Deadly Shore, page 14
After they had gone, Flint went to take a nap. His doctor had said that at his age a nap everyday was important. This time he wouldn't sleep though. There was too much at stake. He never should have killed the priest and stolen the cross. He should have known he'd never be able to sell it. It became too famous the minute it hit the news. He could have taken out the stones and melted down the gold, but it wouldn't be worth a fraction of what it was now. No, it was now just something pretty for him to look at when he was alone.
He couldn't let Doyle get off the Cape with it. If Doyle recognized it, he wouldn't be stupid enough to talk to anyone about it, so if his men could find Doyle fast, this whole thing could go away.
On the off-chance that he did talk though, whoever he talked to was going to have to die too.
Chapter 30
In Chicago, Hanson the computer geek was freaking out. He was a hacker, yes, but not a killer, and he wanted out. He wasn't totally sure why he got involved in the first place. Probably ego, he figured. Mason had come to him and fanned the flames of his ego, making it hard to say no.
Hanson and Mason were in college together and had formed a loose friendship. Hanson appreciated Mason's intelligence and Mason was impressed by Hanson's magic with computers. As he thought back, though, Hanson began to wonder if Mason's friendship wasn't calculated. In fact, he was beginning to think that all of Mason's relationships were calculated. It seemed that every person Mason befriended had a skill of some kind. He was obsessed with gaining knowledge, and he was always taking notes. He just wasn't normal.
Nice to be having these epiphanies now, he was thinking. Why didn't I have them before I agreed to do this? He couldn't just walk away. Tanner made that clear. He didn't like Tanner at all, and he wasn't sure how Mason and Tanner got together. Probably another case of Mason finding someone who served a purpose. Tanner was dangerous and he had made it clear that if Hanson tried to quit, he'd make sure his name was leaked to the Feds.
But things had changed. At least he thought they'd changed. It was the evening of the 6th and Mason hadn't contacted him. By now he should have sent at least two more emails out to the media. Things were definitely behind schedule. He couldn't do anything on his own—Mason was very clear about that. Mason had the schedule worked out, and the email he had Hanson send out would depend on the situation. So there was nothing he could do.
And then he saw why. He wasn't sure why he hadn't seen it earlier. After all, he spent almost every waking minute online, with much of his attention these days focused on the Cape Cod situation. Maybe they weren't making the information public right away. The government was sneaky about things like that. The phones had to be down. Mason couldn't call him!
He found himself laughing. With all the planning Mason had done, he didn't anticipate the phones being affected? It was almost too funny. This would be a good time for him to shut things down. It would be easy enough to do. After all, they hadn't tracked him after the first email—and he knew they wouldn't—so all he had to do was to jettison the Seth Wakeby email and all traces of the code from his system, and then he'd be done with it all. Totally untraceable. But what if they suddenly got their phones back, however unlikely that was? Mason would call and Hanson would have to tell him that it was shut down and couldn't be revived. That wouldn't bode well for him. Mason would have Tanner on his ass the minute it was over.
Hanson struggled with those thoughts for the next two hours, coming to no clear conclusion. He was driving himself crazy, a feeling he wasn't used to. Being a hacker—and a good one—he was used to being in control. People needed him and he was able to dictate his own terms. That's what was wrong with this. He had no say. Mason told him what to send and when to send it. Mason was in total control. Well, screw him. That wasn't how he worked, and he couldn't believe he had let himself get blindsided like that. He had to give Mason credit though, he was good.
And then he saw his out.
He was wandering through the FBI secure website looking for information on the terrorist attack, when he came across an item about a body found near a cranberry bog on the Cape on July 4th. It was discovered with two bullets in it. There was a link to the crime scene pictures. Somehow, Hanson knew that it was related to Mason's operation, but it was just a gut feeling. It wasn't going to be Mason in those pictures, because Mason called him on the 5th, but he just had a feeling…
It was Tanner! Yes! Someone had done away with Tanner. Hanson felt a surge of excitement run through his body. With Tanner out of the picture, it changed everything. Hanson was pretty sure, based on the emails Mason had left for him to send out, that Mason had no intention of surviving this thing. He had assumed though that Tanner and the rest of the crew would be gone by the time Mason pulled his last move. Now it didn't matter. Mason and Tanner were the only two who knew who he was. The rest of the crew just knew that Mason had hired a computer expert to take care of the communications. The only one he feared was Tanner, and now he was gone.
