the 13th Hour (23 page)

Paul was apoplectic when he found their own security system breached, the Hennicot files and plans gone. Pass codes stolen, combinations to safes and locks accessed, security cards initiated and authorized.

He tapped into Sam's computer. Though his brother had renewed his faith and trust with his exemplary performance over the last year, Paul kept a back-door access to his files in case his brother ever had a relapse to his former self. Paul felt horrible for his lack of confidence in him, but the guilt was washed away by what he found as he opened his brother's personal files. His heart broke as he printed out and read through Sam's notes, as he came to terms with the extent of the betrayal.

Without a word even to his wife, Paul grabbed his emergency briefcase, filled with pass-code resets, five hundred thousand in cash, and his Smith and Wesson. He tucked the three pages he had printed off his brother's computer inside and raced to the small airfield where he kept his Cessna 400. He paid Tony Richter, the air traffic controller he had known for twenty years, ten thousand dollars to forget he ever saw his plane take off at 7:15, asking him to say that his plane was still tucked in its garage. He didn't want anyone to know he had left, didn't want anyone to know he was coming, didn't want Sam to find out what he was about to do.

Dance's fist caught Paul square in the right eye, shocking him out of his thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment.

"Where's the box?"

Paul stared at the man, laughing at his punch. "He said you were going to do that," Paul taunted Dance.

"Who?"

"He said he knew all about the robbery," Paul added, reveling in the destabilizing effect it had on Dance. "Said you were going to throw me into a lake, I should have listened to him."

"Who?"

"I don't know, but he looked pretty pissed." Dreyfus paused. "Murderously pissed."

"The guy you were with?"

Paul just smiled back.

And without warning Dance drilled him right in the mouth. "Did he say I was going to do that?"

And then he punched him in the stomach. "Or how about that?"

Without another word, Dance jumped out of the car and into the front seat, turned on the engine, and turned into the constricted road.

"Let's see if you know how to swim."

N
ICK RAN AT
a full clip, faster than he had ever run before. He cut down the field, past the locker house, out across the lacrosse fields, and into the woods. The access road wrapped around the entire complex. If he ran fast enough, with the slow-moving traffic and the far shorter distance by foot, he could intercept them.

Cutting into the small forest on his right, he drove his legs harder, lactic acid pouring through them as if he was in the final kick of a marathon.

Through the woods, he pressed on under the low green canopy of leaves, thinking only of Julia as he leaped logs and bushes. Hurtling out of the brush and trees, his legs pistoning even faster, he emerged into the high grasses that abutted the access road.

Without breaking stride, he reached behind his back and drew his pistol, thumbing off the safety as Dance's car came into view.

It was traveling slowly, a quarter mile up the road, on approach to the place where Private McManus was standing guard to prevent anyone from trying to enter, never thinking he would have to prevent someone from leaving.

"McManus! Private McManus," Nick shouted through heaving breaths as he ran toward the National Guardsman.

McManus turned toward him, the confusion in his eyes evident even from this distance.

Nick pointed at Dance's approaching car.

"Stop him," Nick shouted at the young Guardsman.

"What?" McManus shouted back as he turned and saw the approaching green Ford Taurus.

"They stole from the wreckage," Nick screamed, knowing that would get his attention.

"How do you know?" McManus shouted back.

"You were top of your class in riflery, prove it."

"How the hell did you know that?" the private yelled as he looked toward the approaching car.

"Raise your rifle, don't let them by." Nick was less than one hundred feet from the Guardsman.

And suddenly the Taurus accelerated, the large police engine roaring as it sped up.

Blocked by barriers, the open lane was only wide enough for a single car. McManus stood in the gap and raised his M-16, playing chicken with the three-thousand-pound vehicle.

Nick came running up alongside him, his gun drawn, aiming at the driver.

One hundred yards off, still accelerating.

"You can hit the tire, just focus," Nick said.

"Are you sure about this?" McManus held his gun high, aiming . . .

"You can do it, just like the range."

Fifty yards.

"Take the shot," Nick said.

McManus flexed his finger, focused, and fired off one round from his rifle.

The rear tire of the Taurus exploded in a shredding hail of black rubber, the spinning aluminum wheel falling on the roadway, sending up a shower of sparks.

Nick aimed at Dance. McManus held his ground beside him, his finger beginning to depress for another shot, when the brakes locked up, the car spinning into a sideways skid, grinding to a halt as the tires and bare wheel screamed in protest.

Nick and McManus both focused their guns on Dance, who reached for his weapon but thought better of it.

"What the hell is going on?" McManus asked through gritted teeth, his focus never leaving Dance.

"Look at the guy in the backseat, look at the blood."

McManus glanced over, and upon seeing Dreyfus's condition, aimed his rifle with even more purpose at Dance's head. "Out of the car, now."

"Son," Dance said as he opened his door, raising his hands to half height. "You are making a life-changing mistake."

Nick reached into the car, thumbed the door locks, and let Dreyfus out of the vehicle.

"Don't listen to him. Wait till you see what's in his trunk. This so-called cop here just stole two bags of antiques from the wreckage. Antique swords and daggers and diamonds. These were someone's belongings, someone who just died." Nick knew the lie would be much more convincing, much more vile than the truth.

"He's lying," Dance shouted as he glared at Nick.

Nick answered by flicking the trunk latch. "You'll also find some iron plates and bicycle cables he was going to tie to Mr. Dreyfus when he dropped him into the Kensico Reservoir."

