Ghost Rendition Read online

  “Who do you work for?” I screamed at him.

  It was a useless question. Connor couldn’t breathe much less speak, but I yelled it again. “Who do you work for?!”

  It seemed to make perfect sense. Who better to keep tabs on me than Connor? He had the ideal excuse to check up on me. And he kept stopping by like a sitcom character making his comic entrance. I should have seen it before.

  I pressed my elbow right below his Adam’s apple. With the right amount of force it feels like you’re going to suffocate. It’s not waterboarding, but it gives some of the same feeling.

  “You have one more chance before I crush your larynx. Who sent you?”

  I reduced the pressure enough for him to wheeze a response.

  “Needed last chapter. Didn’t return my calls.”

  I looked down at Connor lying on my lawn like a fat fish struggling for air. He was no agent. If he were, he would have moved on me long before now. I had lost my professional distance. If I wrote about it for Connor it would have been called How to Get Killed for Morons. But seeing the look on his face, I doubted I would be writing any more for him. He struggled to his feet.

  “It’s okay. We can skip the last chapter. It works as it is,” he croaked. “I’ll have your check to you tomorrow.”

  “Make it out to cash.”

  I didn’t try to make an excuse or apologize. I could see there was no point. I sat down on the front steps and watched him get in his car and drive away. I sat there a long time. I don’t know how long. Caroline and the Israelis could have agents on the way to kill me, and it would be as easy as target practice. And I didn’t care. Until Devon showed up.

  “Hey Dad, are you waiting for someone?”

  “Yes. It’s about time you got here,” I said. It felt good to see the ‘boy are your jokes stupid’ look on his face. “Let’s get some Taco Bell,” I said.

  We drove to Central Avenue and sat in the back. Taco Bell is much better as take-out food. Being there ruins the illusion that you are eating real food. It didn’t seem to bother Devon.

  “How are things going at school?” was my opener. Not imaginative, but I didn’t want to dive right in.

  “It sucks, as usual.”

  “How about soccer? I’m sorry I missed the last couple of games. Mom says you’re getting the hang of it.”

  “Soccer sucks worse than school. Where are Danny and the guys?”

  “They have another job to do. They won’t be around for a while.”

  “I want Danny to show me how he erased the server logs. He’s the one who did it, right?”

  “You know that’s not the lesson I’m hoping you learned from this, right?”

  “School is all jerkoff teachers and douchey rich kids. I learned more from hacking into the school servers than I ever learned at school.”

  Hearing my sweet little Devon say words like “jerkoff” and “douchey” almost made me cry. “The other day, you told me you’re not a little kid anymore. You’re right. Here’s the hard truth. You keep doing stuff like that and you will get caught. And next time there won’t be anyone to bail you out. Then what? You get expelled? If that’s what you want, I’ll save you the trouble and we can put you back in public school right now.”

  “I told you, I’m not going back to public prison.”

  “Then get your act together and stop doing stupid shit. Danny Pratt went to MIT. He didn’t get there by getting expelled from middle school. You and your buddies can spend as much time coding as you want, and make fun of the other kids and the teachers behind their backs, but you get your homework done and you don’t get into any more trouble, or I will send you back to public school whether you like it or not.” I held my breath. I thought there was a good chance that he would break out in tears or get up and leave.

  “Okay. But I want a new computer. Mine’s two years old and it sucks ass.”

  Part of me mourned the little boy who I could see was gone, and part of me was proud of Devon for driving a good bargain.

  “Deal. But you show me a month of good behavior first.”

  “Deal,” Devon said and held out his hand.

  We shook as if commemorating the moment that our relationship had changed forever. Nachash was wrong. Devon was much stronger than I was at his age. For the first time in a while, I felt like he would be okay.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I slept in the Camry behind the local supermarket. I didn’t want to make it too easy for the Suit and Caroline. I didn’t see any sign of them the next morning on my home monitoring app. I did see Connor personally drop off my check. I had never seen him move so fast. I gathered the supplies I needed and headed out.

  I checked the tracker app on my phone and was surprised to find that the dot I had placed on Pratt’s computer was still active. Caroline was so confident that she had me in her thrall that she hadn’t thought to check. I didn’t relish the thought of killing her, but she was right, Tiresias was the key. I needed it to make a deal with Westfield. That was the only way to keep my family safe and that was all that mattered.

  I stopped at the bank and cashed my check. I had only one more stop to make. I pulled into a shiny new parking garage under a chrome and glass office building. The doctors’ offices were on the top floor. They looked more like lawyers’ offices. Rowan’s waiting room was packed. His receptionist was young and pretty and bore no resemblance to Mrs. Levine, but she had the same suspicious attitude.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I need to have a quick word with Dr. Rowan.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Tell him Gib Alexander needs to speak with him. It’s an emergency.”

  “I’m sorry, but . . .”

  I leaned in close when I interrupted her. This job means a lot of role-playing. It didn’t come naturally to me, but I had learned from long practice. Maybe if I had been better at it, I would still be married. There was the perfect amount of crazy in my eyes. “Get him,” was all I said.

  The receptionist got up and hurried to the back. She returned quickly and ushered me into Rowan’s consultation room. Rowan got up to shake my hand.

