The Heaven Trilogy (98 page)
“Janjic—”
“No!” The muscles in his jaw flexed. “No man will do this to my wife! No man! I can’t sit by while he plays his games.”
“You must. Janjic—”
He whirled for the door.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer.
She knew then that she might not see him again. Not if he was going to the Towers. “Janjic! Please!”
The door slammed shut and he was gone.
Ivena rose from her chair and watched him through her front window. He pulled the Cadillac out of her driveway and roared down the road. A single tear snaked from the corner of her eye.
Father, you will protect him, won’t you? You must. It is not finished for him. His story is not yet complete.
And what about your story, Ivena? Is it complete?
She answered aloud. “Yes, I am finished now. If you give me a choice I will join the laughter up there.”
Ivena sighed again and walked to the telephone. She should call the police. Yes, she would do that.
JAN DROVE straight for the Towers, his vision clouded red with fury. He knew that he had snapped back there. The fact loitered in his mind like a fly, slightly annoying but small enough to disregard for the moment.
It was the image of Helen slinking back to that pig, lying on his bed, that drove Jan mad. Or it was three months of images, all hidden in a reservoir deep in his mind, building to this day when they had broken past their dam and now drove him like a lunatic toward the pig’s house. Toward Atlanta’s Twin Towers, visible from five miles out, rising tall against the blue sky.
He had no plan; no idea what he would do when he arrived or how he would get to Glenn. He only knew that he had to face that beast now.
And what about Helen, Janjic? Will you knock some sense into her as well?
Yes.
No! Oh dear God, no! The image of the garden flooded his mind. No, he could never harm her. He loved Helen desperately.
She would not be this way if it weren’t for Glenn. The man’s evil touch was still running through her veins. And now the madman had taken his fight to Ivena. Dear Ivena was the innocent bystander in this, as she’d been twenty years ago. Nadia had died then; there was no way he would allow any harm to come to Ivena now.
The thoughts battered his mind, occupying what space he should have given to reason. To a plan. It occurred to Jan that he was stopped at a red light not two blocks from the Towers, and he had better start thinking about what he was going to do here. He was going to ride to the top floor and he was going to take a tire iron with him. That’s what he was going to do.
A horn blared and he saw that other cars had already crossed the intersection. He punched the accelerator and shot through. Helen had said that Glenn’s office was in the second tower—the East Tower. He sped past the first building with which he was already familiar and approached the second.
Jan whipped the Cadillac into the underground parking and screeched to a stop in a restricted space beside the elevators. It had been twenty years since he had set his mind on harming another man, but the memory of it came to him now with a surge of adrenaline.
He grunted, popped the trunk and jumped from the car. He yanked the car’s tire iron from the repair kit, slammed the trunk and slid the rod up his shirt. A parking attendant walked toward him from the entry gate. Jan ran to the elevators without acknowledging the man. One of three elevator doors slid open and he entered quickly. Thank God for small favors.
God?
Jan stabbed the top floor button and rode the humming car to its peak without stopping. Maybe he should have called the police before leaving Ivena’s. But then she would. Either way, the police didn’t seem too interested in bringing this powerful man under their thumb. These Karadzics of the world seemed to have their way too often. But not with his wife!
The arrival bell clanged and he entered the thirtieth floor, his nerves strung tight. A receptionist looked up at him from her station behind a counter that hid all but her head. A huge brass sculpture of the Twin Towers hung on the wall behind her.
“May I help you?”
Jan walked for the counter. “Yes, I’m here to see Glenn Lutz.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes. Yes, of course I have an appointment.”
The receptionist glanced to Jan’s right, toward a tall cherry door, and picked up the telephone.
Jan turned and strode for the door without waiting for her to let him in. “Excuse me, sir. Sir!” He ignored the call and pushed through, gripping the iron under his shirt.
A black-haired woman looked up from her desk sharply. Jan took in the room with a glance. Beyond her, wide-paneled doors led to what would be the man’s office. This would be his secretary, then. An ugly wench with a hooked nose. He had to move while she was still off balance.
