Missing Persons, page 7
“Take care of any insurance and bills, and make sure she rests,” I told Rafael. “You know how stubborn she is.”
Jessie scoffed and immediately gasped in pain.
“The silver Mercedes M-Class parked out front,” Rafael said, handing me his car key.
“Thanks,” I replied. “I’m going to drive out to Bloomsburg and see if I can find Beth Singer and the kids.”
“Be careful, Jack,” Jessie said.
“Always,” I replied.
CHAPTER 22
FLOYD WOKE TO a mouthwatering sweet smell. He took a moment to orient himself, and remembered he was on the floor in Christine and John’s mountain home in Kamdesh. They’d given him horsehair cushions and a set of colorful blankets, and told him to bed down in an area in the far corner of the open-plan living space, away from the window and partition that marked out their sleeping quarters. Floyd had slept in some unusual places, but there was something odd about sharing a couple’s home while they slept a few yards away, separated by nothing more than a woven drape and some screens. Christine—or Chris as she preferred to be called—had explained over dinner that the Kom people had a communal approach to life and many generations of the same family would share a space like this. Floyd didn’t consider himself a prude, but the idea of sharing such an intimate space with others didn’t appeal to him. He had thought about insisting on sleeping in the stable on the ground level.
When he sat up, Floyd was very glad he hadn’t. The stable didn’t have any windows, and sleeping there would have deprived him of one of the most breathtaking views of his life. The snow-covered rooftops of Kamdesh were laid out before him like powdered steps, and beyond were wispy clouds of mist, an expansive valley, and the cedar-packed slope of a high mountain peak. It was a truly beautiful scene and Floyd understood why John and Chris had positioned their sleeping area near the window, even though it couldn’t have been the warmest place in the house.
“Morning,” John said.
He was standing over the stove in a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt, stirring something in a small cast-iron pot.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Uh-huh,” Floyd replied.
“We’re going to be stuck here a while.” John nodded toward the window. “That mist is the edge of a storm front that’s rolling in.”
Floyd was itching to get started. He needed to reach a phone or an internet connection. “Can’t we beat it?”
John shook his head. “Radio forecast says two but I reckon we’ve only got an hour before it hits. It will be a complete white-out.”
Floyd sighed.
“Forecast says it should be OK by the end of tomorrow,” John said, by way of consolation.
“It will be gone by nightfall,” Chris said, appearing from behind the drape that demarcated the sleeping area. She was dressed in a pair of black leggings and a black sleeveless top.
John shrugged. “I’ve learned never to bet against her ability to read the sky.”
“We can spend today preparing supplies and packing. Aim to leave first thing in the morning,” she said.
John took the pan off the stove and put it on a black warming plate that hung over the open fire. He spooned white meal into three earthenware bowls and carried them to the table.
“Get it while it’s hot.”
Floyd got to his feet and joined the couple.
“What is it?” he asked, taking a seat at the table and lowering his head to breathe in the scent of the steam coming off his bowl.
“Juvór,” Chris replied, as she sat down opposite him. “It’s a maize porridge.”
“I like it with cinnamon and honey,” John added.
“Too much honey,” Chris remarked.
“How did an American and a Brit end up here?” Floyd asked.
He took his first mouthful. It was heavier than oat porridge and required more chewing, but he could tell it was good mountain fuel.
“Sometimes life takes strange turns,” John said. “I found this place five years ago while on assignment. I was a journalist covering the war.”
“And you fell in love with the place?” Floyd asked.
“Sort of. I realized it was a good spot to get lost,” John replied. “Off the beaten track. World doesn’t change much up here.”
“Doesn’t change much at all,” Chris agreed. “Makes you realize what’s important.”
She took John’s hand and squeezed it.
Floyd ate his breakfast and resisted the obvious question. If these two wanted him to know why they needed to disappear, they would have already told him. He didn’t want to alienate the people who’d saved his life and offered to guide him home, simply to satisfy his own curiosity.
“This is good,” he said instead.
“Don’t compliment his cooking,” Chris cautioned. “It goes straight to his head.”
“Ignore her. Compliment away! And when you’re finished we’ll see about getting you some less conspicuous clothes. And supplies for the journey.”
“Thanks,” Floyd replied as he looked toward the window. The first flakes of snow were already falling.
CHAPTER 23
THE STORM MEANT I made slow progress through the night. Snowplows had cleared and salted the highway, but the flakes fell so thick and fast, new layers had settled and tested the car’s traction control. The snow obscured my view, but every now and then I was dazzled by the blinding lights of an oncoming vehicle the other side of the highway. Thankfully, most sensible people had sheltered from the storm and other road users were few and far between.
The snow finally abated when the first fingers of sunlight were reaching for the clouds, tinting them a cotton-candy pink. I was passing through the outskirts of Bloomsburg when I saw the Relax Inn, the motel where Mo-bot had traced Ted Eisner’s car. I moved into the outside lane of the highway to take the next exit. The car drifted a little as I changed direction, but I steered into the skid and started down the ramp. I took a left and passed beneath the highway, and then followed the road south for half a mile through a run of industrial units until I came to the single-story, cream-colored motel.
