the 13th Hour (14 page)

"You've got to trust me, I'll explain later, but right now we don't have the luxury of time," Nick said as he stepped back into the hallway. "You said every computer here has a battery backup module."

Julia pointed them out under the assistants' desks in the corral area, a little larger than a bread box, configured like an enormous power strip.

"How long do they last?"

"Half hour, give or take a few minutes."

Nick headed back to Julia's assistant's desk. "Do you think Jo used it up?"

"She left right after the crash, I told her to go home."

Nick sat down at Jo Whalen's desk. She had been Julia's assistant for three years now, and if Julia was organized, Jo was supremely anal: pencils and paper clips perfectly aligned north to south in their respective holders, not a stitch of paper or a fleck of dust upon her work station. Nick fired up Jo's computer, the light wash of the monitor casting an eerie glow about the darkened office. He turned to Julia as the screen asked for the password.

Julia leaned over him, typed it in, and the computer sang to life. The reserve battery began beeping, calling attention to its limited operating capacity.

"Let's go," Nick said, handing the PDA back to Julia.

Julia turned it on and placed the infrared link next to the computer station. She highlighted the files on the PDA and hit send.

Jo's computer began humming, and a video screen opened on the monitor as the file infiltrated her system. They both watched as six files appeared on the bottom of the screen just below the video viewing window.

Julia clicked on the first file. A detailed ledger appeared in an Excel spreadsheet.

"This isn't what we wanted," Julia said.

"What is it?"

"It's the inventory of Hennicot's collection." Julia pointed at the screen. "It can be sorted by age, type of weapon or antique, value, year acquired, and now," she clicked the screen, reordering the rows, "by what was stolen."

"We need to see the video," Nick said, hurrying her along.

Julia closed the file without a word and clicked the next file.

The screen filled with a video of alternating images of various security feeds, a time clock emblazoned in the bottom right-hand corner. There were static images of the parking lot, the front of the building, a well-appointed English-style office, pictures of display cases filled with elegant swords and knives, a fixed image of a safe, its size hard to estimate without something to scale it by, pictures of shipping crates, of doors and hallways, stairs and conference rooms.

Julia hit the fast-forward button with the mouse and the images cycled by at an extremely fast rate until all at once the monotony of images was interrupted. The exterior shot of the parking lot and front of the building became nothing but white snow.

Nick took the mouse and slowed the video.

The interior images remained on and unchanging, but suddenly, in one of them, a large brushed-steel door cracked open, and a flood of light cut through the room.

"What are you doing with that?" Julia suddenly shouted, pointing at the gun sticking out through the vent of Nick's jacket as if he was carrying another woman's panties in his back pocket.

"Please watch the screen," Nick said as all his focus remained on the open door.

"I told you how much I hate that thing." Julia's fury was growing. "You said it was only for the shooting range."

"Julia, please just watch the monitor."

"I hate guns, you know that." And just like that Julia's anger at the thieves, at those that had trashed her office, was turned upon Nick. "And how many times did you say you hate guns?"

Nick remained intent on the monitor, not wanting to explain how he had already used the gun to save his own life.

A man came into view on the monitor, his face filling the screen. Nick had never seen him before, but he had someone now to focus his anger on. The man looked to be in his early fifties, dark hair with a slight receding hairline. His eyes were obscured by glasses, but there was nothing hiding his gaunt face, his overly high cheekbones, and the prominence of his thick eyebrows.

"Promise me," Julia demanded, her eyes boring into Nick, "when this is all past, that you'll get rid of it like you promised me you already did."

"Who the hell is that?" Nick pointed at the screen. And as Julia finally returned her eyes to the monitor, the image turned to white snow, each room following in succession. The entire system seeming to fail.

"What the hell?" Julia said.

"Did you see him, an older guy, glasses?"

"No, I didn't see him." Julia's anger hit new heights. "Rewind it. If I--"

But Julia never got to finish her statement, as gunfire erupted around them, the cubicle exploding into hundreds of pieces.

Nick pulled Julia out of the hail of bullets onto the floor, reached up, and grabbed the PDA off the desk. The monitor with the useless images of snow exploded in a shower of sparks.

Nick snatched the gun from his waistband and fired off three shots in the direction of the unseen shooter. He took Julia's hand and, without a word, led her through the corral of cubicles, being sure to keep their heads below the shooter's line of sight. He kept his pistol aimed straight ahead to intercept anyone who might suddenly feel bold and show himself.

He tore open the fire stairs door, peeked inside, shoved Julia in, and turned back to scan the area. More gunfire answered his curiosity. Nick wanted to hunt the shooter down, kill him in his tracks, but he needed to get Julia out of harm's way.

He grabbed Julia and raced down the stairs. He cautiously cracked open the lobby door and peered into the vacant marble vestibule. They slipped through the lobby on light, running feet and looked out the front door. With not a soul in sight, they charged out and ran to the Audi immediately in front of the building.

Nick fired up the car and hit the gas, the wheels spinning, throwing them both back into their seats. With a screech of tires he spun the car around and raced out of North Castle Hill.

Just as he emerged onto the main road, he caught sight in his peripheral vision of the blue Chevy Impala sitting at the rear of Julia's building.

"Now are you glad I didn't get rid of the gun?" Nick said, trying to contain his anger at the situation.

Julia said nothing. Fear flowed from her eyes as she buckled her seat belt, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the clasp.

