Extreme Denial

  Silence again. Thunder.

  “You’re joking,” McKittrick said.

  “I’ve never been more serious.”

  “How do you know I won’t kill you?”

  “I don’t,” Decker said. “But if you do, I have friends who will hunt you down. I’m willing to gamble you want this to end here and now. I mean it, Brian. Give me Beth. Keep the money. You’ll never hear from me again.”

  McKittrick didn’t speak for a while. Decker imagined him calculating.

  With a muffled voice, McKittrick spoke to someone else in the motel room. “All right,” he said to Decker. “Give us five minutes. Then we’re coming out. I expect you to be waiting with your hands up at my car.”

  “You’ve got a deal, Brian. But in case you’re tempted to go back on the bargain, just remember—someone else will be aiming at you.”

  6

  Mouth parched with fear, Decker hung up the phone and stepped out into the rain. His chill increased as he hurried across the street and into the motel’s dark parking lot, staying within shadows, concealing himself. At the back, he came up behind the Dumpster and, using a whisper that was muffled by the rain, explained to Esperanza the deal he had made.

  “You’re taking a hell of a risk,” Esperanza said.

  “So what else is new?”

  “Cojones, man.”

  “He won’t kill me. He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life running.”

  “From your imaginary friends.”

  “Well, I sort of thought you’d go after him if he killed me.”

  “Yes.” Esperanza thought about it. “Yes, I would.”

  The lights came on beyond the closed draperies in unit 19.

  “I can’t let him find a weapon on me. Here’s my pistol,” Decker said. “Don’t hesitate to shoot him if things go bad.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Esperanza said.

  “When I tell you to, pick up that empty bottle by your feet and throw it toward the front of the motel. Throw it high so he doesn’t know where you are.”

  Trying to avoid revealing where Esperanza was hiding, Decker crept back into the darkness and emerged from the shadows of a different area of the parking lot. With his hands up, he stepped through puddles toward the Pontiac in front of unit 19.

  The draperies parted, like curtains in a theater. Decker’s body felt disturbingly out of rhythm when he saw what was revealed. Beth was tied to a chair, her mouth stuffed with a gag. Her blue-gray eyes looked wild with fright. Her hair was disheveled. Her oval face was tight, her high cheekbones pressing against skin made pale by fear. But then she saw him through the window, and Decker was moved by the affection that replaced the fear in her eyes, by the trusting way she looked at him. The relief she felt, her confidence in him, both were obvious. She had faith that he was the hero she had dreamed about when she was a child, her hero, that he would save her.

  From the left, concealed by the cinder-block column between the window and the door, a person stretched out an arm, pointing a hand toward Beth’s temple. The hand held a cocked revolver.

  Tensing, Decker heard a noise at the door, the lock being freed, the handle being turned. Light spilled from a narrow gap.

  “Decker?” McKittrick didn’t show himself.

  “I’m at your car—where I said I would be.”

  The door came fully open. McKittrick stepped into view, the beefy shoulders of his thirtyish football player’s body silhouetted by the light. He looked a little more heavy in the chest than when Decker had last seen him. His blond hair was cut even shorter than Decker remembered, emphasizing his rugged, squared-off features. His eyes reminded Decker of a pig’s.

  Aiming a pistol, McKittrick smiled. For a dismaying moment, Decker feared that McKittrick would shoot. But McKittrick stepped from the open door, grabbed Decker, and thrust him across the still-warm hood of the Pontiac.

  “You’d better not be armed, old buddy.” McKittrick searched him roughly, all the while pressing the barrel of his pistol against the back of Decker’s neck.

  “No weapon,” Decker said. “I made a deal. I’ll stick to it.” With his cheek pressed against the Pontiac’s wet hood, Decker was able to see sideways toward the illuminated window and the revolver aimed at Beth. He blinked repeatedly to clear his vision as cold rain pelted his face.

  Beth squirmed in terror.

  McKittrick stopped his rough search and stepped back. “My, my, my, you really did it. You gave yourself up to me. So sure of yourself. What makes you think I won’t shoot you in the head?”