  “Is everything all right with Suzanne?’

  I shook his hand and didn’t let go. “We need to have a quick chat.” He tried to withdraw his hand, but I held on. “I could tell you not to see Suzanne anymore, but that wouldn’t be fair to her. She’s an adult and has the right to make her own mistakes,” I said.

  “Have you been drinking or something? You should go before you make a big mistake.” He tried to pull away again and seemed befuddled that he wasn’t able to break my grip. “You can’t come into my office and . . .”

  I cut him off. “Devon’s a different story. You’re going to tell him that he doesn’t seem happy playing soccer and that it’s okay with you if he quits. And you’re going to make Suzanne believe it too.”

  “I can see you’re upset and I’m trying to be patient here, but . . .” He tried to sucker punch me in mid-sentence with his free hand. Even without my training I would have seen it coming. I blocked his looping roundhouse punch with my elbow. The point of the elbow hit the underside of his funny bone. He howled in pain and his arm fell limply to his side.

  “Your arm feels numb. That will go away in a couple of hours.” I slapped an envelope on his desk. “That has my next three months’ alimony payments in it. Put it in Suzanne’s mailbox. I’ll know if you don’t. And have the talk with Devon tonight.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’ll have my lawyer take away your house and whatever savings you have stuffed under your mattress,” he said.

  “Considering you swung at me, you wouldn’t have a very good case. Plus, Suzanne wouldn’t be too happy with you trying to take money from the person who supports her. And perhaps most important, I would find you and do enough nerve damage to your arms that your days of being a high-priced quack would be over.” I let go of his hand. He grabbed his limp arm and massaged it. A dec
ent chiropractor should be able to do better than that. “And I’m Devon’s father. That’s who the fuck I am,” I said.

  It would take Rowan a while to process what had happened. It’s confusing when you have to reevaluate someone. But he would do what I asked. He liked his cushy life. Some part of him might whisper that I was bluffing, but he had too much to lose.

  Back in the Camry my mind was clear. I followed the tracking dot and didn’t dwell on what would happen next. I couldn’t plan, because I didn’t have any information about where they were. All I could do was regain my professional calm and be ready to do what was necessary. “A calm mind is an open mind,” Nachash whispered.

  I didn’t have to go far to find them. They were holed up about thirty minutes north in Croton. The house was set back from the street on a three-acre corner lot. It was bordered on one side by a nature preserve and the other side by a lot that was surrounded by high wooden fences. The house itself was a three-story Georgian with brick walls and sight lines across the property. With enough firepower, you could defend it against a platoon.

  It was listed as being owned by Silicon Works, a corporation registered in Delaware and doing business in New York State, address unspecified. The Israelis would have bought the house with the fiction that clients and workers from overseas were housed here on a temporary basis. Everything would be handled online and done through a web of shell companies. None of it would stand up to too much scrutiny, but as long as they paid their taxes on time, no one was likely to look. And if they did look, the companies and the accounts would quickly shut down and the trail would be dead.

  I stashed my car and camped out in the woods. For camouflage work, I use my own version of the MOLLE system. Armed forces love acronyms almost as much as the agencies love medical metaphors. This one stands for “modular lightweight load carrying equipment.” It’s the camouflage gear you imagine when you envision soldiers in the woods, colored to blend in and full of pouches and attachments. There are a bunch of newer systems used now, but I’m loyal to MOLLE. It held my Remington MSR, my Browning, grenades, flares, binoculars, night vision goggles, tablet computer, surveillance equipment, water, rations, and all the other fun stuff you might need for this kind of job without getting too bulky to move. For my camo clothes, I used a new digital design instead of the old three-color model. It’s supposed to blend in better. I don’t like change, but I do like new toys.

  I set up in a thicket that provided natural cover. It was going to be a long watch-and-wait. I needed to know who was inside and where they were set up. Were they patrolling the grounds? Did they go into the woods? Was anything coming in or going out? I couldn’t be sure of any of it unless I put in the time. Surprisingly my germophobia doesn’t bother me much in the woods. I can’t say I enjoy being out in nature, but it seems clean somehow.

  I did my breathing exercises. I needed to be alert, but you can’t sustain intense vigilance over long periods. You need to find a relaxed state where you notice anything that changes but you keep your adrenaline at bay. Otherwise you lose focus, your body cramps, and you miss things that can get you killed. It’s a little like meditation. You know you are going to get random thoughts coming into your head. The key is not to fight them. You recognize them, accept them, and then refocus on your surveillance. Nachash was a master at it. He could beat a statue in a staring contest, but if a fly moved in his field of vision, he could grab it without missing a breath.

  It comes much harder for me. Nachash always said that my mind was way too busy. I used to tell him his mouth was too busy. How had he let Westfield’s B list contractors get to him? And how did Westfield know about him? And had it even been Westfield? Had the Israelis seen Nachash as a threat? It made more sense that they could have gotten to him, but why? Had Nachash recruited me for Rob? He had denied it again and again, but if they were connected, then he had almost certainly lied to me. That may sound simple, but it isn’t. Nachash always told me the truth. He felt it was the basis of the student–teacher relationship—absolute unvarnished truth. He often refused to answer me, but he never lied. And I didn’t hold back with him. There were times that I hated him and told him so, and he never blinked. It was the only relationship in my life where I never had to think before I spoke. Maybe that’s why I still spoke to him in my head. I could see him nodding with that maddening tight-lipped smile of his and flipped him the bird in my mind. It’s not nice to gloat.

