Jeff Abbott - Panic

‘Your mother trusted me, and I failed her. I feel responsible. But remember, I shot through the rope, I saved your life.’ Gabriel’s voice dropped lower. ‘I’m talking with you. I’m not dragging you out by your heels to fight you.’

Because I hit you with a car and because I have a gun, and you know it. You heard me shoot the lock. And you’re hurt, bad hurt from hitting the car, but you still chased me down here. You need me. Because you want Jargo so bad, and I’m the bait.

‘We need to go to Florida,’ Gabriel said. ‘That’s where I was taking your mother. That’s where she expected to find your dad.’ Tossing Evan a bone.

‘Where in Florida?’

‘We can talk about details when you come out. I’ve got a great idea on how to get your dad back for you.’

‘So let’s hear your plan,’ Evan said. Keep Gabriel talking. Let his voice give away any sudden effort, like rushing toward the Suburban.

‘Jargo wants your dad, to lure you in and ensure you can’t hurt him with the files. The CIA wants your dad or those files, to nab Jargo and whoever’s in the CIA that works with him. I suggest you offer deals to both sides, get them face-to-face. Then you threaten to expose both sides – Jargo as a freelance spy, the CIA as dealing with him, which is an embarrassment to them – and negotiate the return of your dad. Play them against each other. We can work out the details. But come out and let’s talk.’

And what does that plan buy you? Evan wondered. He could not figure out what Gabriel wanted – revenge, but against both Jargo and the CIA? It made no sense. Unless he really was ex-CIA and the disgruntled employee of the century. ‘All right,’ Evan said. ‘I’m coming out now. Don’t shoot me.’

‘Toss the gun out, Evan. Flick on the safety and toss the gun out.’

Evan, lying flat, aimed with care at Gabriel’s foot. His hand trembled and he willed it still. Make it count. But the surface of the road, all rough edges of gravel, made him worry the bullet might not fly straight into Gabriel’s leg. Hurt him just bad enough so you can get the hell away.

He aimed. But before he squeezed the trigger, a single shot rang out. A smack of bullet slammed into flesh, and Gabriel screamed and fell to the dirt.

Carrie glanced back at the whirling sirens and lights. ‘It’s a cop. I told you to slow down.’

Dezz said, ‘Just be cool and follow my lead.’

‘Dezz,’ Jargo said. ‘Take the ticket. You’re a model citizen. We leave slowly and quietly, you got me?’

Dezz pulled over and the county deputy sat behind him, lights spinning, for a minute.

‘He’s calling in the license,’ Jargo said. ‘Goddamn you, Dezz. If we lose Evan over this, you’re dead.’

‘It’s all cool,’ Dezz said.

Carrie tensed, turning to watch as the deputy unfolded himself from the cruiser and walked up to the driver’s side. Just let us go, please, she thought. Please.

Before the deputy could say a word, Dezz held his forged federal ID credentials up for inspection, saying, ‘Special Agent Desmond Jargo of the FBI. I’m heading to Bandera to locate a person of interest in a case based out of our Austin office.’

The deputy took the proffered ID, studied it with care. He handed it back to Dezz, peered in at Carrie. ‘You got ID, ma’am?’

‘She doesn’t need it, she’s with me,’ Dezz said. The deputy looked in the backseat at Jargo.

‘Hello, Officer,’ Jargo said.

‘They’re witnesses. With me,’ Dezz said.

‘Registration?’ the deputy said.

‘Did you hear one word I said to you?’ Dezz said. ‘Special agent. On a case. In a rush. I’d simplify it further but special and agent both have two syllables.’

‘Cute. Registration, please, sir.’

Dezz handed him the card and the deputy studied it. He handed it back to Dezz.

‘Thank you. May we get on down the road, please?’

‘I’m curious.’ The deputy was young, brash-looking, a later-life version of the smart-ass who sat in back rows lobbing spit wads but figured out after high school that police work was steady hometown employment. Carrie didn’t look at him; she looked straight ahead at the road. ‘What case you got of interest down here?’

‘I really don’t have time for a summary,’ Dezz said, ‘and it’s confidential, so we’re-’

‘Not rushing off just yet,’ the deputy said.

‘I’m a federal agent-’

‘I heard you the first three times. But you’re in our jurisdiction, and I haven’t heard that you’ve spoken with our sheriff.’

‘I planned to call the sheriff shortly. We hadn’t located our subject yet, and I saw no need to waste his time.’

‘Her time,’ the deputy said. ‘Step out of the car, sir, and we’ll give her a call about your case.’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Sir. All due respect, you can’t come down and run ninety on our roads.’ The deputy leaned down close to Dezz’s window. ‘Let’s just call-’

‘Let’s not.’ Dezz’s fist lashed out like a hammer into the soft of the throat, crushing the windpipe. The deputy staggered back from Dezz’s window, his sunglasses askew, mouth working in circles for air. Dezz drew his gun and fired a silenced shot. It burst the forehead between the Stetson and the cheap sunglasses.

‘Oh, my God!’ Carrie screamed. She saw a car cresting the hill, approaching them. Dezz floored the pedal; the sedan shot forward. Dezz readied his gun, steering with one hand.

‘Dezz!’ Jargo yelled.

The approaching car – a puttering Chevrolet, ten years old – braked at the sight of the deputy lying dead in the road, and Carrie saw the driver’s face widen in shock. She was a thirtyish blonde in glasses, wearing a Wal-Mart apron and fluffy bangs. Dezz fired twice as they zoomed past. The driver’s window vanished in glass dust and a bloom of red. The Chevrolet left the road, smashed into fencing that marked the edge of a cow pasture, the front of the car crumpling like foil.

‘Not. A. Word.’ Dezz steered back into the center of the lane and shoved the speed up to one hundred.

Jargo leaned forward and closed his hands around his son’s throat.

‘That was idiotic,’ Jargo said.

‘We don’t have time to shit around with cops.’ Dezz sounded calm, as though they’d just stopped to inspect peaches at a roadside fruit stand.

‘I ordered you to take the goddamned ticket!’ Jargo said. ‘Listen to his lecture, smile and nod, be smart.’

‘Dad. The only ID I had at hand was the federal. He was calling it in, no matter what, and I couldn’t let that happen. Better, tactically, to kill him now than to have to run later. It only put us two minutes behind schedule.’

Jargo eased his grip off Dezz’s throat, slapped the back of his son’s head. ‘The next time you disobey, I’ll shoot you in the hand. I’ll ruin it. You won’t ever work again. And I’ll cut you off, and I’ll…’ Jargo fell back in the seat. He lowered his voice. ‘Do not disobey me.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Dezz said.

‘You didn’t have to kill that woman,’ Carrie said in a thin voice.

‘I just shot out her window. So she couldn’t get a look at us, spot our license plate.’

Carrie fought down the urge to vomit. She couldn’t show weakness around him. Not now.

Jargo said, ‘Let’s put the unfortunate deputy and witness out of our minds. We have a job to do.’

Carrie knew his request was for her benefit; the two innocents were already long gone from Dezz’s mind. She checked her gun, wiped a hand across her mouth.

‘Carrie, those deaths just now, they’re regrettable,’ Jargo said. ‘Truly. But I can’t think of them as people, you see? I can’t imagine them as someone’s baby, or that they had a whole and worthy life to live. You have to keep your eyes on the prize. It’s the only way to stay sane.’