  “I told you—I’ve got backup.”

  “Yeah, sure, right. From who? The FBI? This isn’t their style. From Langley? This doesn’t involve national security. Why would they care?”

  “I have friends.”

  “Hey, I’ve been watching you, remember? In Santa Fe, you don’t have any friends, none you would trust to back you up.”

  “From the old days.”

  “Like hell.”

  “Make a noise,” Decker called to Esperanza in the darkness.

  McKittrick flinched as the empty bottle plummeted onto the pavement near the entrance to the motel. Glass shattered.

  McKittrick scowled and continued to aim at Decker. “For all I know, that’s a wino you paid to throw that bottle.”

  “The point is, you don't know,” Decker said. “Why take the risk?”

  “I’m going to be so damned happy to have you out of my life.”

  For a panicked moment, Decker feared that McKittrick was going to pull the trigger.

  Instead, McKittrick shouted toward the open door, “Let’s go!”

  A figure appeared—of medium height, wearing an over-sized black raincoat and a rubber rain hat, the wide brim of which drooped down and concealed the person’s features. Whoever it was had a suitcase in his left hand while he continued to aim the revolver at Beth in the window.

  McKittrick opened the Pontiac’s back door so the man in the raincoat could throw the suitcase into the car. Only when the man got into the back did McKittrick open the Pontiac’s driver’s door and tell Decker to slide across. The man in back sat behind Decker and aimed at his head while McKittrick got behind the steering wheel, all the while aiming at Beth.

  “Slick.” McKittrick chuckled. “No muss, no fuss. And now, old buddy, you get what you wanted.” His tone became sober. “We take you for a ride.”

  McKittrick started the Pontiac, switched on its headlights, and went into reverse. The headlights blazed at Beth. Through the distortion of rain streaming down the windshield, Decker watched her trying to struggle against her ropes and turn her head to shield her eyes from the glare of the headlights. As the Pontiac continued backing up, she seemed to get smaller. McKittrick put the car into forward, steered, and pulled away from the motel unit. Grateful that Beth was safe but simultaneously feeling alone and hollow himself, Decker turned to catch his last glimpse of her struggling against the ropes that bound her to the chair. She stared with heartbreaking melancholy in his direction, afraid now for him.

  “Who would have guessed?” McKittrick drove onto the gloomy street outside the motel and headed to the right. “A romantic.”

  Decker didn’t say anything.

  “She must really have gotten to you,” McKittrick said.

  Decker still didn’t respond.

  “Hey.” McKittrick took his eyes off the road and aimed his pistol at Decker’s face. “This is a goddamned conversation.”

  “Yes,” Decker said. “She got to me.”

  McKittrick muttered with contempt, then glanced back at the road. He studied his rearview mirror. “No headlights. Nobody’s following.”

  “Did she know who I was when I first met her?” Decker asked.

  “What?”

  “Was she only using me for extra protection?”

  “You’re something. All that pose about being a professional, about keeping control, and you ruin your life over a woman.”

  “T
hat’s not the way I look at it.”

  “How the hell do you look at it?”

  “I didn’t ruin my life,” Decker said. “I found it.”

  “Not for long. You want to talk about ruined lives?” McKittrick snapped. “You ruined mine. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d still be working for the Agency. I would have been promoted. My father would have been proud of me. I wouldn’t have had to take this shit job with the Marshals Service, protecting gangsters.” McKittrick raised his voice. “I could still be in Rome!”

  The man in the backseat said something—a gravelly, guttural statement that was too distorted for Decker to understand it. Decker had heard the puzzlingly grotesque voice before— when he listened outside McKittrick’s room. But there was something about it that made it naggingly familiar, as if he had heard it even earlier. McKittrick was obviously familiar with it and knew immediately what was being said.

  “I won’t shut up!” McKittrick said. “I’m not giving anything away! He knows as well as I do, he couldn’t stand for me to be successful! He shouldn’t have interfered! If he’d let me do things my way, I would have been a hero!”

  “Heroes don’t let themselves get mixed up with scum like Giordano.”

