Winded and in need of a rest or, at least, a chance to catch his breath, he leaned against a stone bench and stared back across the cemetery. No sign of the assassin. He thought about Beth. Vision blurred legs wobbly — he doubled over until the wave of nausea passed.
Why hadn’t the woman named Jillian called back? In all the excitement and noise, he could have easily missed the ringing. He checked his phone. No missed calls.
Jake spotted a flagpole atop a large brick building that lent the appearance of a municipally owned facility. The police station.
The way to the exit was unsafe. The assassin was walking up the sidewalk towards the same corner, looking at him with a grin on his face.
He knew he couldn’t outrun the man to the exit by the police station but he could outrun him to the side exit on Oglethorpe Street. Running to the far side of several ancient burial vaults, Jake looked back towards the police station. He ducked behind the Graham Vault, a vault that had once held the remains of Major General Nathaniel Greene.
A large crowd had gathered between Jake and the side gate. Using them as a screen, he ran out the exit. He ducked low and ran across Oglethorpe, crossing both lanes. The large azalea bushes in the median and the shrubs on the north side of the street hid him from Ian as he hurried west back toward the police station.
The assassin passed him in the opposite direction on the other side of the street, still looking for him inside the cemetery. When the man turned his head toward him, Jake ducked out of sight below the bushes. The man turned back around and Jake ran west toward the corner.
What he saw when he looked at the building flooded him with disappointment and panic. It wasn’t a police station at all, it was a fire station. And it was locked up tight.
Looking back down Oglethorpe, realizing the police station must be back the way he came, Jake saw the assassin crossing the street and cutting off his access. Luckily the man wasn’t looking in his direction, which gave him a few short seconds to seek cover before the man turned his head and spotted him.
Running north on Abercorn toward Oglethorpe Square he stopped short at an alley. He guessed he could move east down the alley until he was past the cemetery, then double back to find the police station. It was a good plan — in theory.
CHAPTER 44
Kaplan followed the assassin, the man Michael Sullivan called Ian, around the perimeter of the cemetery. He watched Jake run toward a side exit. Ian, in turn, ran toward Jake but appeared to have lost him in the crowd. Kaplan saw Jake cross Oglethorpe Street and duck below the bushes. When Ian crossed the street, Kaplan stayed back and watched him as he walked away from Jake. Jake went back west. Ian turned east.
He followed Ian. His worst fears were becoming reality. He had explained it all to Beth. There must be some connection between Annie and Pat McGill — they were from the same town in Ireland and were close to the same age. It was too much of a coincidence. But what was their connection, if any, to the crash? And how did the assassin fit in?
Beth was supposed to meet him in front of Barry’s Pub but she never showed up. He’d called the hotel but she wasn’t in her room. She had given him her cell phone number, but she wasn’t answering that either.
That left only two scenarios. One, Jake told her not to meet with them and she just didn’t bother calling back, unlikely. Or two, something bad had happened to Beth. His instincts told him something had happened to Beth. Something very, very bad.
Kaplan followed the assassin down the sidewalk. His eyes widened in shock as the man stopped at the house in the middle of the block. The man named Ian looked around then ascended the steps to the front door.
Standing across the street, partially hidden behind a large live oak, he stared at the man, his hands clenched into fists. Mixed with a shattered sense of betrayal and bitter disappointment, he could think of only one thing … find Jake. Find Jake before it was too late.
His eyes bleak, he saw the assassin twist the doorknob. Nothing happened. The man banged on the door. A few seconds later a man opened the door and the assassin walked in. The other man leaned out of the doorway, looked around, then retreated inside. The face was one Kaplan had seen before.
A face he would not forget.
Kaplan ran back to the corner, out of sight of the residence, then turned north on Abercorn.
He pulled out his phone, pressed the talk button, then scrolled down the previously called numbers until he reached the one for the Westin. He hit the call button, and when the operator answered, he asked for her room.
The phone rang and rang. After the tenth ring, he hung up and redialed the hotel. “Westin Savannah, how may I direct your call?”
After three minutes of explaining, he got what he was after. He punched in the ten-digit number and pressed talk.
He wasn’t a religious man but he prayed out loud. “Please, God, let her answer, Jake’s life depends on it.”
One ring. Two rings. Three. Then he heard a voice answer the phone.
“Carol Martin.”
CHAPTER 45
Jake walked down the alleyway, trying to process everything that had happened. His thoughts bounced from the plane crash to the words Donna Greene said about the events in Dallas. The man from Dallas was here, a foregone conclusion.
He thought about the stranger who was in his room that night and how that same man had saved him from a killer just a few moments ago. How could he have been so stupid as to let the assassin catch up to him again?
Beth. His worries returned to Beth. Why hadn’t the woman called back with the picture of Beth?
He pulled out his cell phone and checked for missed calls again. None.
He felt light-headed and leaned against an old green Chevrolet Blazer parked in the alleyway. He had been operating on pure adrenaline — and it was wearing thin. He was losing blood and getting weaker. He needed to stop the bleeding. He needed to rest.
After a couple of minutes his head cleared and he walked on down the alleyway, pausing at Lincoln Street. Looking south he could see the cemetery and the gate he’d run out of trying to escape from his pursuer. An old couple walked by the exit, the woman holding the man by the elbow, the old man using his cane as they strolled down the street. An old concrete street sign with its faded lettering leaned against a telephone pole. He stopped and looked for signs of anyone pursuing him. To the north there were hordes of revelers, but no sign of the big man called Ian.
His left shoulder ached and the pain in his side was overwhelming. He still had his right hand pressed against the wound. He let off pressure and felt the blood oozed out again. A wave of nausea hit him but he fought it off. He knew he needed medical attention but first he had to find Beth.
His cell phone rang. Beth.
He pulled the phone out of his coat pocket while he continued east down the alleyway. He glanced at caller ID but didn’t recognize the number. He was expecting a call back from Beth’s phone.
He flipped open the phone. “Jake Pendleton.”
“Jake, it’s Gregg Kaplan. We need to talk, it’s urgent. Where are you?”
“I don’t really know. Somewhere downtown near a cemetery. Gregg, that man I told you about … he’s been chasing me. He caught me a couple of times but somehow I got away. They got Beth, Gregg … they got Beth. Call the police.”
“Calm down, Jake — I know. I’ve been following you and the man chasing you. I followed him until he went inside a house,” Kaplan said, talking fast. “Tell me where you are. Find a street corner and tell me where you are and I’ll find you.”