James Grippando - Last to die

One hell of a root.

She gathered herself up and started forward, but as quickly as she rose she was down again. She was about to scream when he pounced on top of her. His knees were on her belly, and she was flat on her back.

“Don’t move,” he said in a coarse whisper.

He talked as if he had a wad of cotton in his mouth to disguise his voice. There was barely enough light to see that he was wearing a ski mask, but the gun in her face was plainly visible.

“Don’t hurt me,” she said, her voice shaking.

“I hope I don’t have to.”

“Please, take my purse, whatever you want.”

“You got forty-six million dollars in that purse, honey?”

She felt a pain in her stomach, and it wasn’t just his knees. “What’s this about?”

“You work for Swyteck, and he represents Tatum Knight.”

“That’s right.”

“Tatum is one of the heirs under Sally Fenning’s will.”

“Uh-huh.”

He pressed the barrel of his revolver into her cheekbone. “You got two weeks to change that.”

“Change? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t care how you do it. But in two weeks, I want Jack Swyteck to persuade his client to give up his shot at the inheritance and withdraw from Sally’s game.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“Figure it out.”

“How?”

“I told you. I don’t care how.”

“What if I can’t?”

The gun was still in her face, but she felt something sharp at her ribs, a stabbing sensation that didn’t really hurt, but it definitely made his point. “You get it done, bitch. Or your little boy, Nate, goes the way of Sally Fenning’s daughter.”

She was suddenly breathless, barely able to get out the words. “Please, not my son.”

“Please, my ass. Now, keep this between us. If you go to the police, if you make this public in any way, it’s Nate who pays. Understood?”

A tear ran down her cheek, collecting at the depression from the barrel of his gun.

“Understood?” he said harshly.

“Yes,” she said in a voice that cracked.

In one quick motion, he rose and rolled her onto her belly.

“Count to a thousand before you go anywhere,” he said.

She lay with her face in the dirt, afraid to make a move, too frightened to count as his fading footsteps echoed in the darkness.

Tshe next morning Jack went for a run. It wasn’t just about exercise. He wanted to check his phone messages, and it was two miles to the nearest store offering international phone service-cabines téléphoniques, they were called, not really phone booths but private phones for hire. He would have driven, but Theo was off in the Land Rover in search of doughnuts. Rene had warned him that it would be an utter waste of time, but Theo was having one of those bear-like cravings that could have had him scouring a rice paddy for a bag of barbecued potato chips.

Jack was soaked with sweat when he reached the general store at the end of the road. It was early in the day, and he’d run countless hours in Miami summers. That didn’t matter: African Heat, 1; Jack Swyteck, 0. He put his hands on his hips and walked off the side-stitch, wondering for an instant if the sight before him was a mirage. Sure enough, their Land Rover was parked out front, and Theo was sitting on the hood, stuffing his face.

“What’d you get?” asked Jack.

“Croissants.”

“No doughnuts?”

“Close enough.”

Jack went inside and paid the clerk, who directed him to the private phone in back. He dialed the operator, told her to cut off the call when the outrageous cost per minute hit fifty bucks, and then connected to his voice mail.

The most recent message had come through just an hour earlier, 1:37 A.M. Miami time. It was from Kelsey. Her voice was shaking, and it sounded as though she’d been crying. “Jack, please call me when you get this message. It’s very important.”

That was the end of it. Some work-related messages followed, but after the call from Kelsey he wasn’t exactly focused, so he hung up. He held the phone for a moment, debating. It wasn’t even 3 A.M. back in Miami, but her message had sounded too serious to wait another three or four hours. He rang the operator again and returned the call.

“Hello?” she said. It didn’t sound as though he’d woken her.

“It’s me, Jack. Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said, her voice filling with emotion. “But I’m glad you called.”

“What’s wrong?”

She talked fast and told him. Jack wanted to take a moment to calm her down, but he was afraid they might get cut off any minute.

“Did you get a look at him?”

“No, it was too dark. I’m almost certain he was wearing a mask anyway.”

“Try to remember as much as you can, and write it all down so you don’t forget. His height, his smell, his weight, any accent in his voice.”

“He talked like he had cotton in his mouth, so I’m not sure what his voice sounds like.”

“That’s okay. Just write it all down.”

“I’m so scared.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No.”

“Kelsey, you need to call the police.”

“No! He told me-” She stopped, as if there was something she didn’t want to tell him.

“He told you what?” asked Jack.

“I just can’t go to the police.”

“Did he threaten you?”

Again she paused, and he knew she wasn’t telling him something, probably to keep him from worrying about things he couldn’t fix from another continent. “Kelsey, I’m coming back to Miami.”

He could hear the relief in her voice as she said, “I would feel so much better if you did.”

“I’m sort of in the middle of nowhere, but I’ll start working on it as soon as I hang up. Somehow, I’ll figure out a way to get there.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry, okay?”

“Too late.”

“I can hire you a guard to stay with you, if that will make you feel safe.”

“No, that’s not necessary. If I get scared I’ll stay with my mother.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Just get home, Jack. We’ll sort everything out when you’re back.”

“Okay. Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Hopefully.”

By nightfall they were back where they’d started, in the cocoa-growing region near Daloa. Backtracking didn’t seem like progress, but returning early to Miami was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. They were a full day’s drive from the international airport in Abidjan, and that was the good news. Unless Jack wanted to cough up another thirteen thousand dollars to fly to Miami via Paris, they’d be stuck in Côte d’ Ivoire at least another three days. That was when Theo concocted Plan B.

“You sure we can trust these guys?” asked Jack.

“They’re Belgerian. You ever met a Belgerian you couldn’t trust?”

“What the hell’s a Belgerian?”

“They’re from Brussels. You know, Belgerians.”

“So that would make them what? Bulgarians who live in Belgium?”

Theo downshifted, pushing the Land Rover across some of the darkest, roughest roads they’d traveled yet. Rene bounced so hard in the backseat that her head nearly hit the ceiling. Jack just watched the tiny raindrops that were starting to splatter against the windshield.

Belgerians?

Rene asked, “How’d you meet these fellows?”

“They were my drinking buddies back in Odienné. Swyteck here crapped out on me and went to sleep. These two guys were nice enough to introduce me to their African gin.”

“Are they going to meet us here?”

“No. We’re looking for a dude named Lutu.”

“Doesn’t sound Belgerian to me,” said Jack.