The Last Day

SIXTY-SIX

Natasha and Leslie were seated on the couch.

Everyone's heads snapped around as there was a loud tapping on the front door.

“Probably Todd,” Ward said. “I'll let him in.” He took the gun and went to the door. Looking out through the tall glass panel beside the door he saw Todd looking down at his cell phone. Todd put it to his ear, took it away looked at the readout, and closed it.

Ward opened the door, holding the gun behind him.

“Is Thumper in here?” Todd asked.

“No,” Ward said.

“His truck was blocking the driveway. I tried to call him, but I don't have a signal. Turn off the porch light.”

Ward cut the light. “He walked Leslie in ten minutes ago. I saw him outside when she got here. He told her he was going to take a walk around the property,” Ward said.

“Bixby and two other guys are on the way from Charlotte.” Todd looked at his watch. “They should be here in an hour.”

Ward locked the door and followed Todd to the den, putting the revolver on the mantel.

“Hello, Leslie,” Todd said.

“Todd. Want a glass of champagne?”

“No, and before I forget…” Reaching into his jacket, Todd took out the prototype and handed it to Ward, who studied it in the candlelight.

“Any problems?” Ward asked.

“None, but I found out a few things since we last spoke. First, the Scotch was laced with Rohypnol. The drug in Natasha's wine is a hyper tension drug whose main side effect is tremors.”

“Rohypnol-the date rape drug,” Natasha said. “That explains Ward's time lapses and memory loss, and the other drug accounts for my shaking hands.”

“The alarm logs don't show anything, so he figured a way around it to plant the drugs and play mind games with you. Now, Gismano. I called a friend of mine at Bragg, who, it turns out has an open file on Louis Gismano, and was interested that he might be hiding out around here.”

Ward sat down in the chair.

“Sergeant Gismano was Special Forces, which isn't good for us. He was in for twelve years. He was married in ’98 to Evelyn Merrit, and Louis Jr. was their only child. Gismano served with distinction in the second Gulf War, and in Afghanistan, where he received the Bronze Star. Shortly after his son died, he left the service, and nobody's heard anything from him since. My friend told me the driver of the car that killed his son had insurance that settled for half a million dollars. Louis took the money and dropped off the radar.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

“Nobody's heard from him or his wife since he left the Army. The wife's parents filed a missing-person report on her, and they believe Louis killed her. He thought she betrayed him. They both vanished. The mother said Evelyn was having an affair with a sergeant named Ross, who also disappeared from his apartment. The missing sergeant-a Special Forces training officer-made a career of sleeping with the wives of men overseas, and if he is dead, the list of suspects would be lengthy. Gismano started out as a communications specialist, but in Afghanistan he killed three Taliban honchos with a knife during a mission.”

“So, he's a serious threat,” Ward said.

“A very scary individual,” Todd said. “If he thinks Natasha killed his son, we have to take this very seriously. I'm no match for this guy, and neither are my men.”

“So what can we do?” Natasha asked. “Can we reason with him?”

“Well, this guy probably isn't looking to dialog. If he's made up his mind, that's it.”

“And he's probably unbalanced,” Leslie added.

“Probably,” Todd said. “I'm going to ask the military at Bragg to put some of their people on finding him. It's a long shot, but I still know people there and I think they might like to nip this in the bud themselves. Men like Louis Gismano are forces of nature, and can only be handled by men just like them.”

“Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated,” Ward said. The thought of being targeted by a man like the one Todd described was truly terrifying.

“It's cold comfort, but he might not actually be intending to harm you,” Todd said. “We know he's been watching you for a long time. He could have poisoned or killed you in a number of ways if that was his intention.”

“If he means us no harm,” Natasha asked, “why would he be here at all? If he blames me for his child's death, what else could he be after?”

“He is a surveillance expert. Likely he's been collecting intelligence.”

“But you said he's a killer,” Leslie said. “That Sergeant Ross he may have killed was Special Forces, wasn't he? The military thinks he killed his wife, too, don't they?”

