The Last Detective

CHAPTER 21

time missing: 49 hours, 58 minutes

I called Starkey from the parking lot while Pike phoned the San Gabriel Information operator. Starkey answered her cell on the sixth ring.

I said, "I have two more names for the BOLO. Are you still at the river?"

"We're gonna be here all night with this mess. Hang on while I grab my pen."

"The man Mrs. Luna saw with Fallon is named Mazi Ibo, m-a-z-i, i-b-o. He worked for Fallon in Africa."

"Hang on, Cole, slow down. How do you know that?"

"Pike found someone who recognized the description.

You'll be able to get his picture off the NLETS for a positive with Mrs. Luna. Did Richard cop to the ransom?"

"He still denies it. They tore outta here an hour ago, but I think you're onto it, Cole. That poor bastard was shitting bullets."

Pike lowered his phone and shook his head. Schilling wasn't listed.

"Okay, here's the other name. I don't know whether he's involved, but he might be in contact."

I gave her Schilling's name and told her how he was connected to Ibo and Fallon.

She said, "Hang on. I gotta get to my radio. I want to put this stuff out on the BOLO."

"He keeps a mail drop in San Gabriel. We just checked with Information, but they don't show a listing. Can you get it?"

"Yeah. Stand by."

Pike watched me as I waited, then shook his head again.

"He won't be listed under any name we know."

"We don't know that. We might get lucky."

Pike studied the mail drop address, then flicked it with his finger, thinking. He looked up as Starkey came back on the line.

She said, "They got squat for Eric Schilling. What's that address?"

I gestured for the address, but Pike slipped it into his pocket. He took my phone and turned it off.

I said, "What are you doing?"

"They'll have a rental agreement, but she'll have to get a warrant. This place, it'll be closed by the time everyone gets there. They'll have to find the owner, wait for him to come down, it'll take forever. We can get it faster."

I understood what Pike meant and agreed to it without hesitation, as if the rightness of it was obvious and beyond debate. I was beyond hesitation or even consideration. I had become forward movement. I had become finding Ben.

Pike went to his Jeep and I went to my car, my head filled with the atrocities that Resnick had described. I still heard the flies buzzing inside the van and felt them bumping my face as they swirled up from the blood. I realized that I didn't have my gun. It was locked in my gun safe because Ben had been staying with me, and was still there. I suddenly wanted a weapon badly.

I said, "Joe. My gun's at the house."

Pike opened his passenger door and reached under the dash. He found a black shape and walked over with the shape palmed flat against his thigh so that bystanders wouldn't see. He passed it to me, then went back to his Jeep. It was a Sig Sauer 9mm in a black clip holster. I clipped it onto my right hip under my shirt. I thought it would make me feel safer, but it didn't.

The I-10 freeway stretched across the width of Los Angeles like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point, running from the sea to the desert, then beyond. Traffic was building and heavy, but we drove hard on our horns, as much on the shoulder as not.

Eric Schilling's mail drop was a private postal service called Stars & Stripes Mail Boxes in a strip mall in a part of San Gabriel where most of the people were of Chinese descent. The mall held three Chinese restaurants, a pharmacy, a pet store, and the postal business. The parking lot was crowded with families on their way to dinner at the restaurants, or lingering outside the pet store. Pike and I parked on the side street, then walked back to the mail drop. It was closed.

Stars & Stripes was a storefront business in full view of the mall, with the pet store on one side and the pharmacy on the other. An alarm strip ran along its glass front and door. Inside, mailboxes were set into the walls in the front part of the store, divided from the back office by a sales counter. The owner had pulled a heavy steel fence across the counter to divide the store into a front and back. Customers could let themselves into the front after hours to get their mail, but not steal the stamps and packages that were kept in the office. The curtain looked strong enough to cage a rhino.

Schilling's box number was or had been 205. We wouldn't know if the box still belonged to Schilling until we were inside. I could see box 205, but I couldn't tell whether it held any mail. For all I knew, Fallon had sent him a treasure map leading to Ben Chenier.

Pike said, "The rental agreements will be in the office. It might be easier to get in through the back."

We walked around the side of the mall to the alley that ran behind it. More cars lined the alley, along with Dumpsters and service doors for the shops. Two men in white aprons sat on crates in the open door of one of the restaurants. They peeled potatoes and carrots into a large metal bowl.

The name of each business was painted on its service door, along with NO ENTRANCE and PARKING FOR DELIVERY ONLY. We found the door for Stars & Stripes Mail Boxes. It was faced with steel and set with two industrial-strength deadbolt locks. The hinges were heavy-grade, too. You would need a truck and chains to pull them out of the wall.

Pike said, "Can you pick the locks?"

"Yeah, but not fast. These locks are made to resist picks, and we have these guys over here."

Pike and I looked at the men, who were doing their best to ignore us. It would be faster to go through the front.

We walked back to the parking lot. A Chinese family with three little boys was standing outside the pet store, watching the puppies and kittens inside. The father held his smallest son in his arms, pointing at one of the puppies.

He said, "How about that one? You see how he plays? The one with the spot on his nose."

Their mother smiled at me as we passed and I smiled back, everything so civil and peaceful, everything so fine.

Pike and I went to the glass door. We could wait for someone to come for their mail and walk in with them, but hanging around for a couple of hours was not an option. Starkey could have arranged a warrant and roused the owner to open the place if we wanted to wait until midnight.

I said, "When we break the door, the alarm is going to ring here in the store. It might also ring at a security station, and they'll call the police. We have to pop the face off his mailbox, get past the curtain, then go through the office. All these people here in the parking lot will see us, and someone will call the police. We won't have much time. Then we have to get out of here. They'll probably get our license numbers."

"Are you trying to talk me out of this?"

The evening sky had darkened to a rich blue and was growing darker, but the street lights had not yet flicked on. Families walked along the narrow walk, coming out of the restaurants or waiting for their names to be called. An old man hobbled out of the pharmacy. Cars crept through the little parking lot, hoping for a space. Here we were, about to break into some honest citizen's place of business. We would destroy property, and that property would have to be paid for. We would violate their rights, and that was something you couldn't pay for, and we would scare the hell out of all these people who would end up witnesses against us if and when we were brought to trial.

"Yes, I guess I am. Let me do this part by myself. Why don't you wait in your car?"

Pike said, "Anyone can wait in the car. That isn't me."

"No, I guess not. Let's put our cars in the alley. We'll go in the front here, but leave through the back."

We put our cars outside the service door, then walked back around to the front again. Pike brought a crowbar. I brought a flathead screwdriver and my jack handle.

The family from the pet store was standing directly in front of Stars & Stripes Mail Boxes. The man and the woman were trying to decide which restaurant would seat them faster with the kids.

I said, "You're too close to the door. Please step aside."

The woman said, "I'm sorry. What?"

I pointed at the door with my jack handle.

"There's going to be glass. You need to move."

Pike stepped close to her husband like a towering shadow.

"Go."

They suddenly understood what was going to happen and pulled their children away, speaking fast in Chinese.

I hit the door with my jack handle and shattered the glass. The alarm went off with a loud steady buzz that echoed through the parking lot and across the intersection like an air-raid siren. The people in the parking lot and on the sidewalks looked toward the sound. I knocked the remaining glass out of the door frame, and then I went in. Something sharp raked my back. More glass fell, and Pike came in after me.

Pike went for the curtain and I went for the mailbox. The boxes were built sturdy, with bronze metal doors set flush to a metal frame. Each door had a small glass window so you could see whether you had mail and a reinforced lock. Schilling's box was packed with mail.

I worked the screwdriver's blade under the door, then hammered it open with the jack handle. None of the mail was addressed to Eric Schilling or Gene Jeanie; it was addressed to Eric Shear.

"It's him. He's using the name Eric Shear."

The alarm was so loud that I shouted.

I shoved the letters into my pockets, then ran to help Pike.

The metal curtain ran along tracks in the floor and ceiling so that you couldn't climb over or under, and was stretched between two metal pipes anchored into the walls. We used the crowbar and the jack handle to break away pieces of the wall from under one of the pipes, then pried the pipe from the wall. It bent at a crazy angle and we pushed it aside.

Outside, someone shouted, "Hey, look at that!"

People were gathering in the parking lot. They crouched behind cars or stood in small groups, pointing at the shop and craning their heads to try to see what we were doing. Two men gawked through what was left of the front door, then hurried away. I didn't know how long Pike and I had been inside, but it couldn't have been long: forty seconds; a minute. The alarm clouded the little store with noise. It was so loud that it would cover the sound of approaching sirens.

We shoved through the collapsing curtain and into the office. Towering stacks of packages crowded the floor and an enormous bag of Styrofoam packing peanuts hung from the ceiling. A file cabinet stood in the corner beside a small desk cluttered with what looked like unsorted mail and UPS receipts. Pike checked the service door as I went to the files.

Pike shouted over the alarm that the way was clear.

"We're good. The deadbolts open with levers."

I opened the top file drawer expecting to see folders filled with paperwork, but the drawer contained office supplies. I pulled the next two drawers, but they only held more supplies. Pike peeked out the back door to see if anyone was coming. Our time was running out.

"Faster."

"I'm looking."

I scattered papers, magazines, and envelopes from the desk, then opened its drawer. It was the only drawer left. The drawer had to contain rental agreements for the customers who rented the boxes, but all I found were ordering records for the services and supplies that Stars & Stripes needed to conduct its business; nothing referred to the boxes or the clients who rented them.

Pike tapped my back, and looked toward the parking lot.

"We got a problem."

An overweight man in a yellow knit shirt was surrounded by people in the parking lot, all of them pointing our way. The shirt was too tight, so his belly bulged over his belt like a Baggie filled with jelly. The word SECURITY was stenciled on the shirt over his heart like a badge, and he wore a pistol in a black nylon holster clipped to his right hip. So much flab spilled from his pants that the pistol was almost hidden. He crept forward with his hand on his gun. He looked scared.