Now Hanson would be gone, as well. He spent the next fifteen minutes deleting from his system everything pertaining to Mason, Seth Wakeby, or the emails to the media. When he was done, his computers were squeaky clean—well, except for all the other illegal stuff still on them. He even deleted the phone number that Mason called.
When it came to the Cape Cod operation, he was out of it. Even if Mason got back his phone service, it would be too late.
Hanson was out of the killing business.
Chapter 31
Hanson wasn't the only one who was questioning the operation. Mason's two explosives guys, Danielson and Packer, were beginning to have serious doubts. But in their case, it had nothing to do with second thoughts about killing people. They enjoyed that part. Their concern was getting paid. Through little things that Mason had said and done, they were beginning to wonder if they had been told the whole story. They weren't stupid like the other four recruits. They knew there was no movement afoot to take over the government. And the ransom demands were laughable. There was no way the Feds would give them Indian land. And as far as the deposits into foreign accounts was concerned, they might do it, but with all kinds of tracers. The minute someone tried to access one of those accounts, agents would be swarming all over him. None of that mattered to Danielson and Packer, because they had been paid a portion of their fee in advance, and were told that they would be paid out of a different account as soon as the job was complete. The sharing of the ransom would come later. Well, their part of the job was complete. It was time to go see Mason.
Their work had begun a few months earlier, scouting the Cape. They had taken many boat rides up and down the canal to determine just where they needed to plant the charges on the bridges for the greatest effect. The ferry docks were easy—they did all that underwater with scuba gear. The ferries themselves proved to be a bit complicated, getting down to the engine room without being seen. But with a little luck and using the four idiots as diversions, they were able to accomplish it. The airport was the toughest one of all. Even though it wasn't a major airport, there were still security measures to get around. Stringing the bombs along the runway proved the trickiest, again having to use the others as diversions and the dead of night as cover.
But now it was reckoning time. Time for Mason to pay up. They drove to Mason's in the rain and wind with dollar signs in their eyes and guns in their belt.
*****
Mason had been expecting them. Not necessarily at that moment, but soon. He had heard them grumbling about not being paid after the last group meeting and knew it wouldn't be long before he'd get a visit from them. He was at the kitchen sink when he saw a car pull up to the curb a half a block down. That usually indicated that whoever it was, was up to no good, especially with none of the other houses currently occupied.
This is where Tanner would have come in handy. He could have dispatched these two clowns with ease. Mason figured that Tanner probably would have used a knife. Well, he wasn't as crude as Tanner. He'd be a little classier in his method. But just in case things didn't go as planned, he kept a gun within reach around the corner of the kitchen.
He was standing in the kitchen doorway when they entered through the back door.
"Howdy boys. What brings you out on such a rainy night?" Danielson and Packer, by virtue of their more important role in the operation—and the fact that they were smarter than the others by leaps and bounds—had the freedom to visit Mason anytime.
"Thought we should have a talk," said Packer, a small man with a bald head and tattoos that covered almost every inch of his body from the neck down.
"And I know what we're talking about. Beer?"
Both men nodded and Mason opened the fridge and opened two bottles of beer—two bottles that he had already opened and recapped minutes earlier—and handed them out.
"You want to know when you're getting paid." He took a swig of his beer and waited for the others to drink before he continued. "There's been a slight change of plans."
"Change, how?" asked Danielson, also bald, but much larger than his partner, with long arms and biceps the size of watermelons.
"I actually don't have the money." Mason talked slowly. The timing was going to be crucial. "We pretty much used up everything we had to get this far. I've got nothing left."
"So now you're planning on paying us from the ransom?"
"Oh grow up. You know there won't be any ransom money. There never was going to be any."
The two men looked at each other, then back at Mason.
"So you were never planning on paying us," said Packer.
"That would be correct."
"Everything we put into this and we get nothing out of it?"
Mason could see it now. Packer was rubbing his stomach and looking gray. Danielson would follow in a minute.