“My friend said Louis's wife was in a motel room with Ross when their son was hit. Evelyn's sister was with the boy. Betrayal isn't something Gismano would take lightly. And a betrayal that he thought killed his son…”

“But it wouldn't have been the mother's fault. I mean, she obviously trusted her sister with the boy.”

Todd looked at Leslie and shrugged.

“Howard Lindley ran over Gizmo,” Ward said. “He got a slap on the wrist for the hit- and-run. That had to have pissed Louis off.”

“He was on drugs when he hit the child,” Natasha said.

“Howard Lindley, the driver of the car that killed Gismano's son, was convicted of murdering three of his friends. He said he was framed,” Ward said. “I think Louis killed Lindley's friends and set it up so he'd be blamed.”

“That's pretty far- fetched,” Todd said.

“Is it?” Ward asked. “Is it more likely that the kid snapped and suddenly killed his friends?”

“I followed the trial,” Todd said. “The kid was guilty as they come. He bragged to people on several occasions about running over Louis's sister- in- law and his son. He said he knocked the kid out of the ballpark.”

“Can you find out what Louis looks like?”

“When I get the files,” Todd said. “My friend's e-mailing them from Bragg. All I know is he's six feet tall, weighs one seventyeight, and was bald when last seen. The boys will be here soon. Until then, we hunker down,” Todd said.

“You can use my computer,” Leslie said.

Todd typed and watched the screen, and frowned. “No server.”

“It was fine a little while ago.”

“Your wireless is DSL, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha said.

Todd opened his phone again, saw that there still was no service, and snapped it closed.

“Where's the landline?”

He picked up a remote unit from the bar and tried to make a call.

“What's the matter?” Leslie asked.

“It's dead,” Todd said.

“The line?” Ward asked.

“Yes,” Todd said. “Probably cut.”

Ward picked up his cell and it also had no signal. “I don't have one either,” he said.

“Why is there no cellular signal?” Natasha asked. “We always have a great signal here. There's a tower a quarter mile away. How could anybody cut that line?”

Todd took out his own. 45 and said, “I'm going to go outside, find Thumper, and wait for the men to get here.”

“You didn't answer Natasha,” Ward said.

“It's possible the signal is being jammed,” Todd said.

“Louis Gismano,” Ward said, looking at the revolver. “Jesus.”

“It's possible,” Todd said. “Keep the doors locked and stay right here with the women. Louis Gismano is good, but he isn't bulletproof. If he gets in don't talk to him. Just shoot before he gets within ten feet. If he starts moving toward you, fire. I just need some makeup.”

“How well do you know Thumper?” Leslie asked Todd.

“He's worked for me on a few occasions, why? He seems very adept.”

“He's sort of creepy, and he was wearing a big survival knife a little while ago,” Leslie said.

“A survival knife?” Todd asked, frowning.

“Security guards don't need survival knives, do they?” Natasha asked.

Todd shook his head. “You're sure it wasn't a flashlight case or something?”

“It's a large knife,” Ward said. “I saw it, too.”

Todd slipped off his shirt, exposing a black T-shirt. He went to the fireplace and reached down and began to rub his hands on the fire-blackened stone. He began smearing the soot onto his arms, his face, the back and front of his neck. When he was done, he wiped his palms off on the front of his jeans.

“I'm going to go out and get a signal,” Todd said. “Two hard taps close together followed by a third after three beats is me. Anybody else, don't open the door.”

“Okay,” Ward said.

When Todd slipped outside, Ward locked the front door behind him. Through the window, Ward couldn't see anything, but he imagined Todd, gun at his side, walking up the driveway. He moved back into the den where the candle, set in the fireplace, illuminated the women's faces. Natasha had the prototype in her hands, rolling the tires absently.

“I bet you wish you hadn't come,” Natasha said to Leslie.

“Don't be silly,” Leslie replied. “We're safe with Todd here.”