I said, "Jesus Christ, where'd he come from?"

"Keep looking."

Pike slipped past me with his pistol out. I caught his arm.

"Joe, don't."

"I'm not going to hurt him. Keep looking."

The guard knelt behind a car and peered over the trunk. Pike moved into the door so that the guard saw him. That was enough. The guard threw himself to the ground and curled up behind the tire. At least he didn't start shooting. Discretion is the better part of valor when all you get is minimum wage.

Pike and I heard the sirens at the same time. He glanced back at me, and I waved him back. We had run out of time.

"Let's go."

"Did you find it?"

"No."

Pike fell back past the counter to the service door.

"Keep looking. We have a few seconds."

"We can't find him from jail."

"Keep looking."

That's when I saw the brown cardboard box under the desk. It was just the right size and shape for storing file folders. I pulled it out from under the desk, and pushed off the top. It was filled with folders that were numbered from one to six hundred, and I knew that each number corresponded to a box. I pulled the folder marked 205.

"We're out. Go!"

Pike jerked open the door. Outside, the air was cool and the alarm wasn't so loud. The two men with their potatoes shouted into their kitchen when they saw us, and others came out as we left. We turned our cars onto a service street behind a Cineplex theater eight blocks away, and looked through the file. It contained a rental agreement for Eric Shear. The rental agreement had a phone number and his address.

time missing: 50 hours, 37 minutes

Eric Shear lived in a four-story apartment building on the western edge of San Gabriel called the Casitas Arms, less than ten minutes from the mail drop. It was a large building, the kind that packed a hundred apartments around a central atrium and billed itself as "secure luxury living." Places like that are easy to enter.

We parked in a red zone across the street, then Pike got into my car. When I turned on my phone I found three messages from Starkey, but I ignored them. What would I tell her, that the next BOLO she received would be about me? I dialed Schilling's number. An answering machine picked up on the second ring with a male voice.

"Leave it at the beep."

I hung up and told Pike that it was a machine.

He said, "Let's go see."

Pike brought the crowbar. We walked along the side of the building until we found an outside stairwell that residents could use instead of the lobby elevators. The stair was enclosed in a cage-like door that required a key, but Pike wedged the crowbar into the gate and popped the lock. We let ourselves in, then climbed to the third floor. Eric Shear's apartment number was listed as 313. The building was laid out around a central atrium with long halls that T'd into shorter halls. Three-thirteen was on the opposite side of the building.

It was early evening, just after dark. Cooking smells and music came from the apartments along with an occasional voice. I heard a woman laugh. Here were these people living their lives and none of them knew that Eric Shear was really Eric Schilling. They probably smiled at him in the elevator or nodded in the garage, and never guessed at what he did for a living, or had done. Hey, how are ya? Have a nice day.

We followed the hall past a set of elevators until we reached a T. Arrows on the facing wall showed the apartment numbers to the left and right. Three-thirteen was to our left.

I said, "Hang on."

I edged to the corner and peeked into the adjoining hall. Three-thirteen was at the end of the hall opposite an exit door that probably led to a set of stairs like the one we had climbed. Two folded sheets of paper were wedged into Schilling's door a few inches above the knob.

Pike and I eased around the corner and went to either side of the door. We listened. Schilling's apartment was silent. The papers wedged into the jamb were notices reminding all tenants that rent was due on the first of the month and that the building's water would be turned off for two hours last Thursday.

Pike said, "He hasn't been home in a while."

If they had been put in the door on the dates that were shown, then no one had been into or out of Schilling's apartment in more than six days.

I put my finger over the peephole, and knocked. No one answered. I knocked again, then took out the gun and held it down along my leg.

I said, "Open it."

Pike wedged the crowbar between the door and the jamb, and pushed. The frame splintered with a loud crack and I shoved through the door into a large living room with the gun up and out. A kitchen and dining area were across the living room. A hall opened to our left, showing three doorways. The only light came from a single ceiling fixture that hung in the entry. Pike crossed fast to the kitchen, then followed me down the hall, guns first through each door to make sure that the apartment was empty.

"Joe?"

"Clear."

We went back to the entry to shut the door, then turned on more lights. The living room had almost no furniture, just a leather couch, a card table, and an enormous Sony television in the corner opposite the couch. The apartment was so spare that its impermanence was obvious, as if Schilling was prepared to walk away at a moment's notice and leave nothing behind. It was more like a camp than a home. A small cordless phone sat on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room, but there was no answering machine. It was the first thing I looked for, thinking we might find a message.

I said, "His answering machine must be in back."

Pike moved back to the hall.

"Saw it when I cleared the bedroom. I'll take the bedroom, you check out here."

So many Corona and Orangina bottles cluttered the kitchen counters that one man couldn't have drunk them all. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and takeout food containers spilled out of a wastebasket. The food had been there so long it smelled sour. I emptied the wastebasket onto the floor and looked for the takeout receipts. The most recent date on the receipts was six days ago. The orders were large, way too much for a man living alone and easily enough for three.

I said, "They were here, Joe."

He called back.

"I know. Come see this."

I moved back to the bedroom.

Pike was kneeling by a rumpled futon, which was all that passed for furniture in the room. The closet door was open, revealing that the closet was virtually empty. A few shirts and some dirty underwear were piled on the floor. Like the rest of the apartment, Schilling's bedroom held a feeling of emptiness, as if it was more a hiding place than a home. A radio/alarm clock sat on the floor by the futon, along with a second cordless digital phone with a message machine built into its base.

"Did you hear something on his machine?"

"No messages. He has some mail here, but I called you for this."

Pike turned toward a row of snapshots that had been push-pinned to the wall above the futon. They were pictures of dead people. The dead were various races. Some wore the tattered remains of a uniform while others wore nothing at all. They had been shot or blown apart, mostly, though one was horribly burned. A red-haired man who grinned like an All-American boy gone mad posed with the bodies in several of the pictures. At his side in two of the pictures was a tall black man with marks on his face.

Pike tapped a picture.

"Ibo. The red hair would be Schilling. These pictures aren't just from Sierra Leone, either. Look at the vics. This could be Central America. This one could be in Bosnia."

One of the pictures showed the red-haired man holding a human arm by the pinkie as if it were a trophy bass. I felt sick to my stomach.

"They lost their minds."

Pike nodded.

"It's what Resnick said, they abandoned the rules. They became something else."

"I don't see anyone who looks like Fallon."

"Fallon was Delta. Even insane he would be too smart to let his picture be taken."

I turned away.

"Let's see his mail."

Pike had found a stack of mail held together by a rubber band. They were all addressed to Eric Shear at the mail drop and contained bank statements showing a checking account balance of $6123.18, canceled checks, and his phone bills for the past two months. Almost all of his calls were to area codes around Los Angeles, but six calls stood out from the others like a beacon. Three weeks ago, Eric Schilling had phoned an international number in San Miguel, El Salvador, six times over a four-day period.

I glanced at Pike.

"You think it's Fallon? Resnick thought South America."

"Dial it and see."

I studied Schilling's phone, then pressed the Redial button. A number rang, but a perky young woman's voice answered with the name of a local pizza restaurant. I hung up, then studied the phone some more. Digital phones will sometimes store outgoing and incoming calls, but Schilling's did not. I dialed the El Salvador number from Schilling's bill. The international connection made a faraway hiss as it bounced off the satellite, then I got a ring. The El Salvador number rang twice, then was answered by a recording.

"You know the drill. Talk to me."

I felt the same cold prickle I had felt that first day on the slope, but now anger boiled around it like mist. I hung up. It was the same man who had called me the night Ben was stolen and was recorded on Lucy's tape.

"It has to be him. I recognize his voice."

Pike's mouth twitched.

"Starkey's going to love this. She's going to bag a war criminal."

I studied the pictures again. I had never met Schilling or Fallon or anyone else shown in the pictures – these people had no history with me; they had no reason to be in Los Angeles or to know anything about me. Thousands of children came from families with more money than Richard, but they had kidnapped Ben. They had tried to make it seem as if their motive was vengeance against me, and now they were almost certainly holding up Richard for ransom money; yet he was denying it. All kidnappers tell their victims not to go to the police, and I could understand Richard was scared, but that was the only part that made sense. The pieces of the puzzle did not fit together, as if each piece was from a different puzzle and no matter how I tried to arrange them the picture they built made no sense.

We overturned the futon and looked through the sheets, but found nothing more. I went into the bathroom. Magazines were stacked beside the toilet. The wastebasket overflowed with wads of tissue, Q-tips, and cardboard toilet paper tubes, but several white pages jutted up through the trash. I upended the basket. A photocopy of my 201 Form fell to the floor.

I said, "Joe. Schilling has my file."

Pike stepped into the door behind me. I flipped through the files with a slow sense of numbness, then handed the pages to Joe.

"The only two people who had copies of this were Starkey and Myers. Myers had a judge in New Orleans get a copy of my file for Richard. No one else could have had it."

The pieces of the puzzle came together like leaves settling to the bottom of a pool. The picture they built was hazy, but began to take shape.

Pike stared at the pages.

"Myers had this?"

"Yeah. Myers and Starkey."

Pike cocked his head. His face grew dark.

"How would Myers know them?"

"Myers handles security for Richard's company. Resnick said that Schilling called him for security work. Maybe Myers hired him. If he knew Schilling, then Schilling could have brought in the others."

Pike glanced at the pages again, then shook his head, still trying to see it.

"But why would Myers give them your file?"

"Maybe it was Myers's idea to steal Ben."

Pike said, "Jesus."