  A van with Good Guys Home Security emblazoned on the side pulled up in front of the house. This type of local security usually cruises around the neighborhood. Why was this one stopping? Two hundred and twenty-five pounds of rent-a-cop squeezed into a two hundred pound bag of a blue uniform emerged from the van and headed toward the woods. He didn’t look happy. Exercise was clearly not his favorite part of the job. My guess was that he had to check off the woods as part of his daily rounds.

  The rent-a-cop lumbered up to the tree line, peered into the woods, nodded to himself, and lumbered back to his car. Whatever the town was paying Good Guys Home Security, they weren’t getting their money’s worth. Then again, the odds of any serious mischief happening in a suburban nature preserve were small and the rent-a-cop knew that.

  That was the big excitement for the next twenty-four hours. At night, the whole property lit up with floodlights, no advantage to be gained there. Nothing moved. I got no sleep and ate three MREs. Officially, it stands for “meals ready to eat.” Unofficially, soldiers call it “meals rejected by everyone,” or “meals ready to excrete” among other even less appetizing names. It’s sort of like airplane food jammed into little packets. Some come with an FRH, “flame ration heater”—they do love acronyms—that use an exothermic reaction to produce enough heat to warm them up. But heating this crap up doesn’t make it taste much better. They’re easy to transport, are nutritionally sound, and don’t open accidentally under pressure, but they taste like feet. I don’t know for sure that the army makes them taste terrible to make their troops more ornery, but it certainly works that way.

  Lying in a bush and staring at a suburban McMansion was not what I had envisioned when Rob had first recruited me. It was supposed to be about getting the bad guys and making the world a safer place. I had just started dating Suzanne and I already knew where I wanted things to go. Looking back, I think I wanted to feel worthy of her. I wasn’t going to be a surgeon and I was never going to write the great American novel. Saving the world seemed like a good backup. I wish I could tell her, “I know you think I’m holding back from you, but it’s only because I wanted to be a hero to deserve you.” Pratt would have loved the irony.

  I wanted to make a move. I knew I should be patient, but I could feel Westfield’s minions closing in on my family.

  “That is why we separate our lives,” Nachash admonished me.

  “It’s a little too late for that, but thanks.”

  Nachash didn’t have any more appreciation for sarcasm than Pratt did.

  My guess was that the Suit and Caroline were alone. I killed the Suit’s partner and they brought in Caroline. It was risky for Israel to have too many agents operating on American soil. If they got caught, it would cause a major issue with their most important ally. And they almost never use contractors. They don’t trust anyone they didn’t train themselves.

  “Professionals do not guess,” Nachash reminded me unhelpfully.

  “It’s an educated guess.”

  “Educated enough to risk your life?”

  “Enough to try to keep my family safe,” I said. “And he who dares wins.” It was my trump card, Nachash’s favorite saying. It came from the Israeli Special Forces, but U.S. Special Forces had adopted it too. “And you’re not here, so I get the last word for a change.”

  I pulled out my tablet. Pratt had set it up so it was untraceable. The house’s router was secure and would be hard to crack, but the neighbors weren’t. I connected and used Google Voice to call Good Guy Security.

  “I live next doo
r to 143 Cedar Place. There’s a strange woman in the house with a group of men doing unspeakable things. This is a family neighborhood. And it looks like someone is going to get hurt. I tried 911 but they put me on hold. I need you to get someone over here right now.”

  “What kind of activity are you seeing, please?”

  “There are whips and chains, and I see blood.”

  “We can’t get involved in domestic situations sir.’

  “These don’t look like the owners of the house. What do we pay you people for if not to keep us safe? You need to send someone right now,” I yelled and hung up.

  I had put the Good Guys in a bad position. I sounded like a crackpot, so they wouldn’t want to call the police and look foolish, but crackpot or not, angry neighbors can turn up at neighborhood association meetings and get security companies fired. Their guy would be nearby if he kept the same daily schedule. They would radio him to check it out.

  I didn’t want the cops showing up, because it could turn into a blood bath. The plus-sized rent-a-cop was more predictable. Caroline would answer the door. She was the one more suited to smile him into going away. The Suit would stay with the boys to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid. If I was right and there were only the two of them, the backdoor would be unguarded. I left my MOLLE in the thicket. I took only my Browning and a belt pack with my surveillance equipment and a few other goodies. I moved quietly through the woods to where the tree line was closest to the back door.

  I was barely in place when the rent-a-cop arrived in the Good Guy van. He approached the front door with a determined waddle. Caroline and the Suit would have seen him make his rounds enough times that they wouldn’t shoot him on sight. He rang the doorbell and waited. Caroline answered. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the conversation would go something like this, “I’m with Good Guy Security. We got a call about an incident with this residence. Is the owner at home?”