"Nobody was getting anything out of it. Only me, and my reward wasn't material. I had a plan, but I needed others to help me carry it out. You two and Tanner were the most important. The other four not so much. Even Tanner didn't know my real plan. I don't know if he's dead or in jail. Doesn't really matter. If he's alive, he won't talk, and if he's dead, he can't talk. Either way, he was never destined to live—none of us were." Both men were in obvious distress now. He had to pick up the pace a bit. "I will die when I let out the D-394 on Wednesday. The other four will die that day as well. I'm afraid you two won't last that long, however. I put some poison in your beer. You should be dead in about fifteen seconds."
They both lunged off the couch at Mason. Or rather, they tried to lunge. They barely made it upright, didn't even make it two steps before falling to the ground. They both threw up and a few seconds later they were dead.
"Sorry, boys," Mason said to the air.
It was time to leave. He had a second place rented that he hadn't told anyone about, even Tanner. He figured it was where he was going to stay his last day on the earth. The plan was that by the time he was ready to move to his secret location, everything would be in motion and he could just sit back and watch the chaos—the people panicking and the government totally helpless. It was a beautiful plan. It sucked that they had missed something as simple as overloaded phone lines and it wouldn't go as he'd hoped. Hopefully though, the end result would be the same.
He gathered just the few things he needed—most importantly, the D-394. He had been careful not to keep anything else around that could give the authorities any clues if they happened upon the place.
He took one last look at the two men on the floor in their contorted positions and pools of vomit and went out the door, locking it for no particular reason.
He had just one stop to make.
Chapter 32
Mason stood at the end of the street and looked down the block at the ugly ranch-style house in East Falmouth. The neighborhood had seen its best days—if it ever had any—back in the '70s. Two homes on the block were well-kept, but it was a losing battle for the homeowners. All of the surrounding houses were rentals, occupied by people who took little pride in their houses. It was one of those that his cousins called home.
Six months earlier, Mason had hired a sleazy P.I. to check in on Sandy and Sharon, so he could take stock of their situation. He hit gold. Neither had children (Thank God they couldn't ruin anyone else's life, he thought) and each had been through a divorce. They now lived together, worked part-time jobs, and barely made ends meet. It was a fitting life for the two people who helped ruin his.
He had parked his car around the corner and now started to walk toward his cousins' house. It was dusk and the rain continued to be steady. With only two street lights on the whole road, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be seen.
He'd had numerous arguments with himself over what he would do when he saw them. Would he kill them outright? Would he make them suffer? But what finally won out was neither of the two.
He knocked. He had already determined that both were home, and he could hear a TV blasting. The door opened and he was confronted by an even larger version of his cousin than he remembered. She wasn't grotesquely fat, just had the body of someone who didn't care one iota about her appearance. A cigarette dangled from her lips.
"Yeah? What?" Mason had no idea if he was looking at Sandy or Sharon. For that matter, he really didn't care.
"You don't recognize me?"
"Should I?"
"Maybe I should take my clothes off. Maybe then you'd recognize me."
He had her stumped now. She was thinking back through all the men she'd had sex with and trying to picture him. It was too much for her brain.
"What are you talking about?" Her twin had joined her now. Mason figured they could be the whole front line for the Patriots.
The first cousin looked to the second for help. "You recognize him?"
The second one put up her hands in defeat, and then looked more closely. "It's Mason."
"Holy crap," said the first. "We haven't seen you since we left high school. How the hell are you doing?"
Mason could see through that one like a plate glass window. She was going to be nice until it was determined that he had nothing for them. The other one wasn't as smart.
"If you need a place to stay, we can't help you. We're full up."
"I don't need a place to stay, thanks. Just figured I'd come and say hi."
"Come in. We don't have anything to give you. We have to ration."
"I wouldn't expect that you would give me anything." He sat down on a hard folding chair, not wanting to trust the couch. He looked around. "So you two look successful."
They didn't pick up on his sarcasm.
"We're doin' okay."
"Not that it matters, but which one is which."
"I'm Sandy," said the door opener. "That's Sharon."
Well, duh, thought Mason.
"What have you been doing since high school?" asked Sandy, obviously hoping to hear that he'd won the lottery and had come to share with his beloved cousins.