As I pulled into the parking lot, the front door of one of the first-floor rooms burst open, and two masked men emerged, dragging two children with them. I recognized them instantly as Daniel and Marianne Singer. While I continued moving across the parking lot, as yet unnoticed, a third masked man pushed Elizabeth Singer through the open door. Elizabeth and her children were in their pajamas and all three of them were crying as they were shoved toward another black Escalade that waited in the slushy gray snow.
I realized the gang must have found out about the tracker on Ted Eisner’s car, which was parked in the space next to the large SUV. Had they gotten the details from his insurance company? Was that the call the tall gunman had received at Eisner’s house? Was that why he’d suddenly become expendable?
Marianne and Daniel were bawling as they were forced into the back of the Escalade, and Beth struggled furiously, but her resistance melted when one of the men produced a pistol and held it to Danny’s head.
I made a split-second calculation. My chances of following them in this weather were slim, and there was no way I could wait for the police to arrive. There was only one option.
I gunned the engine as Beth was pushed into the back seat next to her children, aiming the Mercedes directly at the man who’d been holding her. He quickly turned and momentarily froze with surprise on seeing the large M-Class racing toward him. He tried to leap out of the way but I swerved in his direction, sending the car into an uncontrollable skid.
Time seemed to slow as the line of motel rooms spun dizzily before me. I looked out the driver’s window and saw the masked assailant raise his hands to his face. The car hit him hard, knocking him flying into Ted Eisner’s Buick Enclave.
I might have imagined the crack of bone, but there was no mistaking the man’s agonized scream.
The low thud of suppressed gunfire and snap of breaking glass told me I was under fire. I scrambled onto the passenger seat and tumbled out of the car. Peering around the open door, I saw the other two men had gotten into the Escalade. While the passenger fired back in my direction, the driver started the engine.
If I was going to stop them, I would have to leave the safety of my position behind the car door and expose myself to fire. It was a suicide mission, but if I didn’t act fast Elizabeth and the children would be lost.
CHAPTER 24
I JUMPED TO my feet and ran toward the passenger side of the Escalade. As I did so I saw Elizabeth Singer lean forward and punch the gunman in the back of his skull as he was taking aim at me. His shot went wild, and he was so angry, he forgot about me and turned to hit her. The children screamed, but his fist flew though empty air as Elizabeth ducked the blow. The car was moving now, but I managed to reach the passenger door and yanked it open as I jumped on the running board. The gunman made the mistake of trying to kick me away, so I slammed the door on his outstretched leg. He howled, and I did it again. The driver reached into his jacket, but Elizabeth was on him before he could produce his gun.
She clawed his face, and he instinctively stepped on the gas. The car accelerated and I couldn’t hold on as it gathered speed. I was thrown off the running board, winding myself as I tumbled onto the slush-covered asphalt. Beth kept fighting. The Escalade veered into a line of parked cars. Metal ground against metal and windows shattered as the big SUV crashed into an old Plymouth parked across two spaces in front of the motel office.
I sprinted toward the vehicle and pulled open the rear driver’s side door. Elizabeth and her two children were dazed, and the two masked assailants were equally stunned.
“Come on,” I said, pulling Elizabeth’s arm.
She allowed me to drag her from the car. As I yanked the children clear, the driver came to his senses.
“Get back!” he yelled, reaching for his gun.
I urged Elizabeth and the children on. “Move!”
As we ran, I heard the crack of gunfire. I turned to see the driver climb unsteadily out of the Escalade while trying to target me.
I pushed Elizabeth and the children over to the Mercedes and bundled them in the back.
The driver started running toward us as I jumped through the passenger door and slid into the driver’s seat. I started the engine, which growled to life, threw the car into reverse, and stepped on the accelerator.
I reversed toward the exit as bullets made holes in the windshield. I flipped the gearshift, stepped on the brake, and spun the wheel, forcing the car into a violent turn. We spun out of the parking lot, bounced over the sidewalk, and were facing forward when we hit the road.
CHAPTER 25
AARON VANCE WATCHED with horror as the Mercedes SUV screeched out of the motel parking lot. He surveyed the line of wrecked cars.
This can’t really be happening, Aaron thought with a growing feeling of shock. It was the stuff of movies, but the small part of his brain that wasn’t numb with disbelief told him it was real and that he needed to do something.
He’d managed the Relax Inn Motel for three years. The owner, Esther Tucker, was a mean-spirited, greedy old woman who liked to pay low and charge high. She was probably crooked, but never revealed enough about the business for Aaron to be sure. He had standing instructions never to call the police and to always phone her first if anything happened. But this wasn’t a forged check or a wallet snatched from a room. This was carnage, and at least one of those men out there was seriously injured.
Aaron lifted the phone and dialed.
“Nine one one, please state your emergency,” a voice said.
The first gunshot knocked Aaron back, and he looked down to see blood oozing though his gray shirt. It spread like an ink blot around his shoulder and soaked into the Relax Inn badge that was sewn above his breast pocket. He looked past the hole in the window and saw a masked man moving toward the office, smoking pistol in hand.
“Hello?” the operator said. “Hello?”
