Darkness Falls, page 12
"Don't fuck this up," Reynolds said loudly enough to suggest he didn't care that it was a school night. "You've had a lot of political problems in the past, but if you get this wrapped up quick and neat, I'm guessing they're all going to be forgotten."
Beamon smiled and shook his head. "Then what? The government doesn't give bonuses. And I don't want to be a congressman. No, I think this is all downside for me, Jack. No matter when I catch these guys, someone's gonna say I should have done it faster. Someone's going to have to pay for the economic disaster everyone keeps talking about. And I'm guessing it's not going to be the president."
"I want hourly reports," Reynolds said, clearly unconcerned about Beamon's problems.
"I'm not doing hourly reports, Jack. I probably won't even do daily ones."
"Have you been paying attention to what's going on, Mark? It's possible -- likely that in a few months, Iran will be all that's left of the Middle East producers. And we don't deal with them. We can't take a hit like this. Do your job and stop it before it gets out of control."
Beamon nodded noncommittally, noticing that his job had suddenly gone from catching the people responsible to ensuring that Iran didn't end up OPEC's last man standing.
The muffled sound of a doorbell drifted in and they sat in silence until there was a quiet knock on the office door.
"What?" Beamon said, glancing at his watch and confirming that it was indeed after eleven.
The door partially opened and Terry Hirst's worried face appeared in the crack. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Why the hell not? Everyone else is."
Hirst was the model for Beamon's stereotype of the Jewish New York lawyer -- which is exactly what he'd been before joining the FBI. He was barely five seven, and not fat so much as slightly swollen looking. He'd been on the fast track at the bureau until he started having heart problems and needed to slow down. Beamon had hired him less for his considerable talent than to give him a job so easy that it would be virtually impossible to cause even the mildest cardiac episode. At least that had been the plan.
Hirst nodded nervously toward Reynolds as he closed the door quietly behind him. "Okay . . . I don't want you guys to freak out. I've already got people on this."
"On what?" Beamon said.
"Well, we were going through Ronald Denizen's email --"
"Who?"
"He's a biologist on our list. He's a ways down, though. Number fifty-six. I think."
"You're saying you found something?" Beamon asked. Normally, he preferred bad news to come in the morning and not when it would cause him to lay awake all night turning it over and over in his mind, but in this case he was willing to make an exception.
"Yeah. An email speculating on how to create a bacteria that would eat through oil faster. Our people tell me that it's essentially an exact description of the structure of the bacteria found in Saudi Arabia and Alaska."
"Jesus Christ!" Reynolds said. "Tell me we have this guy."
Hirst nodded. "We're holding him with the other scientists we picked up. The thing is, though, the email wasn't from him, it was to him."
"To him?" Beamon said. "Who wrote it?" Hirst put his hands out in a gesture for calm. "I don't want --"
"Tell me who wrote it, Terry!"
He winced slightly as he spoke. "Erin Neal."
Chapter 20.
Erin Neal ascended the spiral staircase in bare feet, hardly noticing the normally pleasant sensation of cold stone against his skin. When he topped out in his tiny living room, he found Jenna lying motionless on his sofa, breathing in the soft, steady rhythm that he remembered so well. Stress had always made her retreat into sleep just as it kept him awake.
The moon had cleared the mountains and its light streamed through the windows, making her look like the ghost she'd been to him for so long. He stopped and stared down at her, feeling the breath constrict in his chest. Of all the emotions he could have predicted he'd feel at a moment like this, he would never have guessed the overriding one would be disorientation. Maybe that was how the mind dealt with being barraged simultaneously with anger, relief, sadness, fear. And, of course, love.
She stirred, as though she knew he was looking down at her, and the sheet began to slip slowly from her leg. He turned and walked into the kitchen before it slid too far.
The burst of light from the refrigerator blinded him as he fished out a beer and popped it open. The darkness descended again when he nudged the door shut -- a more appropriate setting to contemplate the gigantic blank that now represented his future. Of course, it was easy to superimpose Jenna's image on it and pretend she belonged there, but for some reason, everything else seemed to be swallowed by the emptiness of that canvas.
He heard movement in the living room and looked over at the closed kitchen door. Maybe she'd changed and couldn't sleep either. Maybe she'd want to talk -- or to throw herself into his arms and pretend for a few hours that none of this had ever happened.
He pushed the door partially open and saw her dim outline standing next to the sofa. Before he could say anything, though, she turned and her silhouette bulged unnaturally.
There was someone behind her.
"Erin! Come out! I have Jenna."
He pulled back, letting the door slowly close until there was only a thin crack to see through.
"Erin! Come out now!"
To him, Jonas Metzger had never been anything but another object Michael Teague used to adorn his inflated opinion of himself. What would all the expensive cars, private jets, and tailored clothing be without a creepy bodyguard? They'd stared each other down a few times, but unfortunately, nothing had ever come of it. And now he was here to finish what they had never quite had the opportunity to start.