So Mason told them. They seemed unimpressed.
"What are you doing now?" Her interest was waning. Mason figured it was time to ramp it up a bit.
"I'm doing a project that involves you."
They perked up. That might mean money.
"How's Cissy?" he asked.
"Living in Oregon. Married with a couple of kids. She's a doctor."
"Good for her." Mason was genuinely pleased. The only one in the family to show him kindness deserved to have a good life.
"We never hear from her."
I wonder why?
"How's your mom?"
"She died two years ago."
"No great loss."
"What? How can you…"
"Let me save you the trouble. Your mother was a drunken loser. If she'd been a real mother, she wouldn't have let you terrorize me the way you did. I had just lost my parents, but that didn't matter to you. I was just someone you could practice your cruelty on."
Suddenly they were scared. They came from a segment of society that practiced revenge. Was he there to kill them?
"We think you should go."
"Oh, believe me, I want to be here even less than you want me here. I wasn't going to stop by at all, but I decided today that I had to tell you about my project, so you'll know what's in store for you."
Silence.
"Here's the thing. You know the bridges falling down and the terrorists threatening the Cape? Well that's me, and I wanted to come by to tell you how you are going to die."
Their eyes were wide open now.
"The day of the hurricane—assuming you are still alive and this place hasn't blown away—I will let out a whole batch of anthrax and everyone on the Cape will die."
Sharon had a tear rolling down her cheek.
"And here's the best part: Your death will be very slow and painful. You'll be vomiting blood. You'll be gasping for breath, but none will come. I sincerely hope that your last image before you choke to death on your own bloody vomit is of me, standing there naked, having been totally humiliated by the two of you in front of people I had to see every day. It's because of you that I chose Cape Cod as my target and the reason so many people are going to die."
It wasn't really the only reason he chose Cape Cod, but he wasn't going to tell them that.
They were both crying now.
"We're sorry," said Sharon. "We were just stupid girls then…"
"…Who have grown up to be stupid women."
"What makes you think we're not going to go to the police?" asked Sandy.
"Be my guest. They'll never find me. But it's a moot point. The police force has their hands full, you don't have any way of calling them, and the junk box I saw in the driveway is probably out of gas."
He paused for effect, then said, "In two days you will be dead. I hope you made the most of your life."
He stood up and walked out the door.
JULY 7th
Chapter 33
He couldn't let Doyle get off the Cape with it. If Doyle recognized it, he wouldn't be stupid enough to talk to anyone about it, so if his men could find Doyle fast, this whole thing could go away.
On the off-chance that he did talk though, whoever he talked to was going to have to die too.
Chapter 30
In Chicago, Hanson the computer geek was freaking out. He was a hacker, yes, but not a killer, and he wanted out. He wasn't totally sure why he got involved in the first place. Probably ego, he figured. Mason had come to him and fanned the flames of his ego, making it hard to say no.
Hanson and Mason were in college together and had formed a loose friendship. Hanson appreciated Mason's intelligence and Mason was impressed by Hanson's magic with computers. As he thought back, though, Hanson began to wonder if Mason's friendship wasn't calculated. In fact, he was beginning to think that all of Mason's relationships were calculated. It seemed that every person Mason befriended had a skill of some kind. He was obsessed with gaining knowledge, and he was always taking notes. He just wasn't normal.
Nice to be having these epiphanies now, he was thinking. Why didn't I have them before I agreed to do this? He couldn't just walk away. Tanner made that clear. He didn't like Tanner at all, and he wasn't sure how Mason and Tanner got together. Probably another case of Mason finding someone who served a purpose. Tanner was dangerous and he had made it clear that if Hanson tried to quit, he'd make sure his name was leaked to the Feds.
But things had changed. At least he thought they'd changed. It was the evening of the 6th and Mason hadn't contacted him. By now he should have sent at least two more emails out to the media. Things were definitely behind schedule. He couldn't do anything on his own—Mason was very clear about that. Mason had the schedule worked out, and the email he had Hanson send out would depend on the situation. So there was nothing he could do.
And then he saw why. He wasn't sure why he hadn't seen it earlier. After all, he spent almost every waking minute online, with much of his attention these days focused on the Cape Cod situation. Maybe they weren't making the information public right away. The government was sneaky about things like that. The phones had to be down. Mason couldn't call him!
