“No,” Leigh said. “But she said she’s fine. She sounded fine. She said to call her phone as soon as the papers are signed.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Winter said, relieved.
After the deputies were in position, Brad cut the motor and said, “Showtime.”
They walked toward the casino, Winter’s and Brad’s eyes scanning the crowd like two cowboys headed toward the only saloon in a lawless cow town.
104
Alexa sat in the extended cab of Leigh’s pickup parked in a dark pecan orchard a mile from Six Oaks, waiting for whatever Styer was waiting for.
“Can we go home now?” Cynthia asked. “I told Mama what you said to.”
“Sit quiet and let the adults talk. We’ll be going in shortly,” Styer said. He continued thoughtfully, “I should have been an athlete. My father was a gymnast, a gold medalist for East Germany. My mother was a chess player, a grand master who was a cryptologist for Stasi. When I was eight, I had an IQ of over one hundred and sixty, amazing physical strength and agility.”
Styer smiled, his eyes far away. “My parents were good Germans. Hitler and his generals were giants, conquering an entire continent one country at a time. Few complained while they were winning because their stomachs were full and they could feel proud again.”
“Good Germans,” Alexa said, not knowing what else to say.
“My parents let the KGB take me from them when I was nine. I remember them telling me how wonderful it was that I would be trained as so few were. How fortunate I was to have been born so special that such very important men and women would prove my greatness to the world. They were so proud.” There was a distinct note of bitterness in the last words.
“When they came for me to take me to the school, it was winter. I recall how the exhaust pipe smoked in the dark, how the snow crunched beneath my shoes. I was taken by plane to a base at the foot of the Ural Mountains, and out from there, by military helicopter.”
“What kind of academy was it?” Alexa asked, curious.
“It was a school for assassins, but of course I didn’t know that at first.”
Styer stopped talking when three sets of headlights came into view. “There they are. Massey and the others. Jeep and two cruisers. Let me remind you, Alexa, before you try to turn on the lights, that I have the cell phone in my hand.”
“I know that.”
After the caravan was out of sight, Styer set down the binoculars. “Where was I?”
“You were talking about your parents.”
“Last year I dropped in for a visit with them. Not a word had they had from me in twenty-nine years, and they begged me to stay. But we were no more than strangers. My mother said she was sorry she ever let them take me, but had no choice. She and my father were just being good Germans who showed their appreciation by giving their beloved only son to the state. I became no more than an instrument for others to use to their own ends, instead of something else like a doctor, a musician, even an Olympic gold medalist.” Styer smiled strangely. “You can’t imagine all those nights I cried silently in my bed so no one could sense my weakness and use it against me.”
“I know there must be something of the boy you were deep down inside you,” Alexa said. “None of this is necessary. If you leave, Winter won’t be a threat. His children need him. His wife needs him.”
Styer put the truck in gear, then turned it off and looked at her. “It will be less suspicious if you will drive again from here, Alexa. Cyn, no warning looks or I will kill the deputy and cut your throat. Come around, Alexa, and I will slide over.”
Alexa got out and climbed back into the cab to find that Styer had adjusted the seat forward for her. She cranked the truck, deciding to keep him talking if she could. She wanted to reach the little boy who had once loved his parents.
“Do you keep in touch with your parents?”
“That’s hardly possible, darlin’,” Styer said in the voice of the man he was now impersonating. “They died in an accidental fire while I was visiting with them. Of course, being an only son, I stayed in Berlin long enough to make the funeral arrangements.”
105
A man dressed in a casino employee’s attire waited at the elevators, smiling at their approach. “Mr. Klein and his attorney are expecting you.”
His name tag said he was Alex Coyle, the concierge. After they got into the car, he signaled to a young bellboy who was standing beside the desk. The youth came over and got into the elevator, taking a key from the concierge. He put the key in the lock, pressed the button for the eighth floor, and watched the panel with a customer-service smile plastered on his face.
“Hello, Mr. Green,” Winter said to the boy whose name tag read, JOHNNY GREEN.
He nodded. “I’m supposed to show y’all up.”
“Nice night,” Leigh said.
“I guess so,” Johnny said. “In here you wouldn’t know if it was night or day. Is it freezing over yet?”
“It’s getting colder by the minute,” Billy Lyons said as the elevator stopped.
Johnny Green escorted them down the hall to suite 825, and rapped on the partly open door with gloved fingers.
“Enter!” Kurt Klein’s unmistakable voice cried out.
Billy Lyons reached into his pants pocket, withdrew a money clip, and peeled off a twenty, which he handed to the bellboy.
“Thank you,” Johnny Green said, putting the bill into his pocket without inspecting it. He held the door open until they were inside and closed it gently behind them.
“Never would have found the eighth floor on our own,” Winter said, ribbing his friend.
“What I’m charging for this,” Billy said, “I can afford to be generous.”
106
The limousine floated along nearly deserted county roads, while Albert recorded the confession Finch had demanded.
“That was almost perfect,” Finch said, after listening to the second version. “Concise and covers all of the major points.”
Despite the fear that he was about to be killed, Albert was furious that Klein was going to cover his ass using Albert’s dead body.
Albert knew where they were going before they turned off the paved road, through the woods to where the landscape opened up like a battlefield. The limousine rolled among great tortured clumps of gathered tree limbs toward the lone equipment-storage structure, which was visible against the levee that ran north to south like a great wall.
The limo driver got out and opened the gates, then drove into the parking lot surrounding the structure, leaving the gates standing open.
“You don’t have to kill me,” Albert said weakly.
“In fact, I do,” Finch told him. “Those are my orders. How I accomplish the task is up to you. I can torture you and roll your fat carcass into a hole and let you smother as we push dirt over you, or I can put you to sleep painlessly. I don’t dislike you, Albert. There’s nothing personal in this. I believe the mitigating factor is that you and Jack Beals robbed and murdered customers of Herr Klein’s casino for profit. Pretty shortsighted-liquidating future customers-don’t you think?”
Albert didn’t know how they knew about his side enterprise, but seeing that they had found his stash, and knew about Beals’s stash, there was no sense denying it.
“How much did Mulvane take?”
“He wasn’t in on it.”
“Was Murphy involved?”
Albert shook his head.
“Just you two?”
Albert nodded. He was thinking about the gun locked up in his desk, and wishing Tug had come along. With Tug, there would be hope. Without him, there was none.
The limo stopped ten feet from the door. The driver and the two thugs climbed out. The driver used a key to open the personnel door and stepped inside to turn on the lights. Meanwhile, Finch aimed his weapon at Albert. “After you, Albert.”