“Look.” Jack felt his guilt building. “I said some things…”
“Yeah, you sure did,” David said. Jack waited for him to admit some culpability, but that wasn’t forthcoming. “We’re not going to waste time on those issues. Let’s stay focused on getting Mia. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, the fear, the worry and anxiety, but remember, this is where you thrive. No one thinks clearer under stress than you. When you were a kid, you were so good under pressure; it’s what made you such a strong goalie. With games riding on your shoulders, no one was better at protecting the net, no matter how many shots were fired at you. You carried that talent into every aspect of your life.
“And this is hard to admit: you never listened to me about sports, school, your career. And you know what? You were right. You were right every time. You always listened to your heart, to that voice inside you. Listen to it now. Embrace the pressure as you’ve always done. It makes you think clearer, it allows you to see solutions where others don’t.” David paused. “You’ll find Mia. Trust in yourself. I do.”
Jack looked as his father, his words filling him with confidence.
“Jack,” his father said, “let’s keep this conversation between us. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea, especially your mother.”
David patted Jack’s shoulder, and it might as well have been a hug.
Jack smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be watching over the girls,” David said as he headed out the door. “You go find your wife.”
Jack’s cell phone rang, startling him. He didn’t dare answer it unless it was Frank or Joy. He glanced at the caller ID, and his heart leaped. He couldn’t answer Mia’s call fast enough.
“Hello, Jack,” the voice said.
“Who is this?”
“I see we’ve both risen from the dead.”
Jack knew the voice instantly, the deep, haunting tone, the polished accent.
“You sent me to die, Jack. Not sure how you survived, but I guess you’re wondering the same about me. You can stop wondering where Mia is. I’ve got her. She is so beautiful. Her hair dark like the night, her eyes filled with emotion, all kinds of emotion. And her smell, do you remember her smell?”
“You lay one hand on her-”
“Who says I haven’t already? And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“I don’t know how you’re alive-”
“I guess it’s fate that we’re both alive, because I sure wouldn’t call it coincidence. Cute trick keeping an empty evidence case in the car. Was that your idea or your wife’s?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I got your note, Jack.”
“What note?” Jack said in total confusion.
“I know you like puzzles and playing games, but I can assure you, this is no game.”
Jack was silent, perplexed at the man’s words. He hadn’t written any note, let alone had any clue this man could possibly be alive.
“You know what I want, Jack, and you’re going to get it for me.”
“Not a chance.”
“Oh, there’s every chance. You and I, Jack, are going to get it together. A little match-up, a partnership between the executed and the executioner. Mr. DA is about to break every law in his little law book.”
Jack looked down at the file on his kitchen counter. He knew exactly who was on the other end of the line. He had studied him, tried him, convicted him and, on April 15 of last year, watched as Nowaji Cristos, the man on the phone, was executed.
CHAPTER 23
"Hello,” Frank said into his cell phone as he got into the car.
“Frank, Matt Daly.”
“Hey.”
“No bodies yet; we’ve got a torn shirt, probably Jack’s,” Matt said.
Frank had completely forgotten about Matt Daly’s team dragging the river.
“Listen,” Frank said, “you’ve got to do me a favor. Try to keep things from the press as long as you can. And keep it local. Byram Hills cops only. Think you can do that?”
“I’ll do my best. We’re working toward the spillway, probably eight hours before we reach it. Though there’s a good chance their bodies could be hung up in the rocks.”
“Thanks.”
“And Frank, there’s a bullet hole in the shirt, right above the heart. This was no accident.”
“I know.”
“I thought you’d say that. You’re digging into this, aren’t you?”
Frank’s silence answered the question.
“I’ll keep things under wraps as long as I can,” Matt said. “You need any more help, you call me.”
“Thanks again.” Frank hung up the phone, slammed the door, and started the Jeep.
J ACK LEAPED INTO the Audi. He looked at the gas gauge, near empty, and shook his head before he drove out of the driveway as fast as he could, the garage door auto-closing behind him. He headed east down Banksville Road, in the opposite direction that Frank would be coming from. Frank went out the door pissed and would arrive back any minute even more pissed when he found out that Jack had slipped away again. But Jack wasn’t going to risk Mia’s life by involving Frank or anyone else in what he was about to do.
Jack was on his way to meet a dead man. He had wondered what in his life had set him on this path. Was there a singular moment that made this day inevitable? Was it karma, fate, payback for a bad decision in his youth?
His mind jumped back to that night so many years ago when Apollo died, when he killed those two teens. He thought about the promise to himself never to kill again. He thought of how hard he had dedicated himself to fighting crime without a gun, doing whatever it took to get a conviction.
While he was so disturbed by the deaths in that loft building, the lives he took, the life he couldn’t save, swearing off his gun, he realized that he didn’t need the gun to kill. He had done it with the power of the justice system. And while he felt it was justified and within the constraints of the laws of the state, he had still taken the life of a man.
Now that man, Nowaji Cristos, had somehow returned and was exacting his revenge.
CHAPTER 24
On February 8 two years ago, Nowaji Cristos lay prone above UN Plaza, his left eye nuzzled into the gun sight of the Israeli-made Galil sniper rifle. Dressed in a blue maintenance worker’s jumper, his long black hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, he stared down, watching the motorcade’s approach. Cristos knew that the escort by New York City cops on motorcycles was only for show, a gesture to make the Pashir general and ruler feel important, to boost the already oversized ego of a diminutive military man who rose to power through a coup d’etat two years earlier.
The general was of little significance to the world order. His small jungle country had not moved much beyond colonial times, but he had grown to be a nuisance to certain countries’ national interests, with his border skirmishes with Cotis, India, and Bangladesh, military posturing, and the nationalization of private companies-nationalization being his word for personal take-over. And so certain affected parties turned to Cristos, a man with a one-hundred-percent success rate, whose face was not known to the world and whose chosen name meant “the risen ghost.”
Those who hired Cristos never imagined that he knew General Gjwain. He knew him as the ruthless, Napoleonic sadist who had killed his own family so as to inherit the family farm; he knew him as the man with not one iota of courage, military training, or experience who decorated his chest with medals of valor and bravery. Cristos knew Gjwain as the insignificant man who lived across the border not fifty miles from Cristos’s place of birth, a man who was disappearing those who disagreed with him or stood in his way.
Cristos was a man without conscience, but he thought if he ever had one, it would not be burdened by his coming actions. In fact, he considered it a magnanimous gesture to the people who shared his heritage to remove the depraved ruler. He had accepted the job at his usual rate, but it wasn’t about the money. It never was for Cristos. It was about the challenge, testing his skills, pushing his limits. In the end, if it did not raise his game, he would never accept, walking away in search of a new quest.