Jeff Abbott - The Last Minute

‘We have his computer. Leonie is going through the files.’

‘Alone? You trust her?’

‘I have to.’

A knock on the door. The doctor. There are all sorts of medical professionals who are willing to practice on the side to not require you make a trip to an emergency room. Usually they’re doctors or nurses who have been bankrupted by a lawsuit or they have a prescription med monkey on their backs. This doctor was a woman, fiftyish, and seemed delightfully sober. She had a backpack on and blue jeans and inside the backpack was an army field medical kit.

‘Doctor Smith,’ Bertrand said.

‘Smith,’ I said, ‘I hope I can remember.’

‘Doctor I’m Not Going to Say Your Real Name doesn’t quite trip off the tongue,’ Bertrand said.

The doctor said nothing to me except ‘tell me what happened’ and ‘does this hurt? Does this?’ She did not blink when I described getting hit in the arm with a flowerpot, or throwing myself off a building, or landing in a sand truck. She ran fingertips along my arm, tested it, watched me wince. ‘At worst a simple break.’

‘Can’t you tell?’

‘The kryptonite is interfering with my x-ray vision,’ she said dryly. ‘I can equip you with a fiberglass cast. You need to rest the arm, though. No more jumping off buildings.’

‘Okay,’ I said. She set about her work of setting and casting my arm. Bertrand went and turned on a television to a local twenty-four-hour news station. After a weather update, and a political scandal out of Albany involving a state senator and a prostitute, the gun chase through the streets of Brooklyn and us falling off the building were the top stories. But they hadn’t caught me, and they hadn’t caught Jack Ming.

‘I need you to move into fast gear, Doctor, because I got places to be.’

Bertrand said, ‘Inspect his head for concussion, please.’

‘I don’t have a concussion.’

Bertrand brought me black slacks and a black shirt. The doctor assembled a bandage around my arm and put on the cast. I got dressed. She said hardly a word. She left me instructions and a large bottle of illicit painkillers. Bertrand stuck a wad of cash into her hand and she was gone.

‘What is it you want me to do?’ Bertrand crossed his arms. He looked like he should be in charge, not me.

‘Special Projects will be working to find him. But they won’t go to the police because they don’t want to explain why they’re causing gunfire in the streets. Now I just have to figure out where Jack will go.’

‘Sam!’ Leonie screamed. ‘Sam, come here!’

I hurried into the room where Leonie sat. A messaging window was open on the screen. Leonie pointed and I leaned down and read the words you will never find me losers so fuck you.

‘Jack?’

‘Yes. He’s got a remote access program. He’s got control of the system.’

Damn. He could format the hard drive remotely; he could wipe out all the information on the system.

I leaned down and typed I want to make a deal with you. We have a common enemy in Nine Suns.

The words stood alone until another sentence appeared below them: Is this Sam Capra?

Yes.

‘Don’t tell him anything. Don’t,’ Leonie said.

You say you want me dead to save your kid. I know. But you know even if you kill me, your kid is dead.

‘He’s lying,’ Leonie said. ‘He’s lying just to protect himself. To scare us.’

Give us the notebook and we’ll tell them you’re dead, I wrote. You can hide or surrender to the CIA or whatever.

I have no reason to trust you, he wrote. You threw me off a building.

I’m sorry. We have a common enemy. You know I’m being forced to work for them. We can both be free.

This is a trap and I’m not stupid.

Why are you even talking to me then? I wrote.

I want you to know you’ve lost. You will never, ever find me. I’m sorry about your kid.

We could fool them together. Give them a fake notebook. Tell them you’re dead, they’re not looking for you. We get our kids back. We all win.

No. I won’t risk it.

I took a deep breath and typed: I’m sorry, Jack. They killed your mother. I’m sorry to tell you this.

Long silence. Then: You’re lying.

No. I’m not. We tried to save her. They took her and they killed her. At a house in Morris County, on River Run Road. Only house on the street.

I expected then that he would cut off the communication. He would reformat the drive, he would steal our hope from us, he would snap the link.

I offered the sparest of olive branches: I killed the man who killed her. If that’s consolation. The words just felt so empty.

How did they? The letters appeared one at time, typed slowly, as though his hands were shaking.

They shot her. We tried to help her.

Sure you did. Sure you did.

Will you listen to me? I wrote. Please.

Silence again.

I wrote: They will kill you, Jack. Our only hope is to help each other. We fake your death, you’re free of them and we get our kids back.

That requires me to trust you, and that’s not going to happen, Sam. They’re going to want proof. A body.

I will give them proof that satisfies. I have an idea on how we can do it. They care more about the notebook.

‘What the hell are you promising him?’ Leonie said. ‘Anna won’t believe us.’

‘We’re not delivering a body to them. Just proof. She wants that notebook more than she wants anything else.’

I’ve read the notebook, so I’m a dead man. So are you if you read it. They’ll draw you in to give you back your kid and then they’ll kill you. There is no way out of this that works for you. If you let me go I can use the information in the notebook to bring them down. That’s the best I can do for you.

No, I wrote.

The CIA is going to find you before you find me, Sam.

Leonie said, ‘I feel sick.’

Is there mention of a man named Ray Brewster in the notebook?

A pause. No.

That’s the name of the man who’s after you, we think.

I don’t know that name.

I know you don’t trust me. I know. All I’m trying to do is save my son.

We waited for Jack’s words to appear.

‘If they find him first and they tell him that you offered him a deal… ’ Leonie started then stopped.

I waited, fingers poised above the keyboard for him to answer. He didn’t. I typed into the void: Please don’t let my son die. He’s never had a chance at life. He’s only a few months old. Please.

They won’t let Daniel live. I feel certain. You don’t know how bad these people are.

Daniel. He knew my child’s name. A cold fear struck me: Is there something in the notebook about my son?

Yes.

Behind me, Leonie sucked in breath. What?

No. I won’t tell you.

That was his insurance then, to stay alive at my hands.

All right. But then you know I’ve told you the truth. This is our only chance, for both of us. Let’s meet.

Silence for the thirty longest seconds of my life. What do you propose?

We meet. You give me the notebook. We pose you in some photos to appear dead, which I take. I deliver the notebook and proof of your death. I get my son back. Nine Suns thinks you’re dead and they never touch you again.

I have to have money.

That was why he went to the CIA, I realized. He wanted to sell the notebook. I can get you money, I wrote.

How much?

A half-million. And a new name, and a place to hide.

Thirty long seconds. All right, meet tomorrow at the Statue of Liberty. 3 p.m.

Then the machine whirred, the hard drive reformatting. He seized remote control of the system and he blanked out all the files. Leonie hit keystroke combinations, but nothing worked. The screen went gray and blue and a reformat pro gress window appeared. ‘I can’t stop it,’ Leonie said. ‘Damn it to hell.’