Esperanza obeyed, making no attempt to ease the impact of Decker’s body onto the ground. Pain jolted through him, but he didn’t show it, just remained limp as Esperanza dragged him through a puddle. Although Decker kept his eyes shut, he imagined the scene: the battered Oldsmobile next to the refreshment building at the scenic lookout. A little before midnight, in the rain, it was very unlikely that any motorists would have stopped to admire the view from the Palisades. In good weather, the view from the lookout showed the lights of boats on the Hudson and the expansive glow of Hastings and Yonkers across the river, but in bad weather like this, it would show only gloom. On the off chance that a driver might pull in to rest for a few minutes, Esperanza had parked the Oldsmobile sideways toward the entrance to the lookout, preventing anyone on the interstate from seeing what appeared to be a corpse being dragged around to the back of the refreshment building.
Decker heard Esperanza grunt, then felt the squishy impact as Esperanza dropped him into a muddy puddle. Limp, he allowed his body to roll and ended on his left side in the puddle. Peering through half-open eyelids, he saw what appeared to be garbage cans in the darkness behind the building. He heard Esperanza run through the puddle back to the car and quickly return. He saw Esperanza set the briefcase against the rear of the building. Then Esperanza disappeared. In a moment, Decker heard car doors being shut, an engine revving, the splash of tires as Esperanza drove away. The engine became fainter. Then all Decker heard was the distant drone of traffic on the interstate and the pelt of rain on the clear plastic bag tied over his head.
“Giordano’s deal with McKittrick was the money and my corpse,” Decker had insisted while he and Esperanza drove anxiously from town to town, worried about the time they were losing, desperate to find a convenience store. They had started their search at 10:30. Then the time was 11:00, then 11:15. “We have to be there by midnight.” Twice, the stores they did find open had not had all the materials Decker needed. At 11:30, they had finally gotten what they needed. Esperanza had parked on a deserted country lane and done what was necessary.
“Why can’t I leave the money along with a note, supposedly from Giordano, that says he won’t kill you until McKittrick makes good on his promise?” Esperanza had tied clothesline rope around Decker’s ankles.
“Because I don’t want to do anything to make him suspicious. Be sure the knots are in plain view. It’ll be dark behind that building. I want it to be obvious to him that I’ve been tied up.”
“But this way, if he isn’t convinced you’re dead, you won’t have a chance to defend yourself.” Esperanza tied Decker’s arms behind his back.
“That’s what I’m hoping will convince him. He won’t believe I willingly made myself completely vulnerable to him.”
“Does this knot hurt?”
“It doesn’t matter whether it hurts. Make it real. Make it look as if I couldn’t possibly be alive and not show any reaction to the way I’ve been tied. He has to believe I’m dead.”
“You might be dead by the time he gets to you. Decker, this plastic bag scares the hell out of me.”
“That’s the point. It might even scare him. I’m counting on it to be the finishing touch. Mark me up. Hurry.”
Needing something that looked like blood, Decker had used what a pathologist once explained to him were the easiest-to-obtain materials to fake it—colorless corn syrup and red food dye.
“Make it look as if they really enjoyed beating me,” Decker insisted.
“They mashed your lips. They messed up your jaw.” Esperanza had applied the mixture.
“Hurry. We’ve got only fifteen minutes to get to the drop-off site.”
Esperanza quickly tied the bag around Decker’s neck and then murmured a Spanish prayer as Decker inhaled and forced the bag to collapse around his head, the plastic clinging to his face, sticking to his skin, stuffing Decker’s nostrils and his mouth. Immediately Esperanza poked a tiny hole in the plastic that filled Decker’s mouth and hurriedly inserted a cutoff piece of a drinking straw, which Decker gripped between his teeth, allowing him to breathe without breaking the vacuum that made the plastic bag stick to his face.
“My God, Decker, does it work? Can you get enough air?”
Decker had managed to nod slightly.
“The way that bag sticks to your face, you look like a corpse.”
