Deadlock (24 page)

He pulled his credit card from his back pocket and lifted the handset again. He stood like that for a few moments, thinking. If this was the way it was going to be, he had to do everything right. Even a little slip could cost him his life—and the lives of Logan, Macie, Laura, and Dillon.

He hung up. Remaining here, after calling Page, could be one of those slips. He had to think of everything, how every move would play out over the following ten steps. He had never been much of a chess player, but winning that game required the same sort of forward thinking he needed to apply now.

He had to find another phone.

Pawn to E-4.

THIRTY-FIVE

Hutch sprang out from below the window, blasting away with the handgun.

“Nice move,” Ian said.

“The guy can't aim worth squat,” Page said.

They were watching a playback of the motel firefight. All four video feeds—one from each soldier—unspooled simultaneously on the monitors. Except, as of several minutes ago, the soldier in the third position—his video had terminated with a bone-crunching crash.

“Still,” Ian said, “the guy's got some sharp tactical moves, like sending the other guy into the woods while he waited below the window. And later, when he gets up onto the roof. Oh, oh—” Ian hopped up, excited. He pointed at the screen where Hutch had pulled the soldier's body over himself. He stayed under it perfectly, while the team leader unloaded his clip at him. Ian smiled. “Look at that.”

“What are you, a ten-year-old?” Page said. “Julian used to talk like that during Jet Li movies.”

They both watched the team leader lob a hand grenade, then drop down beside the toilet to reload.

“Hutch isn't so hot,” Page said. “I want to fight him.”

Ian scowled. “He's going to be dead by morning.”

“Maybe. Whether he is or isn't, I want to play him in the Void. He doesn't fight like a soldier. That's the only thing he's got on us. It's an oversight in our training. Let's figure this guy out.” Page stood. Starting to walk away, he flapped a hand at the screens. “Get Andy working on it, and make sure he uses the behavior recognition program.”

“What are you going to do?” Ian said.

Page stopped at the door. “Isn't it obvious? I'm going to do what our men seem incapable of doing.”

THIRTY-SIX

Hutch cruised the streets of Kirkland, Washington. His head panned back and forth, hoping to spot a pay phone. He'd written a column a few years back documenting the plight of a couple who had sunk their life savings into the pay phone business only to see it collapse under the weight of the popularity of mobile phones. He'd learned that half of all pay phones had been taken out of service. Not finding one now, he thought that figure was way too low.

He let loose with a mental scream.
Just look!
He chided himself.
Stop
thinking
about it!

But that's the way it was: A strong wind was blowing through his mind. All the things he had to do, all the things he had to remember, whipped and swirled. He'd grab at one when another would flash by, drawing his attention. What had happened? But he knew. Wasn't the blood the police had found in his home evidence enough? There, see, another thought to grab at: the blood. Whose was it? The faces of Logan and Macie, Laura and Dillon flashed by. The image of any one of them wounded and bleeding made his entire being go dark, as though a blanket had been thrown over his soul.

Desperate not to go there, he snatched at another thought.

But the people he loved refused to leave his mind. There they were, asking him how he'd gotten them in such a mess. Hadn't he vowed to spend more time with his kids? Instead, he'd sicced the lawyers on Janet, demanding joint custody. Then he'd gone after Page, a pursuit that had become, as the man himself had said, an obsession.

Page. Hutch gave the guy credit in one area: he knew people. Hutch had read the stories. When Page was eight his father got sick, and he began running errands for neighbors and local businesses. He would convince potential clients of his usefulness by anticipating their needs: a bottle of milk and a loaf of bread for the banker rushing to get home; sparkling windows for the store owner worried about new competition; and—consistent with Page's future passion—a box of cigars to the mob boss whose right-hand man just became a father. In addressing Congress to justify the huge military contracts his companies received, Page often predicted global hot zones: a South American coup, a dictator threatening U.S. interests in Africa.