"Myers had an open window into Richard's life. He knew about me and Lucy, he knew that Lucy and Ben were out here, and he knew that Richard was worried about them. Fallon and Schilling couldn't have known anything about that, but Myers would have known all of it. Richard probably did nothing but bitch about how much danger they were in because of me, so maybe Myers started thinking he could use Richard's paranoia to get some of Richard's money."

"Set up a kidnapping, then control the play from inside for the payoff."

"Yeah."

Pike shook his head.

"It's thin."

"How else could they get my file? Why target Ben as the victim and try to make me look like the reason it's happening?"

"You going to call Starkey?"

"What would I tell her and what could she do? Myers isn't going to admit it unless we have proof."

We went back to the bedroom and looked through Schilling's phone bills again to see if Schilling had phoned Louisiana, but his bills showed no calls outside the Los Angeles area except for the calls to El Salvador. We went through the entire apartment again. We searched every place we could think of to find something that would connect Schilling to Myers or Myers to Schilling until we ran out of places to search, and still we had nothing. Then I thought of another place we could look.

I said, "We have to get inside Myers's office. Come on."

I ran to the door, but Pike did not follow. He stared at me as if I had lost my mind.

"What's wrong with you? Myers's office is in New Orleans."

"Lucy can do it. Lucy can search his office from here."

I explained as we ran to our cars.

CHAPTER 22

time missing: 51 hours, 36 minutes

Lucy stared at me past the edge of the door as if she were hiding. Her face was masked in a darkness that went beyond the absence of light; as soon as I saw her I knew they had told her about DeNice.

She said, "One of Richard's detectives -"

"I know. Joe's downstairs. Let me come in, Luce, I need to talk to you."

I eased the door open and stepped in without waiting for her to ask. She was holding her phone. I doubt that she had put it down since last night.

She seemed dazed, like the weight of the nightmare had drained all her strength. She sleepwalked to the couch as if she were numb.

"They decapitated him. A detective from downtown, he said they left Ben's shoe in the blood."

"We're going to get him, Luce. We're going to find him. Did you speak with Lucas or Starkey?"

"They were here a little while ago. The two of them and a detective from downtown."

"Tims."

"They told me about the van. They said it was going to be on the news, and they didn't want me to see it like that. They asked me about Fallon again, and two other men, an African man and someone named Schilling. They had pictures."

"How about Richard? Did they mention Richard?"

"Why would they mention Richard?"

"Did you speak with him this evening?"

"I've called him, but he hasn't returned my calls."

She frowned at me, and looked even more concerned.

"Why would they mention Richard? Did something happen to Richard, too?"

"We think that Fallon might have contacted Richard to ask for ransom money. That's probably why Fallon did what he did to DeNice, to scare Richard into paying."

"They didn't say that."

She frowned deeper and shook her head.

"Richard didn't say anything about that."

"If Fallon scared him badly enough, he wouldn't, and I think that Fallon scared him plenty. Fallon scared all of us. Lucy, listen, I think that Myers is involved. That's why they took Ben; and that's how they knew about me. Through Myers."

"Why would -"

I put the copy of my 201 in her hands. She looked at it without understanding.

"This is my military record. It's private. You can't get it from the Army unless I request it or you have a court order. The Army sent out only two copies of this thing, Luce, one to Starkey because of this investigation, and one to a judge in New Orleans three months ago. That judge sent it to Leland Myers."

Lucy looked at the pages. I knew from the way she darkened that she was remembering Richard in the interview room.

"Richard had you investigated."

"Myers is his head of security, so Myers would have handled that. Myers also handles security at Richard's overseas facilities. I talked to a man today who says that Schilling was looking for security work in Central America."

"Richard has holdings in El Salvador."

She glanced up again, and now she didn't seem so hazy. Her anger showed in the way she held her head.

"The judge in New Orleans, who was he?"

"Rulon Lester. Do you know him?"

She thought about it, trying to place the name, then shook her head.

"No, I don't think so."

"I spoke with his assistant. He sent my file to Myers, so Myers had one of only two copies that the Army released. Joe and I found this copy in an apartment in San Gabriel that belongs to Eric Schilling. He made at least six phone calls to a number in San Miguel, El Salvador, that belongs to Michael Fallon. It's Fallon on your tape, Lucy. I called the number. I recognized his voice."

I opened Schilling's phone bills and pointed out the calls to El Salvador. She stared at the number, then dialed it into her phone. I watched her as it rang. I watched as she listened. Her face darkened as she listened to his voice, and then she jabbed hard at the phone to end the call. She smashed the phone down onto the arm of the couch. I didn't stop her. I waited.

"The only way they could have gotten my 201 file is through Myers. Myers probably set up the entire thing and brought them in on it. They nabbed Ben with me as the smoke screen because Richard would buy into that. Myers probably even talked him into coming out here with people of his own to find Ben. That way, Myers could ride it from the inside and control how Richard reacted. He was Richard's point man in the investigation. He could feed Richard the ransom demand and encourage him to go along."

Lucy stood hard.

"Richard's at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Let's go see him."

I didn't move.

"And tell him what? We have the file, but we can't prove Myers knows them. If we don't have something definite, he'll deny everything and then we're stuck. He'll know that we know, and then the only thing left for him is to get rid of the evidence."

Get rid of Ben.

Lucy lowered herself onto the couch and stared at me.

"You said you need my help. You already know how you want me to help, and it's something you can't do or you would be doing it."

"If Myers hired these people before he started thinking about this, then he probably hired them straight up. Richard's company would have a record of it. We have Fallon's phone number in El Salvador and Schilling's number in San Gabriel. If Myers called either of them at any time and for any reason from a company phone, those records will exist."

"But we don't want to ask Richard because Richard might lose it with Myers."

"Myers can't know."

Lucy slumped back, thinking. She glanced at her watch.

"It's almost ten in Louisiana. Everyone from the office should be home."

She went into her bedroom, then returned with a battered leather address book, and flipped through the pages.

"I had friends at Richard's company before we were divorced. I was close to some of these people. Everyone knew he was an asshole, especially the people who knew him the best."

She settled back with her phone and pulled her legs up so that she was sitting cross-legged and dialed a number.

"Hello, Sondra? It's Lucy. Yeah, here in L.A. How are you?"

Sondra Burkhardt had been Richard's comptroller for sixteen years. She oversaw an accounting department which was responsible for paying the company's bills, collecting monies, and tracking cash flow. Most of her job was done by computer, but she told the computer what to do. Sondra had played tennis with Lucy at LSU, and Lucy had gotten her the job. Sondra also had three children, the youngest of whom was six, and Lucy was her godmother.

"Sondra, I need a favor that's going to sound strange and I don't have time to -"

Lucy paused, listening, then nodded.

"Thanks, babe. Okay, I'm going to give you three names, and I need to know whether or not they were ever on the payroll. Can you do that from home?"

I interrupted.

" Central America. Any time in the past year."

Lucy nodded.

"They would have been foreign hires, probably in Central America sometime in the past year. Myers would have been the one to hire them. No, I don't have Social Security numbers, just the names. I understand, that makes it harder. I know."

Lucy gave her the names, then asked if we could get a list of all the calls that Myers had made to Los Angeles and El Salvador. Lucy frowned as she listened to the answer, then asked Sondra to hang on and covered the phone. She looked at me.

"If we can't tell her when he made the calls, she might have to check through thousands of calls. They make hundreds of international calls every day."

"See if she can check for the specific numbers."

Lucy asked her, then covered the phone again.

"Yeah, she can do that, but she'll have to do it by billing period. I guess that's the way the database is set up."

I checked the phone bills for the dates of the four-day period when Schilling had called El Salvador. Myers would have been involved in the planning.

"Have her check whatever billing period includes these four days. If we don't get anything, she can check the prior period."

Lucy gave her Schilling's phone number, Fallon's number in San Miguel, and the dates. After that, Lucy settled back with the phone to her ear and waited.

"She's looking."

"Okay."

We stared at each other. Lucy made a very small smile, and I smiled back. It felt as if the awkwardness between us had somehow vanished in the mutual effort of searching for Ben, as if we were one again and not two, and in that moment my heart seemed to quiet. But then her brow knotted and Lucy tightened in a way that brought her forward.

She said, "I'm sorry, Sondra, say that again."

I said, "What?"

She held up her hand to silence me. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated. Lucy shook her head as if she didn't understand what she was hearing, but then I realized that she was resisting what she was hearing.

I said, "What is it?"

"She found eleven calls to the San Miguel number, none to L.A., but eleven to San Miguel. Myers only made four of the calls. Richard made the other seven."

"That can't be right. It had to be Myers. Myers must have used his phone."

Lucy shook her head as if she were numb.

"They weren't made from Richard's office. The company pays for the phones at his house, too. Richard called San Miguel from home."

"Can she print out the call list?"

Lucy asked in a monotone robotic voice.

"Yes."

"Have her make a hard copy."

Lucy asked for a hard copy.

"Have her fax it to us."

Lucy gave her fax number, then asked Sondra to send it. Lucy's voice was distant, like a little girl lost in the woods.

The list of calls printed out of Lucy's fax a few minutes later. We stood over the fax as if it were a crystal ball and we were waiting to see the future.

Lucy read the list, holding my hand so tightly that her nails cut into my skin. She saw for herself. She repeated Richard's home number aloud.

"What did he do? Oh, my God, what did he do?"

I had been wrong about everything. Richard had been so frightened that something bad would happen to Ben and Lucy because of me that he had decided to make it happen himself. He arranged for the fake kidnapping of his own son so that he could blame it on me. He wanted Lucy to come to her senses. He wanted to drive us apart to save her, so he had hired people who were willing to do anything-Fallon and Schilling and Ibo. He probably hadn't known who they were or what they had done until Starkey and I pulled the Interpol file. I guess Myers had helped him put it together. But once Fallon had Ben, Fallon had double-crossed him and now Richard was caught.

