The Rule of Nine (33 page)

I turn again and look for Thorn, but I don't see him. I am beginning to think that he caught one of the Metro trains and disappeared before we got down here.

I look back toward the ticketing area where Joselyn was headed and notice that she's still on the platform, and she's not moving. She is stopped near a pillar, standing there motionless, not saying anything and not moving.

I start to walk in that direction and suddenly Thorn steps out from behind the pillar. He has one hand on her arm and the other in his coat pocket. The way he holds it there I can tell he's handling some kind of weapon.

 

“Never mind that your friend's seen us,” said Thorn. “This way.” He held her arm, gripping it hard above the elbow, and pulled her behind him, retreating toward the far end of the platform.

Thorn had already seen the two cops on the other side. He got up close in Joselyn's ear from behind. “Don't say anything,” said Thorn, “just motion with your hand. Tell him to stay away. Do it or I'll kill you right here. Trust me—I can shoot you and nobody's even going to hear it.”

 

Joselyn moves her right hand out, her palm facing me, away from her waist, her fingers open and extended, and while Thorn grips her arm tightly, she waves me off, a sign that I should keep my distance.

All I can do is stand there and watch as Thorn, with his hand around Joselyn's arm, retreats toward the other end of the platform.

Suddenly I hear the rush of air coming from the open tunnel behind them. A train pulls up and stops at the platform. The automatic doors open and a flood of passengers disembark while others wait to get on. In the press of bodies, the invasion of a new army onto the platform, I lose sight of Thorn and Joselyn. Then I see his head. I move a few feet toward one of the open doors of the train in case he tries to get on.

He sees me and stops. Before he can move again, the doors close and the train starts to move. Thorn realizes that his best chance to escape has just pulled out of the station. Instead he backs up toward the open tunnel, pulling Joselyn along behind him. As I stand there and watch, he pushes her off the platform, down onto the tracks, and then jumps down behind her.

In the rush and commotion of the train pulling out, I look across to the other side. The two uniformed cops are gone. When I
look back at the tunnel, both Thorn and Joselyn have disappeared into the darkness.

I run for the end of the platform, lean over, and try to peer into the tunnel, but I can't see a thing. I hear footsteps shuffling in the gravel along the bed near the tracks, somewhere off in the distance.

I jump down and enter the darkness. It takes a minute or so for my eyes to begin to adjust. I can make out warning signs, red lights facing in this direction in the distance. I start to make my way deeper into the tunnel. Every few seconds I stop and listen for the shuffling of feet on the gravel. And I keep moving. I worry that if I get too close and a train comes, Thorn may throw Joselyn in front of it and try to escape amid the screeching steel wheels and chaos that follows.

I look down. There are two sets of tracks. One on this side and one on the other, three rails for each set. Two of them are safe, the third one, off center and just inside the rail nearest me, carries high-voltage electricity for the train. It is deadly. Touch it, even wearing a rubber-soled running shoe, and you're toast.

 

As soon as they were enveloped in darkness, Thorn pulled the silenced Walther PPK from his coat pocket and held it firmly against the side of Joselyn's head as he pushed her through the tunnel. He kept her moving as fast as he could.

He had no idea how far it was to the next station. His plan was to kill her with a single silenced shot to the head the moment he saw any light at the end. That way he could emerge alone into the station, where he could take the escalator up to the street and disappear. He wasn't sure what he would do about his passports or his luggage. That he would have to think about, and figure it out when he got there.

As all of this was running through his mind, Thorn looked up
and saw a bright light in the distance. For a moment he thought it was the next station coming into view. Then he realized it was a train coming his way.

 

I see the lights approaching. I jump the two rails next to me, skip over the other rail, and then clear the opposite set of rails carrying traffic in the other direction. I want to get to the far side of the tunnel before the train lights me up for Thorn to take a shot. With me on one side and him on the other, the train will be between us, at least momentarily. If I can move fast enough, running down the other side of the track, I can be on top of him before he realizes it.

I wait until I feel the rush of the wind, the pressure wave in front of the train as it fills the tunnel. Then I start to run full tilt down the other side of the tracks. I hear the squeal of the wheels on the steel rails as the headlight flashes in the darkness. The noise of the train drowns out everything except the pounding of my heart in my ears.

As the train reaches me, I sprint as fast as my legs can carry me. My feet kick up gravel. But Thorn won't be able to hear a thing, not with the sound of the speeding train in his ears. The lighted windows race by, like a falling ladder. The instant they pass I am once more immersed in darkness. But the sound of the retreating train still covers the noise of my feet on the gravel.