Much of Page's prescience was aided by a topflight staff of analysts and advisors, but in one interview he had said something that Hutch thought was the key to it all: “As a species, we tend to think people will do the logical thing. That doesn't mean the
best
thing. Greed is logical, but not necessarily
right
. For example, we think a man will always protect his family and strive for a better life. How, then, do we explain his wild fling that tears the family apart, or his descent into endless bottles of booze? We're more primal than
good
. We seek adventure, but often confuse chaos with adventure. Essentially, we're crazy. Once you accept that, you've got the world figured out.”

The interviewer had seized on Page's calling greed “
not necessarily
right”; he'd wanted to know when it was right. Hutch didn't think that was the most telling aspect of the quote. It was that Page considered our unpredictable nature part of our predictability.

Is that what had happened? Had Page said he'd only wanted to scare Hutch, when all along he'd intended to attack him? Had he been intentionally unpredictable to throw Hutch off guard?

Okay, you're thinking too much.

No, not too much, just dwelling on things he couldn't know. He was wasting time and brainpower on things that didn't matter now. What did matter was getting home, back to Colorado. He had to find Laura and the kids. He had a ticket for the next day, leaving Seattle just after noon. That wasn't soon enough. He had to get to the airport, exchange the ticket, leave tonight.

He looked at his watch—a little after nine. Still time, right? He wasn't a seasoned traveler, but weren't there, like, red-eyes that ferried people throughout the night? Maybe between major cities, like Los Angeles and New York. But Seattle to Denver? He didn't know.

Gotta call the airline
—and there he was again, lamenting the state of the pay phone industry.

He pulled into a convenience store. No phone on the outside. He yanked open the front door.

“Pay phone?” he said to a pimply-faced teen behind the register.

“It's broken.”

“Do you have one I can use? It's local.”

“No can do, man. I'll get fired.”

Hutch produced a twenty. “I'm desperate.”

The bill disappeared into the clerk's back pocket. He brought a corded phone from under the counter and pushed it toward Hutch. “Make it fast.”

But it wasn't. Under the clerk's ever-increasing agitation, Hutch learned that his ticketed airline had no seats on its last few flights to Denver. He called three others before finding a seat on a plane with an 11:15
PM
departure. It required a layover in Chicago, which meant he wouldn't get to Denver until after seven in the morning. Better than the three o'clock arrival of his current ticket. The woman on the phone informed him that he'd have to check in at the airport an hour early.

He said, “I can make that.”
Barely
.

His credit card was declined. He'd used the last of his credit—the amount he'd been planning to use to show Laura and Dillon a good time in Denver—for the flight here. He closed his eyes. He had two other cards, all nearly maxed out. It was expensive keeping up with an ex-wife whose boyfriend had loads of money to spend on your kids.

He ran through his options. Who could help? Who did he know who—Larry. Why hadn't he thought of him before? Laura knew Larry. If she were out there—running from people, unable to reach Hutch—she'd reach out to him, especially since he was the only other person who knew of Hutch's sudden trip to see Page. Of course. He started dialing Larry's number.

“I need to make one long-distance call,” he told the clerk.

“Can't, man.”

“Just one. It's a matter of life and death. Really.”

An irritating tone sounded through the handset.

“I mean, you
can't
,” the clerk said. “That phone doesn't allow long distance.”

“Oh, come on!” Hutch hung up. “Where . . . uh . . .” He ran for the door.

“Got another twenty?” the clerk said.

“What?” Hutched whipped it out.

The clerk rolled his eyes. He pulled a cell phone from the same pocket into which the first twenty had gone. They made the swap. Hutch began dialing, then stopped. He told the clerk, “Don't say anything, and I'll mail it back to you with a hundred bucks. I promise.”

The guy's face expressed utter bafflement. It changed to alarm. “Hey—”

“I'm sorry,” Hutch said, pushing through the door. “Hundred bucks! Promise!”

“No way, dude! Come back!”