  “Hey, since the good guys decided to kick me out, I thought I’d see how the bad guys treated me. A hell of a lot better, thank you very much. I’m beginning to think there’s not a whole lot of difference.” McKittrick laughed. “And the money is definitely an improvement.”

  “But you turned against Giordano.”

  “I finally realized there’s only one side in any of this— mine. And you’re on the wrong side. Now it’s payback time.” McKittrick held up an object. For a moment, Decker thought it was a weapon. Then he recognized the homing device. “I’m not as sloppy as you think. After you phoned, I kept asking myself, How did you find me? Back at the drop site, I threw the briefcase away, just in case it was bugged. But I never thought of the money itself. So I went through every bundle, and guess what I found in a hollow you cut out.” McKittrick pressed a button that lowered the driver’s window. Furious, he hurled the homing device into a ditch that he sped past. “So who’s the smart guy now? Whoever’s with you won’t be able to follow. You’re mine.”

  McKittrick turned onto a side road, pulled onto the tree lined shoulder, stopped, and shut off the Pontiac’s headlights. In the darkness, rain drummed on the roof. The rapid flapping of the windshield wipers was matched by the beat of Decker’s heart as lightning flashed and he saw McKittrick aiming a pistol at him.

  “I can hide for quite a while on a million dollars,” McKittrick said. “But I don’t have to hide at all if you’re not chasing me.”

  McKittrick steadied his finger on the trigger.

  “We had a bargain,” Decker said.

  “Yeah, and I bet you meant to keep your end of it. Get out of the car.”

  Decker’s tension increased.

  “Get out of the car,” McKittrick repeated. “Do it. Open the door.”

  Decker eased away from McKittrick, putting his hand on the passenger door. The moment he opened the latch and stepped out, McKittrick would shoot him, he knew. Frantic, he tried to think of a way to escape. He could attempt to distract McKittrick and get his hands on the pistol, but that still left the man in the backseat, who would fire the moment Decker made an aggressive move. I can dive for the ditch, he thought. In the night and the rain, they might not be able to get a good shot at me.

  Muscles cramping, he eased the door open, praying, ready to scramble out.

  “Does she really love you?” McKittrick asked. “Was she aware of who you were? Was she using you?”

  “Yes, that’s what I want to know,” Decker said.

  “Ask her.”

  “What?”

  “Go back and ask her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The smugness had returned to McKittrick’s voice. He was playing a game, but Decker couldn’t tell what the game was. “I’m keeping my part of the bargain. You’re free. Go back to Diana Scolari. Find out if she’s worth the price you were willing to pay.”

  “For Beth Dwyer.”

  “You really are a goddamned romantic.”

  The instant Decker’s shoes touched the rain-soaked side of the road, McKittrick stomped the gas pedal, and the Pontiac roared away from Decker, barely missing his feet. As the door slammed shut from the force of the Pontiac’s acceleration, McKittrick laughed. Then the car’s taillights receded rapidly. Decker was alone in the dark and the rain.

  ELEVEN

  1

  The realization of what had just happened didn’t immediately take possession of Decker. He seemed to exist in a dream. Shuddering from the numbness of the shock that he had not been killed, he doubted the reality that McKittrick had let him go. McKittrick’s disturbing laughter echoed in his mind. Something was wrong.

  But Decker didn’t have time to think about it. He was too busy turning, racing back toward the dim lights of Closter. Despite his exhaustion from too little sleep and not enough food, despite the pain from his numerous injuries and the chill of his wet clothes further draining his strength, it seemed to him that he had never run faster or with a fiercer resolve. The storm gusted at him, but he ignored it, charging through the darkness. He stretched his legs to their maximum. His lungs heaved. Nothing could stop him from getting to Beth. In his frenzy, he neared the town’s limits. He had a wavering glimpse of the Oldsmobile, where Esperanza had parked it off the street near the motel. Then the motel loomed, its red neon sign shimmering. Almost delirious, he charged around the corner, mustered a last burst of speed, and surged past darkened units toward the light gleaming from room 19’s open door.

