Erased (17 page)

 But if that was true, then Sara’s memories were lies. If she couldn’t trust her own memory, then what could she believe? If everything that had happened in the last three months was just a dream… but it wasn’t. She’d been to work. That much was true, wasn’t it? Sara whimpered as she realized that she didn’t know. She might have been going to work, might have been living in her home… but she couldn’t be sure of any of it.

Sara reflected on what Jim had said and realized that she believed him. She believed him because she’d seen the look of fear in his eyes and knew that Jim had nothing left to lose by telling her the truth. At that moment, he’d believed Sara was capable of killing him, and he’d said Scott had left her three months ago.

But if it was true, what had Sara been doing for three months? How could she account for so much missing time? Jim had said something…
They took you in August, after the meeting…
At first, Sara had been tempted to write that off as delirious rambling. Jim hadn’t been in a clear state of mind when he’d said it. But what if it was true? What if they
had
taken her? What if they’d done something to her, months ago?
Right about the same time Scott left.

It wasn’t long before Sara attracted attention. Three young gang-bangers wandered by. Sara was lost in thought and she didn’t even see them, but they saw her. “Lookie here,” one of them said. He was the tallest, at just over six feet. He was at least a hundred pounds overweight. “I ain’t seen you here before.”

“She’s new,” one of the others said. That one was short, with narrow eyes and a weasely face. “You stoned lady?”

All three stepped closer. Sara watched them through bleary eyes. “I don’t have any money,” she said. “Just leave me alone, please.” She turned slightly and winced. Her body ached. She was exhausted.

“You callin’ us thieves?” the fat kid said.

The third one who had been silent until now spoke up. “You all alone?” She glanced at him and the look on his face was unmistakable. She could see where this was going, and it made her sick to her stomach.

The fat kid leaned in for a better look at her. “Yeah, that’s nice,” he said touching her hair. He glanced around. “Let’s take her for a walk.”

Sara let out a heavy, exhausted breath. Her right arm snaked around behind her back. In a flash she had pulled the gun. The fat kid was close, practically in her face, and Sara put the end of the barrel on his forehead. The other two gasped and jumped back.

She took a long, shallow breath and between clenched teeth grunted: “I asked you… to leave me alone.”

They watched her, breathless, afraid to even move. Sara glanced at the others and then dropped her gaze back down to the fat kid’s wild, terrified eyes. Sweat was beading up on his forehead. He looked about ready to crap his pants. They weren’t nearly so tough as they’d been a moment before.

“Go,” Sara said hoarsely.

They didn’t need to be told twice. They turned and broke into a run.

She kept the gun out until they were out of sight, and then tucked it under her jacket with her hand tight around the grip. She shifted against the wall and felt the cold stone against her face. Sara closed her eyes and felt herself spiraling into unconsciousness.

Sara dreamed of her last moments with Scott and Bree. The memory was so real, so clear. She felt Bree’s soft skin pressed up against her face when they hugged. She smelled her hair, saw her beaming smile, heard Bree’s angelic little laugh. Then Bree was gone, and Sara felt Scott’s firm body against hers, his warm lips pressed to her own. “Come back to us,” he was saying. “Come straight home.”

“I always will,” she promised.

Sara shifted in her sleep and a sharp pain in her side woke her from the slumber. The corner of the stairs was digging into her, and it hurt. A light rain had begun to fall.

The images of Bree and Scott retreated into the darkness. Sara threw out her arm as if she could pull them back, and then she saw the gun in her hand. She bent forward, head pressed into her hands, the cold frame of her gun pressed up against her temple. She wept, curled up at the base of the concrete stairs, shivering against that cold stone wall. She had the sense to wonder if she’d die of hypothermia during the night, but she didn’t have the strength to pick herself up and find shelter. She stayed; eyes shut, cold rivulets streaming down her face, and wept.

“Lady, you okay?” The voice was hoarse, gravelly and deep. Sara thought she was dreaming at first. Her eyes fluttered and she blinked against the rain.

“Lady, you better get out of the rain. You’re gonna freeze.”

