No Shelter (34 page)

The owner of the Taurus seems to be a big Rolling Stones fan. Every single album of theirs is scattered across the backseat. I punch the power button on the CD player and, I guess appropriately enough, “Sympathy For the Devil” starts up.
 

I punch the power button again, let the silence take over. I lean over, pop open the glove box, am rewarded by a pack of Parliaments that I immediately light up with the help of the car’s cigarette lighter. I take a couple long drags, relishing the taste, then clear my throat.
 

“Atticus.”
 

“
Yes?
”
 

“What do you think?”
 

“
What do I think about what?
”
 

I consider taking the South Capitol Street Bridge into the city but decide to keep driving up 295.
 

“About this whole thing. I mean ... it’s fucked up, isn’t it?”
 

“
Why do you use that word?
”
 

“What—fucked? Because it is.”
 

“
No, I agree with you that this situation is not ideal. In fact, if things turn out well, I will have to relocate myself as it seems I’m not as well hidden as I had thought. But what I mean is why do you use those vulgar words?
”
 

The Taurus’s owner also seems to have a thing for Hawaii. Three of those hula-hoop girls are stuck on the dash, shaking their things in rhythm with the road.
 

“I’m sorry, Atticus. I didn’t know you’re religious.”
 

“
I’m not religious, Holly. And based on your judgment there, it’s clear what one of your biggest problems is
.”
 

The last thing I want to do right now is discuss what my biggest problem is. Still, I ask, “What’s my biggest problem?”
 

“
You assume too much. You don’t take time to assess people properly. You might think you’re not making snap judgments, but you do, and because of that you are disadvantaged when it comes to truly reading someone
.”
 

Irritated now, I say, “You mean someone like you?”
 

“
And the vulgarities?
” Atticus says, ignoring me. “
That is simply a lack of self-control on your part
.”
 

“A lack of self-control.”
 

“
Yes. Controlling your language, what words come out of your mouth, is one of the most difficult things a person can do. They almost always speak before they think. Your father was the same way
.”
 

I drive up the ramp for the 11th Street Bridge, taking me over the Anacostia River into Washington. Once again I’m expecting there to be a squad of police cars waiting for me. Once again I’m wrong.
 

“How well did you know my father?”
 

“
Quite well. As I told you, I trained him to kill
.”
 

“Have you ever killed anyone?”
 

“
That’s an inappropriate question, Holly
.”
 

“What? How is it inappropriate?”
 

Atticus is silent. Again I think something has gone wrong with the transmitter and touch my ear, just to make sure it’s still there. I glance at the dashboard clock and see it’s already 5:15.
 

“
He talked about you a lot, you know. It was clear he loved your mother and sister very much. But you ... you seemed to be the apple of his eye
.”
 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
 

“
Not at all. But the reason I bring it up is that one time your father mentioned how he saw something strong in you. He said it was something he didn’t see in your sister. You had this strength, this ... this fortitude that he said he didn’t even think he had himself
.”
 

I decide to get off 295, take the exit to D Street SW.
 

“To be quite honest, I don’t give a shit what my father once said about me. I’m sorry I have to curse like that—I know it shows lack of self-control—but fuck him. He turned out to be an enemy.”
 

“
He’s a conflicted man, I won’t argue that. He is a man who has made his own bed and now he has to sleep in it. I feel responsible, in a way. Perhaps if I had trained him better, or if I had really looked into his heart and soul when I was around him, maybe I could have foreseen him going the other way
.”
 

“Do you know why he did it?”
 

“
I can only speculate
.”
 

“And?”
 

“
And nothing. Speculation is merely what it is. It won’t benefit either of us to continue in that train of thought
.”
 

I continue down D Street, turn up North Carolina Avenue toward Seward Square.
 

“But he turned, didn’t he? He became ... evil. He became a monster.”
 

Atticus clears his throat. “
Do you see that as his fault?
”
 

“What?”
 

“
Your father did everything he could to keep this country safe. He was asked to do a great deal and he came through, every time. That’s why he was held in such high regard
.”
 

I stop at the traffic light, watch cars pass back and forth on Pennsylvania Avenue.
 

“Are you defending him?”
 

“
No. But to paraphrase Nietzsche, whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster
.”
 

“Yeah, and if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
 

“
Why, Holly
”—Atticus sounding very pleased—“
you are full of surprises, aren’t you?
”
 

I don’t get a chance to answer him, because right then the cell phone rings.
 

64

“Hello, Holly.”
 

“Zane.”
 

“How are you doing this fine evening?”
 

In my ear, Atticus says, “
I need thirty more seconds for a trace
.”
 

“I’ve been waiting for you to call.” I’ve finished the first cigarette and light up a second, taking a long drag. “I have what you want.”
 

“Are you smoking?”
 

“What does it matter to you?”
 

“I always told you those things were bad for you.”
 

Atticus: “
Fifteen more seconds
.”
 

“Look, I have it. I have the flash drive.”
 

“Do you?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“And how do I know you really have what you say you do? How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
 

The light turns green. I pull forward, driving slowly.
 

“I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”
 

“Trust,” Zane says, a chuckle in his voice. “I guess that was never our strong suit, huh?”
 

