The Good Soldier (32 page)

Frank leaned back against the bar and raised a shot glass in my direction, leaned his head back and tossed the drink in his mouth. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and exhaled loudly. I crossed the floor and stopped two feet in front of him.

"What's up, Jack?" he said. The smell of stale liquor carried on his breath. "Old girlfriend?"

I noticed Sarah glance back over her shoulder.

"No," I said. "Stop screwing around. We've got a problem."

Frank's face straightened and so did his body. "What is it?"

I recounted the conversation I had on the phone with the man with the machine voice. Instinctively, I figured it had to be someone who knew us. Maybe had a beef with us. Someone involved with a terrorist group, using the riddle as some sort of decoy.

"The little blond boy you rescued?" Frank said.

I nodded. "That's what I figure. But why bring him up? That's all classified."

"Someone we busted or broke up their organization, right? So, he sees the picture in the paper. Remembers your face. Pulls some strings, throws around some money and gets your number."

I shook my head. "We got that picture cleaned up before they ran it. No one saw my face."

Frank leaned back again. He shook off the bartender when asked if he needed another drink. "The news, Jack. Remember in the firehouse? You were on TV."

"I was?"

"You were," Sarah said. "Carrying that little boy out of the burning house. Same little boy who stood right there," she pointed to a spot near the front door, "while his mother tried to pick you up."

"The sins of the mother have been purged," I said, recalling the words the man spoke in a singsong robotic voice.

"You don't think he-"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card Tammy had slipped inside it on her way out the door. On it was her name and phone number. "I'm going to find out." I dialed the number and placed the phone on speaker.

"Hello," a man said, his voice deep and dry.

"Who is this?" I said.

"This is Stallworth. Look, are you related to," he paused a beat, then continued, "Tammy Nockowitz?"

"What?" I said.

Frank pushed out his hands and nodded fervently.

"Uh, yeah, I am," I said. "This is her husband. Who is this? What's going on?"

Frank leaned in. I had to pull the phone back before he got too close and deafened the man with his heavy breathing.

"I'm a paramedic with D.C. Fire. I'm not supposed to do this, but your wife's been in a bad accident. Hit and run. She's unconscious and losing blood."

"What? How?"

The man said nothing.

"My boy, is he OK?"

"No boy here, sir."

"What do you mean no boy? She left with him. Little blond haired guy, eight years old."

The phone rustled and we heard the muffled sound of the man shouting something to the effect of had anyone seen a little boy nearby. A lump rose in my throat, and I feared that the child had been ejected from the car, his little body lying on the side of the highway. I assumed Sarah wondered the same thing because I noticed her eyes were wide and she held her breath.

"No little boy in the car or in the area. Look, the back seat is crushed. He wouldn't have made it out of the car. I think it's safe to say that your wife was traveling alone."

"Where will you take her?"

"GWU Hospital."

I hung up and placed my phone on the bar. "Christ."

"Agreed," Frank said.

"George Washington University isn't that far," I said. "The accident must have occurred pretty close to here."

"What about the boy?" Frank said.

"The man's got the boy," Sarah said.

We both turned toward her. For the first time, we realized that she had been paying attention to everything that had happened. From me telling Frank about the phone call, the call with the paramedic, Sarah knew all of it. And when I saw Frank's jaw muscles working hard, I knew what he intended to do about it.

Frank hopped off his stool and said, "We're gonna have-"

I placed my left hand between them. "Frank, let's not go there yet."

"You're not locking me up," she said. "I'm coming with you."

"Where?" Frank said.

"To the hospital," she said.

"Bullshit you are," Frank said. "You're going into lock down until we know what the hell is going on."

"I can give you an opinion on the injuries," she said. "I don't think this was an accident and I can prove it if you'll let me take a look at her. Plus, if you need to leave with her, I can monitor her during transport."

Frank shot me a look. I shrugged at first, then nodded after a moment of contemplation. I had no objections to keeping Sarah around for a little while, at least for as long as we were in the hospital. Chances are we'd head back to headquarters after that, and I'd try to convince her to stay behind if things looked to be heading in a dangerous direction.