He found himself laughing. With all the planning Mason had done, he didn't anticipate the phones being affected? It was almost too funny. This would be a good time for him to shut things down. It would be easy enough to do. After all, they hadn't tracked him after the first email—and he knew they wouldn't—so all he had to do was to jettison the Seth Wakeby email and all traces of the code from his system, and then he'd be done with it all. Totally untraceable. But what if they suddenly got their phones back, however unlikely that was? Mason would call and Hanson would have to tell him that it was shut down and couldn't be revived. That wouldn't bode well for him. Mason would have Tanner on his ass the minute it was over.
Hanson struggled with those thoughts for the next two hours, coming to no clear conclusion. He was driving himself crazy, a feeling he wasn't used to. Being a hacker—and a good one—he was used to being in control. People needed him and he was able to dictate his own terms. That's what was wrong with this. He had no say. Mason told him what to send and when to send it. Mason was in total control. Well, screw him. That wasn't how he worked, and he couldn't believe he had let himself get blindsided like that. He had to give Mason credit though, he was good.
And then he saw his out.
He was wandering through the FBI secure website looking for information on the terrorist attack, when he came across an item about a body found near a cranberry bog on the Cape on July 4th. It was discovered with two bullets in it. There was a link to the crime scene pictures. Somehow, Hanson knew that it was related to Mason's operation, but it was just a gut feeling. It wasn't going to be Mason in those pictures, because Mason called him on the 5th, but he just had a feeling…
It was Tanner! Yes! Someone had done away with Tanner. Hanson felt a surge of excitement run through his body. With Tanner out of the picture, it changed everything. Hanson was pretty sure, based on the emails Mason had left for him to send out, that Mason had no intention of surviving this thing. He had assumed though that Tanner and the rest of the crew would be gone by the time Mason pulled his last move. Now it didn't matter. Mason and Tanner were the only two who knew who he was. The rest of the crew just knew that Mason had hired a computer expert to take care of the communications. The only one he feared was Tanner, and now he was gone.
Now Hanson would be gone, as well. He spent the next fifteen minutes deleting from his system everything pertaining to Mason, Seth Wakeby, or the emails to the media. When he was done, his computers were squeaky clean—well, except for all the other illegal stuff still on them. He even deleted the phone number that Mason called.
When it came to the Cape Cod operation, he was out of it. Even if Mason got back his phone service, it would be too late.
Hanson was out of the killing business.
Chapter 31
Hanson wasn't the only one who was questioning the operation. Mason's two explosives guys, Danielson and Packer, were beginning to have serious doubts. But in their case, it had nothing to do with second thoughts about killing people. They enjoyed that part. Their concern was getting paid. Through little things that Mason had said and done, they were beginning to wonder if they had been told the whole story. They weren't stupid like the other four recruits. They knew there was no movement afoot to take over the government. And the ransom demands were laughable. There was no way the Feds would give them Indian land. And as far as the deposits into foreign accounts was concerned, they might do it, but with all kinds of tracers. The minute someone tried to access one of those accounts, agents would be swarming all over him. None of that mattered to Danielson and Packer, because they had been paid a portion of their fee in advance, and were told that they would be paid out of a different account as soon as the job was complete. The sharing of the ransom would come later. Well, their part of the job was complete. It was time to go see Mason.
Their work had begun a few months earlier, scouting the Cape. They had taken many boat rides up and down the canal to determine just where they needed to plant the charges on the bridges for the greatest effect. The ferry docks were easy—they did all that underwater with scuba gear. The ferries themselves proved to be a bit complicated, getting down to the engine room without being seen. But with a little luck and using the four idiots as diversions, they were able to accomplish it. The airport was the toughest one of all. Even though it wasn't a major airport, there were still security measures to get around. Stringing the bombs along the runway proved the trickiest, again having to use the others as diversions and the dead of night as cover.
But now it was reckoning time. Time for Mason to pay up. They drove to Mason's in the rain and wind with dollar signs in their eyes and guns in their belt.
