Jeff Abbott: Panic

Another step below. Dezz was coming.

‘Can you walk?’ Evan asked.

‘Not far. Not fast.’

He fumbled along Jargo’s body and found the knife. Evan stuck it in the back of his pants, pulled his shirt out over the waist. In case he lost Jargo’s gun.

He handed her his cell phone. ‘See if you can get a signal in here. Call.’

‘I have no idea where we are.’

‘A mile or so south off Alligator Alley, Highway 29 south. Abandoned lodge on the right side of the road.’

The footsteps against the cypress stopped. Dezz inching along the carpet. Or simply waiting for them to run out into the hallway.

‘He’s coming,’ Carrie said. Evan heard the panic rise in her voice. A dim glow shone when she switched on his phone.

The bullet smacked hard into Evan’s right hand, where he held the gun, and he screamed and fell back. In the first few moments of shock there was no pain, then agony flared straight up his arm to his brain. He dropped Jargo’s gun, blood gushing from his palm.

‘Drop the phone,’ Dezz ordered, ‘or he dies.’

She obeyed.

‘I… see… you…’ Dezz called. ‘Still.’

No. Couldn’t be. But then he remembered the goggles. Dezz had worn them outside, tossed them on the counter. Dezz’s retreat was simply to douse the power and get the goggles. Lights out, with only him seeing. Heading back upstairs to kill them.

The bluff – Evan’s only way to defeat them – had failed. Gone. It was over.

His hand throbbed in pure pain. The gun was gone. He ran his other hand along his fingers. All still there, but his right hand was a pulpy mess of flesh, a hot hole in the back of his hand.

‘You… you killed my father.’ Dezz’s voice sounded disembodied in the darkness.

‘You shot him,’ Evan managed to say. The knife. He had Jargo’s knife, tucked in the back of his pants. He reached for it, then froze. Dezz could see him.

Bring him to you. Close enough to stab.

‘Dezz. Listen. We can talk, can’t we? Can’t we?’ Evan said. Let him think you’ve reached the end of the rope. Let him think you’re that scared boy again he almost killed in Austin. He pushed Carrie away from him. She tried to draw close to him but he shoved her away harder. ‘This is between you and me, Dezz.’

‘You don’t have to worry about Carrie.’ Dezz’s voice floated in the black. ‘I’m not killing Girl Scout. Yet. We’ll have a lot of quality time alone.’

Evan tested the bluff again. ‘You have to let us go, or those files break the Deeps.’

‘I’ll just start all over again. Running a network’s a hassle. I’ll do just fine on my own.’

Evan kicked himself up against a corner of the room, held out his bloody hand for mercy. Keep coming, you bastard, keep coming.

‘A guy like me, I can always find work.’ Dezz’s voice cracked. Evan heard the crinkle of an unwrapping caramel.

Evan closed his good hand around the knife.

‘But a guy like you…’ A flash of brilliance blinded Evan. The bullet struck the wall above his head. A hoot of laughter. Dezz, toying with him as he had outside. Evan put out his mangled hand, groped the wall. The gun fired again, above his head. He cowered to the floor. Begged in ragged cries for his life, thinking, He wants to play, please, God, just let him walk by Carrie and keep coming.

Gunfire erupted again. A series of flashes. Downward. The sound of bullets hitting flesh and flooring. Carrie screamed.

‘Bye now, Mitchell,’ Dezz said. Now the flash of light faded, just a repeating pattern in the black, an echo of death.

But Evan saw where the flashes were, ten feet away, a constellation burned against his eyes. Evan ran forward, the knife in his good hand, listening for a huff of breath. To his left. He stuck the knife out straight in front of him and slammed full force into Dezz.

Dezz screamed. Evan flew into him. They fell to the floor. Evan brought the knife down, felt it pierce fabric and skin. Dezz screamed again.

Evan’s torn hand found the goggles and he stabbed below the lenses. Once. Twice. A fist slammed into his jaw, a hand closed around his shattered hand and twisted.

The pain was beyond reason. Crippling. But he smelled caramel, felt warm breath near his face. He raised the knife and drove it downward.

Dezz stiffened and gasped, died, the breath sliding out of him.

Evan yelled for Carrie. He unhooked the goggles from Dezz’s face and put them to his own eyes.

Eerie green. Dezz below him. Dead. He raised his head. Carrie crouched in the opposite corner, near his father. Her eyes clenched shut, then opened wide in the blackness. His father, his face gone.

Evan stared at his father in the greenish otherworldly light. ‘Carrie, it’s over…’ He staggered to Carrie and knelt before her. He put the goggles on her so she could see him. She touched his hand and started to cry.

Evan turned and placed his hand on his father’s chest. He felt the silence and closed his eyes. Behind him Carrie leaned into his back and her tears touched his shirt.

Finally he stood and helped Carrie to her feet, careful of her wounded leg. She held his injured hand tight to her chest.

Guided by the goggles, he and Carrie walked downstairs into the blackness.

‘Y ou have a decision to make,’ the man said.

Evan stood on the wet sand, watching the tide dance around his feet. Carrie stood on the porch of the rental house, arms crossed, watching them.

‘I wanted to talk to you alone, Evan.’ The man was the new Bricklayer, Bedford’s replacement. ‘My proposal is simple. The film you made to bluff Jargo actually has a wonderful idea sewn up in it. Taking over the Deeps network. It’s brilliant in its simplicity.’

‘I only made the video to scare Jargo if he caught me.’

‘You could take over the Deeps,’ Bricklayer said. ‘There’s no one alive on Jargo’s team who knew about you to contradict you.’ Evan glanced at him, but Bricklayer’s smile was neutral. ‘The rest of the network wouldn’t question you were the heir apparent if you told them your parents and Jargo trained you for the role should they die. Your knowledge of the network and its finances will be very convincing. And we can feed their clients – at least the unfriendly ones – whatever information we want.’

‘Or blackmail them into doing your bidding,’ Evan said. ‘I’m not the right guy for the job.’

‘But you are.’ The new Bricklayer lacked Bedford’s charm; he spoke, instead, with a quiet arrogance. ‘Evan. We’ve made a sizable investment in you.’ Because he was a bureaucrat, he started naming the favors of the Agency: ‘Set you up here in Fiji, gave you new names. Provided funerals for your mom and dad. Paid a large sum of money to your friend Shadey for the help he gave you in bringing Jargo down. We’ve given you your life back.’

The life Evan had had was gone, but he said, ‘I appreciate all you’ve done.’ He didn’t want to talk to this Bricklayer – this thin shadow of the decent man Bedford had been – anymore. But he was curious. ‘The other Deeps. You’ve located them all.’

‘They’re being watched.’ Watched. Not arrested. Because they might still be useful in their ignorance if Evan said yes to Bricklayer’s proposal. Bricklayer gave him a lazy smile. ‘Their next orders could come from you.’

Evan drew a line in the sand with his toe. ‘They have lives like my folks did? Kids?’

‘Yes. Lots of kids. And if we leave that network in place… well, none of their kids have to suffer.’ Bricklayer smiled at Evan, pretending that he wasn’t using guilt to shame him into stepping back into the world of shadows.

Evan stared out at the water. He counted to ten. ‘Let me think about it. Let me talk to Carrie.’