Distant Memory (28 page)

“Shut up and sit still!” Hobbs commanded. Slowly he moved to his right, checking to see if anyone was hiding behind the other bed. There was a closet and a bathroom in which an attacker could hide. And the door to the next room was standing open.

“They went out the other room!” the man between the beds shouted. “He has her!”

“I got him,” Tanner said weakly. Tanner had managed to sit up and was pointing his gun at the man sitting on the floor. The man continued to struggle with the duct tape that bound him, biting at it with his teeth like a dog chewing through a leather leash.

Hobbs checked the bathroom and the small closet. Both were empty. “Clear,” he said to Tanner.

“The other room, you idiot!” the man bellowed. “Look at the access door.”

Hobbs approached the passageway between the two rooms with caution. Pushing through, Hobbs found the room empty and the front
door open. He made it to the door just in time to see a dark Mercury race from the parking lot, its tires squealing loudly.

A gunshot sounded from the other room. Hobbs spun and raced back through the access door. He was greeted with the barrel of a gun—Tanner’s gun.

“Hand it to me slowly.” Hobbs recognized the man holding the weapon. He had been searching for him all day. Now it appeared that Blanchard had found him instead. A ragged length of gray duct tape hung from Blanchard’s left wrist. On the floor near the bed rested the wad of the tape that had secured Nick’s feet.

“Listen buddy,” Hobbs began. “I don’t know what—”

“Give me the gun!” Nick yelled. “We have only seconds; let’s not waste them.”

Reluctantly Hobbs complied. Nick stepped aside, and Hobbs saw Tanner lying on the floor, a small reddish-brown circle spreading out from beneath his thigh.

“I’m sorry,” Tanner said, his voice quavering with pain. “He’s quick, and I’m … I’m not real sharp right now. I … I missed.”

Blanchard had somehow taken the gun from Tanner.

“Not by much,” Blanchard said. “You almost blew my head off. It’s a good thing you missed; you need me right now.”

“I don’t need a gun in my face,” Hobbs spat harshly.

“Believe me, I know the feeling. I’ve looked down the barrel of too many guns today. Now let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hobbs said. “I need to help my partner.”

“He took a shot in the leg,” Blanchard said hurriedly. “The bleeding is pretty slow, so he’s not in any danger.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Nick stepped to the bed, picked up a pillow, and threw it at Hobbs. “Remove the case, fold it tightly, and then hand it to your friend.”

Hobbs did. “Press this on the wound, help will be here soon,” he said to Tanner.

“Did you call for backup before you decided to waltz in here?” Nick’s voice betrayed his anger.

“Maybe.”

“Good. That means they’ll be here in just a couple of minutes. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I’m going after them, and you’re going with me,” Nick said forcefully. “Every second we wait is a second closer to her death. Now move it.”

“I’m staying with him,” Hobbs replied, nodding at Tanner.

“Go,” Tanner said. “He’s right. Someone has to pursue. I’ll be okay.”

“Your backup will be here soon. They’ll take care of him. Out the door!”

Hobbs turned and exited the room, Nick following close behind.

“Your car,” Nick said. “You have a service radio. We’re going to need help.”

“How do I know you aren’t going to shoot me as soon as we’re away from the motel?”

“You don’t, but if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be talking to me now. We’re on the same side here, buddy. I’ll explain everything in the car. I must find the woman before he has a chance to kill her.”

“And if I refuse?”

Blanchard frowned and then turned the gun on Tanner. He pulled back the hammer. “I won’t kill him,” he said, “but I’ll put a hole in his hip. That should ruin a promising career.”

Hobbs could not remember a time when he had felt more furious or more helpless. He couldn’t let Blanchard shoot the already wounded Tanner. Hobbs had to comply.

T
he interior handle of the car pressed against Lisa’s tender ribs, but she refused to move. If she did, she would have to sit a few inches closer to the man who had abducted her, and the very thought of that was repugnant. Her eyes darted from the rapidly moving road in front of her to the man Nick had called Raymond Massey.

She had an impulse to open the door and jump. It was a crazy thought, but for an instant it seemed reasonable. Better to tumble to death along the dark, rough pavement than to be murdered by the monster behind the wheel. But when she let her gaze slip out the side window, she knew she could never toss herself to that kind of death.

This was not over. Massey had not won. Moyer Communications had not won.
All things …
she reminded herself.
All things …

What now? Sitting scrunched in silence against the passenger door of the car made little sense. It achieved nothing. She had to act on her own behalf and trust God for the rest.

“What’s the next step, Mr. Massey?” Lisa asked in a formal tone. “Pull over and shoot me?”

“It crossed my mind,” he said, his eyes fixed forward. He was driving at a fast rate of speed.

“Driving this fast will draw attention to you, you know,” she said,
forcing her voice to remain calm, detached, as if she were a director talking over a few script changes with a writer.

“I must have initial distance,” he said. “I need a few miles between me and them. That will give me time to make my next move.”

“Which is?”

He offered no answer.

“What makes you think you can gain any distance? The police might be right behind you.”

“Not possible,” Massey said sharply. “There were only two officers and no backup. The other officer will have to take care of the wounded one. That’s why I didn’t kill the man. A wounded man requires more care than a dead one.”

A small wave of relief rolled through Lisa. She had heard the shot but hadn’t known the result of it. Her biggest fear was that Nick had been killed. “You purposely avoided killing the policeman?”

“Everything I do is on purpose,” he said matter-of-factly.

“So you don’t think they’re pursuing you?”

“Of course they are. And at the very least, Nick Blanchard is. He’s not the kind who gives up easily.”