"OK, fine," Frank said. "I'm going to call us a cab."

"What about them?" I said.

"Who?" he said, not bothering to look at me.

"Our guys? Want to fill them in?"

"No," Frank said. "Not until we absolutely have to. And even then, no."

I moved closer to Sarah. "You sure you want to go along? This might be dangerous."

Her voice trembled with anticipation. "I live in danger. My job is full of danger. I can handle this."

Was it false bravado, the way she acted? I couldn't tell. Frank would make her my responsibility. If something happened, I'd have to answer for it. He didn't have to come out and say it. It was assumed.

The bartender placed three to-go coffee mugs on the counter. "Guys look like you could use this."

I nodded my thanks and grabbed my cup and Frank's, and then walked toward the door with Sarah. We waited for Frank. When he showed, I pushed the door open and stepped into the freezing night air. I hadn't noticed it when I stepped outside earlier, buzzed and preoccupied. But time and shock had sobered me. Now I felt the cold as it whipped and sliced and found its way into every opening in my clothing.

"Cab'll be here any minute," Frank said.

My phone vibrated inside my pocket. I pulled it out and held it above waist level. Frank and Sarah closed in on me and hovered over the screen. We all read the same thing,
unknown caller
.

"It's him," I said.

I answered the phone on the fourth ring.

"Thirty-six hours, Mr. Noble." Same voice, still robotic, tinny, and evil.

"Till what?"

"That should be evident by now, shouldn't it?"

I said nothing. My eyes met Frank's and I watched as he tried to process the voice streaming through the phone's speaker. It wouldn't do any good. It was only a disguise. And in my experience, the only ones to use disguises were extreme cowards, or extremely dangerous men.

"I hear that Ms. Nockowitz is being transported to the hospital. She should be going to the morgue. Unfortunately, D.C. is the last big city in the U.S. to have concerned citizens. I've dispatched a few men to finish the job. But I'll make you a deal, Jack. Interested?"

I fought back the anger that pushed up through my insides and said, "Yeah."

"Get there first, and my men will back off, for now. But know this, if you try to notify the police, the little boy loses a finger."

"How do I know you've got the boy?"

There was a pause, and then, "Mommy?" the voice was soft and sincere and clouded by tears. And it sounded human, which told me that the man was speaking through a device and it wasn't something implanted in the phone.

"That good enough?"

Frank's face turned a deep shade of red. Veins stood out. He clenched his fists. "Bastard! What did he or his mother do to you?"

The man said nothing.

"Hasn't he been through enough?" Frank said.

The man said nothing.

"Why don't you meet me in front of the hospital," Frank said. "You're obviously tough enough to take on a little kid. Why not take me on?"

"I don't know who is speaking, but you can tell him that I'm not listening. Fifteen minutes, Mr. Noble. Don't waste any more time."

The screen lit up, the timer froze, the words
call ended
flashed in bold letters. I flipped the phone shut and stuffed it back into my pocket. He'd given us fifteen minutes to travel twenty. We had to get moving.

"What the hell is this?" Frank said. "Kidnapping and attempted vehicular homicide. Maybe we should turn this over, Jack."

I stared at him in disbelief. A minute ago, he was ready to take on an army if necessary to get to the man on the other end of the phone. Now he'd flipped? Besides, the guy on the phone was serious as a stone. We couldn't risk the boy's life until we knew more, nor had some kind of leverage.

"Frank," I said, "they're sending a team to kill the boy's mother."

"He said that, yeah. But maybe they're really coming for you, Jack." He shook his head. "This guy has it in for you. Any idea why? Or who he is?"

The sixty-four thousand dollar question. There were plenty of people who I'd pissed off in the last ten years. From military officers to CIA agents to Special Forces guys. I could probably rattle off a list of names that would rival those on the Declaration of Independence. But none of that would explain why someone would come after me by kidnapping a little boy and trying to kill his mother. The kind of men I pissed off had a spine and would confront me head on.

"No," I said. "I assume it's someone I know, though. Why else disguise the voice?"