I jump the two rails closest to me, then the outside rail and the other set, and within a few seconds my back is pressed against the side of the tunnel, into an alcove formed by one of the large steel reinforcing ribs that arches overhead and supports the tunnel. I strain my ears, listening for the sounds of feet shuffling on gravel.

Then I hear it. I can't tell how much distance I have made up, but it doesn't sound right. Suddenly I realize why. Joselyn and Thorn are no longer out in front. They are behind me, coming this way. I can hear Thorn talking to Joselyn, telling her to keep moving.

I realize what has happened. They had stood stationary, probably pressed against the wall of the tunnel as the train approached and then went by. All the while I was running past them on the other side.

Thorn must have been looking back for me, using the lights of the train to try to scope me out in the darkness. Instead, I am already past him.

Now they are closing in on me. I can't tell how close, maybe no more than ten or fifteen feet away. I can hear Joselyn breathing heavily as he pushes her along. “Keep moving, bitch!” He shoves her and she stumbles forward, landing on her hands and knees almost at my feet. She looks over and sees the bottoms of my pants legs. There is an expression of shock on her face when she sees me. Then she looks away.

My body presses against the side of the tunnel. The only thing between Thorn and me in this instant is the arching steel I beam.

Joselyn gets to her feet, takes two steps, and just as Thorn clears the I beam she begins to run. Her sudden action must have startled him, because it takes him a second before he realizes. He focuses all of his energies on the pistol in his hand. He raises it and takes aim just as I reach out and grab his wrist with both hands, forcing the muzzle of the gun up.

Thorn pulls off the round. The pistol coughs and the bullet ricochets off the ceiling of the tunnel.

Thorn, startled, tries to wrestle the muzzle of the gun in my direction. But I have one hand on his wrist and the other on the small flat frame of the pistol with his finger trapped inside the trigger guard. He fires another round and the bullet flashes off the concrete just over my head. It is like having a tiger by the tail. If I let loose for an instant, he will draw a bead on me and I will be dead.

He raises one leg and tries to knee me in the groin. Instead he misses and hits my thigh. A rock comes from out of nowhere and hits him squarely on the side of the head. Blood begins to trickle
down his temple. Then another rock and another. Most of them hit him in the upper body. He lifts his left hand and tries to fend off the rocks while he holds on to the pistol with his right.

He glances over and looks at Joselyn with fire in his eyes. She unloads on him with a machine-gun barrage of rocks, venting the anger of a decade as she tries to stone him to death. She catches me on the hand with one of them. It stings like hell. But I can't let go of the pistol.

Thorn lifts his right foot and tries to knee me one more time. As he does it I hook my right foot behind his left ankle and push him away, releasing his wrist and the pistol in the same motion.

His eyes widen with glee as he begins to go over backward, gripping the pistol with both hands to take aim. A green arc lightens up the cavern as six hundred volts and four thousand amps hiss through his body.

Thorn writhes like a snake on the third rail as Joselyn runs into my arms and buries her face in my shoulder.

T
he minute Joselyn and I are able to slip away from the police down inside the tunnel we grab a taxi and head for the hospital.

I've had no word on Herman since the ambulance took him away that morning. By the time we get there and check in at the front desk, I have to arm-wrestle with one of the nurses to get any information at all. Not being family, the hospital is reluctant to release anything.

The only family Herman has, to my knowledge, is a sister in Detroit, and I don't have her number. It would be in Herman's cell phone, which of course the hospital won't give me.

An hour later Thorpe shows up with an entourage of FBI agents and a million questions. While he wants to closet both Joselyn and myself until he can vacuum our brains for all of the details of Thorn's dealings, whatever we know of them, he does at least take the time and use his authority to cut through the red tape at the hospital.

On Thorpe's authority they give me Herman's cell phone. I call his sister and give her the news. In turn she authorizes the doctors to
give me whatever information they have concerning Herman's condition.

According to the surgeon, it was touch and go when Herman arrived in the ambulance. Following surgery he appears to be out of immediate danger, but the long-term prognosis is guarded and he is not out of the woods.

In any event, it will be at least two days, possibly longer, before anyone will be allowed to see him, let alone talk with him. There is substantial damage to his right lung and the doctors are concerned that any effort on his part to talk or to move could result in a resumption of internal bleeding. For the time being he is recovering in the intensive care unit and is likely to be there for the better part of a week.

