Better off Dead

Chapter 55

“He won’t come,” Fenton said. Again.

She first said it when she met me at the small airfield an hour from Los Gemelos.

She said it right after she climbed in behind the wheel of Dr. Houllier’s Cadillac.

She said it three more times as the huge car wafted and wallowed along the long straight roads into town.

She said it as she parked outside The House.

She said it as we walked through the tunnel.

She said it as we checked that the money and the narcotics were still there.

She said it as we confirmed that the final smoke bomb had been removed from Michael’s workshop.

She said it as we sat down against the back wall of the old school’s assembly hall.

And every time she said it, I gave the same reply. “He will.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He has no choice. His plan failed. That means he can’t stay in the United States. He can’t return to Beirut. He’ll be on watch lists everywhere. So he’ll have to go to ground. Forever. So he’ll need every penny he can put his hands on. And every valuable thing he can sell.”

“What if the FBI already caught him? He tried to destroy TEDAC. They’ll have a hard-on for him like you wouldn’t believe.”

“The Bureau wants to find him. Sure. But they don’t know where to look.”

“You didn’t tell them?”

I said nothing.

“Outstanding. Gold star for you. But what if they found him on their own? Or if you’re wrong about his plan? What if you misunderstood? If it didn’t fail?”

“Then he won’t come.”

Fenton elbowed me in the ribs and we settled in to wait.

It was pushing 7:00 p.m. Twelve hours since I was woken up by the phone. Six hours since I broke into the city destroyer. The sun was low. Everything its dipping rays touched turned orange or pink. The view was magnificent. If it only happened once a century everyone would gather to watch. Then rave about what they saw. The colors changed by the minute. The shadows shifted and lengthened. The sky began its final fade to gray. Then two brighter points appeared. Low down. Unsteady. But growing bigger. Coming our way.

Headlights.

Fenton and I moved into the dining hall. We left the doors open, just a crack. We peered through. Five minutes passed. Ten. Then the tall windows lit up like giant mirrors. They went dark again. The outer doors opened. And Mansour walked in. He was followed by Dendoncker. They went straight for the aluminum containers. The ones that were full of cash and pills.

Fenton went first. She was carrying one of the captured Uzis. She raised it and lined it up on Dendoncker’s chest.

She said, “You. Against the wall. Hands in the air.”

Dendoncker didn’t hesitate. He was a smart man. He did exactly what she told him to.

I took a step toward Mansour. He grinned, held out his hand, and gestured for me to keep on coming.

I said, “You don’t have to do this. You know you’re going to lose. You should go sit in the car. I’ll send your boss out when we’re done talking. Assuming he can still walk.”

Mansour stretched both arms straight up above his head then started to bring them down slowly, out to each side, in a broad circle. His fingers were arrowed. It looked like the start of some kind of martial arts ritual. Maybe it was supposed to symbolize something. Maybe it was supposed to impress. Or intimidate. But whatever the purpose I saw no advantage in letting him finish so I darted forward and kicked him in the right knee. Viciously. Hard enough to shatter most people’s patellas. He grunted and threw a wild roundhouse punch at my head. I ducked under it and jabbed him in the kidney. I brought my other fist up under his chin. I put all my strength into it. Pushed up onto my tiptoes at just the right moment. Timed it perfectly. Against a normal guy the fight would have been over there and then. It almost was with him. He rocked onto his heels. His neck snapped back. He started to fall. If he’d hit the ground he would have been toast. There was no way I would have let him get up again. But the wall saved him. Or the climbing bars that were attached to it did. He slammed into the center of a section of the frame. It was ten feet tall by six wide. There was plenty of spring to it. Which cushioned the impact. Allowed him to stay on his feet. He staggered forward. The bars swung after him. They were hinged at the right side. The force of the impact had unhooked their latch. They continued through ninety degrees then stopped, sticking straight out into the hall. I guess they all did that to form a series of obstacles for the kids to climb when they were doing circuit training.

The guy held up his hands in surrender. “OK. You win. I’m done.”

He took a step toward me. His legs were unsteady. His breathing was ragged. He took another slow step. Then a fast one. He curled his fingers into fists. And launched a punch straight at my face with his right. I deflected it and danced away to the side. Which was just what he wanted. He was already swinging his left. I saw it late. Twisted and ducked and caught the brunt on my shoulder. It felt like I’d been hit by a train. I saw him lining up another shot with his right. I planted my foot. Twisted back in the opposite direction. Raised my arm. And drove my elbow into the side of his head. It was the kind of contact that would have split most guys’ skulls. His mouth opened. His arms slumped down to his sides. I reversed direction again and smashed my fist into his other temple. He staggered to the side. His legs were turning to jelly. For real this time. It was my opportunity. I had no intention of wasting it. There was no one to intervene. I jabbed him in the face three times in quick succession with my left. He reeled back. I switched to my right and drove a huge reverse punch into his gut. He doubled over. I stood him up straight again with a knee to the face. He staggered back farther. I followed in and crashed the heel of my right hand into his chin. The back of his head cannoned into the wall. His eyes rolled up. His knees buckled. He flopped down into kneeling position. He balanced like that for a moment, and before he could fall the rest of the way I kicked him in the side of the head with my left foot. He spun around and down and wound up with his chest on the floor. His arms out to the sides. And his face jammed into a gap near the base of the climbing bars. I was pretty sure he was down and out. But I never take that kind of thing for granted. I stepped in close. And stamped on the base of his skull. I felt his spine snap. I was sure about that.