"Oh my God, what did he do?"

Richard had lost Ben.

I took the fax and the other things, and then I took Lucy's hand.

"Now it's time to see Richard. I'll bring him home to you, Luce. I'm going to get Ben."

We went down the stairs together, then drove to Richard's hotel.

time missing: 52 hours, 21 minutes

The Beverly Hills Hotel was a great pink beast that sprawled along Sunset Boulevard where Benedict Canyon emptied into Beverly Hills. That part of Beverly Hills was home to some of the wealthiest people in the world, and the Pink Palace fit well, resting on a little rise like a Mission Revival crown jewel. Movie stars and Middle-Eastern oil sheiks felt comfortable staying behind the manicured walls; I guess Richard felt comfortable there, too. He was in a bungalow that cost two thousand dollars a night.

Lucy knew which room was his, and was the only one of the three of us who looked like she belonged at the hotel. I looked like a maniac, and Pike just looked like Pike.

We crossed the lobby, then followed a winding path through verdant grounds that smelled of night-blooming jasmine. Ben could be anywhere, but Richard was home; Myers had answered his phone. That meant Fallon still had Ben, and Richard was still trying to buy him back.

Pike said, "How do you want to play this?"

"You know how I'm going to play it."

"In front of Lucy?"

She said, "You don't have a choice."

The bungalows that dotted the path were expensive because they were private; each little bungalow separate from the others, and hidden by landscaping. It was like walking through a tailored jungle.

Ahead of us, we saw Fontenot standing outside a door at a fork in the path. He was smoking, and bouncing from foot to foot. Nervous. Myers came out of a room, spoke to him, then went up the path. Fontenot went into the room that Myers had left.

"Is that Richard's?"

"No, Myers is staying in that one. It's not a full bungalow; it's just a room. Richard has the bungalow across."

"Wait here."

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm waiting."

"Wait. I want to get Fontenot first, then we'll see Richard. Fontenot might know something that will help us, and it'll be faster if you wait."

Pike said, "Fontenot will help. I promise."

Lucy looked at Joe, and nodded. She knew he meant it, and that speed was everything.

Lucy stayed on the path in the shadows while Joe and I went to the door. We didn't bother with knocking or pretending to be room service or anything cute like that; we hit the door so hard that the doorknob caught in the wall. That made three busted doors in one day, but who's counting?

Fontenot was watching television with his feet up on the bed. A pistol sat on the floor beside him, but Pike and I were inside and on him before he could reach it. He hesitated, seeing our guns, then wet his lips.

I said, "Did you see DeNice? Did you see what they did to him?"

Fontenot was shaky getting to his feet. He had the twitchy eyes of someone who had been nervous for most of the day and was even more nervous now. The room smelled of bourbon.

"What the fuck? What are you doing?"

I kicked his gun under the bed.

"Is Richard in his room?"

"I don't know where Richard is. Get out of here. You got no business being here."

Pike snapped his pistol across Fontenot's face like before. Fontenot fell sideways onto the bed. Pike cocked his pistol and pressed the muzzle into Fontenot's ear.

I said, "We know. We know that Richard hired them. We know this was all about fucking me over, but it turned upside down. Is Richard in contact with these people? Has he made a deal for Ben?"

Fontenot closed his eyes.

"Is Ben still alive?"

Fontenot tried to say something, but his lower lip trembled. He closed his eyes tighter, like he was trying not to see.

"They cut off Debbie's head."

I shouted into his face.

" IS BEN STILL ALIVE? "

"Richard doesn't have enough money. They want it in cash, and he can't get enough. They only gave him a few hours. We got some of it, but not all. That's why Debbie went to see them, and look what they did. We been trying to put this together all day, but look what they did."

Something moved behind me. Lucy had come to the door.

She said, "How much do they want for my son?"

"Five million. They want five million in cash, but Richard couldn't put it together. He's been trying all day, but that was all he could get."

Fontenot waved at the closet, and cried even more.

A large Tumi duffel was in the closet. It was heavy with packs of hundred-dollar bills, but it wasn't heavy enough.

time missing: 52 hours, 29 minutes

When Myers opened the door, I pushed Fontenot hard into the room. Richard was haggard, with his hair sticking out as if he'd been running his hands over his head all afternoon. Even Myers looked beaten. Richard was holding his cell phone with both hands, like a bible.

"Get out. Get them out of here, Lee."

Pike heaved the bag into the middle of the floor.

"Look familiar?"

A smile flickered at the corner of Myers's mouth. He was probably relieved.

"I'd say they have the money and they know what we're doing."

Lucy came in behind Joe. Richard's eyes widened and he raked his hand across his head as if it had become a nervous tick.

"They don't know anything. Keep your mouth shut."

Myers stared at him.

"Richard, stop. It's time to stop before this mess gets worse. The wheels are coming off, Richard. Jesus Christ, wake up."

Lucy was as rigid as a statue. Her legs were tight together, her face closed. Her eyebrows were knitted so deeply that her eyes were hidden.

"You self-absorbed sonofabitch. Where is my son?"

Richard's eyes fluttered like two trapped moths. His mouth hung loose, as if he had aged a thousand years since yesterday. I didn't feel so angry any more; I felt empty, and worried for Ben.

Richard was so scared that I turned to Myers.

"What's Fallon doing, Myers? How are they playing this?"

Richard screamed.

"Shut up!"

Myers moved faster than I thought he could; he grabbed Richard by the shirt and bent him backwards toward the bed.

"They know. Get your head around it, Richard – they know. Now let's get back to business. Your son is waiting."

Myers shoved him away, then turned back to the black Tumi bag.

"That's three- point- two million, but they want five.

We tried to tell them, but, you know, no one ever believes you with something like this. DeNice was their answer."

Myers stepped around the money, then looked at me.

"Fallon knows what he's doing, Cole. He's been jamming us all day, pushing it forward to keep us off balance. We didn't even know it was happening until this morning. That's how fast it's been, just this one day. All of it started this morning."

"Where are you with it?"

"He gave us today to get the money, that's it. Just the one business day. Richard has to call them by nine. That's in eight minutes. Fallon told us not to bother calling after that. You know what he'll do after that."

Pike said, "You should have told the police."

Myers glanced at Richard, then shrugged.

Richard said, "They were supposed to take him away for a few days. He was supposed to watch videos and eat pizza until we came out, that's all it was supposed to be."

Lucy took a step toward him.

"You had him stolen, you asshole! You had your son kidnapped! And you didn't even love him enough to admit it or ask for help."

"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I'm sorry."

Lucy slapped him, then hit him with her fist. He didn't move, and he didn't try to protect himself. She hit Richard over and over again, grunting loudly with each effort – unh, unh, unh – like when she played tennis.

"Luce."

I caught her arms gently and eased her away.

Richard blubbered like a baby with snot running from his nose. Lucy had broken it. He slumped onto the edge of the bed, and sat there shaking his head.

"I don't have the money. I can't get it in time. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't."

Myers said, "We have four minutes."

Fontenot shook his head.

"He wants the money this bad, he'll wait. We can tell him it'll just be another hour, that the money is on the way. He'll go for it."

Pike spoke softly.

"No, he won't. He's pressing because that's how he controls the situation. He wants to keep you off balance.

He won't give you time to think. He wants the money, but he also wants to survive the mission, and that means he will not let you stall. He planned the operation, and now he's working the plan. He'll do what he said he would do, and then he'll disappear."

Fontenot said, "Jesus Christ, you make it sound like he's in a war."

Richard rubbed his face. His fingers went through his hair. He seemed calmer now, but still nervous.

"I don't know what to do. I don't have the money."

I looked at Myers again.

"What's supposed to happen if you had the money?"

"He would tell us where to meet them, then we'd trade the money for Ben."

I looked at the Tumi bag. It was a big bag because three million dollars took up a lot of room, but five million would take up almost twice as much.

I went over to the bed and sat beside Richard. We stared at each other for a moment, and then he glanced away.

I said, "Do you love him?"

Richard nodded.

"I love him, too."

Richard blinked a bit, and his eyes filled with sorrow. His voice was hoarse.

"You can't know how much I hate you."

"I know, but now we're going to save Ben together."

"Haven't you been listening? I already offered them the three million, but they wouldn't take it. They want five. They said it's five or nothing, and I don't have that much. I can't get it. I don't know what to tell them."

I put the hotel phone into his hands.

"Do what you do best, Richard. Lie. Tell them that you have all five million and that you're ready to trade for your son."

Richard stared at the phone, and then he dialed.

CHAPTER 23

time missing: 52 hours, 38 minutes

Richard made the call at exactly nine P.M. and he was convincing. Myers and I listened on the extension. Fallon told Richard to bring the money to the west end of Santa Monica Airport. He told Richard to bring it alone.

Myers and I both shook our heads.

Richard's voice shook when he answered.

"No goddamned way. Myers is coming. It'll be just us, and you'd better have Ben. If Ben's not there, I'll call the police. I should call the police anyway."

"Is Myers listening?"

"I'm here, you prick."

"It's the west end of the airport on the south side. Drive past the hangars and stop. Get out of your car but stay next to it, and wait."

Myers said, "No boy, no money. You won't even get close to the money unless we see the boy."

"I just want the money. Stop, get out of your car, and you'll see me when I want you to see me. I won't be close to you, but you'll see me. When you see me, call this number again. Do you understand?"

"I'll call you when I see you."

"Guess what happens if I see anyone else?"

"I don't have to guess."

"That's right. You don't. Fifteen minutes."

Fallon hung up.

Richard put down his phone and looked at me.

"What do we do?"

"Exactly what he told you to do. We'll do the rest."

