“I keep remembering … stuff. It probably doesn’t matter.”
“It probably does. You know Matthew Ericson, don’t you?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir! We’re mates.”
“Then you’ll want to help him, which means you’ve got to help me.”
Gilbert shrugged. “I have trouble sleeping sometimes. Sitting by the window helps. See, I’ve got asthma so I can’t have a roommate since I make a lot of noise when I’m asleep. On bad nights, I’m afraid to fall asleep and that’s why I stay up. Going to the window makes me tired again.”
“Did it tonight?”
“It started to. But then I heard …”
“Heard what?” Blaine eased himself closer and made sure his tone was soft. “Please, there’s nothing to be scared of now.”
“I heard Mr. Neville’s dogs barking. They do it a lot at night but this was … different. I’m not sure how.”
“It doesn’t matter. What next?”
“Well, there was noise, like something breaking and then lots of sounds before everything got quiet again. And there was a scream, just one, and the dogs whimpering. I was scared. I jumped back into bed but I was shaking so hard I started to wheeze. I went back to the window after a few minutes and that’s when I saw them.”
“Saw who?”
“Two figures.”
“Big men or small?”
The boy looked in the window’s direction. “The policeman didn’t believe me, either. He tried to make me change what I said, what I saw.”
“Change what?”
“They weren’t men, sir. They were women.”
“But I’m not a hundred percent sure,” Gilbert added almost immediately. “I mean it was so dark and everything.”
“You know what you saw, though.”
A reluctant nod.
“The women, were they small or big?”
“One was tall.”
“How tall?”
“I don’t know. Very, I guess.”
“As tall as me?” Blaine asked, rising to his full height.
“At least. Taller I think. She was the one carrying something over her shoulder.”
Matthew, Blaine thought as he fought to assimilate the boy’s story. A pair of women? That possibility juxtaposed against the scene downstairs didn’t hold. To think that two women could have so effortlessly slain Neville and his dogs … Whoever they were, the killers had performed from the start with deadly professionalism, each move undertaken to obtain a desired reaction to which they were prepared to respond. Neville had played right into their hands. It was all a show.
All for Blaine’s benefit.
They liked to kill, that much was certain. Professionals could have made off with the boy with no fuss at all, but obviously that wasn’t enough for them. If revenge was the point, however, he would have found the boy’s body along with Neville’s. The choice of kidnapping instead meant someone wanted something to hold over his head, and the display of violence downstairs was meant as a demonstration that they were willing to go to any lengths to …
To what?
McCracken found Alvin Willie waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “Look, Mr. McCracken, I don’t know who or what you are, and I don’t really want to. But I do know that Reading is my town and the people hurt here are my people and—”
“Except one, Chief,” Blaine interrupted,”except one.”
He had to think it out rationally. There was logic in each move the female killers had made, except the propping up of Neville’s body. What he had to do was backtrack, learn who they were and who had hired them by first learning how they had learned about Matthew.
There was only one answer: Henri Dejourner. Henri was the only other man who knew of Blaine’s connection to the boy. Somewhere, somehow, Dejourner’s security had been penetrated. That was the place he would start but he had to act fast. Whatever the kidnappers wanted from him, they would be making it known soon. McCracken had to grab the offensive before that time came.
Never one to travel unprepared, Blaine had flown overseas with a custom-designed Uzi coated with detector jamming Teflon. He pulled it from its taped position beneath the bed, made sure it was ready, and then dialed Henri’s private contact number.
The phone rang and kept ringing, unanswered.
Impossible! It was manned always, if not by Henri himself then by an underling he trusted. Could whatever was going on here extend somehow into France as well? He had to find out. A moment later another number was dialed and once again he was listening to the ring.
“Hello?” responded a sleepy voice.
“Ah, Daniels, it’s been too long.”
“Who is th — No, it couldn’t be….”
“I need your all-powerful agency to run something down for me.”
“Now? Do you know what time it—”
“Now. Am I making myself clear, Daniels? Or would you prefer that I—”
“Just tell me what you need.”
“I can’t reach Dejourner. No answer.”
“Give me half an hour. I’ll call you back.”
“Sorry, Daniels. I may need you but I still don’t trust you. I’ll call you back. Twenty minutes.”
“You’re an ass, McCracken.”
“The Frenchman’s line has been disconnected,” Daniels reported twenty minutes later. “He was killed this afternoon.”
Blaine’s stomach sank. “How?”
“Neck snapped. By hand, they tell me. Three bodyguards bought it in similar fashion, except one took longer to die. Made it to the hospital where he claimed a couple of women did it all. Women! Do you believe it?”
“Yes.”
“Wait a minute, McCracken. If you’re up to something that the Company should be informed of—”
“You’ll be the first to know, Daniels, and that’s a promise.”
Blaine hung up. Things were coming together and the picture wasn’t pleasant. Matthew’s kidnappers had killed Henri Dejourner as well as John Neville. Very professional. Very brutal. Because they wanted something from him. So be it. McCracken would play along as long as necessary, make them think the upper hand was theirs until he got the boy back. He felt the old familiar rage building up inside him, swelling to what scientists called critical mass. If they harmed the boy in any way, he would kill them all.
His eyes strayed to the phone, knowing what was coming next even before the ring jarred him. He thrust the receiver to his ear with his heart pounding.
“I trust the bad news about Mr. Dejourner has reached you, Mr. McCracken,” a voice said.
“The boy …”
“We have him,” the voice said. “He is safe. He is comfortable.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“What do I have to do to get him back?”
“Not on the phone, Mr. McCracken.”
“I know your voice. I’m sure of it, I know your voice.”
“I know your room. I can come up straightaway.”
“The temptation to kill you might prove too much.”
“I don’t think so. After all, you do want to see your son again, don’t you?”
The knock on the door came less than three minutes later.
“Come in,” Blaine called out. He was seated in a chair against the wall farthest from the door. “It’s open.”
The door opened, brushing over the carpet. A dark-skinned, bearded figure entered. McCracken made sure he could see the Uzi.
The man closed the door behind him and stopped. “You don’t need that.”
“I know. I just wanted you to know how it feels, having your back up against the wall. And it relaxes me to know I can splatter the organ of my choice if the spirit moves me.”