Nick drove the Audi faster than he had ever driven before, pushing the speedometer over 110 miles per hour. As the car rocketed up Route 22, there wasn't another vehicle in sight. Like the town, the road was completely empty, it was as if they literally owned the road, as if they were the only ones alive. Nick glanced in the rearview mirror but saw nothing but open road behind them, no pursuers, no cars, no flying bullets.

He finally eased off the gas.

"What the hell," Julia said from the passenger seat, her right hand strangling the handle above the door. "And how did you know to bring a gun?"

Nick pulled a sliding left turn onto Route 128, ignoring the useless red light, and sped down through town.

"Listen to me, very carefully." There was an intensity to his voice. "When we get home, you get in your car. I want you to drive as far from here as you possibly can. Do not go to your cousin's, friend's, anyone's house. Check into a hotel and pay by cash."

"Stop!" Julia screamed. "What's going on?"

"Whoever burgled that building, whoever stole those guns and diamonds, is erasing everything leading to them." Nick paused as he looked at her. "Everything, including any possible witness."

Nick drove up Wago Avenue to Elizabeth Place, down Sunrise Drive and down Townsend Court into their driveway, and pulled into the garage.

"You've got your wallet? Cell phone?"

"Yeah." Julia nodded.

"Go now." Nick hopped out of the car. She followed suit and ran around to his side.

"What are you going to do?" She looked up at him. "I'm not leaving without you."

Nick looked at her, long and hard, memorizing her face as if he was looking at her with new eyes. "If you ever were going to start listening to me, please make it now."

He led her over to her Lexus and opened the driver's side door.

"Please don't leave me," Julia said, her tough exterior broken.

Nick pulled out the watch and quickly checked the time before stuffing it back into his pocket.

"I promise, I'll find you." He reached out and pulled her to him, the emotion of their embrace conveying far more than a kiss ever could. All of the fear and anxiety floating on the surface was briefly lost as they drew strength from each other, as they found a glimpse of hope that his words would prove true.

Despite the harsh language and anger, they both knew it was over the stress of the moment, over the fear each felt for the other.

"Julia, I love you." Nick directed her into the driver's seat. "You've got sixty seconds to get out of here."

He turned and walked to the house.

"Where are you going?" Julia called out as she rolled down the window.

Nick looked over his shoulder at her as he walked through the garage. "I think I know how to stop this madness." He didn't dare say that he was going to kill the son of a bitch who killed her.

He grabbed the door handle to the mudroom, pulled open the door--

--and found himself standing in his library. He shook off the cold, his body growing more accustomed to the jump. He didn't need to look at the watch to know what had happened. He felt for the gun at the small of his back, confirming its presence.

He walked out of the room through the foyer and into the kitchen.

"Can I make you something to eat?" Julia said as she looked into the darkened fridge, smiling, not knowing what lay ahead.

"I'll be back in a little while," Nick said, surprised to see her home.

"Don't forget about dinner."

As much as he didn't want to have dinner with the Mullers, and despite the fact that he had gotten so angry about it, he would gladly have dinner with the annoying Mullers for the next month if he could just get through this upside-down day and be assured that Julia would be dining at his side.

Everything revolved around the robbery that had occurred this morning. That's where the answers lay, that's where he would find and stop Julia's killer.

Nick quietly walked through the mudroom and reached into Julia's purse hanging on the wall. He grabbed her PDA, quickly searched for and found a security card and set of keys. He slipped them into his pocket and headed out the garage door.

CHAPTER
7

4:03
P.M.

T
HE WHITE COLONIAL HOUSE
on Maple Avenue was just one of several homes owned by Shamus Hennicot, who, for the past thirty years, had summered with his family at their home on Martha's Vineyard. The house had traditionally remained vacant during July and August but for Julia Quinn, who would stop by upon request to attend to any matters concerning Hennicot's art collection and charitable contributions.

Unofficially known as Washington House, Hennicot's home had been built at the beginning of the twentieth century, long after George Washington could ever have slept there. While it was considered a historic landmark of the town, a home from the hamlet's infancy, in actuality, it retained only two exterior walls from its original design.

At the time of its construction in 1901, at just over ten thousand square feet, it was the largest house in all of the county. What was once the centerpiece of the quaint town of Byram Hills had, like the town surrounding it, become lost in a myriad of development over the last century. But unlike many of the neighboring homes and buildings that had been torn down for the sake of
progress,
Washington House had adapted with the times. With the advent of cars, garages were added. It had been the first home in town with hot and cold running water. The sixties brought air-conditioning and insulated, double-paned windows. The interior was in a constant flux, walls built, removed, expanded; rooms added, subtracted, combined; modern kitchens designed, starting with 1930s dishwashers and moving on to present-day Sub-Zero refrigerators and Viking stoves.

Wireless broadband, satellite television, energy-efficient heating, and multiroom entertainment systems were installed, all of which saw little use by the elderly Shamus Hennicot and his family.

But its greatest modification, one not known by the town planning board, or by the utility companies, or by any local contractor, was the elaborate renovation of the lower level, fondly referred to by the family as Dante's Vault--reinforced concrete walls, a half-inch steel ceiling and floor, all covered in a dark walnut sheathing of coffered ceilings, wainscoting, and ornamental trim. It was an elegant vault of enormous proportions, giving an aesthetically pleasing English Manor feel to a fortress that was thought to be impenetrable.