She stood as he moved forward. “Excuse me.”
“Not now, miss,” he snapped.
Her eyes widened suddenly, as if she recognized him. As well she might—he’d been here before. She stepped out from her desk quickly, blocking his way with lifted hands. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out of my way,” he grunted. And he slapped her hands aside. She made a high squeaking sound, protesting like a mother hen. But Jan wasn’t interested in this woman. His mind was now thoroughly taken by getting through the door. He didn’t stop to think clearly about what might be waiting behind the doors; he simply barged ahead.
The woman charged him from behind. She dived onto his back with a wild shriek. Janjic dropped instinctively. It had been twenty years since his special forces training, but his reflexes had not forgotten. He dropped to one knee and threw his right shoulder down. The wench’s momentum carried her over his back and she sailed through the air, landing with a loud crash against the wall. Her black bun had unraveled in the flight and now drooped past white cheeks.
Jan sprang for the doors and yanked them open, his heart now slamming into his throat.
You want a war, baby? You want to threaten my family? You will feel a touch of Bosnia today.
Glenn’s bulky frame stood across the room, by a windowed wall, hands on hips, gazing to the city beyond. He spun around, snarling at the sudden intrusion. But when he saw that it was Jan, the snarl vanished. He gawked for a moment.
Jan whipped out the iron, slammed the door shut behind him, locked it, and angled for the desk to his right.
Isolate and minimize
. The training came like a haunting memory now, dulling the edge of fear. Isolate the man from any potential weapon and minimize his ability to take the offensive.
Glenn had regrouped already and now a wicked grin split his face. “So the preacher wants to get serious. Is that—”
“Shut up!” Jan yelled. Glenn blinked. “Just shut up!”
The millionaire’s face turned red.
Jan held the iron out and felt the desk at the back of his knees. He reached for the drawers behind him, found the one closest and pulled it open. An assortment of pens and notepads crashed to the floor.
“You still think of me as a preacher? But you know me better now, don’t you? I’m the man Helen loves. That’s me. But before I became that man; before I came to your land I was what? I was a killer. How many men have you killed with your own hands, Glenn Lutz? Ten? Twenty? You’re a novice.”
He glanced back, found another drawer and ripped it out. More junk, but not the weapon he looked for.
Keep speaking, Jan. Keep him distracted.
“You think you can throw terror around as if you own it?” He yanked another drawer out and papers spilled to the black tile floor. “Have you ever felt terror, Glenn Lutz?”
The man stood there huge and ugly, his arms spread like a gunslinger. But the smile had gone, replaced by flat lips. From this distance his eyes looked like black holes. The man was large enough to crush Janjic. Surely a man like this would have a weapon of some kind in his desk. Jan jerked a fourth drawer open, keeping his eyes on the man.
“No, you have not felt terror!” Jan’s breathing came heavily now. Seeing the monster’s thick face filled his gut with revulsion. He wanted only to kill the pig.
Glenn’s eyes shifted to the drawer Jan had just opened. Suddenly the man snapped out of his trance. His lips pulled back and he bolted forward like a charging bull.
For a fleeting second, Jan knew that coming here had been a very bad idea. Panicked, he blindly snatched at the drawer behind him. His hand closed around cold steel.
Glenn came in, roaring now, his face bulging. Fury rose through Jan’s veins and he whipped what he now knew was a gun around to face the charging man.
Glenn thundered forward, undaunted.
Jan sprang to his left at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the huge body. He spun around and swung the tire iron down on the man’s blond skull. Glenn grunted and slammed into his desk, facedown on the polished wood grain. It was the first time Jan had struck a man in twenty years, and now the horror of it seeped through his bones.
A fleeting image of himself standing over the priest with a bloodied rifle filled his mind.
Still, this was the man who had molested his wife! Who now threatened to kill Ivena! He begged for a beating!
Jan jerked the iron back and swung again, this time hitting the man’s back. Glenn grunted. Jan swung again, this time with all of his weight. The blow landed on his shoulder with a sick crunch. It should have immobilized the monster.
It did not.
