The Pardon

Chapter 53

Jack threw open the back door of the old mansion and rushed into a pitch-dark kitchen. He ran his hand along the wall and found a light switch. He flipped it on, but the room remained dark-totally dark, since every window in the house was covered by hurricane shutters.

“There’s no power!” Jack shouted into the phone.

“It’s off,” said Esteban. “Take the flashlight from the kitchen table.”

Jack bumped into a chair and found the table, then snatched up the flashlight and switched it on. His adrenaline was flowing, but he suddenly realized that he was terrified. His white beam of light cut like a laser across the room, and he felt like an intruder-not just in this house, but in another world. The old wooden house seemed to come alive, creaking and cracking with each breath it drew. The Victorian relic had a musty, shut-in smell, and everything in it was ancient-the furniture, the wallpaper, even the old hand pump by the sink. It was as if no one had lived here in a hundred years. No. It was as if the same people who’d lived here a hundred years ago were still living here now.

“Where’s Cindy?” he screamed into the phone.

“Go through the door on your right. Into the dining room.”

Jack shined the light ahead of him and walked hurriedly toward the door. The floorboards creaked with each step. He turned the crystal doorknob and entered the dining room. His flashlight’s bright beam skipped across the long mahogany dining table, chair by chair. Cindy wasn’t there. He searched higher, but the crystal chandelier only scattered the light. He scanned the walls, fixing on a hundred-year-old portrait of some crusty old sea captain who’d probably lived and died here. He almost seemed to scowl at Jack.

“Where is she!” he demanded.

“Easy,” said Esteban. “You’ve got time. You’ve got as much time as you gave me to convince you that Raul should live. And now,” he said, “it’s your turn to convince me.”

Jack felt a sinking dread. It was dawning on him that he was way out of his depth, that he was a pawn being manipulated at will. Sweat poured from his brow as he pressed the portable phone to his ear. “Listen, please-”

“I said convince me! Convince me she shouldn’t die!”

“I’ll give you anything you want. Just name it-whatever you want.”

“I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to feel as helpless as I did. Let’s start with groveling. Beg me, Swyteck. Beg me not to execute her.”

Jack stood speechless for a second, fearful that precious time was wasting. He shined the flashlight into the living room and down the long hall. He wanted to sprint away and search for Cindy. But the house was huge. He could never find her in time. “Please,” his voice shook, “just let her go.”

“I said beg!”

“Please. Cindy doesn’t deserve this. She’s never hurt anyone.”

“Try the cabinet. Beneath the breakfront.”

Jack darted across the dining room, tripping over the Persian area rug. He pulled open the cabinet and shined the light inside. “She’s not-”

“Of course she isn’t. Begging and pleading gets us nowhere-remember? Try something else.”

Jack rose to his feet, taking short, panicky breaths as he squeezed the portable phone in his hand. “You miserable son of a bitch. Just tell me where she is.”

“Anger,” he taunted. “Let’s see where that takes us. Try the living room-the closet at the base of the stairway.”

Jack pointed the light across the room, revealing a grand stairway worthy of Scarlett O’Hara. It curved majestically up to the second floor, then curled in tight, smaller steps all the way to the third.

“The closet!” ordered Esteban, as if he somehow sensed that Jack hadn’t moved.

Jack felt the seconds ticking away. He was a puppet, but following orders was his only hope. He darted toward the stairway, leading with the flashlight as he zigzagged through a maze of antiques in the living room. He found the closet and yanked open the door. Nothing. “You bastard!” his voice echoed in the dark, cavernous stairwell.

“Time is short,” came the voice over the phone. “What are you going to do now?”

“Just stop the game! I’m the one you want Take me. Just take me.”

“Yessss,” said Esteban, hissing with satisfaction. “A confession. It’s your last chance. That’s exactly the conclusion I reached, Swyteck. See if it works this time. Confess to me.”

“I’ll confess anything. I’m the one you want.”

“Why?” he played his game. “What did you do?”

“Whatever you say I did. Whatever you say. I did it-”

“No!” he said bitterly. “You have to mean it. Confess to me and mean it!”

“I did it!”

“You killed Raul! Tell it to me!”

“Where is she?”

“Confess!”

“Yes! Yes!” he shouted into the phone. “I killed Raul Fernandez, all right? I did it! Now where is Cindy?”

“She’s right behind you.”

Jack wheeled, looked up into the stairwell and saw a body plunging like a missile through the stale air. “Cindy!” he cried out. But the next awful sound was the cracking of a neck at the end of a rope. Her feet never hit the ground. Jack screamed in agony. He recognized the clothes. A black hood covered her head-execution style. “Oh, God, no. .” he cried, all of his senses recoiling in horror. He dropped the portable phone and rushed halfway up the stairs to try to pull her down. But he couldn’t reach her. He climbed a couple more steps and stretched out as far as he could. He still couldn’t reach. He ran to the living room to grab a chair on which to stand, then rushed back toward the stairs.