Frank placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head back. His breath mixed with the cold air and a stream of wispy smoke rose into the sky, melting with the full moon hovering behind him. "We need to coordinate with the feds, at the very least."

"You willing to risk her life? That little boy's life?"

Frank lowered his chin to his chest. His eyes focused on a spot somewhere between my feet. He ran a hand through his brown hair, then looked me in the eye. "Just be ready for anything." He glanced in Sarah's direction. "You too."

Sarah nodded in response to Frank.

I'd forgotten she was there. Every second she spent listening to us talk meant additional hours she'd have to spend with us. I shook my head at the thought of the size of the document she was going to have to sign stating she'd never mention a word of this.

"Where's that cab?" I said. "We're running out of time and we've got a lot of ground to cover."

Frank hiked his shoulders an inch and said nothing.

I walked to the end of the building and saw Frank's car in the parking lot. "Give me your keys."

Frank grabbed Sarah by the elbow and guided her in my direction. "You sure you're all right to drive?"

I nodded. He tossed the keys. They glided through the air in an arc, glinting in the moonlight. I tracked them until they were a foot in front of me, then reached out and snagged them. We hustled to the car and got in. Sarah sat in back and Frank in the passenger seat. He fiddled with the built in GPS unit and set a course to the hospital. Perfect for me. Now I didn't have to drive using the map in my head. Don't think, drive. I repeated the mantra in my head as the robotic voice of a woman tossed out directions. I drove as fast as I could manage. It was a perfect union of logic and speed.

We had twelve minutes remaining when we hit the street. Twelve minutes to drive what would normally take twenty at forty miles per hour. The simple solution was to average eighty. We'd get there with two minutes to spare.

Frank's car didn't look like much, but it was a beast mechanically. It had a police interceptor engine, tweaked to get a little more out of it than the cops did, and a beefed up suspension. The result was that even though I drove over eighty miles per hour through the deserted nighttime streets of D.C., it felt like we were cruising along on a Sunday drive. I even flipped the radio on and found an old-time jazz station. The soothing tones of a tenor sax poured through the speakers like velvet, relaxing me.

Five minutes in and we were halfway there, mostly because I'd skipped through half a dozen red lights. I checked the rearview the first time and saw Sarah's eyes grow wide as she took a deep breath and held it. I had decided not to look back again. Seeing her in a panicked state like that ruined the ambiance the music created.

The GPS display continually updated the time remaining statistic for our route. It said eight minutes, which I knew meant we had six or fewer. We were making good time and were on track to arrive at the hospital with one or two precious minute to spare.

I glanced over at Frank, prepared to share the good news. He sat pressed back into the seat. Face tight. Knuckles white. Hands locked in a death grip on the center console and the armrest on the door. I suspected that if the drive went on much longer, he'd end up ripping one of them off, if not both.

We approached another red light. I didn't slow down. Frank hammered his right leg into the ground, pumping his imaginary brakes.

A tiny smile formed on my lips. Of everyone I knew there were two I considered to be fearless. Bear was one of those people. Frank was the other. I'd finally found his weakness. He wouldn't blink while staring down a gun, would walk into a hornets' nest if it meant completing the job, and wouldn't hesitate to rescue someone in a burning building. But being thrashed and slammed and crushed in a car accident had him looking like he stared down a path that led right to death's door.

I glanced at the clock, seven minutes in. I glanced at the GPS, four and half minutes to go. Roughly translated it meant I was still on time to arrive within ten minutes, leaving two to spare.

I don't know if I saw the flashing lights or heard the whoop of the siren first. My brain mashed the two together. I then realized we had a new problem to face.

"Friggin' cops," Frank muttered.

"Jack, are you gonna pull over?" Sarah asked.

I said nothing, choosing to gun the engine in response instead. I needed to keep the cops on my ass, instead of up it. We had less than three minutes to travel. I had to reach the hospital before they forced me to stop. The hospital entrance was the only acceptable place for the car to come to rest. Short of hitting me in the head with a bullet, they weren't keeping us from making it on time. Frank could deal with the fall out. That was his strong suit.