Dance's head snap-turned to Nick in surprise.

The trunk lid rose slowly to expose the two duffel bags and the iron plates. Nick reached in and unzipped a bag to reveal an explosion of golden color--Daggers, swords, three gold-inlaid pistols. Nick pulled out the coup de grace: a black velvet pouch, which he opened, the diamonds rolling about in a brilliance of color.

"Son of a bitch," McManus said as he jammed his rifle into Dance's head. "Up against the car."

Dance reluctantly complied.

With McManus holding his rifle head-high, Nick took Dance's gun, handcuffs, and keys and patted him down, finding a small revolver in an ankle holster. He cuffed Dance's hands in front of him.

Nick walked over to his Audi, opened the door, and threw the detective's guns on the seat. Dance's gaze remained fixed on his every move.

"You have no idea what you've done," Dance said to Nick, his eyes on fire as he stared. "We will find you, and understand this, I'm coming for you, I'll cut the beating heart right out of your chest--"

The butt of the rifle slammed into Dance's stomach, doubling him over. "Shut the hell up." McManus raised his gun again, but instead just pushed him in the car. "And get in there. You talk a lot of smack for someone going to jail."

Dance rolled about in pain in the back of his own car.

"Do you have keys for those?" McManus asked Nick, pointing at Dance's handcuffs.

Nick passed them to the private, who stuffed them in his pocket.

"This wasn't in the National Guard brochure when I signed up."

"What do you do in your real life?"

"I just got my MBA, but with this economy, it doesn't seem to matter much. I'm still flipping burgers."

Nick nodded, rushing the conversation along. "Look, I've got to get him to a doctor," Nick lied to the private as he pointed to Dreyfus. "You're a good man, I appreciate your help. If you ever need anything . . ."

"Yeah," McManus said with a dismissive smile sensing a hollow promise.

"I'm serious," Nick said, seeing the doubt in the private's eyes. "Give me your cell phone number."

"It's 914-285-7448."

Nick punched it into his own cell as he listened. "You have my word, I'll hook you up."

McManus smiled, beginning to believe Nick's offer.

"You need to get some people from your unit over here," Dreyfus said, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Don't call his police buddies in on this. They'll pull a blue code on you, saying he's innocent."

"I'll radio Colonel Wells, my CO. Let him deal with this." He looked more closely at the blood on Dreyfus's face. "You all right?"

Dreyfus looked at Nick and nodded. "Yeah."

N
ICK DROVE HIS
Audi up Route 22 with Dreyfus in the seat beside him, his briefcase in his lap, having grabbed it from the trunk of the blue rental car, still parked on the access road.

"Thank you," Paul Dreyfus said. "I owe you my life, I think."

"You're welcome." Nick nodded as he cracked the ice pack he had pulled from the car's emergency kit and handed it to Dreyfus. "Again, my condolences on the loss of your brother."

"You knew almost exactly what that guy Dance was going to do to me."

"It's kind of his MO." Nick thumbed his swollen lip, hoping to avoid further questions about his foreknowledge.

"Listen, I don't have much time, but I really need to know what's going on," Nick went on. "I need to know if you know anything about this robbery."

Dreyfus looked out the window at the vacant town of Byram Hills.

"They're going to kill my wife." Nick's tone was pleading, heartfelt.

Dreyfus pressed the ice pack to his eye and nodded. "My brother was responsible for the theft. He pulled all the info from my private files. He was the brains, for lack of a better term, of everything that happened. I only found out this morning what he planned. He took a flight up, got here at 10:15. Dance picked him up at the airport and they went to Hennicot's place to rob it. I flew up here hoping I could stop him before he made the worst mistake of his life."

"I'm sorry." Nick couldn't imagine how Dreyfus was feeling about this betrayal by his own flesh and blood.

"There were five of them, including my brother, who led them down into the candy store. They got in fine, got what they were each there for, but then the whole thing dissolved into disaster. Dance and his crew thought my brother was trying to screw them, my brother accused them of being ungrateful. A textbook meltdown of power and greed."

"There's hundreds of millions down there," Nick said.

"Yeah, and nobody was really aware of that except for Hennicot, his attorneys, myself and, eventually and unfortunately, my brother. The people who helped him, that guy Dance and the others, wouldn't know value if it smacked them in the face."

"Why would your brother involve anyone else if he had the keys to the place?"

"You always have a backup security protocol. Sadly, my brother was a fool. Thinking some alarm might ring at the police station, he figured he needed them on the inside if he was going to pull this off, so he got Dance to put together a team. They planned it out, watched the place for activity, stood guard, and hauled the stuff out. My brother promised them, lured them really, with shiny gold and diamonds. He never told them what he was going for, thought it was none of their business. He let Dance and his men take the daggers and swords while he went for the safe."

"They couldn't just take the Monet on the wall?"

"Nice to see someone knows their art. The idiots he hired probably thought it was a finger painting. My brother, on the other hand, knew exactly what it was but he wanted something more."

"What do you mean, more?" Nick asked.

"There was something else besides diamonds in the safe." Dreyfus paused.

"What?"

Dreyfus was slow in answering. "He wanted Hennicot's mahogany lock box."

"What box?"

"My brother didn't even know what was in it. He had only heard rumors but thought it worth the risk."

"He wanted that more than the Monet, all the gold and diamonds?" Nick said with confusion. "What was in the box?"