tyrone shrugged. “It’s part of being a good soldier. The willingness to fall on one’s sword. But I’m not ready to do that yet.”

Cathy tensed as Tyrone clicked back the gun hammer. The barrel was still poised against her skull.

“As you can see,” said Tyrone, “the cards aren’t exactly stacked in her favor.”

“On the other hand,” Victor said calmly, “how do you know I’ve brought the vials? What if they’re stashed somewhere, a publicity time bomb ticking away? Kill her now and you’ll never find out.”

Deadlock. Tyrone lowered the pistol. He and Victor faced each other for a moment. Then Tyrone reached into his pocket, and Cathy heard the click of a switchblade. “This round goes to you, Holland,” he said as he cut the bindings. The sudden rush of circulation back into Cathy’s hands was almost painful. Tyrone ripped the tape off her mouth and yanked her out of the chair. “She’s all yours!”