Jeff Abbott - The Last Minute

Money versus child. You tell me who fights harder.

Leonie landed on us. Her chair splintering had unbound her from the ropes. She pulled the gun away from him. He tried to lever an elbow back in her face and he missed.

She got the gun. But instead of shooting him she ran, simply trying to get the weapon out of his reach. She fired a round into Mrs Ming’s handcuff, anchored to the top rung of the chair, and pulled the older woman out of the room. Leaving me to fight the driver.

He slammed a roundhouse into my face with his good hand and I fell back against Mrs Ming’s damaged wooden chair. It was ladder-backed, no arms, worn with age. A weapon at hand. I grabbed the chair with one hand and swung its weight into him. Then again. Then again, each time dodging the blows he tried to connect against me. He screamed, in pain and frustration.

I had a good grip now and I swung for all I was worth. One of the legs cracked, separated from its weak nails and I flung it aside. He rolled and I smashed the chair into the floor, missing him, and the seat, torn from the chair, skittered across the floor. I was conscious of blood masking his face and coating my hands. He snarled; he was coming apart, same as the chair. He knew I was going to beat him to death.

He scrambled backward now, fleeing me, retreating back toward a window.

‘Tell me who your boss is and I’ll let you live,’ I said.

He made a noise and then he went backward, through the window, arms up to protect his battered body, flinging himself out onto the grassy hillside. It was only about a five-foot drop but he fell and rolled like he’d plunged from a great height.

The last big fragment of the chair still in my hand was a length of the ladder-back, with bits of wood dangling off it. I stripped them free; now all that was left of the chair in my grip was a two-foot length of tough oak, its top splintered into a sharp spear.

I jumped out the window after him.

He staggered through the trees, survival instinct fueling his run. But I’d broken him – maybe ribs along with the wrist – and his speed wasn’t top. Today had spun out of his control and he was bent by the reversal of fortune. He dodged me through the shade of the oaks and as we ran downhill he stumbled over a white outcrop of rock and he took a cruel fall.

I landed on top of him, knees digging in, the sharp wood raised above my head. ‘Talk,’ I said.

He spat at me.

‘Who do you work for?’

‘You are so fucked. You don’t even know who you’ve pissed off.’

‘Tell me.’

He smiled through a bloody gash across his mouth. ‘No.’

I showed him the makeshift spear and said, ‘I will run this between your ribs and then stir.’

‘I was told to come get the Ming woman and her son if he was here. Bring them here. See what evidence the Ming kid has.’

‘And to hold us.’

‘Yes. For questioning.’

‘But you know about Mila.’

‘My boss does. He knew you were connected to her. I never heard of her until tonight.’

‘Who do you work for?’

‘I can’t tell you because I don’t know.’

‘You’re lying. He has to have a name.’

‘Do you think he’s ever told me his real name?’

‘How does he give you work?’

‘I get a phone call. I do what he asks, and a lot of money appears for me in a Caymans account.’

‘You’re ex-what?’

‘I used to be Latvian intelligence,’ he said.

Very small spy agency. ‘Didn’t it pay well?’

‘No. Money is better doing freelance work. I drive limo here, I do what my boss asks me. He knew my background before he ever called me. Please.’ He could see that if I hammered the spear into him it would slide deep into his windpipe. ‘Let me go,’ the driver said. ‘Please.’

I knew he would not have shown any mercy to me or Leonie.

‘Get up,’ I said. ‘Give me your wallet, your car keys.’

He obeyed. He wheezed; I’d broken ribs with the chair. His face was a bloodied wreck and his shirt and pants were torn. He wouldn’t look at my eyes. ‘You can’t leave me behind here, he’ll kill me. I know he’ll kill me.’

The wooden, pseudo-spear felt heavy in my hand. But I couldn’t kill him in cold blood. ‘Start walking. You can stop when you cross into Pennsylvania. If I see you again I’ll kill you without hesitation.’

He nodded. He stumbled, fell to the ground.

‘Get up,’ I said.

He nodded again, agreeing with me that getting up was a capital idea, and I leaned down to yank him to his feet.

The rock crashed into the side of my head and I went down to my knees, eyes thrumming with pain. He scrabbled across me, trying to seize the improvised spear and shoving my arm into the mud. Then he raised the rock again, slammed it into my face. I twisted my head so he missed my nose but hit my shuttered right eye. It hurt like hell.

I felt the butt of the spear grind into the mud and so I pushed him up. His feet scrabbled in the muck, obliging me, and then I drove the spear into him. It hurt him, he howled, but it didn’t pierce his side. He writhed away and then I was on top of him and I drove it, point down, hard into his belly.

I walked back up to the house, bleary with pain and my mouth tasting of puke. My eye was swollen nearly shut. It hurt but it wasn’t anything more than a black eye, I thought, not a broken socket. I stumbled and kept my feet moving.

Leonie stood in the door, shivering. With my good eye I could see her clutching at her elbows.

‘Mrs Ming… ’ she said. ‘Hurry, in here. Where’s the driver?’

‘Dead.’ I didn’t add it hadn’t been a good death to see.

‘You killed him?’

‘That’s usually what dead means. Thanks for the help. Thanks for shooting him once you got the gun and everything. Really appreciate it.’

‘I had to try and help Mrs Ming… ’ she moaned, and then I ran into the house.

*

The driver’s stray bullet had punctured her chest. Her skin was pale and gray as a clouded sky, blood easing from her mouth, her nose. Leonie had tried to staunch the bleeding. I knelt by her.

‘Mrs Ming.’

Her eyes fluttered open.

‘Mrs Ming. Where has Jack gone?’

Her bloodied lip thinned. ‘Won’t tell you… You people want to kill him.’

‘Is he going to go to his father’s building in Brooklyn? He took the keys from your house, I think.’

‘Tell you nothing… You want to hurt my son.’

‘I can help protect your son,’ I said.

‘Liar.’

Oh, God, please, I thought, please help her talk to me. ‘Mrs Ming. I worked for the CIA. I don’t want to hurt your son. Look at me.’ Her face focused on my bruises. ‘I just killed the man who kidnapped you. I’m trying to help you. I lied to that man. So I’m Jack’s only hope. The CIA is looking for him.’

‘The CIA called me… ’ she said. ‘Liars. All liars.’ Her eyelids fluttered.

Her words hit me hard as a punch. ‘Who in the CIA called you? Who?’

Her lips moved, and her breath gave what sounded like a final hush. ‘They wanted a deal… protect Jack, protect me… if you came I was to keep you at the house until they got there… ’

‘Who in the CIA did you talk to, Mrs Ming?’

But she didn’t want to talk about that, not with fewer breaths than fingers left. Mrs Ming said, ‘My son… help my son, please.’

What was I supposed to promise her? I was supposed to kill her son to save mine. I took her hand. ‘Jack will be all right,’ I said. ‘I promise you. I promise you.’

‘I loved him,’ she said. ‘Forgave him… ’ And the words, the breath, faltered and with a bubble of blood at her lips she was gone.

‘Oh, my God,’ Leonie said.

‘Are you all right?’