With that news, and the knowledge that Joselyn and I are not going anywhere, Thorpe and his agents throw a net over us. They gather our luggage, along with Herman's, check us out of the Hotel George, and put us up in a penthouse in one of the downtown high-rises near FBI headquarters while they proceed to grill us around the clock.

Thorpe is a little sheepish, and cuts us some slack due to his own failure to take us seriously when I called him from Arizona about Thorn and the plane from the boneyard. We give him the three passports pilfered from Thorn's luggage along with the small black notebook with the coded phone numbers, and tell him what little we know about Liquida, and that Herman had told me with his last conscious breath that it was the Mexican who'd stabbed him.

Thorpe informs me they already checked the bloody stiletto dropped in the garage for prints and that they found none. They are anxious to talk to Herman to see if they can get a description. But that will have to wait.

The minute Joselyn mentions her communications with Senator Joshua Root, and the fact that she had requested his assistance with the FBI, Thorpe's antennae goes up. He listens intently to the
details of her conversations with Root, and Root's assurances of help and guarantees that Thorpe and his men were on board.

“Root is dead,” says Thorpe. “According to reports he took his own life about two hours ago. It's all over the news. I can tell you with certainty that he never contacted us, the cops, or anyone else. The story is still breaking, but according to reports he was in the final stages of terminal cancer. And there's rumors of serious mental problems. We don't know all of the details yet.”

I give him a questioning look.

“He was supposed to be taking medication, that's all we know. Why the leadership in the Senate hadn't taken steps to ease him out we don't know, especially given the classified nature of the information handled by his committee. At the moment everybody is running for political cover. But we'll get to the bottom of it, you can be sure of that.”

That night after Thorpe left us alone, Joselyn showered as I sat in the room and examined the only document I had left from the trove of items Herman and I had taken from Thorn's luggage. It was my handwritten note jotted down after I had lifted the final invisible note from the back cover of Thorn's little black book: “Waters of Death, Second Road, Pattaya, Thailand.” There was a phone number along with a note of the instructions that Liquida had been given when Thorn told him to kill Jimmie Snyder, including the kid's address in Alexandria, Virginia.

I pick up the hotel room phone on the nightstand next to the bed and dial Sarah's cell phone. It rings several times before she answers.

“Hello.”

“Hi, babe, it's Dad.”

“Oh, God, I have been so worried. I haven't heard from you in so long,” she says. “Where are you?”

“In Washington. We're okay.” I don't tell her about Herman. That would unravel her. I will wait until he is out of the hospital and back on his feet. “How's Harry?”

“He's bored. He has cabin fever. The original grumpy old man. What can I say? When can we go home?”

“Not just yet,” I tell her. “Pretty soon.”

“Did they catch him?” Sarah is talking about Liquida.

“They'll get him. He can't get far. How's life on the farm?” I try to change the subject. We talk for several more minutes. It is strange that after all the tension, there isn't all that much to say. If I talk too long, sooner or later she is going to ask me about Herman and I will have to lie. So we cut it short.

“See you soon,” I tell her. “I love you.”

“Love you too. How's Herman?”

I ignore the question. “Say hello to Harry for me. Bye-bye.”

“Call me again soon, please. Bye.” She hangs up.

 

The moment Sarah hung up she realized—Damn! She'd forgotten to mention the little package he'd sent her or ask him what it was for. It was supposed to be so they could stay in touch. According to the note in the box, he was sending another one to Harry and it was supposed to be a surprise. She wondered for a moment whether she should call him back. She decided against it. She made a mental note to ask him the next time he called.

 

Liquida gripped the wheel in obvious discomfort as he steered the rental car north up I-70. The doctor who'd stitched him up had done a pretty good job, though he could not guarantee that the feeling in the fingertips of Liquida's right hand would ever fully recover.

Liquida thanked him and then cut his throat. The doctor, at an all-night clinic in downtown Washington, was far too inquisitive as to how the injury had occurred. He had seen too many knife wounds to buy Liquida's story that it was an industrial accident.

For the moment all Liquida wanted to do was to put distance between himself and Washington, and he didn't want to fly. The last thing he needed was TSA running their hand-wand metal detector over the staples in his back. Besides, this way he could stop every few hours. And whenever he wanted to he could layover for the night. Liquida was in no hurry. The investigator was dead, and no one knew where the Mexicutioner was headed. He had business to finish, a labor of love at a farm outside Groveport, Ohio.