Another brief chuckle. “I’m impressed. I had no idea you’d come so far. The answer is, yes, Paul is due back in New York at 4:00 p.m. on Flight 117 from Kuwait City. Now, let me lay out my stipulations. The first one is that I want SSA Hutchinson to be part of the operation I’m about to initiate. You and I both trust him, so it’s a win-win situation. Agreed?”
Casey shot Hutch a quick smile. “Agreed.”
“Good. Now here’s the rest-after which, I’ll need every shred of information you have on Lyle Fenton.”
“And John Morano?” Casey asked.
“No. John is one of ours.”
A long pause.
Abruptly, awareness exploded in Casey’s brain. “As is Paul Everett,” she realized aloud.
“Precisely,” came Patricia’s confirmation. “Paul is most definitely one of ours. Oh, and by the way, so is attorney Frederick Wilkenson. We added him to the equation to divert you. So you can tell Mr. McKay he isn’t losing his touch.”
Casey nodded, even though Patricia Carey couldn’t see her. “Tell me what you need of us. And then I’ll tell you everything you don’t already know. It’s more than enough for a conviction-and not just for Lyle Fenton. For key members of the Vizzini family.”
“That’s what I’m counting on, Ms. Woods.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The plane landed smoothly at JFK’s International Terminal.
Paul leaned under the seat and grabbed his carry-on bag, which was his only form of luggage. He was frustrated enough that he had to endure the time necessary to pass through customs. He’d be damned if he’d stand in a baggage claim area, watching a stupid carousel go round forever before it spit out his bags.
The plane was still taxiing to the gate when Paul’s cell phone rang.
He stared at the “unknown” caller ID, weighing his options. It had to be the Bureau. There was no doubt they intended to stop him. And they’d had hours to fine-tune their plans.
Answering the phone was his best bet. Any clue he could get about how they were going to go about this might help him circumvent the obstacles. But, the truth was, he didn’t care if he had to report a bomb scare and evacuate the whole airport. He was getting to Sloane Kettering.
He punched on his phone. “Yes?”
“This is Casey Woods, Mr. Evans.” Casey rushed on, getting in the crucial words before Paul could decide to hang up on her. “Amanda Gleason hired me to find you.”
A pause. “How do I know that?”
“Because you saw the YouTube video. That toll-free number was set up by my company, Forensic Instincts. You can dial it yourself and ask if you don’t believe me.”
“Actually, I can’t. My phone seems to have been deactivated.”
“It was. But it’s been reactivated. Again, if you don’t believe me, you can check for yourself after we hang up. But we’re in a time crunch. So right now, I need to give you instructions so we can get you to Amanda and your son as soon as possible.”
Paul did a double take. “Let me get this straight.” He spoke quietly, so as not to be overheard. “Obviously, if you know about my travel plans and my cell phone, you’ve been in touch with the Bureau. You’re telling me that they’re just allowing you to usher me out of the airport and straight to Sloane Kettering?”
“They’re working with me to make it happen and to protect your anonymity. But we have a certain protocol we need to follow. So please listen to me now and ask questions later. You’re almost at your gate. I need to talk fast so you’ll be ready to proceed as soon as that door opens.”
The ambulance pulled directly up to the plane the instant it came to a complete halt and was safe to do so. The captain had already advised the passengers to stay in their seats until further advised. The information given was that a fellow passenger was suffering what appeared to be a heart attack, and would be escorted directly to a waiting ambulance before everyone else could deplane.
Everyone, including Paul, stayed in their seats, although all eyes were on him and the doctor who was examining him.
“We should start oxygen therapy,” the doctor said, forehead creased in concern as Paul clutched his chest and left arm, his breathing short and uneven.
“We’ll do that, Doctor.” Two paramedics burst onto the plane, rushing directly over to Paul. He was quickly examined.
A minute later, he was on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over his face, and he was being carried out to the waiting ambulance.
Once the patient and his EMTs were inside, the ambulance driver took off, sirens blaring.
“I hope you brought my bag,” Paul said drily, as he sat up and removed the mask. “I carry my own aspirin.”
“We got it.” Hutch patted the travel bag, then leaned back on his haunches. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable. That mask has to be on your face when we go screeching up to the emergency room entrance. You’re being carried in there the same way you were carried out of the plane.” He extended his hand. “SSA Kyle Hutchinson,” he said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“SA Paul Evans, although I doubt I have to introduce myself.” Paul shook Hutch’s hand. “Are you from the New York Field Office?”
“Nope. Quantico. I’m BAU-2.”
Paul’s brows rose. “They sent the BAU to get me?”
Hutch grinned. “Not in the way you mean, no. It’s a long story. You’ll hear all the details later. For now, let’s just get you to the hospital and your son.”
“Where is that woman who called me-Casey Woods?”
“She’s with Amanda, telling her what’s happening. You’re a lucky man, Evans. You’ve got a great woman, a fighter of a son and the best private investigative team there is all in your corner. Without Casey, this could never have happened.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed as he tried to absorb what was happening. “How did she get the FBI to cooperate?”
Another grin. “She’s not only one hell of an investigator, she’s one hell of a horse trader.”
“She dug up information on Fenton,” Paul realized aloud. “She knows what’s going on. She’s helping the Bureau complete their operation.”
“You got it.”
“Damn.” Paul shook his head in amazement. “So this is for real. Casey Woods was being straight with me.”
“As an arrow,” Hutch assured him. He indicated the man next to him. “This is SA Mike Shore of New York’s violent crimes squad.”
“I’m at the Long Island RA,” Mike said, shaking Paul’s hand. “I was part of the initial investigation into Lyle Fenton, before the whole UC operation began.”
“Good to meet you.” Paul still looked a bit dazed. “Can either of you fill me in on my son’s condition?” His voice quivered on the word son.
Hutch was frank. “All I know is that he’s holding on. I don’t know the details of his illness, but I’m sure the doctor will fill you in. He’s been advised you’re on your way. You’ll be donor tested immediately-right after you have a chance to see Amanda and to meet Justin.”
“Justin.” Paul tasted the name on his lips. “I still can’t believe this.” He dragged his hand through his hair, then lay back down on the stretcher. “Give me that oxygen mask,” he instructed. “And tell the driver to ignore rush hour traffic. Turn on that siren and drive up the shoulder of the Van Wyck and over the goddamned Queensboro Bridge. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no one else on the road.”
Casey sat Amanda down in a quiet corner of the waiting area, so that she could finally tell her client the news she’d been aching to hear. Amanda looked like a fine thread that had been frayed and was about to snap, as if she’d hung on just about as long as any human being could. This poor woman, this poor mother, had endured-and was still enduring-a living hell. She’d visibly aged this past week, internalizing each emotional blow that threatened to take Justin away. God, it would feel so good to share this wonderful, positive news with her.