“It’s no use,” came a deep, booming voice from somewhere in the pitch dark stairwell. “She’s dead.”

Jack’s body went rigid. He was not alone.

He dropped the chair and drew his gun. He shined the flashlight behind him, then swept it forward and above. He didn’t see anyone. “I’ll kill you!” he shouted into the darkness.

“Revenge!” came a thundering reply that rattled the stairwell. “Now we both want it! Come get me, Swyteck!”

Jack thought only of Cindy hanging from her neck, and for one crazy moment he was willing to trade his own life for her killer’s. He ran up the stairway with no conscious thought of his own safety, his gun in one hand, the flashlight in the other. He was at full speed when he reached the top of the steps. But as he turned the corner and started down the hall, a deafening blast sent him flying backward. Pain. . feet leaving ground.. falling back.. out of control.

His gun and flashlight flew out of his hands as he crashed through the wooden banister. He was falling in what felt like slow motion. He heard himself cry out as he crashed onto a table and tumbled to the living-room floor. Then he sensed himself lying on his back. Can’t breathe. . God, the pain.

Seconds passed. The room was total blackness. Then a bright beam of light hit him in the eyes.

Esteban stared down from the top of the stairs. A smile crept onto his face at the sight of the body squirming and writhing on the floor. It pleased him that Jack was still alive. He pointed his flashlight up into the towering stairwell, as if admiring his work. The limp, lifeless body dangled overhead, twirling slowly on the rope. He tucked his gun into his belt, then pulled out his switch-blade. “Let the games begin,” he said dryly. Then he shined the flashlight back down the stairway toward Jack-and his satisfied smile disappeared. In the few seconds he’d taken to savor the moment, his prey had quietly vanished.

Esteban scanned the living room floor with the flashlight. A look of confusion crossed his face. He saw no blood. No blood at all-anywhere. He grit his teeth in anger, realizing that his quarry must have been wearing a vest. Quickly, he jerked the flashlight from downstairs to upstairs. Jack’s gun and flashlight were lying on the floor.

Esteban’s smile returned. Jack was unarmed, and he couldn’t have gone far. The house was completely dark, yet he’d snuck away without a sound. To do that, he had to have stayed within the glow from Esteban’s flashlight. Esteban laid the flashlight down on the floor right where he stood at the top of the stairs, so as to mark the outer limits of Jack’s escape. The dim, eerie glow extended all the way across the living room, into the parlor on one side, down the hall that led to the library on the other. It was large enough to make this fun. Esteban put his knife away, then pulled out his pistol. This time, Jack Swyteck would not get away.

Chapter 54

•

Outside the warehouse four blocks away, Governor Harold Swyteck stepped cautiously toward the wide-open doors of the old Chevy van. His gun was drawn and his heart was racing. He froze ten feet from the van when he saw that a sack the size of a body bag was lying across the van’s floor, jerking back and forth.

“Don’t move!” he shouted.

The motion stopped, but a steady whimpering followed. It was a muffled, desperate sound. The governor stepped closer and focused on the license plate. It was a Dade County tag-from Miami.

“This is Harold Swyteck,” he announced as he reached the back of the van.

The whimpering grew louder, more urgent.

“Lie perfectly still,” he ordered. “I have a gun.” He stepped up into the dark van and knelt down beside the body. He pointed the gun with one hand and quickly untied the strings on the sack with the other.

“Cindy!” he said, recognizing her from Jack’s description.

She stared up at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“It’s okay,” he tried to calm her. “I’m Jack’s father.” He began to open the sack, then stopped, realizing she was naked. The monster had taken her clothes. He untied the gag.

She drew a deep breath and tried to move her stiffened jaw. “Thank God,” she cried in a trembling voice.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes!” she answered. “But you have to call the police. He’s going to kill Jack! He told me he would, right before he knocked me out with some injection. He was moving to another house, said you’d find me in this van. I’m his messenger to you.” She raced on without catching her breath. “He said he’s going to kill Jack, and he wants you to find the body. We may already be too late to save him. He said Jack would be dead by the time I woke up.”

“Where are they?”

“He didn’t tell me. He’s not looking for a showdown with you. He wants you to search for your son, hoping you can save him. He wants you to be too late. He just wants you to find Jack’s body.”

The governor snatched a portable phone from his vest and punched the speed dial. “Code red, Kimmell! I’ve got Cindy. She’s okay. Jack’s in trouble. Need a location.”

“Roger,” replied Kimmell. He punched a button on his terminal. In seconds, it would pick up the signal from Jack’s pulsating transmitter. At least it should have picked it up. He punched it again. Still nothing. Again. Nothing.

“Dammit, I’m not getting a reading,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s not coming through.”

“How can that be?”

Kimmell shook his head, trying to think. “I don’t know-maybe, maybe he lost the transmitter? I’m sorry, Governor. I can’t find him.”

The words cut to Harold Swyteck’s core. “God help him,” he uttered. “Dear God in heaven, please help him.”