  Inside, Beth was slumped on the side of the bed. Esperanza held a glass of water to her lips. The gag and the ropes were on the floor. Aside from those details, every object in the room might as well have been invisible. Decker’s attention was riveted on Beth. Her long auburn hair was tangled, her eyes sunken, her cheeks gaunt. He hurried to her, fell to his knees, and tenderly raised his hands to her face. Only vaguely did he have an idea of his unrecognizable appearance, of his drenched hair stuck flat to his skull, of the scrapes on his face oozing blood, of his soaked, tom clothes smeared with mud. Nothing mattered except that Beth was safe.

  “Are ...?” His voice was so hoarse, so strained by emotion, that it startled him. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

  “No.” Beth quivered. She seemed to be doubting her sanity. “You’re bleeding. Your face is ...”

  Decker felt pain in his eyes and throat and realized that he was sobbing.

  “Lie down, Decker,” Esperanza said. “You’re in worse shape than Beth is.”

  Decker tasted the salt from his tears as he put his arms around Beth and held her as gently as his powerful emotions would allow. This was the moment he had been waiting for. All of his determination and suffering had been directed toward this instant.

  “You’re hurt,” Beth said.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He kissed her, never wanting to let her go. “I can’t tell you how worried I was. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes. They didn’t hit me. The ropes and the gag were the hardest part. And the thirst. I couldn’t get enough water.”

  “I mean it, Decker,” Esperanza said. “You look awful. You better lie down.”

  But instead of obeying, Decker took the glass of water and urged Beth to sip more of it. He kept repeating in amazement, “You’re alive,” as if in the darkest portion of his soul he had questioned whether he would in fact be able to save her. “I was so scared.”

  “Don’t think about it.” Decker lovingly stroked her tangled hair. “It’s over now. McKittrick’s gone.”

  “And the woman.”

  “Woman?”

  “She terrified me.”

  Decker leaned back, studying Beth in confusion. “What woman?”

  “With McKittrick.”

/>   Decker felt his stomach turn cold. “But all I saw was a man.”

  “In the raincoat. With the rain hat.”

  A chill spread through his already-chilled body. “That was a woman?”

  Beth shuddered. “She was beautiful. But her voice was grotesque. She had something wrong with her throat. A puckered hole. A scar, as if she’d' been struck with something there.”

  Decker now understood why the repugnant guttural voice had been familiar. However distorted, there had been something about it that suggested an accent. An Italian accent. “Listen carefully. Was she tall? Trim hips? Short dark hair? Did she look Italian?”

  “Yes. How did—”

  “My God, did McKittrick ever call her by name? Did he use the name—”

  “Renata.”

  “We have to get out of here.” Decker stood, drawing Beth to her feet, looking frantically around the room.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Did she leave anything? A suitcase? A package?”

  “When they were getting ready to go, she took a shopping bag into the other room, but she never brought it back.”

  “We have to get out of here,” Decker shouted, urging Beth and Esperanza toward the open door. “She’s an expert in explosives. I’m afraid it’s a bomb!”

  He pushed them outside into the rain, fearfully recalling another rainstorm fifteen months ago, when he had crouched behind a crate in a courtyard in Rome.

  * * *

  Renata had detonated a bomb in an upper apartment. As wreckage cascaded from the fourth balcony, the ferocity of the flames illuminated the courtyard Decker’s peripheral vision detected motion in the far left corner of the courtyard, near the door that he and McKittrick had come through. But the motion wasn't from McKittrick. The figure that emerged from the shadows of a stairway was Renata. Holding a pistol equipped with a sound suppressor, she shot repeatedly toward the courtyard, all the while running toward the open doorway. Behind the crate, Decker sprawled on wet cobblestones and squirmed forward on his elbows and knees. He reached the side of the crate, caught a glimpse of Renata nearing the exit, aimed through the rain, and shot twice. His first bullet struck the wall behind her. His second hit her in the throat. She clutched her windpipe, blood spewing. As her brothers dragged her out of sight into the dark street, Decker knew that their efforts to save her were worthless. The wound would cause her throat to squeeze shut. Death from asphyxiation would occur in just a few minutes.