Pike and I left at a dead run. We knew that Fallon was probably already at the airport and would be set up so that he could see Richard approach and watch for the police. Speed was everything. We had to get to the airport before Richard, we had to stay out of sight, and we had to come at Fallon in a way he didn't expect.

I drove fast, and so did Pike, the two of us rat-racing across the city.

Sunset Boulevard glowed with violet-blue light that rippled and shimmered on the hood of my Corvette. The cars we raced past were frozen in place, their tail lights stretched in front of us like liquid red streaks. I couldn't shift hard enough, I couldn't drive fast enough. We screamed across Westwood into Brentwood, and then toward the sea.

Santa Monica Airport was a nice little place, one lonely airstrip built during a time when inland Santa Monica was mostly clover fields and cows, north of LAX and west of the 405. The city grew up around it, and now the airfield was surrounded by homeowners and businesses who hated the noise and lived in fear of a crash. You could get a good hamburger there, and sit on benches across from the tower to watch the airplanes take off and land. Ben and I had done that more than once.

The north side of the airfield was mostly corporate offices and the Museum of Flying; old hangars and parking ramps lined the south. Many of the hangars on the south had been converted into offices or businesses, but many were empty; I guess they were cheaper to abandon than repair.

I called Myers's cell as we got close.

"We're almost there, Myers. Where are you?"

"We just left the hotel. I'd say twelve or fifteen minutes. We're cutting it close."

"You're driving?"

"Yeah. Richard's in back."

"When you reach the airport, slow down. Drive slow so that Pike and I have enough time."

"We can't be too late, Cole."

"They'll see your limo turn into the airport. They'll know you're here. That's what matters. They know you're from out of town, so just drive like you're confused."

"Shit, man, I'm doing that now."

I had to smile, even then.

"I'll call you back when we're there."

I leaned on the horn all the way down Bundy, slowing for red lights but never once stopping, and twice Joe Pike pulled ahead. I straddled the curb to get around slower cars and hung on their bumpers, then downshifted hard into the oncoming lanes. I hit a trash can on Olympic Boulevard, and raked a street sign as we blew under the freeway. My right headlight went out.

All four tires smoked as I turned toward the sea.

I picked up the phone.

"Myers?"

"I'm here."

"Two minutes."

We blew west two blocks north of the airport past a long row of offices and charter jet hangars. The tower stood silently in the distance, asleep for the night, its only sign of life a throbbing green and white light.

Pike stopped at the embankment by the end of the runway, but I kept going. The office buildings gave way to a soccer field, and then to residential streets. I left my car a block away and ran on foot to the dark hangars that lined the south side of the field like overgrown shadows.

Fallon would probably have a man on the roof and maybe another on the little service road that Richard would be using. A few cars were parked along the service road, but I couldn't see if anyone was in them and I didn't have time to go from car to car. The rooflines were clean.

I edged past the last hangar, then peeked around the corner. A few small airplanes were tied down on the ramp with a row of fuel trucks parked by them. The trucks were all by themselves at the edge of nothing.

I whispered into the phone.

"Myers?"

"We're at the east side."

"I can't see you."

"I don't care if you can see me; do you see them?"

"Not yet. Go slow. I'm moving."

Pike was working his way toward the ramp from the north. I couldn't see him and didn't try; if I saw him, then they could see him, and either way would be bad. A trailer set up as a temporary office jutted out between the hangars. I slipped out to its end for a better view. I scanned the rooflines again, then the shadows along the base of the hangars, and then the trucks. Nothing moved. I listened as hard as I could. Nothing moved. I looked for shadows and shapes that were out of place, but everything seemed normal. No other cars were present. The hangar doors were closed. Fallon was probably waiting nearby if he was waiting anywhere at all.

I whispered into the phone again.

"I don't see anything, Myers."

"They'll hold in place until we get there, but they'll have to move. You'll see them."

I told him where I was hiding.

"Okay, I'm at the drive where he said to turn. I'm making the turn."

Light swept between two hangars, and then the limousine emerged and turned toward me. They were fifty yards away. Maybe sixty.

The limousine stopped.

I said, "I'm right in front of you."

"Copy. We're getting out. We have to call him now."

"Don't hurry. Wait."

The limousine sat with its engine running and lights on. From the end of the trailer I saw all of the ramp and the taxiway and most of the service road that ran along the south side of the airport. Everything was quiet.

"We're getting out. I'm putting in my earpiece so I can hear you. You see something, you tell me, goddamnit."

The passenger door opened, and Myers stepped out. He stood by himself alongside the car.

I checked the roofline and service road again, looking for the telltale bump of a human head or the bulge of a shoulder, but saw nothing. I watched the shadows at the base of the ramp, and saw still more nothing.

The third fuel truck from the end of the row flicked its lights.

I said, "Myers."

His voice came back low.

"I got it. Richard's calling the number."

I strained hard to see inside the truck but it was dark with shadows and too far away. I took out my gun and trained it on the truck's grill. The grip was slippery. I would put down the phone as soon as I saw Ben. My aim was better with both hands.

I said, "Tell him to get out with Ben. Make him show Ben."

Pike would have moved up on the far side. He would be closer than me and have a better position. He was a better shot.

Myers's soft voice came through again.

"Richard's talking to him. Richard's getting out to show the money. He wants to see the bags."

"Don't do that, Myers. Make him show Ben."

"Richard's scared."

"Myers, make him show Ben. I don't see Ben."

"Ben's on the phone."

"That's not good enough. You have to see him."

"Keep your eyes on that fucking truck. Richard's flashing the money."

The limo's back door opened. Myers helped Richard out with the two bags, and then they looked at the truck. Three million dollars is heavy, and five had to look still heavier.

I heard Myers whisper, "C'mon, you fucker."

The truck lights flicked again. All of us waited. All of us stared at the truck.

Twenty feet behind Richard and Myers, a shadow moved between the oil drums that were stacked at the mouth of the hangar. I caught the movement as Myers turned. Schilling and Mazi surged out of the shadows with their pistols up and ready. I had stared at those oil drums again and again, but I had seen nothing.

I yelled, "MYERS!"

Their hands exploded like tiny suns, flash-bulbing their faces with red light. Myers went down. They kept shooting him until they reached the money, and then they fired at Richard. He fell backwards into the car.

I fired two fast shots, then turned for the fuel truck, screaming. I expected the truck to rumble to life or shots to come from the darkness, but none of that happened. I sprinted as hard as I could, shouting Ben's name.

Behind me, Schilling and Mazi heaved the money into the limo and got in with it.

Pike ran onto the ramp from the far side of the trucks and fired as the limo squealed away. All of us had thought that they would approach and leave in their own vehicle, but they didn't; the limo was their getaway, just as they'd planned.

I ran low and hard all the way to the truck, but I knew before I reached it that the truck was empty and always had been. Fallon had rigged the lights with a remote. He was someplace else, and Ben was still with him.

I spun back around, but the limo was gone.

Pike

Pike thought, they're beating us. These people are so damned good that they're beating us.

Schilling and Ibo stepped out from between the oil drums as if they had come through an invisible door, one moment impossible to see, the next their hands flashing fire, with the absolute efficiency of a striking snake. Pike had studied those drums, but seen nothing. They struck so fast that he could not warn Myers. It happened so quickly, and Pike was so far away, that he was nothing more than a witness to the execution.

They were as good as anyone Joe Pike had ever seen.

Pike ran forward, trying to get into range, as Cole shouted. Pike and Cole fired at almost the same instant, but Pike knew they were too late; the limo's left headlight shattered and a bullet careened off its hood. The limo ripped away as Cole raced toward the truck. Pike didn't bother because he knew what Cole would find.

Pike twisted around, searching for movement; someone had controlled the truck's lights, and that would be Fallon, somewhere nearby with a line of sight on the scene; now that Schilling and Ibo had the money, Fallon would also run, and might give himself away.

Then a heavy shot boomed to the north, and Pike spun toward the sound. Not a handgun shot, but something loud and heavy. Light flashed in one of the parked cars, followed fast by a second boom.

Pike saw shadows in the car. A man and a boy.

Pike shouted at Cole as the car pulled away, then ran hard down the hill for his Jeep, his shoulder sending sharp lightning through his arm as he ran.

Pike thought, I'm scared.

BEN

Mike wasn't like Eric or Mazi. Mike didn't bullshit or play the radio and leer at the hot chicks they passed on San Vicente Boulevard. Mike spoke only to give commands. He looked at Ben only to make sure Ben got the point. That was it.

They turned into a parking lot at the airport, then sat with the engine running. Mike never turned off the engine. Like he was scared that it wouldn't start when he needed it. After a while, Mike had lifted the binoculars to watch something across the field. Ben couldn't tell what was happening because it was so far away.

The shotgun rested with the muzzle on the floor and the stock leaning against Mike's knee. It wasn't a regular shotgun like the 20-gauge Ithaca that Ben's grandpa had given him for Christmas; this shotgun was really short, with a black stock, but Ben saw a little button in the trigger guard that he knew was the safety. His own shotgun had the same kind of safety. The safety was off. Ben thought, I'll bet he's got one in the box and good to go just like Eric.

Ben glanced up at Mike again, but Mike was still focused across the field.

Mike scared him. Eric and Mazi were scared of Mike, too. If it had been Eric sitting here concentrating on something across the field, Ben thought he would go for the gun. All he had to do was grab the trigger and the gun would go off. But that was Eric and this was Mike. Mike reminded him of a sleeping cobra, all coiled up and good to go. You might think it was sleeping but you never knew.

Mike lowered the binoculars just long enough to find what looked like a small walkie-talkie from the dashboard, then raised the binoculars again. He keyed the walkie-talkie, and lights flickered across the runway. Mike spoke on his cell phone, and then put the phone to Ben's ear.

"It's your dad. Say something."

Ben grabbed the phone.

"Daddy?"