*****
Mason had been expecting them. Not necessarily at that moment, but soon. He had heard them grumbling about not being paid after the last group meeting and knew it wouldn't be long before he'd get a visit from them. He was at the kitchen sink when he saw a car pull up to the curb a half a block down. That usually indicated that whoever it was, was up to no good, especially with none of the other houses currently occupied.
This is where Tanner would have come in handy. He could have dispatched these two clowns with ease. Mason figured that Tanner probably would have used a knife. Well, he wasn't as crude as Tanner. He'd be a little classier in his method. But just in case things didn't go as planned, he kept a gun within reach around the corner of the kitchen.
He was standing in the kitchen doorway when they entered through the back door.
"Howdy boys. What brings you out on such a rainy night?" Danielson and Packer, by virtue of their more important role in the operation—and the fact that they were smarter than the others by leaps and bounds—had the freedom to visit Mason anytime.
"Thought we should have a talk," said Packer, a small man with a bald head and tattoos that covered almost every inch of his body from the neck down.
"And I know what we're talking about. Beer?"
Both men nodded and Mason opened the fridge and opened two bottles of beer—two bottles that he had already opened and recapped minutes earlier—and handed them out.
"You want to know when you're getting paid." He took a swig of his beer and waited for the others to drink before he continued. "There's been a slight change of plans."
"Change, how?" asked Danielson, also bald, but much larger than his partner, with long arms and biceps the size of watermelons.
"I actually don't have the money." Mason talked slowly. The timing was going to be crucial. "We pretty much used up everything we had to get this far. I've got nothing left."
"So now you're planning on paying us from the ransom?"
"Oh grow up. You know there won't be any ransom money. There never was going to be any."
The two men looked at each other, then back at Mason.
"So you were never planning on paying us," said Packer.
"That would be correct."
"Everything we put into this and we get nothing out of it?"
Mason could see it now. Packer was rubbing his stomach and looking gray. Danielson would follow in a minute.
"Nobody was getting anything out of it. Only me, and my reward wasn't material. I had a plan, but I needed others to help me carry it out. You two and Tanner were the most important. The other four not so much. Even Tanner didn't know my real plan. I don't know if he's dead or in jail. Doesn't really matter. If he's alive, he won't talk, and if he's dead, he can't talk. Either way, he was never destined to live—none of us were." Both men were in obvious distress now. He had to pick up the pace a bit. "I will die when I let out the D-394 on Wednesday. The other four will die that day as well. I'm afraid you two won't last that long, however. I put some poison in your beer. You should be dead in about fifteen seconds."
They both lunged off the couch at Mason. Or rather, they tried to lunge. They barely made it upright, didn't even make it two steps before falling to the ground. They both threw up and a few seconds later they were dead.
"Sorry, boys," Mason said to the air.
It was time to leave. He had a second place rented that he hadn't told anyone about, even Tanner. He figured it was where he was going to stay his last day on the earth. The plan was that by the time he was ready to move to his secret location, everything would be in motion and he could just sit back and watch the chaos—the people panicking and the government totally helpless. It was a beautiful plan. It sucked that they had missed something as simple as overloaded phone lines and it wouldn't go as he'd hoped. Hopefully though, the end result would be the same.
He gathered just the few things he needed—most importantly, the D-394. He had been careful not to keep anything else around that could give the authorities any clues if they happened upon the place.
He took one last look at the two men on the floor in their contorted positions and pools of vomit and went out the door, locking it for no particular reason.
He had just one stop to make.
Chapter 32
Mason stood at the end of the street and looked down the block at the ugly ranch-style house in East Falmouth. The neighborhood had seen its best days—if it ever had any—back in the '70s. Two homes on the block were well-kept, but it was a losing battle for the homeowners. All of the surrounding houses were rentals, occupied by people who took little pride in their houses. It was one of those that his cousins called home.
Six months earlier, Mason had hired a sleazy P.I. to check in on Sandy and Sharon, so he could take stock of their situation. He hit gold. Neither had children (Thank God they couldn't ruin anyone else's life, he thought) and each had been through a divorce. They now lived together, worked part-time jobs, and barely made ends meet. It was a fitting life for the two people who helped ruin his.
He had parked his car around the corner and now started to walk toward his cousins' house. It was dusk and the rain continued to be steady. With only two street lights on the whole road, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be seen.