Aaron made a rasping sound before he found the strength for words. “I’ve been shot. He shot me.”
He dropped the receiver and shuffled around the reception counter toward the door. He had to lock it and buy a few moments to get the revolver he kept in the safe at the back of the office. He became aware of a burning pain in his shoulder as the reality of the gunshot wound finally hit him. He almost doubled over as the fire of agony spread throughout his upper body, but he resisted the urge and forced himself on. Tears sprang to his eyes but he pressed forward and was a yard away from the door when the masked man crashed through it. The edge of the door hit Aaron’s forehead and there was a blinding flash of light.
When the whiteness faded, Aaron found himself flat on his back. His eyes focused just in time to see the man standing over him and the muzzle flash. He didn’t feel the bullet enter his gut, but the crack of his head against the floor jarred his spine.
I’m hurt, he thought as he watched the masked man walk to the discarded phone.
The gunman kept a disinterested eye on Aaron as he picked up the receiver.
“Yes, hello,” he said. “Yes, that’s right… Yes, gunshots. The manager has been shot. He got into an argument with a man calling himself Morgan. Jack Morgan. The guy shot the manager before abducting a woman and her two kids.”
Aaron’s mind struggled to process the deception. Everything was fading and he sensed time running thin, like the last grains of sand tumbling through an hourglass.
“No, I’m afraid not,” the masked man said into the phone. “The manager is dead.”
Aaron was surprised not to feel sick at those words, and bewildered by how remote the world seemed. Finally, it dawned on him. Time had run out for him.
CHAPTER 26
I SLOWED DOWN once we reached the highway. I turned onto the ramp and joined the interstate heading for New York.
Stunned by what had happened at the motel, neither Beth nor I said anything. Our soundtrack was the gentle, intermittent thud of the car rolling over highway section dividers, the spray of tires pressing through slush, and the muted sobs coming from the children in the back. Beth tried her best to soothe them, but they’d been badly shaken by what had happened. Finally, they settled into stunned silence.
“Who are you?” Beth asked me at last.
“Jack Morgan,” I replied. “I’m a private detective. Your father hired me to find you.”
I sensed her shift in her seat and glanced over to see her eying me with suspicion.
“You’re Elizabeth Singer, right? And these are Daniel and Marianne?”
“Beth, Danny, and Maria,” she corrected me. “I’d like to see some ID.”
I reached into my pocket and handed her my wallet. She checked my identification and placed the wallet on the central console.
“Why were those men after you?” I asked.
“Can you pull over?” she said. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
She looked pale and was gulping for air, so I slowed and steered the car to a halt on the shoulder.
“Are you OK, Mom?” Maria asked.
“I’ll be fine. Just wait here,” Beth replied hurriedly, before jumping out.
She left the door open, and the cold wind blew snow into the car. She ran over to the barrier, and I watched her buckle against the metal and heave. I turned to the kids, who were watching their mother fearfully.
“It’s OK,” I assured them. “Probably just nerves.”
“Mr. Morgan,” Beth yelled, still leaning over the barrier. “I need you. I need your help.”
“You’ll be OK, kids,” I said, releasing my seat belt and stepping out.
I hurried over to Beth. “What is it?”
The blow came out of nowhere. She spun around with a rock in her hand and clocked me on the temple. I went down immediately and my vision blurred. I couldn’t pass out. Not here. Not now.
I dug my nails into my palms and the pull of oblivion receded. I came to my senses and saw Beth jump into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes.
“Hey!” I yelled. My mouth was full of saliva and I felt nauseous. “Stop!”
Beth glanced at me, put the car in gear, and stepped on the gas as I staggered to my feet. I stumbled forward as the wheels spun in the slush. They caught the road surface and the sudden friction sent the car lurching forward at speed. Beth had misjudged terribly. Almost immediately the car went into a fishtail skid. It veered toward a passing truck and Beth overcompensated, turning the wheel so hard, the M-Class swung around, sped across the shoulder and hit the barrier. The collision brought the car to a grinding halt, and I forced myself toward it. My legs felt weak and unsteady, but I had to get to them.
I opened the back door to find Maria and Danny crying. The car stank of fuel and silicate dust.
“Are you OK?” I slurred. “You hurt anywhere?”
Maria shook her head.
“Mom!” Danny cried.
The children had been wearing seat belts but Beth hadn’t put hers on. The airbags had deployed but somehow her head had hit the driver’s window. There was a bloody crack in the glass.
I opened the door and leaned in.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
She was groggy and bleeding from a wound on her forehead.
“Get away from me,” she said, her words barely decipherable.
“Why? Why are you trying to escape from me?”
“My father,” she groaned. “My father…”
She took a deep breath, clearly struggling to speak.
“My father is dead,” she said before passing out.
CHAPTER 27
THE OSPREY WAS lit up by flames dancing within the fuselage. Floyd was drawn toward a figure standing in front of the wreckage. He knew who it was before he reached her. He wanted to call out, to warn her to step away from the inferno, but he had no power over his body and drifted like an automaton. As his wife turned toward him, Floyd saw tears in her eyes and her face was riven by distress.
