The Gamma Option Page 4

  Neville stroked Bodie’s head as he interrupted. “He’s in good hands.”

  “You’ve got to watch over him, John. You’ve got to be extra careful.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Blaine couldn’t sleep. His thoughts kept hammering away at him and there seemed no way to soften them.

  He was worried. He was scared.

  The fragility of life was nothing new to him. He had seen firsthand how quickly it could be snuffed out and had considered his own passing often enough to be unfazed by it. There was no sense worrying over that moment, because when it came even he would be powerless to prevent it. Yet now life’s fragility took on deeper meaning. The very focus of his existence was in turmoil. What did he owe the boy? And what did he owe himself? He was forty years old and had celebrated that milestone with a disheartening realization. The events he had found himself a part of lately were all random, unconnected, unlike his Vietnam service and after.

  And after …

  And after …

  The phone on the nighttable rang, jarring him, and Blaine felt for it in the darkness.

  “Yes?”

  “Would this be Mr. Blaine McCracken?”

  “It would.”

  “This is Chief Inspector Alvin Willie of the Reading Police, sir. There’s been some trouble at the Reading School. Youd better get down here.”

  Chapter 5

  CHIEF INSPECTOR ALVIN WILLIE was a portly man with a huge bald head and no neck to speak of. He was dressed in civilian clothes and his shirt was only half tucked into his trousers. He showed McCracken the splinters where the front door of housemaster John Neville’s residence had been kicked in.

  “Rather amateurish, I’d say,” the chief said.

  “No,” Blaine told him, still in a daze. “He’d want to attract attention. He’d want to draw John down here.”

  “Sounds foolish.”

  “Anything but. Where’s the body?”

  “This way,” Chief Willie said, and started forward through the hall.

  They first came upon the partially covered corpses of Bodie and Doyle. Blood had pooled beneath their open mouths and Blaine could tell from the angle of their heads that the poor animals’ necks had been snapped. Inside the den a uniformed officer was ready to cover Neville’s body with a sheet when a glance from Willie stopped him. The corpse’s head and shoulders were propped up against a wall. The face was frozen in twisted pain, the neck bent at an impossible curve, obviously having been snapped as well. But there was something strange about the positioning. Neville hadn’t died there; he had been dragged over and propped up, as if to be made a witness to something after death.

  Blaine shuddered at the strength required to finish the muscular Neville and his two dogs. Someone was making a point, someone who enjoyed his work. And the point could only have been aimed at him. But what had gone on in this room after the housemaster had been killed?

  “It happened between ninety minutes and two hours ago,” Chief Willie explained. He was sweating profusely, the perspiration soaking through his clothes and shining off his exposed dome. “As near as we can tell, whoever was responsible entered through the residence, and after … doing all this, made his way to the area of the boys’ rooms upstairs.”

  “Was there a delay between the time the killer finished here and went upstairs?”

  Alvin Willie looked surprised by Blaine’s conclusion. “We think so, yes, judging by the interval between the time the dogs stopped barking and …”

  “And what?”

  “The Ericson boy’s roommate was knocked unconscious prior to the boy being taken.”

  “How did you know to call me?”

  “It was in the boy’s file. A note pinned to it in what we believe is Neville’s writing.”

  “Damn. He never should have written anything down …”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “If there’s anything I should know that could help me in all this …”

  “I would tell you, Chief. Believe me, there isn’t. This isn’t your problem anymore,” Blaine added, regretting it immediately.

  “You’re damn well wrong about that. There’s a man dead here and a boy’s missing you’re linked to. I need some answers. First off, what is your connection to the kidnapped boy?”

  But McCracken’s mind had wandered to the moments leading to Neville’s death. He would have charged down the stairs with the dogs ahead of him, perhaps a weapon in hand. He would have known instantly what was happening and with the dogs should have made a decent fight of it. That worried Blaine more than anything else. Two dogs meant two killers, he saw that now. They could have entered in any number of ways but they chose one that guaranteed a confrontation. And after Neville was dead, what then?

  “You hear me?” Alvin Willie was asking as Blaine brushed by him to proceed along with the scenario in his mind.

  There was something anomalous here. A man like Neville would have called the police first.