Glenn growled, rolled to his back and stood. He faced Jan, his eyes flashing red, his neck bulging with veins. His right arm hung limply, but Glenn didn’t seem to notice. His eyes glared, bloodshot above twisted lips. He growled and took a step forward. Jan knew then that if he did not stop the man, it would be his own death.
He jerked the gun up and pulled the trigger.
Boom!
The report thundered in the enclosed room.
Glenn’s right arm flew back, like a tether ball on a string. The room fell to a surreal slowness. Glenn seemed oblivious to his pain, but his eyes snapped wide in shock.
Yes, that’s it, you pig. Yes, I do have your gun and it is loaded isn’t it? That one was through your hand, the next will be through your head!
“Don’t move!” Jan screamed.
Glenn’s arm dropped to his side. The right corner of the man’s mouth twitched. They stood rooted to the floor, facing each other down, Jan with the extended pistol and Glenn with a sick grin.
“You’ve just signed your own death warrant. You know that, don’t you?” Glenn said. His right shoulder had broken under the tire iron, Jan saw, and the bullet had torn a gaping hole through his hand.
Glenn looked at it slowly. He measured the damage and then seemed to accept it with a blink. He looked up at Jan and closed his eyes. “You will die along with the old hag now.”
“I don’t think you understand the situation here,” Jan snapped back. “You see, I have the gun. One small pull from my finger and you will die. If you don’t at least pretend to understand that, then I will be forced to demonstrate my resolve. Are we clear?”
Glenn opened his eyes. “You talk big for a preacher.”
Pounding sounded on the locked door.
“Pick up the phone and tell your friend out there to leave us alone,” Jan instructed.
Glenn snarled angrily. “You’re dead meat!”
A wave of heat washed over Jan’s back. He wanted to shoot the man in his bulging belly. He trembled in restraint. “You really should have more respect, but obviously you don’t know the meaning of the word, do you?” He was a pig who wouldn’t think twice about smashing those big fists over Helen’s ears. How could she come to this man! Jan’s gun hand shook.
“You aren’t going to do anything I ask?”
Glenn only stared at him.
“Lift your left hand,” Jan ordered.
Glenn did not move.
“Lift your hand!” Jan screamed. “Now!”
The man had the audacity to stand there without flinching. Jan lowered the gun, lined up its sight on Glenn’s left hand, and pulled the trigger.
Boom!
The slug took off the end of his index finger. The pounding on the door intensified.
Glenn’s face drained white and then immediately flushed red. He gaped at his finger and began to roar in pain. He fumbled with his shirt in an attempt to stop the flow of blood but succeeded only in drenching it.
“Next time it will be your knee and you will use a crutch the rest of your life,” Jan said. “Do you understand? Take your shirt off.”
“What?”
“I said take your shirt off, you oaf. Take it off and wrap it around your hand. The flow of blood will distract me.”
This time Glenn followed the suggestion quickly. He eased his flabby torso out of the shirt and crudely wrapped it around both hands. Sweat glistened on his white flesh.
“Tell them to shut up,” Jan ordered, waving the gun toward the door.
“Shut up!” Glenn screamed at the door.
The pounding stopped.
“Good. Now I want you to listen and listen very carefully. You may be a wealthy man with the power to squash weak women, but today this power will not extend to my world. Not to me or to Ivena or to Helen. Helen has chosen to accept my love and now you will let her have her choice. You will not bully her. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t bully her into coming back,” Glenn said. “We all make our own choices.”
“And you’ll stop manipulating hers,” Jan shouted.
“Manipulating? How? By providing a little motivation? That’s nothing less than what you did when you took her away. You show her a carrot. I show her a stick. In the end she makes the choice.”
“You think I keep her caged in my house? She’s free to come and go as she wants and I don’t see her running to you every day. She would stay with me except for your drugs. And if you think this pointless game with Ivena will somehow persuade her to come crawling back against her own will, then you’re wrong. Even if she did, what would you have? Someone you pressured against their will?”
“We all apply pressure. Even your God applies pressure. It’s either the carrot or the stick. Heaven or hell.”