Sara located the source of the voice. There was a narrow alley between two tall buildings just a few yards away. It was just wide enough to walk through. She leaned forward, peering into the darkness. She gasped as pain shot up her side. She’d taken too many falls during the day, pushed herself too hard when she’d fled Jim’s house. Wounds that otherwise might have been minor were becoming serious due to her exhaustion. Her body needed sustenance and rest. Sleeping on the stairs hadn’t helped, either.

“Come here,” said the voice. “I have food.”

That was all the urging that Sara needed. She pushed herself up and staggered over. The man was a few feet back from the opening, wrapped up in an old wool blanket. He was black, and his face was almost invisible in the darkness. Most of his teeth were missing and his hair was a dense gray rat’s nest. “I won’t hurt ya. Come on, get outta the rain.”

Sara stepped into the opening and was surprised to find it was dry. She settled down on pile of newspapers across from the old man.

“Want some food?” He reached into a paper bag and pulled out a bagel. “It’s from the shelter. It’s pretty good. Don’t worry, that’s raisins in there, not rabbit shit.”

Sara grinned. “Thanks.” She accepted the bagel and took a bite. It was stale and hard, but tasted fine. “I’m Sara.”

“Folks call me Lurch. It’s ‘cause a the way I walk. I lost half a foot in Vietnam.”

“I’m sorry,” Sara said.

“Don’t matter. I was never good for shit anyway.” The man laughed wildly at his own joke and Sara couldn’t help but smile. “Here, have some blanket.” He tossed the edge of his old wool blanket over Sara’s legs. She sighed as the warmth spread over her body.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was a whisper. The man smiled.

“Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow’s another day. Big day for you.” Sara barely heard the words as she drifted into sleep. A strange peace settled over her and she rested. Somehow, Sara knew that at least for the moment, she was safe.

Chapter 29

That evening, after Konrad lost Sara on the golf course, they all met up at the Warehouse. Konrad was the last to arrive, along with Gene, another hired gun. Gene was the man who’d gotten his face beat in by Sara. He looked like he needed fifteen or twenty stitches.

“Holy shit,” Stryker mumbled. “Lisa, get the med kit.” He looked Gene over and pulled back the flap of skin that was hanging loose from his forehead. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Murphy,” he said with a grimace. Gene reddened as he recounted chasing Sara into the woods and consequently getting walloped in the face with a stick. He turned an even darker shade of red when he admitted losing his gun.

Stryker gave Konrad a hard stare and then he started pacing. “I thought you guys were pros,” he said. “Konrad, I’ve been working with you on and off since Gulf War One. Just when did you decide driving an SUV through a golf course in broad daylight would be operationally prudent?”

“Don’t get righteous with me,” Konrad said. “This whole operation should’ve been a one-man job. You’re the one that decided to bring in a whole team. Not to mention your goddamned zombie. That stupid bitch couldn’t even pull the trigger. How much did you spend putting this operation together? Seriously, I want to know. How many people do you have on the payroll right now?”

“Not all my decisions,” Stryker said absently, “not that I need to explain myself to you.” He paused as Lisa started disinfecting Gene’s wound, and he let out a yelp.

“Who’s decision was it?” Konrad said in an even tone. “Who dreamed up this whole sleeper program?”

“Who the hell knows? We’ve been using sleepers in this country since the 60’s, and probably longer.”

“Yeah? And has anything like this ever happened before?”

Stryker settled back against the computer table. “Come on Konrad, you know the history. Oswald and Jack Ruby were both our guys. Oswald almost got out of hand, so we put Ruby into action. Ruby killed Oswald before he even got to see a jury. Ruby was still under our control when he died in prison. If we hadn’t given him cancer, he probably would have snapped out of it eventually, too. There are always contingencies.”

“Right. My point is that they were prepared for the contingencies, even back then. They always had a backup plan. So what’s your plan? Murphy got away again. There’s over seven million in the Bay Area. Finding her ain’t gonna be easy.”

“It might be,” Chaz chimed in. “I’m still locked into all her accounts. All she has to do is use an ATM or credit card, or make a phone call.”

“She doesn’t have her cell phone anymore, remember?” Stryker said.

“That doesn’t matter. Not necessarily, anyway. I’ve got a whole list of numbers, just about everybody she’s known in the last ten years. All she has to do is dial.”