Good, Decker thought as he lay in the muddy puddle, in the dark, behind the refreshment building, listening to the rain pelt the plastic bag. Provided that he breathed shallowly, slowly, and calmly, the small amount of air he got through the straw was enough to allow him to remain alive. But with each slight inhalation, panic tried to force itself through his fierce resolve. With each imperceptible exhalation, his heart wanted to beat faster, demanding more oxygen. The cord that secured the bag around his neck was tight enough to dig into the skin—Decker had insisted on that, also. Everything absolutely had to look convincing. And feel so—the cold rain would lower Decker’s exterior temperature, making his skin feel like that of a corpse losing body heat. If McKittrick for one moment doubted that Decker was a corpse, he would put a bullet through Decker’s head and settle the matter.
The danger was that McKittrick would shoot him no matter what, but Decker was counting on the grotesque appearance of his face to make McKittrick decide that further violence wasn’t necessary. If McKittrick felt for a pulse on Decker’s wrists, he wouldn’t find one, the tight ropes having sharply reduced the flow of blood. He could try to feel for a pulse along Decker’s neck, but to do so, McKittrick would have to untie the cord that secured the plastic bag—time-consuming and disgusting. That left pressing a palm against the ribs over Decker’s heart, but he wasn’t likely to do that, either, because Decker had landed on his left side—to feel the ribs over Decker’s heart, McKittrick would have to turn the body over and press his hand against the repulsive mud that adhered to Decker’s clothes.
It was still a great risk. “Insane,” as Esperanza had kept telling him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” But what was the alternative? If the drop-off didn’t occur exactly as McKittrick expected, if Decker’s body wasn’t there as promised, McKittrick might become suspicious enough not to take the money, fearing that the briefcase was booby-trapped. But the money was what Decker’s plan was all about, the money and the homing device that Decker had hidden with the money. If McKittrick didn’t take the money, Decker would have no way to follow him to where Beth was being held captive. No matter how Decker analyzed it, there wasn’t an alternative. McKittrick had to find Decker’s corpse.
“Do you love Beth that much?” Esperanza had asked before he tied the plastic bag over Decker’s head. “To risk your life for her so completely?”
“I’d go to hell for her.”
“To learn the truth about her feelings toward you?” Esperanza had looked strangely at him. “This isn’t about love. It’s about pride.”
“It’s about hope. If I can’t trust love, nothing matters. Put that straw in my mouth. Tie the bag.”
“Decker, you’re the most remarkable man I ever met.”
“No, I’m a fool.”
Lying in the puddle, breathing slightly, fighting panic, mustering all the discipline of which he was capable, Decker struggled against the temptation to second-guess himself. As his lungs demanded more air, he thought, Perhaps there had been another way. Was it possible that all he wanted was to show Beth the lengths he would go to demonstrate how much he loved her?
Desperately needing to distract himself, he recalled the first time he had seen her, two months ago... Could it have been only that recently? It seemed forever ... in the lobby of the real estate office—how she had turned toward him, how his heart rhythm had changed. Never before in his life had he felt such instant attraction. In his imagination, he saw her again vividly, her lush auburn hair reflecting the light, her tanned skin glowing with health, her athletic figure making him self-conscious about the contour of her breasts and hips. He was
spellbound by her elegant chin, her high cheekbones, her model’s forehead. He imagined stepping close to her, and suddenly his imagination shifted to the evening they had first made love, her blue-gray eyes and sensual lips so close that they were a blur. He’d kissed her neck, drawing his tongue along her skin, tasting salt, sun, and something primal. He’d smelled her musk. When he had entered her, it was as if all his life he had been only half of a person, but now he was complete, not only physically but emotionally, spiritually, filled with well-being, at last blessed with a purpose—to build a life with her, to share, to be one.
2
In a rush, his senses returned to the present—because, amid the distant drone of traffic and the pelting of the rain, he heard sounds from the bluff behind him. Although the plastic bag muffled his hearing, apprehension heightened his awareness. The sounds he heard were labored breathing, footsteps slipping on wet rocks, branches being snapped.
