In the shadows I could make out Travis striding along the periphery of the room, a compact stainless-steel pistol at his side. He'd removed his long-sleeved camouflage shirt and wore only a sleeveless white tee. But his arms were so densely tattooed, mottled and greenish, that at first it looked like he was still wearing camouflage. At the back of his arm, by his elbow, was a tattoo of a spiderweb: another prison tattoo.
"Nice job, Kevin," Ali whispered to Bross. "That was a great bluff. Really genius."
"I didn't see anyone get killed, did you?" Bross said. "He didn't take out his gun. I tried, and it didn't work-big deal. I'm still here."
"You don't get it, do you? Not only did you get the ransom jacked up, but now we're totally screwed. He's going to question everyone separately, and we didn't even get a chance to talk to Danziger and Grogan."
"Go ahead," he said. "Why don't you just walk over there and tell them yourself?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ali said. "Have me get shot? And what was your big strategy? That line of crap you gave Russell, which he saw right through? Didn't you listen to a word Jake said? We all agreed to tell him we don't have the account numbers."
"Hey, I didn't agree to anything," Bross said. "And we all know why you're defending this loser."
"Because he obviously knows what he's doing. And you don't."
"The only thing that's obvious is that you two used to sleep together."
Ali was silent for a few seconds. I didn't have to see her face to know it was flushed-with embarrassment or with anger or both.
"I don't think you want be too high-and-mighty about office romances, Kevin," she said, biting off the words. "Or should we ask-"
"Ali," I said.
"Landry?"
"Never let an asshole rent space in your head. The guy's not worth your time. We've got to get to Grogan and Danziger now. Before Russell does."
Bross made a pffft sound. "Who's going to do that, you?" he said.
I didn't answer.
41
I watched Travis, trying to get a fix on his rhythm. I was beginning to think that he hadn't just done prison time; the way he walked convinced me that he'd also served in the military, maybe the Army or the National Guard. He had that soldierly cadence. He'd been broken in by a drill sergeant and done long tedious hours on night patrol.
He was also taking his job seriously. Any of the other hostage-takers would probably have sat in a chair, watching us. But maybe that was a good thing. It meant his back would be turned toward me for at least sixty seconds at a stretch. Given how dark it was in here, Travis could hardly see us: a great stroke of luck. But he'd surely hear and sense any sudden movement.
And for the moment he was the only guard in the room. Wayne was outside with the handyman, would probably be for a good while, until the power was up and running again. Verne had just gone outside for a smoke-and a toke, or a snort-and might be back in a minute or two, even five, if I got lucky and he took his time. Buck would return from the bathroom with Upton Barlow at any minute, depending on how long it took for a middle-aged guy with prostate problems to empty his bladder. I had no idea how long Russell would spend with Slattery. Ten minutes? Half an hour?
So if I was going to get to Grogan and Danziger, it had to be done right away.
The funny thing was, I didn't think twice about doing something so insanely risky. I just did it.
Maybe it was all about the look in Ali's face at the moment she saw me start to move, a look I'd never seen before: part terror, part admiration.
Or maybe it was because I knew no one else would. And if I didn't warn the two men not to remember the Hammond account numbers, my plan was doomed to fail.
Not that it wasn't doomed to fail already. Too many things could go wrong with it. Russell-too canny, too suspicious-might not fall for the phone call thing. He might simply scare the information out of someone at gunpoint: your company's money or your life. I knew what I'd choose.
He might not pick Slattery to do the transfer, especially if he knew that there were five executives-Grogan, Danziger, Bodine, Slattery, and Latimer-who also had the power. Whoever he did pick could easily screw it up, not figure out a way to communicate duress without Russell picking up on it. And whoever was at the other end of the phone might not get it.
And what if he already knew the account numbers?
So the odds of it working, the more I thought about it, were pretty damned slim.
Here I was, risking my life for a gambit that was likely to fail anyway. A gambit that, the more I mulled it over, was already starting to shred like wet tissue paper.
But to do nothing, I was certain, was to ensure that some of us, maybe even all of us, got killed.
Russell was wrong: You don't always have a choice.
Though the two men were only maybe thirty feet or so away, on the other side of the enormous fireplace, it might as well have been a mile.
I waited until Travis had completed a circuit, did his military-style about-face and passed us. And then I tried to get up.
But rising from the floor with your hands tied together, palms in, wasn't easy. I had to swing my knees over to one side, then lean my torso all the way forward. Extend my hands as if I were salaaming. Then I pressed the back of one of my hands against the floor and pushed myself up and to my feet.
It took almost five seconds. Which was way too long.
By the time I was standing, Travis had almost reached the end of the room. There was no time for me to run around the fireplace to the next alcove before he turned around.
Now what? I asked myself. Do I sit back down, wait until Travis's next circuit?
Then a screen door slammed. Not the front door: Verne, back from his cigarette break.
42
I no longer had a choice. I had to move.
I took long, loping strides, as fast as I could, yet at the same time treading as lightly as possible. A matter of a couple of seconds, but it felt like forever.
All the while my eyes were riveted on Travis.
He came to the end of his circuit and turned just as I sank to the floor next to the manager's son, Ryan. He-and everyone else around him-looked in astonishment. I gave a quick headshake to tell them to be quiet.
Travis glanced over but maintained his steady pace. He hadn't noticed.
Verne entered from the back hallway, walking quickly, sniffing, swinging his arms jerkily, humming some tune, amped. When he was out of range, Ryan Fecher said, "What the hell-"
I put a finger to my lips, slid across the floor.
Alan Grogan and John Danziger were seated next to each other.
"Are you out of your freakin' mind?" Danziger said. I noticed the large bald spot under his fine blond hair. His light blue alligator shirt looked as if it had been ironed. He was one of those preppy guys whose clothes always fit perfectly, who had a certain natural, aristocratic ease and economy of motion.
"Yeah," I said. "I must be."
I quickly explained. As I did, he and Grogan exchanged looks-of disbelief, then skepticism and apprehension.
"I don't have the account numbers with me, either," Danziger said. "Why would I?"
"Well, I do," said Grogan. "In my head."
"Figures," Danziger said with feigned disgust. He turned to me, and said, with obvious pride, "Grogan's a USA Math Olympiad gold medalist. Even though he'll never admit it."
Grogan glared at Danziger. "Thanks, pal." The moonlight caught the network of fine lines around his hazel eyes.
"Hey," Danziger said, "if that's the only dirty little secret about you that comes out here, you're lucky."
"Very funny," Grogan said, sounding almost peeved.
"Russell doesn't know you have those numbers memorized," I said. "So you don't say a word. We clear?"
Both men nodded.
"If anyone tells him different," Danziger said, "we're in deep shit. The guy's already made it clear he doesn't want to be lied to. And what the consequences will be if anyone does."