“It doesn’t matter what I say,” Rob said. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“You can’t talk to me if you’re dead.”
“So I stay alive as long as I keep my mouth shut.”
“Wrong. Your only way out of this is to tell me the keyword. I’ll let you go as soon as I confirm it’s the real deal.”
Right, Rob thought. As if the word of this goon meant anything. There was no sense getting his hopes up.
Stan Dysart hustled along the corridor toward his office, coming back from yet another after-hours crisis intervention meeting, this time with the branch managers. They were all bleeding customers and panicked that the worst was yet to come.
The phone in his pocket buzzed to life. Dysart felt a flash of resentment at the interruption as he answered it.
“Hi Stan, it’s Owen Donovan. I hope you don’t mind me bothering you at work like this. Sheila gave me your cell number.”
Dysart tried to hide his irritation. “What can I do for you?”
“This is probably a long shot,” Rob’s father said, “but I’m wondering if you know where Rob might be.”
Dysart stopped walking. “No, why?”
“Before we left Boston this morning, his mother made him promise to call at dinnertime, let us know how he’s doing. That was hours ago and we haven’t been able to track him down. That’s not like him.”
Dysart’s irritation vanished. Maybe Landry had him. Had to be. It was too much of a coincidence otherwise.
“We weren’t really all that worried,” Owen continued, “until an FBI agent called looking for him. They haven’t been able to track him down either. Fay’s beside herself. I called Lesley but there was no answer. So I phoned your place and Sheila said to try you at the office and … well, if you don’t know where he is …”
“I wish I could help,” Dysart said. “The last time I saw him was at the courthouse this morning.”
“Okay. Sorry to bother you.”
Dysart shut his phone and smiled. Perhaps the end was in sight.
Rob tried to lunge at Landry. All he managed to do was rock the chair on its castors. A spear of agony shot through the back of his head.
Landry laughed at him. “What are you going to do,” he said, “bite me?”
Rob slumped back in the chair and glared at Landry.
“Tough guy’s not feeling talkative, eh?” Landry said. “Maybe we’ll see about that.” He lashed out and caught Rob just below the left kneecap with the barrel of the pistol.
Rob screamed as his leg exploded in spasms of hot agony. Clenching his teeth, he leaned his head forward and tried to ride out the throbbing waves emanating from his knee.
A hand grabbed Rob’s hair and forced his head back. Landry was on his feet again, his face thrust into Rob’s.
“I could use that keyword now,” Landry said.
Rob licked his lips, tasting the blood and mucous there. Before he could think what he was doing, he spat a big gob of the stuff into Landry’s face.
Landry recoiled and let out a startled grunt. He shook with fury as he wiped his sleeve across his eyes. With an angry roar he spun and landed a vicious kick in the middle of Rob’s chest.
Rob and his chair flew backwards and slammed into one of the desks with a load crack. He tipped over and ended up lying half underneath the desk with the chair’s casters wobbling madly. Rob lay awkwardly on his side, still tied to the chair. He struggled to draw in a breath.
Landry advanced on him, still holding the gun and looking like he wanted to use it. With his free hand he grabbed Rob under one arm, braced a foot against the base of the chair and started to pull Rob upright. Before he could finish, he groaned and dropped Rob back to the floor, where he landed with a painful grunt. Landry grabbed his middle and doubled over.
“Not again,” he said.
Still holding his stomach, Landry ran through the door that led into the garage.
Rob moaned as he lay there with the weight of his body on his left arm. Every part of his body was complaining at the same time except for his feet and hands, which were still numb. His right hand started to tingle — a sharp, stinging sensation. He shifted his shoulder to try to relieve the pressure on his bound wrist. And it worked. The arm of the chair creaked and shifted slightly. Blood trickled beneath the rope into his right hand, increasing the unpleasant tingles at first, then offering glorious relief.
The tiny respite was so wonderful that Rob didn’t recognize the importance of this development at first, but then it dawned on him — the arm of the chair had moved.
He tugged the ropes on that side and the arm of the chair creaked again. The collision with the desk must have cracked it.
Rob wiggled his wrist back and forth to move the ropes up on the arm of the chair. Using the increased leverage, he yanked and was rewarded with the most promising creak yet. The crack opened slightly where the arm curved upwards to join the back of the chair. He started jerking inwards and outwards frantically, using strength he didn’t know he had left. On the fourth pull the crack in the arm let go with a snap. The remaining portion swiveled toward him easily, popping out of the hole in the wooden seat so Rob’s wrist was left tied to a boomerang-shaped hunk of wood.
He slid the rope off the splintered end, shook the coils off his hand and flexed his fingers until he had enough feeling back to have a go at the knots on his left hand.
These were difficult to reach, however, since they were tied on the outside of the left chair arm and were currently trapped under Rob’s entire weight. He tried rocking back and forth to flip the chair onto the other side but realized quickly this was futile. Reaching down to his left ankle, Rob yanked furiously on the bonds there but made no discernible progress.
Rob slumped back onto his left shoulder, shaking from tension and exhaustion. How could he be so close and not be able to finish the job? He wondered how long it would be before Landry returned. The thought galvanized him into action once more.
He took a deep breath. Come on, think.
Leaning over to look at his ankles, he saw why he hadn’t made any headway on his previous, panicky attempt. He was tied with one continuous length of rope, which meant that the loops around his ankles were connected to his wrists. He couldn’t free his left ankle because of his left wrist. But his right wrist was already freed.
He grabbed the length of rope previously connected to his right wrist. By wriggling this and his right leg in unison, he freed his right ankle and then his left in quick succession. His feet assaulted him with an explosion of screaming pins and needles.
With his legs free, he was able to shift his weight off the chair and untie his left hand, which joined the chorus of painful tingles. He rose shakily onto his hands and knees, wondering if he could trust himself enough to try standing up. The knee Landry had bashed with the pistol chimed in with a resounding no, but was overruled when Rob heard the sound of a toilet flushing out in the garage.
He scrambled to his feet and started for the outside door, then froze when he heard Landry’s footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the garage. Rob knew he would never win a foot race in his condition. He doubted he could even get outside before Landry would be on him. And if flight was out of the question, it had to be fight.
Rob swiveled his head in a desperate search for some sort of weapon. His eyes fell on the hunk of solid wood that used to be a chair arm. Snatching it up, Rob shuffled quietly to one side of the inner doorway. His only hope was to launch a surprise attack before Landry noticed the empty chair. Rob had no illusions as to what would happen if Landry escaped his initial assault. Grasping the wooden arm with both hands, Rob coiled himself and raised his hands high like a baseball batter getting ready to receive the pitch.