His father sobbed, and just like that Ben cried like a baby, gushing tears and hiccuping.

"I wanna go home."

Mike took back the phone. Ben grabbed for it, but Mike held him at arm's length. Ben clawed and bit and punched, but Mike's arm was an iron rod. Mike squeezed Ben's shoulder so hard that his shoulder felt crushed.

Mike said, "You going to stop?"

Ben shrank away from Mike as far as possible, embarrassed and ashamed. He cried even harder.

Mike dropped the phone, then peered through the binoculars again. He keyed the walkie-talkie once more, and now the far lights flashed and stayed on.

Overlapping erratic pops came from the far side of the airport then, and Mike straightened, focused so completely on whatever was happening that Ben thought: Now!

Ben lunged across the seat. His fingers wrapped around the trigger guard just as Mike grabbed his arm, but Ben had it by then. The shotgun went off like a bomb, and kicked hard into the steering wheel. Ben jerked the trigger again as fast as he could, and the shotgun thundered again, blowing a second hole in the floorboard.

Mike pulled Ben's hand off the gun as easy as tearing paper, and shoved Ben back into his seat. Ben threw his arms over his head, certain that Mike would beat him or kill him, but Mike put the shotgun back in its place, and started maneuvering out of the parking lot.

Once they were going, Mike glanced over at him.

"You're a tough little bastard."

Ben thought, too bad I missed.

CHAPTER 24

time missing: 53 hours, 32 minutes

Fallon's car moved in the north parking lot, speeding toward the exit. He would have to drive past the soccer field and the Museum of Flying, then between the office buildings before he came out onto Ocean Boulevard. Once he reached Ocean, he would be gone.

My hands shook so badly that they felt like clubs, but I punched Pike's number on speed dial.

"C'mon, Joe – answer. C'mon."

Fallon's car turned past the soccer field and picked up speed. White midsize coupe, looked like two doors. He would be on his way to meet Schilling and Ibo. The limo was big and obvious, and now it was missing a headlight. They would abandon it soon.

Pike suddenly answered.

"I'm moving."

"Eastbound at the end of the soccer field, white two-door coupe. He's at the museum. He'll come out on Ocean. I lost him."

I broke and ran for my car. I ran as hard as I could, phone in one hand, gun in the other, past the hangars and the houses. Pike would be racing north toward Ocean Boulevard, and then he would turn east. He would either spot Fallon's car coming out of the airport or he wouldn't.

A woman was walking a small orange dog in the middle of the street. She saw me running toward her with the gun. She didn't try to get away or go to a house; instead, she hopped from foot to foot, screaming aiee, aiee, aiee, and the dog spun in circles. Here was this woman out for a walk, and I thought that if she tried to stop me I would shoot her and her little dog, too. That wasn't me. That wasn't anything like me. Welcome to madness.

I hit the car running and jammed away from the curb so hard that the car fishtailed and the tachometer needle was swallowed in red.

"Joe?"

"East on Ocean."

"Where is he?"

"Stop screaming. He's eastbound on Ocean, wait, turning south on Centinela. I have him. Six cars ahead."

Centinela was behind me. I jerked the hand brake to lock the back end and spun the car, smoking the tires out of a one-eighty. Horns all around me blew, but they sounded far away.

I still screamed into the phone.

"Myers is dead. They shot Richard, too. They shot him, and he fell back into the limo. I don't know whether they killed him or not."

"Just take it easy. We're still southbound. Fallon doesn't know we're still in the game."

Fallon drove with a low profile so he wouldn't get stopped by a passing cop, but all I cared about was catching him. I hit eighty on the side streets, turned parallel to Centinela, then jammed it to a hundred.

"Where is he? Gimme cross streets!"

My car bounced off a dip in the street, but I went even faster. Pike called out the cross streets they were passing. I passed the same cross streets running parallel. I caught up to them one street at a time, and then I pulled ahead. I turned toward Centinela with all four tires sliding and blew a valve coming out of the turn. Smoke poured out behind me, and my engine clattered.

Pike said, "We're picking up speed."

I was close to Centinela and getting closer, three blocks away and then two. I snapped off my lights and jerked to the curb just as Fallon's car rolled through the intersection and turned toward the freeway. Ben sat in the passenger seat. He stared out the window.

"I'm on him, Joe. I see him."

Pike said, "Fall in behind after I make the turn."

Fallon didn't go far, but he wouldn't. He had thought it through well. They would change cars, and then they would get rid of Ben, and Richard if he was still alive. No kidnapping ends any other way.

Pike said, "He's slowing."

Fallon's car slipped under the freeway, then turned.

Pike didn't follow. His lights went off and he pulled to the curb at the corner, watching. I did the same. After a bit, Pike's Jeep crept forward and turned. We eased past building-supply outlets and a veterinarian's clinic to a row of small houses. A dog howled in the clinic. It sounded in pain.

Pike eased into a parking lot and got out. I followed him. We closed our doors just enough for them to catch, and Pike nodded toward a small house across the street with a For Sale sign in its front yard.

"That one."

The limo was mostly hidden behind the house and the white car was as far up the drive as it could go. A dark blue sedan was parked in the front yard. The sedan would probably be their escape vehicle. Lights moved in the house. Fallon and Ben hadn't been there more than two minutes, the limo no more than three. I wondered if Richard was dead in the back. I wondered if they had finished him on the way. The dog howled again.

I started across the street, but Pike stopped me.

"You have a plan or you just going to kick down the door?"

"You know what's going to happen. We don't have any time."

Pike stared at me; he was as still as a glade in a sleeping forest, but with a thunderhead riding the trees.

I pulled away from him, but Pike stepped closer. He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me eye to eye.

"Don't die on me."

"Ben's inside."

Pike held on.

"They were right in front of us at the airport, and we didn't see them. They beat us. You know what happens if they beat us now."

I took a deep breath. Pike was right. Pike was almost always right. Shadows moved across the windows. The dog howled even louder.

I said, "Check the windows on the far side. I'll go down the drive. We'll meet at the back. They probably entered the house through the back door. They're in a hurry, so maybe they left it unlocked."

Pike said, "Just keep it tight. Maybe we can get shots through the windows, but if we have to go in, we go in together."

"I know. I know what to do."

"Then let's do it."

We split apart as we crossed the street. Pike went to the far side of the house as I moved down the drive. Sheer drapes covered the windows, but they didn't stop me from seeing. The first two windows showed a dark living room, but the hall beyond it was bright. The next windows showed an empty dining room, and then I reached the last two windows on my side of the house. They were brightly lit. I moved away from the house so their glow wouldn't illuminate me, and looked in the windows from the dark shadow of a bush in the neighbor's yard. Mazi Ibo and Eric Schilling were in the kitchen. Ibo walked into another part of the house, but Schilling came out the back door. He had two large duffel bags slung over his shoulders.

An old saying is that no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.

Schilling stopped by the limo, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He was less than twenty feet away from me. I didn't move. I held myself absolutely still. My heart hammered, but I didn't let myself breathe.

Schilling took a step, then stopped again as if sensing something. He cocked his head. The dog howled.

Schilling hitched the duffels, then stepped past the white car into the driveway and went toward the front, bringing the money to the blue sedan. I moved softly at first but picked up speed. He heard me when he was halfway down the drive. He dropped low into a crouch and turned fast, but it was too late by then. I hit him hard between the eyes with my pistol, then grabbed him to keep him from falling and hit him twice more.

I eased Schilling down, found his gun, and tucked it in my pants. I hurried to the back door. It was open and the kitchen was empty. Nothing moved in the house, and the silence was awful. Ibo and Fallon might come back at any moment with more bags of money, but the stillness in the house frightened me far more than that. Maybe they heard. Maybe Fallon and Ibo were already tending to business. All kidnappings end the same way for the victim.

I should have waited for Pike, but I stepped into the kitchen and moved toward the hall. My head was buzzing and my heart beat loud. Maybe that was why I didn't hear Fallon behind me until it was way too late:

Ben

Mike turned into a narrow drive that ran alongside a small dark house.

Ben said, "Where are we?"

"End of the line."

Mike pulled him across the seat and into the house. Eric was waiting for them in a dingy pink kitchen with smudged walls and a big empty hole where a refrigerator once stood. Two green duffel bags were heaped on the floor. Dust bunnies the size of Pekinese dogs cowered in the corners.

"We got a problem back here. Look."

"With the money?"

"No, the dickhead."

They followed Eric out of the kitchen and into a small bedroom. Ben saw Mazi shoving money into two more green duffels, but then he saw his father. Richard Chenier was sprawled on the floor against the wall, holding his stomach with blood all over his pants and arm.

Ben shouted, "DADDY!"

Ben ran to his father and none of them stopped him.

His father groaned when Ben hugged him, and Ben started crying again. He felt the wet blood and cried harder.

"Hey, pal. Hey."

His dad stroked the side of his face, and started crying, too. Ben was terrified that his father would die.

"I'm so sorry, bud. I am so sorry. This is all my fault."

"Are you going to be all right? Daddy, are you okay?"

His daddy's eyes were so sad that Ben sobbed even louder, and it was hard to breathe.

His father said, "I love you so much. You know that, don't you? I love you."

Ben's words choked in his chest.

Mike and Eric were talking, but Ben didn't hear. Then Mike squatted next to them and examined his father's wound.

"Let me see. Looks like you got one in the liver. It's not sucking. Can you breathe okay?"

Ben's father said, "You bastard. You rotten sonofabitch."

"You're breathing fine."

Eric came over and stood behind Mike.

"He fell back into the car. What was I going to do? We had to get out of there, but this asshole's in the backseat."

Mike stood, then glanced at the money.

"Don't worry about that right now. Let's keep the ball rolling. Get the money repacked and put it in the car. They're okay right now. We'll take care of it before we leave."