“Maybe,” Konrad said skeptically. “That didn’t work so well in the square.”

“Hey, I told you where she was,” Chaz said defensively. “It was you guys that couldn’t pick her out of a crowd.”

Konrad looked like he was about to punch the kid. Stryker’s opinion of Chaz moved up a notch. “All right, chill out,” he said. “It’s time to call it a night. Chaz, can you monitor those accounts from the hotel?”

“No problem.”

“Great, let’s get out of here. Anybody need a ride?”

“I’ll go,” Lisa said. “I hate my rental car.”

Five minutes later, Stryker and Lisa were cruising down the Embarcadero. Lisa smiled as she turned on the stereo and found a nice hip-hop station. Then she leaned over the console and started nibbling on Stryker’s ear. He grinned as she reached down between his legs and squeezed his crotch.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” she moaned. She leaned in for a kiss and Stryker tried hard to keep the wheel straight as her tongue plunged into his mouth. His hand strayed to her ass and gave it a squeeze.

“Should I pull over?” he said slyly.

“Don’t you dare. I’m going to tease you all the way to the hotel. I want you begging for it by the time we get there.”

Stryker smiled. “Do your worst.”

Back at the hotel, they had sex while they waited for room service, and then again in the shower after dinner. By the time they were done, Stryker was exhausted. He fell asleep lying on the bed with an old John Wayne movie playing on the TV and Lisa leaning against his shoulder, twirling his chest hair around her index finger.

When Stryker woke an hour later, Lisa was gone.

The TV was still on, as if to provide cover noise. Stryker immediately had the sense that something was wrong, and his hand went to the edge of the mattress. His 1911 auto was in his hand before his eyes were even open. He felt the weight of it as he sat up, and knew that it was still loaded. His thumb went to the safety and clicked it off.

Other than the infomercial playing on TV, the room was silent. There was a light on in the bathroom, and the door was ajar. Stryker looked for the telltale signs of occupancy. No shadows, no movement, no sound. He crept out of bed and quickly checked the room. He was alone.

A thousand possibilities came to mind. She might have gone for a walk. She might have gone to the bar. She might be cheating on him. Well, that one was the only one that really made sense, but Stryker didn’t let it bother him. Stryker was no fool. He’d already had suspicions about Lisa, but he had been waiting for proof. He hadn’t lived this long without being overly suspicious.

Stryker had learned not to get his emotions involved long ago. In this line of business, emotions got people killed faster than anything else. His primary concern was not infidelity, but betrayal. Lisa’s treachery could simply be a matter of passion. If it was, so be it. But he had to be sure it wasn’t more than that. If she was capable of one sort of betrayal, why not the other?

At the moment, the thing that bothered him most was that Lisa had managed to get out of the room without waking him. That was an eye-opener. He knew he was getting too old for the business, but that was just damned careless. If she could get out of his room that easily, she could just as easily have slit his throat.

He threw on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. He put the 1911 back in its place under the mattress and instead grabbed his old snub-nosed .380. He wore it in an ankle holster. It was a last-ditch backup weapon, only slightly better than a fighting knife, but in most cases it would suffice. He didn’t really expect to be using it, but Stryker never went anywhere unarmed. Without a gun, he might as well be naked.

Stryker grabbed one last thing before he left. It was a transmitter, a tiny microchip the size of a dime with a built-in battery and antenna. It was a clever device in a pinch, but underpowered for heavy surveillance. It was only useful within a range of a few hundred feet or so, and the design was so dated that the device could only broadcast on a common shortwave frequency. Anyone with a shortwave radio could pick up the signal. Ironically, Stryker had found that in the digital age, there weren’t many people who still had shortwave radios. Things had almost come full circle, to the point where older technologies were more secure and reliable simply because they were forgotten.

Stryker wandered down the hall and quickly located Lisa. He heard soft moans coming from Konrad’s room and knew for a fact it was her. Stryker wasn’t angry. Disappointed maybe, but not angry. In fact, if anything, this was an opportunity. He took the small transmitter and slid it into the crevice between the top of the door and the frame. The sticky material held the transmitter in place. He made sure it was secure and then turned to leave.