As Hutch squealed away, the clerk ran after him through the parking lot. In the rearview, he watched the guy give up.

He dialed Larry's home number. It rang, then rolled him into voice mail. He disconnected and punched in Larry's cell number. Voice mail again. “Larry, I . . .” He groaned. “This is Hutch. I'll call you back. Be by your phone. It's important.”

He dialed his own voice mail numbers. No messages at home or work.

As much as he didn't want to call the only other person who could help if she would—a big
if
—he couldn't wait for Larry. He needed that ticket. He dialed Janet's number. She picked up on the second ring.

“Janet, I wouldn't normally—”

“Where are my kids!” Janet demanded.

“They're my kids too.” Knee-jerk response. Habit. Something about her voice did that to him.

“Where are they? I'm on my way to your house because I got a call from the police. The cops are there, but you're not, and neither are Macie and Logan.”

“Did you talk to Detective Tierno? What happened?”

“That's her. Tierno. She said there'd been an ‘incident' at your house. What is that, an ‘incident'? I called Logan's phone. Hutch, Detective Tierno answered.”

“I know,” Hutch said.

Janet's voice had cracked. Tears were a couple syllables away.

“You're supposed to
have
them, Hutch. What's going on?”

As Hutch filtered through possible responses, weighing each against the consequences of telling her too much, Janet continued.

“Hutch.” Her voice had softened. “Just tell me they're all right. Please.”

“They're with Laura, hon—Janet.” He guessed that was habit too; especially when he sensed a bit of softness in her, something he'd forgotten she was capable of. “They're fine.”

“
Laura
?” The harshness had returned. “What are they doing with
her
?”

“I'll explain when I see you. But, listen, I need you to do me a really big favor.”

Long pause. “What?”

“I'm stuck in Seattle and—”

“Seattle? Are you there with her? Are Macie, Logan, and . . . and . . .”

“Dillon,” Hutch said. She knew his name. “No, they're not with me. I got called away on business, but now I can't get home.”

“Why not? You drive to the airport, get on a plane, and voilà, you're here. It's that simple, Hutch.”

Hutch closed his eyes, as disgusted with himself as she knew he would be. He said, “I'm out of money.”

“Didn't you buy a round-trip?”

“I can't use it, because of what's happening. I have to buy a new ticket.”

“That's what credit cards are for.”

“I've tapped 'em out.”

Silence. Hutch waited.

“So you want money?”

“I got the ticket on hold. Just call in with your credit card number.”

No response.

“Janet?”

“A commercial flight, right? You're not thinking about chartering a plane, are you?”

A chartered flight!
Why hadn't he thought of that? “Janet, you're a genius. I'm sure Seattle has dozens of private—”

“No, Hutch,” she said. “That's why you're broke. You think like that.”

“Janet, no, really . . . I have to get back fast. It's life and death.”

“Whose life and death?” Shrill again. “Logan and Macie's?”

“I just . . .” He slammed on the brakes to avoid running a red light. “Look, let me just look into it, see how much—”

“Do you want me to buy the commercial ticket or not?”

“I'd rather you—”

“So you don't,” she said.

He remembered conversations like this when they were married. He recognized the tone, like an iron spike driven into granite. She wasn't going to budge. He sighed. “I do . . . please.”

“Let me pull over.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I don't want to hear it, Hutch.”

He wanted to remind her that it was she who had left him, but he guessed now wouldn't be the time. He realized he didn't know how to get to the airport. He tucked the phone into his shoulder and punched at the GPS.

“Give me what you got,” Janet said.

After he did, he added, “And, Janet, I need you to keep this between us. Don't tell the cops. Don't tell anyone.”

“Hutch, I don't like this.”

“Believe me, I don't either. But if they pick me up at the airport, I won't be able to get to Laura. It'll delay getting the kids.”

She breathed heavily into the phone.

Hutch said, “I realize it's weird and scary. But, please, Janet, you have to trust me.”