  “He didn’t call you, did he?” Blaine asked suddenly.

  “I got a question on the table for you first, mister!”

  “The lines were cut from the outside, weren’t they?”

  Willie’s huge jowls puckered. “How in the hell did you know that?”

  “They wanted to take him alone.”

  “They? Who’s they?”

  “Two people did this, Chief Inspector. If your lab men are worth anything, they’ll confirm it.”

  McCracken started for the staircase, but Willie cut him off.

  “What’s your connection with the missing boy, Mr. McCracken?”

  “You read his file.”

  “I read a note attached to his file. Didn’t say much at all. Just your name, the time you were arriving yesterday, and the hotel where you were staying.”

  “That’s it, then.”

  Alvin Willie was losing his patience. “I got a dead housemaster who was a damn good bloke and a kidnapped—”

  Willie stopped with the approach of another uniformed officer down the stairs.

  “I’ve got the boy’s statement, sir.”

  “What boy?” McCracken demanded.

  Willie barely acknowledged him. “That’s none of your business.”

  McCracken edged himself up close to the fat man, pushing down the urge to jack him against the wall. “You wanna know how wrong you are, Chief? You want the answer to your questions? Fine. The kidnapped boy’s my son, and he got taken almost surely because of me. I saw him for the first time yesterday and the details of that don’t matter. All I can tell you is that all this is almost surely meant as a warning for me. Somebody’s showing off. Somebody wants me to know how ruthless they are. They probably want something from me in return for the boy. But don’t bother trying to run a make on me because every U.S. agency with three letters will tell you to get fucked. Am I making myself clear?”

  Alvin Willie managed a nod. He could not recall a time when he’d been more intimidated by a single man. There was strength behind this one, incredible strength, but it was his resolve that did the trick more than anything.

  “You’ll want to read the statement, then.”

  “I’ll want to see the boy who gave it.”

  “I wasn’t supposed to be awake, sir,” the boy whose name was Gilbert told him. “I wasn’t supposed to be by the window.”

  “I understand,” Blaine said. “This is just between us.”

  “But the police, I gave them that statement.”

  “Did you tell them everything?”

  “I think I did.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “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 hav
e 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.”

  The figured swallowed hard, still in the shadows cast by the single lamp. “Don’t forget your son, which is what this is all about.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about killing you. A simple maiming would suffice once you’ve told me what you’ve come to say. Whatever it is you won’t hurt the boy no matter what I do to you because you need me to deliver. You’re a worm, nothing more.”

  The figure stepped further into the light, and Blaine blinked several times to make sure he had the face right. It was Mohammed Fett, an Arab power broker who fl
uctuated back and forth between the moderate forces of the PLO and the various radical cells populating the Mideast.

  “Robes are more fitting for you than Giorgio Armani, Fett.”

  “Ah, but when in Rome …”

  “Your geography’s off. This is Reading, England, where one Matthew Ericson resided until a few hours ago.”

  Fett came slightly more forward, slowly, making sure his hands were in plain view. “It was necessary because we need you. Desperately.”

  “You couldn’t think of a better way to ask for my help?”

  “We tried. You rebuked all our advances. Surely you remember. The channels, the contacts—we tried. We even sent a representative directly to you. You treated him rather rudely.”

  Blaine did remember all too well. An Arab force had sought him out just over a month before and he had refused even to speak to them. He had mentioned to Henri Dejourner how the last agent they sent to his island condominium had ended up in the bay.

  “You do remember! I can tell! You are going to work for us, Mr. McCracken. You won’t like it but you have no choice, just as we have no choice.”

  “Someone holding something over your head too, Fett?”

  “Millions of Arab lives … if it matters to you.”

  “Not nearly as much as Matthew Ericson’s does.”

  “Listen to me,” Fett responded, voice tense. “Israel is going to strike at us. There is going to be a war, and this time they are going to be the ones to start it.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I expect you to stop it for your son’s sake, and for the sake of the world.”

  “Spare me. Please.”

  “Listen to me, McCracken. You and I have fought before on different sides. But there are forces at work this time that bode ill for me and for you as well.”

  “And were these the forces responsible for the deaths of John Neville and Henri Dejourner?”