Jonas pulled back and the moonlight once again fell on Jenna's face. She was trying to speak, but the son of a bitch was choking her. Erin's jaw tightened and he reached out to throw the door open, but then withdrew when he saw the gun pressed against the side of her head.
"Come out!" Jonas shouted at the empty loft above him. When there was no response, he started edging toward the hallway that led to the bathroom. His path took him within a few feet of the kitchen door, but with his chest pressed against Jenna's back and the barrel of the gun still against her temple, there was nothing Erin could do.
Jenna grabbed the German's arm and managed to loosen his grip on her neck enough to speak. "He's gone, Jonas."
The strangled quality of her voice caused Erin's stomach to clench. A few years ago, he would have lunged through the door, completely blinded by rage. But he'd learned to control that part of him. To a point.
"He went to the police," she continued. "Don't get yourself in more trouble than you're already in. We --"
He tightened his arm around her throat again, silencing her as he moved cautiously down the hall. When they faded into shadow, Erin looked behind him. There was a block of knives on the counter, but that wasn't terribly comforting when faced with a gun. His gaze wandered to the refrigerator, the microwave, and finally stopped on the stove. It was a long shot but nothing else was coming to mind.
He turned on all the burners without lighting them, holding his breath as the gas began to fill the room. Selecting the most deadly looking knife from the block, he shoved the rest in a drawer and went back to the kitchen door to peek out. Jonas had been forced to turn a light on in the hallway and was most of the way down it, still using Jenna as a shield. Erin waited until Jonas sprang through the bathroom door before moving silently across the living room and hiding behind the couch.
"Erin!" Jonas shouted. "Don't you care? Don't you care what I can do to her?"
There was a dull crack and a shout from Jenna. Erin jumped from his crouched position, the knife clenched in his hand.
No. If he let his temper take over, they were both dead. Jonas knew that and was using it.
"I think she's hurt," the German said. "She's bleeding very bad, Erin. You better come and help her."
When they appeared again a few moments later, Jonas's arm was still around Jenna's throat, but instead of silencing her, it was supporting the weight that her wobbly legs no longer could. Erin remained completely motionless when Jonas kicked open the door to the kitchen and then paused when he smelled the gas.
"Are you in here?" he said, starting forward again with the gun partially obscured in Jenna's hair. "Are you wanting to blow up your woman?"
The door swung shut behind them and Erin ran across the room, ending up with his back pressed against the wall next to the jamb. A few deep breaths and he slipped inside.
The gun was now aimed at Erin, but he ignored it and concentrated instead on the blood that had flowed across Jenna's face and down the T-shirt he'd given her to sleep in. In the moonlight streaming through the window, the stains looked black.
She appeared not to realize that he was standing in front of her as she struggled to regain her equilibrium, pulling weakly at Jonas's forearm.
"I knew you would come," the German said. "She was taken from you for so long. How can you lose her again?"
Still holding his breath, Erin pointed at the gun and then indicated around them at the gas-filled room.
Jonas's teeth glowed white as a smile spread across his face. "Of course you are very smart. The great Erin Neal, yes? The great environmentalist who tells the world to do whatever they want. To destroy whatever they want."
He released Jenna and she sank to the ground, pausing briefly on all fours before she collapsed onto her stomach. Jonas stuffed his gun in the back of his pants and slid a switchblade from his pocket. His smile broadened as he charged.
Erin feinted left, then went right, slamming against the counter and narrowly avoiding a slash that wasn't as well-timed as Jonas had expected. His reflexes and balance were just a bit off from the gas.
Erin let the German's momentum carry him and instead of launching forward like he normally would, backed away. It wasn't his kind of fighting -- the strategy of taking a few shots and going for the knockout wasn't as effective when the shots were coming from a knife.
The aching in his lungs finally forced him to take in some of the gas-laden air as Jonas turned and ran at him again, knife outstretched. The kitchen was too small for any real maneuvering and the German wasn't going to fall for the same feint twice. Erin thrust his own knife out in front of him, realizing there was no way to avoid Jonas's attack this time. All he could hope to do at this point was take the son of a bitch with him.
He tensed, hoping there would be enough adrenaline flowing through him to mask the pain caused by a knife penetrating his chest and allow him to concentrate entirely on the pleasure of jamming his in Jonas's neck. Instead, the German jerked unexpectedly to the right, his blade slicing through Erin's side instead of delivering the fatal blow he'd been expecting.
His own knife missed completely, and in a desperate bid to keep the German from slashing again, Erin grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him as they toppled.
He'd built the entire house with his own hands and knew every inch of it, including the exact position of the concrete countertop behind him. He continued lifting as he fell backward, tucking his head forward and narrowly missing the edge of the counter. Jonas wasn't so lucky. The crack of his forehead slamming into the hard surface filled the room just before Erin's back slammed into the floor.
He twisted out from beneath the German, trying to get away from the knife, but then realized he was the only one moving.
After sliding the switchblade across the floor to a safer distance, he fell back against the cabinets, finally realizing why he was still alive. From her position on the floor, Jenna was looking up at him, her hand still holding the leg of Jonas's pants.