Dear God, Decker thought. He had been waiting to hear a car pull off the interstate and approach this section of the scenic lookout. But McKittrick had been here all long, below the guardrail, hiding on the slope. He must have seen Esperanza drag me behind the building, Decker told himself. He must have seen Esperanza dump me into the puddle, leave the briefcase, and drive away. If Esperanza had said just one word to me, if he had made any attempt to cushion me, McKittrick would have realized instantly that this was a trap. He would have shot us.
Decker shivered from the understanding of how close he had come to dying. The cold rain made him shiver, also, and at once he strained to subdue the reflex. He didn’t dare move. He had to achieve the appearance of lifelessness. In the past, when he had been about to embark on a dangerous assignment, he had relied on meditation to calm himself. Now he did so again. Concentrating deeply, he fought to purge himself of emotion, of fear, of longing, of apprehension, of need.
But his imagination could not be denied. He envisioned McKittrick peering over the rain-swept bluff and scowling at the darkness. McKittrick would be nervous, wet, cold, impatient to finish this and escape. He would be holding a weapon and prepared to shoot at the slightest provocation. He might have a flashlight. He might risk exposing himself by turning it on and aiming the light at the ropes around Decker’s arms and legs. If so, he would definitely let the light linger on the plastic bag that covered Decker’s head.
Footsteps touched down on wet gravel, as if McKittrick had stepped over the guardrail. This was the moment, Decker knew, when McKittrick might shoot to make sure that Decker was in fact dead. Simultaneously, to prevent his chest from moving even slightly, Decker stopped breathing. His lungs immediately demanded more air. The suffocating pressure in his chest began to build. His oxygen-starved muscles ached with intensifying need.
The footsteps paused near him. Decker had prepared him-self and showed no reaction when a shoe pushed at his upright shoulder flipping him onto his back. Through closed eyelids, Decker was able to see the filtered glare from a flashlight as McKittrick studied the plastic bag’s seal against Decker’s face. Decker had shifted the cutoff section of straw toward a corner of his mouth and inhaled imperceptibly so that the bag was deeper past his lips. He felt light-headed. Desperate to breathe, he concentrated on kissing Beth; his mind filled only with her. Swirling, he felt swallowed by her.
McKittrick grunted, perhaps with satisfaction. At once the flashlight was extinguished. His lungs threatening to burst, Decker heard quick footsteps through water as McKittrick presumably hurried toward the briefcase. But now other sounds confused Decker, clicks, scrapes, aggravating his apprehension. What were those sounds? What was McKittrick doing?
Understanding came in a rush. McKittrick was transferring the money to another container, suspicious that Giordano might have put a homing device in the briefcase. Good instincts, but Decker had anticipated. The homing device wasn’t secured to the briefcase. Decker had used a knife to cut out the interior of one of the packets of cash. He had inserted the homing device and then had re-secured the rubber bands around the packet so it appeared no different from any of the others.
Decker heard McKittrick grunt again, this time with effort. Something flipped through the air, then clattered down the bluff. The briefcase, Decker realized. McKittrick had thrown it away. He didn’t want to leave any indication that this area behind the rest rooms had been used as a drop site. But if he had thrown away the briefcase ...
Jesus, he’s going to do the same with me. Decker barely kept his oxygen-deprived body from showing his panic as McKittrick grabbed his shoulders, dragged him violently backward, roughly hefted him up, and doubled him over the guardrail. No! Decker mentally screamed. The next instant, he felt weightless. His body struck something. He flipped off it and again felt weightless. His bound arms hit something beneath him. Unable to restrain the impulse, he moaned in pain. Had McKittrick heard him? He toppled, rolled, hit something else, imagined that he was about to begin the long, deadly fall all the way from the Palisades bluff to the Hudson River, and suddenly jolted to an agonizing halt, his head banging against something.