"Someone else was at the airport."

"Forget it. That was Cole. He's still back there, beating off."

Mike and Eric left Mazi packing the money and went into another part of the house.

Ben snuggled close to his father, and whispered.

"Elvis will save us."

His dad pushed himself up to sit a little straighter, wincing with the pain. Mazi glanced over, then went back to the money.

His dad stared at the blood on his hand as if it was green ketchup, and then he searched Ben's eyes.

"This is my fault. Everything that's happened, getting mixed up with these animals, what happened to you, it's my fault. I'm the stupidest man in the world."

Ben didn't understand. He didn't know why his father was saying these things, but hearing them scared him, and he cried even more.

"No, you're not. You're not stupid."

His father touched his head again.

"I just wanted you back."

"Don't die."

"You're never going to understand and neither is anyone else, but I want you to remember that I loved you."

"Don't die!"

"I'm not. And neither are you."

His father glanced at Mazi, then looked back at Ben. He stroked Ben's head, then pulled Ben's face close and kissed him on the cheek.

His father whispered in Ben's ear.

"I love you, boy. Now you run. Run, and don't stop."

The sadness in his father's voice terrified him. Ben hugged his father and held on tight.

His dad's breath was soft in his ear.

"I'm sorry."

His father kissed him again just as something heavy thumped in another room. Mazi jerked erect with his hands still filled with money, and then Mike pushed Elvis Cole through the door. Elvis fell to one knee, and his eyes fluttered vaguely. His head was bleeding. Mike pressed the shotgun into Elvis's neck.

Mike looked at Mazi.

"Put him in the bathtub and use your knife. The shotgun's too noisy. Then take care of them."

A long slim knife the color of oil on water appeared in Mazi's hand.

Ben's dad said it again, one final time, and this time his voice was strong.

"Run."

Then Richard Chenier pushed himself up from the floor and charged toward Mazi Ibo with a fury that Ben had never seen in his dad. His father caught Ibo in the back and slammed him full-tilt boogie into Elvis and Mike even as Mike Fallon's shotgun erupted and thunder echoed through the house.

Ben ran.

Pike

Pike crept through the shrubs alongside the house as quietly as air. He reached an empty bedroom first, dark except for an open doorway framed in light. He heard the low voices of men deeper inside the house; but couldn't tell who was speaking or what they were saying.

Schilling appeared in the hall beyond the bedroom, carrying two duffels toward the rear, and then Schilling was gone. Pike cocked the.357.

The next two windows glowed with light. Pike eased closer, but kept out of their glow. Ibo was with Richard and Ben, but Fallon and Schilling were missing. Pike was surprised to find Richard and Ben still alive, but Fallon was probably keeping them to use as hostages until the very last moment. In a perfect world, Fallon, Schilling, and Ibo would have been in the room together. Pike would have shot them through the window to end this mess. Now, if Pike shot Ibo, he would lose the advantage of surprise with Fallon and Schilling.

Pike knew that Cole was probably at the back of the house, but he decided to wait. Schilling and Fallon might step back into the room at any moment, and then Pike could finish it. Pike didn't want Cole to face these guys, not the way he was, and it would be safest for Ben and Richard. Pike braced his gun against an acacia tree to steady his aim. He settled in to wait.

Then Fallon pushed Cole into the room, and Pike couldn't wait any longer. He ran toward the back, searching for a way into the house.

CHAPTER 25

time missing: 54 hours, 12 minutes

The dingy kitchen tilted steeply and the back of my head pulsed where Fallon hit me. I tried to stay on my feet, but the room tilted the opposite way and I hit the floor hard. I tried to get up, but my arms and legs bobbed on a greasy vinyl ocean.

Ben.

A faraway voice said, "Come on, asshole."

The kitchen blurred, and then I fell again, thinking that my gun was in my hand, but when I looked down it wasn't. When I looked up, I wasn't in the kitchen any more. A dark tower swayed over me and two blurs huddled against the far wall. I tipped forward, but caught myself with my hand as the world focused. I think I smiled, but maybe it only seemed that way.

"I found you."

Ben was ten feet in front of me.

Behind me, Fallon tossed two pistols into the pile of money, then spoke to Ibo.

"He had Eric's gun. I've gotta go see what happened."

Ibo stared at me.

"He keel Eric?"

"I don't know. Put him in the bathtub and use your knife. The shotgun's too noisy. Then take care of them."

Ibo pulled out a long curved knife as voices screamed within me. Roy Abbott shouted at me to suck it up. Crom Johnson yelled for me to Ranger on. My mother called my name. Nothing but Ben mattered. I would bring him home even if I was dead.

Ibo took one step toward me, just as Richard Chenier looked into my eyes as if he were seeing me for the first and only time that he would ever see me, and then he heaved up from the floor. Richard did not move fast or well, but he charged across the tiny room with the commitment of a father desperate to save his child. The shotgun exploded over my head. Richard hit Ibo from behind as the first shot punched into his side. He drove Ibo into me and me into Fallon as the second blast wrecked his thigh. I reared up into the shotgun as Ibo spun toward Richard with the knife. The shotgun exploded into the ceiling as Ben ran for the door.

I threw an elbow, but Fallon pushed my arm past and snapped the shotgun down across my face. I hooked my arm over the barrel, and jerked the shotgun close, but Fallon hung on. We bounced off the wall, locked together with the shotgun in a furious demon dance. I butted him, and his nose shattered. He snorted red. Fallon pulled hard on the shotgun, then suddenly let go, and I lost my balance. I fell backwards with the shotgun as Fallon grabbed Schilling's pistol from the money. All of it happened in milliseconds; maybe even faster. Ben screamed.

Pike

Pike swung around the corner of the house with his gun in a two-hand combat grip, cocked and ready to fire. The backyard was clear. Pike slipped to the back door and glanced into the kitchen. He expected to see Schilling, but the kitchen was empty. Pike didn't like not knowing Schilling's position, but Fallon would kill Cole in a matter of moments.

Pike stepped inside and moved toward the hall, gun up and ready, though his shoulder burned and his grip on his pistol was not firm. The floor popped with his weight, but Pike didn't dare stop. He glanced at the back door to check for Schilling just as Fallon's shotgun went off twice – BOOM BOOM – so loud and heavy that the shots rattled the house.

Pike moved even faster, crossing the hall to enter the bedroom, all reaction now because thinking would slow him down. Fallon and Cole twisted together in a tight embrace, then Cole tumbled backwards with the shotgun. Pike drew down on Fallon in that same moment, finger tightening to drop the hammer, owning Fallon with a dead-on head shot even as Ibo screamed -

"Eye havh dee boy."

Ibo held Ben in front of his head as a shield, with a knife to Ben's throat.

Pike jerked the.357 around at Ibo, but the shot wasn't clean and his hand wasn't steady. Fallon saw Pike in that same heartbeat and brought up his own handgun, inhumanly fast, as fast as Pike had ever seen, and Pike swung his.357 back onto Fallon, knowing in that hyper-fast moment that Fallon had him cold, but Fallon hesitated because Cole brought up the shotgun, Cole screaming to pull Fallon's attention, and then all of them were caught in that instant between beats when the human heart is still.

Schilling

The gunfire and screams jolted Schilling with the certainty that he was about to die. He woke in Africa. He thought government troops were shooting his men in their sleep. He grabbed for his rifle and tried to roll into the bush, but his rifle wasn't next to him and he was on a driveway in Los Angeles. He crawled into the shrubbery beside the adjoining house.

Schilling thought, fuck. Then he puked.

His head cleared, but he felt drunk and woozy. He realized that Ibo, Fallon, and Cole were shouting. He wasn't in Africa; he was in L.A. They were in the house with the money.

Schilling felt the ground for his weapon, but couldn't find it. Fuckit. He crawled toward the house.

Cole

The three guns weaved like snakes poised to strike. I covered Fallon, then swung back to Ibo. Fallon's gun jumped from Pike to me, then back to Pike, and Pike shifted between Fallon and Ibo. Ibo held Ben high to protect his head and chest. If anyone shot, everyone would shoot, and all of us would be consumed by gunfire.

Ibo shouted again, making himself small behind Ben's dangling body.

"EYE HAVH DEE BOY!"

Richard groaned.

Ben struggled to break free. He was oblivious to the knife or maybe past caring. His eyes were on Richard.

I aimed at Ibo's legs. I could cut off his leg with Fallon's shotgun, but that wouldn't stop the knife. I edged to the side, looking for a better angle. Ibo backed into the corner, holding Ben higher, a seven-foot nightmare peeking past Ben's ear.

"Eye keel heem!"

Pike and Fallon were locked on each other, holding their pistols with two-hand grips, arms tight.

Fallon said, "Look at the knife. Shoot me, and he'll bleed out the kid."

Pike said, "He won't see it happen. Neither will you."

I said, "Joe?"

"I'm good."

"Eye do eet!"

"Can you get him, Joe?"

"Not yet."

I swung the shotgun to Fallon, then back to Ibo. The little room was humid with sweat, and close as a crypt. I shouted at Ibo.

"Put him down. Put him down and walk out."

Fallon edged toward the money, and Pike moved closer to Ibo. Pike was on one wall, me on the other; Ibo between us where the walls met. Ben struggled harder, and seemed to be reaching toward his pocket.

Fallon said, "We want the money, you want the kid. We can both walk out."

I swung the shotgun back toward Fallon.

"Sure, Fallon, good, let's do that. You and Ibo put down your weapons, then we'll put down ours."

Fallon smiled tightly, and shifted his aim back to Pike.

"You should drop yours first."

Richard tried to pull his legs under him but he slid in his own blood. I didn't know how much longer he would last.

Ben screamed then, his scream wailing and strange.

"Daddy!"

I edged closer to Ibo.

"Stay bahk!"