“You don’t think it would be better if you just pulled over and let me out? It would be much easier to make a getaway.”

“And how many getaways have you made?” Massey asked harshly. “I think I’ll just keep you. I have a mission to complete.”

“Your mission is to kill me?”

“That’s what it’s finally come down to.”

Lisa was amazed at how dispassionately he could talk about murder. Aside from the anger and tension he obviously felt, he seemed controlled and calculating.

“What did I do to you or Moyer Communications to earn a death sentence?”

“You know very well what you did or were threatening to do.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t even know who I am. I remember nothing past this morning.”

He slowed the car and glanced at her. His face was dimly lit from the glowing instrument panel, giving him an eerie, demonic countenance. “That changes nothing.”

“There must be something I can say to convince you that this is all wrong. There must be some words—”

“There aren’t, so you can save your breath,” Massey snapped. “Now shut up and let me think.”

Reaching up to the ceiling of the car, he pushed a button that opened the sunroof. The warm August night flowed in, bringing with it the intensely sweet aroma of orange blossoms from nearby orchards. He took several quick glances through the opening, alternating his eyes from the road before him to the sky above.

“Expecting someone?” Lisa asked, surprised at the cynicism in her own words. Her emotions were mixing and merging into an amalgam of something entirely different. She was tired of being afraid and uncertain. If she was going to die tonight, she was going to do so not as a terror-stricken woman but as a thinking human being.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Massey said. “An APB has certainly gone out on this car, and a helicopter has been dispatched. That’s the quickest way to track us. It’s hard to hide from an eye in the sky, but then you know that, don’t you?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just what it sounds like.”

In the distance, Lisa could hear a faint thrumming. Massey swore. He heard it too.

The road was changing from an easy two-lane ribbon into a sinuous, twisting affair. He slowed the car even more. His eyes moved constantly from the road in front of them to the sky to the rearview mirror. Lisa reasoned that he was looking for a turnoff, a place to hide. But
hiding would not be enough, she realized. He wanted escape, and hiding would not bring that.

Lisa forced herself to think. What did she know about this man? Nothing. No, that wasn’t right. She knew a few things. She knew his name and that he worked for Moyer Communications, an organization with which she apparently had had some dealings, although she didn’t know what. What else did she know? He was intelligent and seemed committed to his mission. Could his intelligence overpower his loyalty?

“Mr. Massey?”

“What?” he said sharply.

“How much do you know about Nick Blanchard?”

“Not enough. Just what he said in the motel room.”

“I see,” Lisa said. “He seemed to know you.”

“That is his job. Moyer Communications has provided the NSA with a great deal of its equipment. They probably know every employee, their families, and their pets. So what?”

“I was just wondering why you were running.”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it? Nick is with the police right now. He knows your name and where you work. So let’s say you do escape the police tonight; where are you going to go? Back to work? Back home? They’ll be there waiting for you. How’s your boss going to feel about that? Federal agents, local police knocking on his door, asking questions about you.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Massey shouted.

Lisa ignored him and continued. “Your life has just changed permanently. You can never go back.”

“Moyer Communications is a global company. There are many places for me to start over. A new name, a new history, a new city. I’ll be fine.”

That had not occurred to Lisa. Still, she kept up the pressure. “Moyer will drop you in a second. You’re baggage now. You can do nothing
for him but hold him back. He’ll divest himself of you like a snake sheds its skin. And then it gets worse.”

Lisa waited for a reaction but got none. She pressed on. “He might even have you killed.”

“That’s not going to happen. He needs me. I’m vital. I’m crucial on several projects …”

“And you know too much,” Lisa said. “Face it, Mr. Massey, everyone is expendable. He sent you and whoever that guy was in the house to get me. What makes you think he won’t try to destroy you?”

“You were a threat.”

“And now so are you.”

“You were going to divulge everything. I would never do that. Moyer knows that.” He paused then repeated, “He knows that.”

“Someone once told me that people who repeat statements don’t believe their own words.” Lisa had no idea where she had heard that, but she felt a small sense of joy at remembering something from her past.

“Pop psychology,” Massey said dismissively.

“Maybe.”

“So what do you think I should do?” he asked sarcastically. “Give myself up?”

“Why not?” Lisa knew why not, but she wanted to keep the conversation going. She needed time to think, and the more time that passed, the more likely she was to live.

“Let’s see,” Massey said, feigning thoughtfulness. “I’ve followed you, participated in an assault, shot a police officer, resisted arrest. Oh, I almost forgot. I killed a man today. Those sound like pretty good reasons not to turn myself in.”

“Killed a man? Whom did you kill?”

“The
gentleman
who attacked you in Blanchard’s house.” He acerbically stressed the word
gentleman
. “He was supposed to kill you. It was his job, not mine, but he was a screwup from day one.”

This wasn’t working the way Lisa had hoped. Massey was a desperate
man in a situation that was becoming more desperate with each passing minute.

The drone of a distant helicopter became louder.

Massey swore again.

A small bead of perspiration formed on Gregory Moyer’s forehead. He was watching the action unfold on his monitor. The spy satellite he had used to find Blanchard’s truck was working perfectly. It was locked on Massey’s car and was following it as it sped down a dark road. Something had gone very wrong. Why was his man racing at such a high rate of speed? Such action begged for attention from the police.

For a few minutes, Moyer had switched his attention to the new MC2-SDS while he contacted his Sudanese client. He had then placed a few calls to other foreign clients who were eager to hear of the successful launch. That hadn’t taken more than thirty or forty minutes. What had he missed?