Dazed, he felt something liquid inside the plastic bag. I’m bleeding! The hot sticky fluid streamed from a cut on his forehead and began to fill the plastic bag. No! He didn’t care if McKittrick now saw him move. There wasn’t a choice. He had to breathe. The plan had been for McKittrick to take the money, leave Decker, and hurry away. At that point, Decker would have reinserted the piece of straw in the hole in the bag and breathed as best he could until Esperanza—alerted by the moving needle on the receiver that the money had been taken—returned to free him. But Decker had never once considered that McKittrick might try to dispose of the body. Decker never would have attempted the plan if the terrifying thought had occurred to him. I’m going to die. The cord that was tied around his neck, securing the plastic bag to his face, dug into his skin, making him feel strangled.
Frantic for air, he worked the piece of straw from the corner of his mouth and poked it through the hole in the bag ... or tried to—he couldn’t find the opening. Unable to control his body, he exhaled forcefully, expanding the bag, and with equal force, totally unwilled, he inhaled. This time, the bag filled his nose and mouth. Like a living thing, it gripped tightly to his skin. The makeup and blood beneath it caused it to stick fast. Esperanza will never find me in time!
Thrashing, he turned in the rain toward whatever he had landed on and rubbed his face along whatever it was that supported him, searching for anything that was sharp, a branch, a jagged outcrop of rock, anything that would snag the plastic bag and tear it open. The surface was wet and slick. He banged his head against something—a rock—ignored the pain, and continued squirming. But he felt in slow motion. The blood that continued to slick his face and fill the plastic bag gave him the sensation of drowning. For all he knew, his movements were about to topple him over a precipice. What difference did it make? He was doomed if he didn’t
The stakelike object snagged the plastic bag. His consciousness graying, he feebly jerked his head to the left, felt the bag tear, and used a final burst of strength to twist his head even farther to the left. The tear increased. He felt a chill wind against his forehead, the cold rain on his brow. But the plastic still stuck to his nose and mouth. He tried to breathe through the tiny hole at his mouth, but his efforts had twisted the plastic and sealed the hole. He thought he was going to choke on the piece of drinking straw in his mouth. I have to get the bag off my head! Feeling as if something inside him were going to burst, as if he were about to sink into a deep black pit, he made one last attempt to snag the bag on the sharp object, scraped his right cheek, and tore the bag totally open.
When he spat out the piece of drinking straw and breathed, wind seemed to shriek down his throat. The rush of cold air into his lungs was unbelievably sweet. His chest pumped convulsively. He lay on his back, trembling, gulping air, and tried to adjust to the realization that he was alive.
3
Alive, but for how long? Decke
r asked himself in dismay. Esperanza might not find me. If I stay out in the cold rain much longer, I’ll get hypothermia. I’ll die from exposure. Turning so that his face was toward the black sky, he tasted sweet rain, breathing hungrily, trying not to be alarmed by the force with which he shuddered and the pressure it put on his bound arms and legs. How long have I been down here? Has McKittrick gone? Did he hear me groan when I landed?
He waited in dread that a dark shape would clamber down the bluff toward him, that McKittrick would turn on his flashlight, grin, and aim his pistol. Indeed, all of a sudden, Decker did see a flashlight glaring at the top of the bluff, the beam moving toward the refreshment building, toward the guardrail, toward the refreshment building again, and, responding to the faith that he had felt growing in him, Decker shouted, or tried to shout, “Esperanza.” The word came out hoarsely, as if he had been swallowing gravel. He tried again, harder. “Esperanza!” This time, the flashlight beam froze toward the guardrail. A moment later, it blazed down the bluff, and Decker was able to see that the drop here was on an incline, a series of bush and tree-studded levels that angled down toward the eventual sheer fall to the river.
“Over here!” Decker shouted. The flashlight beam streaked along the ledge toward him. Not far enough. “Here!” At last, the flashlight found him. But did it belong to Esperanza? Faith, Decker thought. I’ve got to have faith.
“Decker?”
Esperanza! Thanking God, Decker felt his heart pound less furiously as the familiar tall, lanky figure climbed over the guardrail and began a hurried descent.
“Be careful,” Decker said.
Esperanza’s cowboy boots slipped off a rock. “Holy—” He steadied himself, scurried lower, and crouched, using his flashlight to study Decker’s face. “There’s blood all over you. Are you all right?”
“I have to be.”