He'd had numerous arguments with himself over what he would do when he saw them. Would he kill them outright? Would he make them suffer? But what finally won out was neither of the two.
He knocked. He had already determined that both were home, and he could hear a TV blasting. The door opened and he was confronted by an even larger version of his cousin than he remembered. She wasn't grotesquely fat, just had the body of someone who didn't care one iota about her appearance. A cigarette dangled from her lips.
"Yeah? What?" Mason had no idea if he was looking at Sandy or Sharon. For that matter, he really didn't care.
"You don't recognize me?"
"Should I?"
"Maybe I should take my clothes off. Maybe then you'd recognize me."
He had her stumped now. She was thinking back through all the men she'd had sex with and trying to picture him. It was too much for her brain.
"What are you talking about?" Her twin had joined her now. Mason figured they could be the whole front line for the Patriots.
The first cousin looked to the second for help. "You recognize him?"
The second one put up her hands in defeat, and then looked more closely. "It's Mason."
"Holy crap," said the first. "We haven't seen you since we left high school. How the hell are you doing?"
Mason could see through that one like a plate glass window. She was going to be nice until it was determined that he had nothing for them. The other one wasn't as smart.
"If you need a place to stay, we can't help you. We're full up."
"I don't need a place to stay, thanks. Just figured I'd come and say hi."
"Come in. We don't have anything to give you. We have to ration."
"I wouldn't expect that you would give me anything." He sat down on a hard folding chair, not wanting to trust the couch. He looked around. "So you two look successful."
They didn't pick up on his sarcasm.
"We're doin' okay."
"Not that it matters, but which one is which."
"I'm Sandy," said the door opener. "That's Sharon."
Well, duh, thought Mason.
"What have you been doing since high school?" asked Sandy, obviously hoping to hear that he'd won the lottery and had come to share with his beloved cousins.
So Mason told them. They seemed unimpressed.
"What are you doing now?" Her interest was waning. Mason figured it was time to ramp it up a bit.
"I'm doing a project that involves you."
They perked up. That might mean money.
"How's Cissy?" he asked.
"Living in Oregon. Married with a couple of kids. She's a doctor."
"Good for her." Mason was genuinely pleased. The only one in the family to show him kindness deserved to have a good life.
"We never hear from her."
I wonder why?
"How's your mom?"
"She died two years ago."
"No great loss."
"What? How can you…"
"Let me save you the trouble. Your mother was a drunken loser. If she'd been a real mother, she wouldn't have let you terrorize me the way you did. I had just lost my parents, but that didn't matter to you. I was just someone you could practice your cruelty on."
Suddenly they were scared. They came from a segment of society that practiced revenge. Was he there to kill them?
"We think you should go."
"Oh, believe me, I want to be here even less than you want me here. I wasn't going to stop by at all, but I decided today that I had to tell you about my project, so you'll know what's in store for you."
Silence.
"Here's the thing. You know the bridges falling down and the terrorists threatening the Cape? Well that's me, and I wanted to come by to tell you how you are going to die."
Their eyes were wide open now.
"The day of the hurricane—assuming you are still alive and this place hasn't blown away—I will let out a whole batch of anthrax and everyone on the Cape will die."
Sharon had a tear rolling down her cheek.
"And here's the best part: Your death will be very slow and painful. You'll be vomiting blood. You'll be gasping for breath, but none will come. I sincerely hope that your last image before you choke to death on your own bloody vomit is of me, standing there naked, having been totally humiliated by the two of you in front of people I had to see every day. It's because of you that I chose Cape Cod as my target and the reason so many people are going to die."
It wasn't really the only reason he chose Cape Cod, but he wasn't going to tell them that.
They were both crying now.
"We're sorry," said Sharon. "We were just stupid girls then…"
"…Who have grown up to be stupid women."
"What makes you think we're not going to go to the police?" asked Sandy.
"Be my guest. They'll never find me. But it's a moot point. The police force has their hands full, you don't have any way of calling them, and the junk box I saw in the driveway is probably out of gas."
He paused for effect, then said, "In two days you will be dead. I hope you made the most of your life."
He stood up and walked out the door.
JULY 7th
Chapter 33
