Michael Palmer - Extreme Measures

"It was pure luck you caught me in," Wheeler replied.

"Technically I have the week off. I was just in the office catching up on paperwork when you called.

Now, do you want to go over our strategy again?"

"You're going to hang back but keep me in sight.

If there's no sign of trouble, I should just pay up and bring Scott back to the car. If there zs any problem, I'll raise one of my hands over my head, and you'll fly to my rescue."

"Perfect. I also want to caution you not to get your hopes up too high.

"There are a lot of nut cases around this town, along with some pretty resourceful folks who would like to ensure that you never lay your hands on that tape your brother made."

"Well, as I told you, I can't produce something I know nothing about.

And as for my hopes being too high, the only thing that will snuff them out is seeing Scott's body. Do you have family?"

"Me? Hell, yes and no. My wife took off years ago with the guy who taught her painting class. She took my two boys with her. They're grown men now, but I haven't heard from either of them for eight or ten years."

"That's too bad."

"I manage okay," Wheeler said.

They broke free of the tunnel, and Wheeler maneuvered the sedan through traffic to a side street.

"You sure know your way around," Laura said.

"I should. 'twenty-five years on the force."

He turned on the windshield wipers.

"I hope Scott's not standing outside in this," she said. "Rocky made it sound as if he was sick."

Wheeler turned down another narrow street and then pulled to a stop by what appeared to be several abandoned building lots. Behind the lots was a low hillock that extended for most of the block. The steep slope, composed of shrub-covered sandy soil, was an eyesore. It was littered with rusting pieces of automobile, discarded bottles, flattened milk cartons, and the like. The faded, peeling three-deckers bordering the lot on each side seemed to sag under the weight of neglect.

"Nice place," Laura said.

Wheeler glanced around nervously.

"Bow Street is down the other side of this rise.

See those two trees right at the top there?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll be right between them watching. You head up over there.

Take a second once you reach the top to size things up. If this Rocky character is for real, he'll be down on the other side, waiting for you to come in on Bow Street. At the first sign of trouble, I want that hand in the air.

Got it?"

"Got it," Laura said. "Now we've just got to cross our fingers and hope."

"You cross them for both of us," Wheeler said. "I want to keep my hands free."

They exited the patrol car together and then split up. Laura walked to the far side of the lot before starting up the slope, while Lester Wheeler worked his way directly up to the pair of scraggly oak trees on the left side of the crest.. Fine sheets of rain swept down the hillside at them.

"Come on, Scotty," Laura prayed as she trudged upw through the wild blackberry bushes and scrub oak, "be here. Please be here." ' She checked the pocket of her jacket to ensure the $650 was there. She had tucked another $200 in the back pocket of her jeans, just in case.

At the top of the rise she paused and looked across at where Lester Wheeler was kneeling behind the two oaks. when their eyes met, the police captain nodded to direct her attention to the broad, littered field below them. To one side of the field a makeshift lean-to possibly a play fort for the neighborhood kids-was propped 'against a rusting chain-link fence. Squatting beside the lean-to, trying to shield himself from the rain and remain hidden from Bow Street, was a man.

The street beyond him looked deserted.

Laura's pulse had already skipped several beats before she realized the man was not her brother. He was dressed like a hobo, but even at a fairly good distance Laura could make out enough of his bearing and his weathered face to sense that he was no threat to her.

With a final nod to Wheeler, she picked her way over the damp soil, down the gentle slope toward the man she assumed was Rocky.

She was still some fifty yards away when she sensed, beyond a doubt, that her brother was down there as well-almost certainly within the small rickety structure. Only the total of her self-control kept her from bolting down the hill and into the lean-to.

Instead, she forced herself once again to stop and survey the field, looking for some sign-any sign-of a trap. Behind her and far to her left, Wheeler gave her a thumbs-up sign and motioned her ahead.

She was just twenty yards away when Rocky turned and noticed her.

"Rocky, I'm Laura Enders," she said quickly.

"Yeah? Well, whaddaya tryin' to pull?" he exclaimed, "You're supposed to be coming' up that street."

"Is my brother in there?"

"I'm not telling you where he is," Rocky said, unaware that his expression had already answered her question, "until I see the color of your money. Six hundred and fifty, in case you forgot. Now, I'm here to tell you that ol' Rocky didn't. He's got the memory of-"

"Here," Laura said.

She threw the bills on the sand at his feet as she hurried past him to the lean-to and threw back the oilskin flap.

"Oh, God," she gasped, racing inside.

Scott was there, sitting on a small pile of rags, his back propped against the fence. His breathing was shallow and labored, and his complexion dusty. Laura threw her arms around him, but then just as quickly pulled away when there was no reaction.

Rocky appeared in the doorway.

"He don't seem to know much of anything," he said. "Not his name, not where he's from, nothin'. All he keeps talking about is a horse."

"Rocky, do you have any water?"

"Nope. Not here I don't. Jes'wine. They's some at my place, but it's a walk from here."

"That's okay. The wine will do. We've got to get him to a hospital."

"I told him I'd call him an ambulance, but he wouldn't have no part of it. all he wanted to talk about was that damn horse."

"Get me the wine, please."

Laura took her brother's face in her hands.

"Can you hear me okay?".she asked.

"I can hear you." His voice was grainy and his speech dry and thick, but there was still strength there. Laura could feel it.

"Do you know who I am?"

Scott studied her, then shook his head.

"Do you know who you are?"

"I I don't know anything."

Oh, God," Laura murmured. She wined herself not to break down, and then said calmly, "Your name is Scott. Scott Enders. I'm your sister. My name's Laura. Does that help?"

The man with her brother's face as it might be at age sixty shook his head once again.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

"My legs are okay. Got kicked in the chest, though. Ribs are broken."

"well get you help, don't worry."

Rocky entered the lean-to with his wine, and Laura forced a few drops between Scott's lips.::Help, me get him up," she ordered.

Don't… need… help," Scott said, crawling from the hut and then painfully pushing himself upright.

Laura immediately noticed his limp and the clumsy way he used his left hand.

"Tell her about the horse, buddy," Rocky DiNucci urged. "Tell her about that damn horse."

Laura duckwalked out of the lean-to and then looked up at the twin oaks on the crest of the hill.

Lester Wheeler was either well hidden or gone.

"What horse?" Laura asked.

She supported Scott's arm with one hand, although she was encouraged to see that, as he had promised, he could stand quite well on his own.

"Mrs. Gideon's horse," Scott said with no emotion. "I've got to find Mrs. Gideon's horse."

"Our Mrs. Gideon?" Laura asked incredulously.

Marjorie Gideon, a feisty spinster who wore cowboy boots and Wranglers at age seventy-five, had owned the farm nearest to their parents' small spread in Missouri. She was also reputed to be one of the wealthiest people in the county. As far as Laura knew, she had died years before.