Ben struggled harder, and his hand slipped from his pocket. I saw what he held, and knew what he was planning to do.

Fallon shifted his aim from Pike to me. Sweat dripped from his hair to splash on the floor.

"He'll do it. We'll both do it. Give us the goddamned money and we'll give you the kid!"

"You'd kill him anyway."

All of it happened in milliseconds, or maybe even faster. They had us and we had them, but Ben was caught in the middle.

I said, "Ben?"

Ben's eyes were white with fear.

"I'm taking you home. You hear me, buddy? I'm going to bring you home. Joe. You on Fallon?"

"Yo."

I lowered the shotgun.

Fallon shifted his gun back to Joe, then came to me again. He didn't know what I was doing, and the not knowing scared him.

"Mazi!"

"I keel heem!"

I held the shotgun with the muzzle up, showing them that I wasn't going to shoot, and placed it on the floor. I straightened, watching Mazi, then took one step toward him. Fallon shifted his gun again.

Fallon shouted, "We'll kill him, Cole! We'll fuckin' kill you, too!"

I moved closer to Ben.

Ibo screamed, "I do eet!"

"I know. You and Fallon would both do it. You're animals."

My voice was quiet and conversational, like I was making an everyday observation about which brand of coffee they preferred. I stopped an arm's length from Ben. Fallon was behind me with the gun, so I couldn't see him, but Pike was behind me, too. I smiled quietly at Ben, the smile telling him that just as I trusted Joe, he needed to trust me; that he would be fine because I had come to bring him home, and would.

I said, "Any time you're ready, bud. Let's go home."

Giving him permission. Saying, do the thing you're thinking, and I will back your play.

Ben Chenier brought the Silver Star up like a claw and raked the medal into Ibo's eyes. Ibo was focused on me, and Ben caught him off guard. Ibo flinched, ducking his head, and that's when I moved. I jammed my fingers behind the blade and twisted the knife from Ben's throat as gunshots exploded behind me. The knife cut deep into my fingers, but I held tight and rolled Ibo's hand backwards over his wrist, turning the knife toward him. Ben tumbled free. Another shot rang out, then another. I didn't know what was happening across the room. I couldn't look.

Pike

When Cole put down the shotgun and started toward Ibo, Fallon had the advantage. Pike wouldn't shoot so long as Ben was in danger; if he shot Fallon, Ibo would kill Ben; if Pike shot Ibo, Fallon would kill him in that same instant, then swing for Cole. Pike decided that if he got a clean cortical shot on Ibo, he would take it even though Fallon would kill him. Fallon would shoot Pike, then swing for Cole, but Cole might be fast enough to scoop up the shotgun before Fallon got turned around. But Ibo wasn't stupid, and seemed to sense what Pike was thinking; Ibo kept Ben high like a shield with Ben's head protecting his own. Pike had no target. He shifted his aim back to Fallon.

Pike watched Fallon's eyes flick back and forth as Fallon weighed his own options: He could wait to see what Cole did, or shoot Pike, then take his chances with Cole. The first way, Fallon would be reactive; but if Fallon shot first, he would drive the event and have a measure of control. Cole's face was bloody and his eyes were dazed. Fallon would be thinking about that. He would be thinking that with Cole hurt he had a free shot to put down Pike, then he could still beat Cole. Pike wondered if Fallon knew about the damage to his arm. Fallon was Delta. He would use whatever weakness he found.

Pike thought, He's going to shoot first.

Fallon's forehead floated above the tip of Pike's gun. Pike's gun wobbled. His heart pounded, and sweat leaked down the sides of his face. Fallon had his gun up, too, aimed at Pike as Pike was aimed at him, but Fallon's gun was steady. Fallon could easily see Pike's gun wobble. Pike sensed an awareness in the man. Fallon saw his weakness. Their guns were only inches apart.

Fallon's gun came up another half-inch. Fallon had

decided that he could win. He was setting himself to fire.

The boar snapped its jaws. It was setting itself to charge.

Pike glanced at Elvis. He glanced at Ben. The pistol's wood grip felt slippery, and his breath came fast, but this wasn't about the bear, and never had been. His mother crawled under the kitchen table, crying and bloody as his father kicked her, eight-year-old Joe helpless to act; the old man chased down his defenseless son, broke the boy's nose, then used his belt; that's how it was, night after night. It was about protecting the people he loved no matter the cost: Nothing was worse than doing nothing; not even death. The bear might beat you, but you still had to stand. Joe Pike would stand.

He braced himself for Fallon's bullet, then glanced again at Ibo, hoping for a shot, but Ibo still hid behind Ben. He glanced back at Fallon. The rock-steady gun.

Pike thought, I'll kill you before I die.

Then Ibo grunted in a way that neither man expected. Pike glimpsed a sudden movement as Cole and Ibo grappled. Fallon glanced to see, and Pike had his chance. He squeezed the trigger just as Eric Schilling charged out of the hall. Schilling slammed into Pike's back, driving Pike into Fallon. Hot pain flashed through Pike's shoulder, and the.357 boomed harmlessly past Fallon's ear. Fallon moved inhumanly fast. He rolled Pike's gun to the side, trapped Pike's gun arm, then whipped his pistol toward Pike's head. Pike slipped to the side, but Schilling punched him hard in the neck, then hooked Pike's bad arm. More pain flashed in Pike's shoulder and made him gasp. He dropped to his knees to slip Schilling's grip, wrapped Schilling's legs with his bad arm, and lifted. His arm screamed again, but Schilling upended. In the same moment, Fallon cracked his pistol down hard on Pike's face, then pushed the gun into Pike's shoulder. Fallon was fast, but Pike was fast, too. He trapped Fallon's wrist as the gun fired. Pike held on. He had Fallon's wrist, but his bad arm was weak. Fallon was slipping away. Fallon butted Pike hard on the cheek, then kneed him in the groin. Pike took the pain. Across the room, Cole and Ibo were locked in a motionless death struggle, but Ben had gone to his father. Schilling heaved to his knees, then scrambled for a gun that was lying in the money. Fallon kneed Pike again, but this time Pike caught his leg, held it, then swept Fallon's remaining leg out from under him and pushed him over. They crashed to the floor. Fallon's gun flew free with the impact. Two feet away, Schilling came up with the pistol and wheeled toward Pike. Pike rolled off Fallon, came up with his gun, and fired from the floor. He shot Eric Schilling twice in the chest. Schilling screamed, and fired wildly into the wall. Pike fired again, and blew out the side of Schilling's head. Pike rolled back toward Fallon, but Fallon caught the pistol in both hands. Both of them had the gun, and the gun was between them. Fallon's two good arms against Pike's one. Sweat and blood ran from their faces as both men tried to turn the gun. The burning in Pike's arm grew as his shoulder slowly failed. Fallon grunted with his effort, his grunts like a wild boar rooting in the dirt, uhn, uhn, uhn. Pike strained harder, but the gun slowly came toward his chest.

Pike thought that if he was going to die, he might as well die here, and he might as well die doing this.

But not yet.

Pike went into the deepest part of himself, a green leafy world of quiet and peace. It was the only place where Pike could truly be free, safe in his aloneness, and at peace with himself. Pike went to that place now, and he drew strength.

Pike stared into Fallon's animal eyes. Fallon sensed that something had changed. Fear played over his face.

Pike's mouth twitched.

The gun moved toward Fallon.

Cole

The scars on Ibo's face glowed violet as he tried to turn the knife. He was a large, strong man, and he wanted to live, but I pushed so hard that the room darkened around me and filled with starburst speckles. Ibo's arm broke with a wet crack and his wrist folded. He moaned. More shots rang out behind me, but they seemed a part of someone else's world and not mine.

The knife touched the hollow at the base of Ibo's throat. Ibo tried to swing me away, but I held tight to his broken arm and pushed. He hissed as the knife went in. I pushed. The knife slid deep. Ibo's eyes grew wider. His mouth opened and closed. I pushed until the knife wouldn't go farther, then Ibo made a long sigh and his eyes lost focus.

I let go and watched him fall. He slumped like a great tall tree and took forever to hit the floor.

I turned, barely able to stand. Eric Schilling was crumpled in a heap on the money. Ben was with Richard. Pike and Fallon were locked together on the floor, struggling. I picked up the shotgun and staggered over to them. I pointed the shotgun at Fallon's head.

I said, "That's it."

Fallon looked up.

"That's it, you sonofabitch. It's over."

Fallon studied the end of the shotgun, then stared at me. They had a pistol between them. They were fighting for it.

I shouldered the shotgun.

"Let go of it, Fallon. Let go."

Fallon glanced at Pike, then nodded.

The pistol between them fired one loud time – BOOM! – and I thought Joe had been shot, but Fallon slumped back against the wall. Pike rolled away fast and came up with the pistol, ready in case Fallon made a move, but Fallon only blinked down at the hole in his chest. He seemed surprised to see it even though he had made it himself. He looked up at us. Then he was dead.

I said, "Ben?"

I staggered sideways, and fell to a knee. It hurt. My hand was bleeding badly. It hurt, too.

"Ben?"

Ben was trying to make Richard stand up. Richard moaned, so I guessed he was still hanging on. Pike kept me from falling onto my face, and pushed a handkerchief into my hand.

"Wrap your hand and see about Ben. I'll get an ambulance."

I tried to stand again, but couldn't, so I crawled to Ben Chenier. I put my arms around him.

"I found you, Ben. I have you. I'm going to bring you home."

Ben shuddered like he was freezing, and sobbed words that I did not understand. Pike called for an ambulance, then eased us aside. He tied off Richard's leg with his belt to stop the bleeding, then used Schilling's shirt as a compress on the belly wound. I held Ben tight through it all, and never once let go.

"I have you," I said. "I have you."

The sirens came as Ben's tears soaked my chest.