Jenna used her sleeve to wipe away the blood running from the gash near her temple and concentrated on bending the needle in her hand to a satisfactory curve.
"You've done this before, right?"
She didn't answer, instead, plunging it into one side of the gash in Erin's ribs.
"Jesus! What are you using? A knitting needle?"
"Hold still. If you squirm, it's going to take longer."
He stared directly forward, jaw clenched as she continued to stitch the wound left by Jonas's knife. It was hard not to dwell on the fact that she was once again causing him horrible suffering, so she focused on the throbbing in her own head. Unfortunately, it wasn't all that bad. As always, she had screwed up and he had taken the hit. It had been a mistake to come there a selfish mistake. He could have died.
"Thanks, by the way," he said, his voice constricted from the pain.
"What?"
"If you hadn't tripped him, he would have gotten me with that knife. You saved my life."
She tied off the last stitch and backed away, stepping over Jonas's still-unconscious body on the floor behind her.
"Jesus, Erin. Don't thank me, okay? Just don't."
He looked down at his side and then began the difficult process of putting his shirt back on. "Are you married?"
"What? No, of course not."
He nodded slowly, his brow slightly furrowed. It was a mannerism she remembered well. He had something to say, but was having a hard time finding the right words.
"Why did you do it, Jenna?"
"You know why."
"No, I don't mean Alaska. I don't care about that. I guess what I want to know is, was it easy for you to walk away and make me think you died?"
"Easy? It was the hardest thing I ever did. I . . ." She fell silent for a moment. "At the time, I thought what I was doing was more important than me or you or anything."
"You don't have to lie to make me feel better, Jen. I know you didn't like what I had to say in my book. I mean, our relationship was built on things we had in common just like everybody else's. Maybe I changed and you didn't. I can understand why you could have stopped loving me."
"Is that what you think?"
"I don't know."
She stared down at the duct tape securing Jonas's hands, but didn't really see it. What was the right thing to do? She wanted to tell him the truth -- that there hadn't been a day since she'd left that she hadn't thought about him. But would that just make things worse?
"We need to call someone," she said, silently praying that he would let this go. At least for now.
He turned and walked out of the house without a word.
What had she expected? A joyous, easygoing reunion with no baggage or expectation?
When she found him, he was standing at the edge of his driveway, looking out into the dark desert. Her footsteps made no sound at all in the soft ground, but he seemed to sense her coming up behind him.
"Erin. We've got to call someone."
He didn't answer and Jenna took a few steps closer, but stayed behind him.
"If you're right and Michael is targeting the rest of the water-injected wells, we've got to try to stop him."
"It's too late, Jenna."
"It's not too late! It can't be. What's going to happen if he succeeds? We're not talking about a minor irritation anymore, Erin. We're talking about people starving. Starving because of my bacteria. Because of something / did."
"Yeah. Because of something you did." "Thanks, Erin. That's just what I needed to hear."
"What you needed to hear?" he said suddenly turning toward her. "I'm sorry, have I said something indelicate? Are you feeling a little put out that you trashed my life and fucked the world over?"
They hadn't fought much when they'd been together but when they did, it had always been at the very edge of control. They were both so passionate about so many things, and those things didn't always mesh.
"You're always right, aren't you, Erin? You'd never do anything that isn't calculated to the fifteenth goddamn decimal point, would you? But who was it that used to come and get you when you'd been drinking? Or get between you and some motorcycle gang you picked a fight with?"
"You're equating a little drunk roughhousing with destroying the planet's energy supply?"
"I'm acknowledging that I fucked up. And that I did it in a really big way. But you of all people should have some inkling of why I did it."
They both fell silent, staring at each other through the darkness, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
As usual, he broke down before she did. "The government's looking for someone to blame, Jenna, and if we call them, it'll be you. They aren't going to care that you had nothing to do with it."
"I had everything to do with it."
"You know what I mean," he said. "You should run. Go to Eastern Europe or South America or Africa or something. If you need money, I've got enough for you to live on for the rest of your life."
"I have money."
"The money Teague gave you?"
"We don't have time for this, Erin."
"I'm not going to do something that ends with you in Guantanamo. How is that going to help anyone?"
"So your plan is to do nothing?"
He shrugged.
"And what about Jonas? He's taped to your living room floor."
"You disappear and give me your word you'll stay that way. In a couple of days, when I know you're safe, I'll call the guy in charge of the investigation and hand Jonas over."
"A couple of days?" she said. "A couple of days is too late."
"Teague's been at this forever. What's two more days going to matter?"
"Think, Erin. It's what you're good at, right? How did Jonas get here from Montana?"
Erin folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "I don't know."
"Yes you do."
"He probably flew, I guess. He used to pilot Teague's plane."
She nodded. "So it seems kind of likely that his plane is at an airport somewhere around here. Probably with a flight plan that will take the FBI right to Michael's door."
"Fuck the FBI. They'll just have to get to his door a few days from now."
"Come on, Erin! How long until Michael realizes that he can't get in touch with Jonas? And the minute that happens, he'll be gone."
Chapter 21.