Atticus: “
I got him. He’s north of you, right near Union Station
.”
 

I press my foot down on the gas. Speaking calmly, I ask, “How are the kids?”
 

“Very good, actually.”
 

“I want to talk to them.”
 

“I’m sure you do. First, how do I know you really have the flash drive?”
 

I take a left onto 8th Street.
 

“I have it, Zane. You know I do.”
 

A pause. Then, “Yes, I suppose I do. Like I said before, you’re the wildcard. You always come through in a pinch.”
 

I take a left onto East Capitol Street.
 

“Besides,” Zane says, “I’ve been keeping up with the news. I know some bad shit went down on 495 about an hour ago. I’m assuming that was you?”
 

Speeding past trees, buildings, parked cars. Pausing at red lights long enough to ensure I don’t hit anyone and then driving through.
 

“Let me talk to the children.”
 

“You know, I had a bet placed with your old man. I really didn’t think you’d come through. I mean, I knew you’d try and everything, but ... shit, they must have had that thing locked up tight, right?”
 

In my ear, Atticus says, “
He’s moving west on E Street. I’m accessing a satellite feed right now. Should have a visual momentarily
.”
 

Pushing the Taurus harder, swerving around slower-moving vehicles, wishing to God I don’t encounter any cops, I say, “Let me talk to the children.”
 

“Hold on, Holly. Listen, I’m trying to tell you something here. Because like I said, I didn’t think you’d come through. But your old man? He said it wouldn’t be a problem for you. Said it’d be no problem at all. Isn’t that something?”
 

Turning right onto 2nd Street, heading north, I take the corner a little too hard and feel the back fishtailing. “Zane, please. Let me. Talk to. The children.”
 

“Okay, okay. Hold on.”
 

A pause that lasts a couple seconds, feels like it lasts a couple hours.
 

“Hullo?” says a timid, tired, terrified voice.
 

Flying up 2nd Street, my fingers tight around the steering wheel, I say, “David, are you all right?”
 

“Holly?” The voice waking up, gaining strength. “Holly, is that you?”
 

Before I can answer him the phone is taken away and it’s Zane’s voice I now hear, Zane asking, “Good enough?”
 

“
We now have visual
,” Atticus says. “
A black utility van, still on E Street and currently passing over 6th Street
.”
 

“Casey,” I nearly shout. “I want to hear Casey’s voice too.”
 

“She’s sleeping.”
 

“Wake her up.”
 

I have to stop for the light on Constitution Avenue; I don’t have a choice. Too much traffic is passing back and forth, counting a police cruiser, and I’m stuck there waiting for the red to change, the cell phone to my ear, my heart racing, my body shaking, doing everything in my power right now not to scream so loud it will shatter every window in a hundred-yard radius.
 

Another sound of shuffling, then another tired voice, barely even audible, Casey sounding like she’s talking in her sleep.
 

“Casey!” I shout. “Casey, wake up!”
 

“Wh-Wh-What?”
 

“Casey, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
 

“H-H-Holly?”
 

The light changes and I gun the engine, shooting me out into the intersection, taking a left down Constitution Avenue, Atticus saying in my ear, “
They’re now heading south on 9th Street
,” and me saying, “Casey, it’s all right, baby, everything will be okay,” and then Zane taking the phone away, clearing his throat.
 

“Okay, now that that’s settled, down to business. The Lincoln Memorial, six hundred hours. Do not be early, do not be late. That gives you a little under thirty minutes. Do you think you can be there in time?”
 

“Why are you doing this?”
 

“Because it needs to be done.”
 

“You used to be good guy. You used to believe in doing the right thing.”
 

“And what is the right thing, Holly? Working as a puppet like you?”
 

“I’m not a puppet.”
 

“No? Then what are you? You take orders from a government that doesn’t even know why they’re giving those orders in the first place. I mean, this is the same government that doesn’t give a shit for the lives of two kids. Goddamn it, Holly, isn’t that fucked up? Two children are being held hostage and Walter ... his hands are tied. He can’t do shit. Now you tell me, what’s the right thing there?”
 

“That’s not a good enough reason for becoming what you’ve become.”
 

“I haven’t become anything. I’ve always been this way.”
 

My foot on the floor, pushing the Taurus forward, Atticus in my ear saying, “
Four blocks away ... three blocks away ... two blocks
,” Zane clearing his throat again and saying, “You should know how it is. Work is work, right? Remember, six hundred hours sharp,” and then disconnecting the call, the world going silent for a moment, no noise at all, everything around me a blur, tears in my eyes, and then Atticus saying, “
One block away ... Holly, why aren’t you slowing down?
” and I come to the intersection, slamming on the brakes, flinging off my seatbelt, opening my door and jumping out, Nova’s Beretta already in hand, walking toward the street Zane is coming down, the black utility van slowing at the stop sign, the driver one of the Mexicans, somehow not seeing me, not as I’m twenty feet away, not as I’m ten feet away, not even when I walk right up to his window and raise the gun and pull the trigger.
 

65

My first two bullets take out the driver. My second two bullets take out the man in the passenger seat, another one of Javier Diaz’s men that are on loan, the guy reaching for his weapon as pieces of the driver’s head splatter all over him, then jerking as he’s shot too, one in the throat, the other in the head.