“Both hands on that top knee after you put out your cigar,” Partain said.
The General did as told and said, “Now what?”
“You okay, Shawnee?” Partain asked.
“Never better.”
“We want two things,” Partain said to the General. “We want Hank Viar’s thirty-two notebooks. That’s first.”
The General’s eyes danced from Partain to Shawnee Viar and back. “What if I don’t have them?”
“I get to shoot you,” Shawnee said.
“And if I do have them?”
“Then you live,” Partain said.
“And the catch?”
“We’ll get to that.”
The General nodded at a cherrywood cabinet to Partain’s left. “See that cabinet over there?”
Partain looked, nodded and turned back.
“Well, it’s not exactly a cabinet, although it’s got that nice Tiffany lamp on it. It’s a safe. Viar’s stuff’s inside it.”
“Is there an alarm?”
“No alarm.”
“If it’s a silent one, you won’t finish the night.”
“No alarm.”
“What’s the combination?”
The General rattled it off. Partain went over to the cabinet, knelt, cautiously opened the wood door, revealing a sturdy gray steel safe. Partain worked the combination, waited, pulled down the safe’s handle, tugged at it and opened the safe.
There were two steel shelves. The bottom one held the thirty-two red spiral notebooks of Henry Viar. The top shelf was packed almost solid with currency, mostly banded $50 and $100 bills. Partain guessed there was nearly $400,000.
Partain removed the spiral notebooks, closed the safe’s door and rose.
“Let’s make him read us the part where they tried to make Hank disappear your wife,” Shawnee said.
“We might,” Partain said and put the spiral notebooks on a table.
“Not taking the cash?” the General said.
“It’s not mine,” Partain said, then turned to look at Colonel Mill-wed, who now lay on his left side and was inching his way toward the Beretta that still lay five feet away.
“No closer, Ralph,” Partain said, “or I’ll have to bust something else.”
The Colonel whimpered and lay still.
“Now comes the catch,” the General said.
Partain agreed with a nod and took a small .22-caliber revolver from his jacket pocket. “This is the same weapon that General Winfield used to kill Emory Kite this morning. You heard about Kite, of course.”
“I heard.”
“Well, you get to use it on Colonel Millwed.”
“Kill him?” Partain nodded.
“No,” the General said, snapping the word out. “Never.”
“Think about it,” Partain said. “He’s already shot at you and missed with his Beretta. This was after your argument that ended in a brief brutal fight that’ll explain Ralphie’s bumps and bruises.”
“You broke his fucking nose, mister.”
“And you put up a great fight. But to save your own life, you eventually had to shoot him and you regret it very, very much.”
“Let’s hear the rest of it,” General Hudson said.
“If you don’t shoot him, Shawnee here shoots you.”
“Then she dies in jail.”
“I’ve already spent a year in a locked ward, dickhead,” Shawnee said. “The most I’ll get is six months and I’ll be out in two. I’m Hank Viar’s loony grief-crazed daughter, remember? You murdered my daddy and I went bonkers.”
The General cleared his throat and said, “And if I shoot him?”
“You fuck!” the Colonel screamed.
“It’ll probably end your Army career but you’ll be alive.”
“Let’s get it over with, then,” the General said.
“GODDAMN YOU, WALKER!” the Colonel yelled.
The three of them ignored him as Partain took the .38-caliber revolver from Shawnee Viar, aimed it at the General and said, “Let’s go see Millwed. That’s when I hand you the twenty-two and you shoot him. I’d suggest the temple but you might have your own preference.”
“Partain, you fuck,” Millwed said, not bothering to scream or yell.
As the General and Partain went slowly over to the prostrate Colonel, Shawnee Viar gathered up the thirty-two red spiral notebooks,pressed them to her chest and followed the two men. Her eyes were wide and bright and amused.
When the two men reached him, the Colonel looked up and begged. “Please, Walker. Don’t kill me. For God’s sake, don’t.”
“Let’s do it,” the General said to Partain.
Partain used his right hand to stick the barrel of the .38-caliber revolver into the General’s right ear. “Insurance,” Partain said, then handed over the .22.
“I’M GODDAMN BEGGING YOU, YOU FUCK!” the Colonel roared and then squeezed his eyes shut.
“Sorry, pal,” the General said, squatted, held the small revolver two inches away from Millwed’s temple and pulled the trigger. There was a loud snap and a click.
The General turned pale. The Colonel began to weep. Partain bent over, removed the .22 from the General’s hand, straightened, put the small gun away and said, “Let’s go, Shawnee.”
The General rose slowly, staring at Partain. Fear had settled on his face for the first time. His voice sounded old and scratchy when he asked, “What happens to Viar’s diaries?”
“The Army gets them,” Partain said. “You guys can work out a defense between you. I suspect the Colonel’s will be that he was only following orders, right, Ralph?”
“Fuck you, Partain,” the Colonel whispered.
“Can I kick him just once in the balls?” Shawnee Viar said.
“If you really want to,” Partain said.
“No,” she said. “I guess I don’t.”
Chapter 41
When the United 747 was forty miles west of Dulles, Edd Partain stopped a passing flight attendant in the first-class section and said, “There’s a Ms. J. Carver back in steerage who needs to upgrade her seat.” He indicated the vacant aisle seat next to his. “This one’s empty. Can you arrange it?”
“Who’s buying?” the attendant asked.
“I am.”
“She have a cheapo ticket?”
“Probably.”
“It’ll cost you a bundle.”
Partain reached into a pocket of his new brown herringbone jacket, came up with some folded-over $100 bills and said, “Here’s a thousand. If it’s more, let me know.”
The flight attendant, a handsome 50, fussed over Jessica Carver for almost five minutes, urging her to have another breakfast, which was refused, or a drink, which was accepted. Carver swallowed some of her Bloody Mary and asked Partain, “Where were you last night?”
“With Patrokis and Shawnee. Most of the time.”
“And earlier?”
“Shawnee and I put on a recital for General Hudson and Colonel Millwed.”
“You going to tell me about it?”
Partain turned to stare down at the cloud layer 15,000 feet below, then turned back and said, “Sure. Why not? But Shawnee comes out as the heroine.”
“Good.”
It took Partain twenty minutes to tell her and when he was done, she asked, “Who else knows?”
“Just Patrokis — and you.”
“When’s it all coming out?”
Partain smiled. “On the first real slow news day.”
Over the Grand Canyon, Partain said, “Your mother wants me to go to work for her.”
“Doing what?”
“Probably apprentice rainmaker.”
“You going to?”
“Maybe.”
“That means we’ll both have jobs,” she said. “I got an offer from the transition team yesterday.”
“What kind of offer?”