The Betrayer (47 page)

Haley was at last clean and dressed, though these were small comforts at best. She was lying on top of one of the guest room beds, Cat on her side on the other, neither of them willing to sleep, despite the fact that their minds and bodies were screaming for it, when the pregnant woman appeared in the doorway.

She was dressed in scrubs, her pinned-up hair matted with sweat.

“Martin would like to see you now,” she said.

Haley sat up. Cat, too. They looked at each other.

It was obvious they were thinking the same thing.

If the news were good, the woman in the scrubs would have told them herself.

Haley followed the woman down to the ground floor, Cat close behind. They made their way through the house to another set of stairs off the kitchen, this one leading to the basement.

The fieldstone walls were weeping from the heavy rain, the cement floor slightly uneven in places from decades of frost heave.

The woman led them to a concrete-block corridor that made several mazelike turns before ending in an area that was nothing less than a state-of-the-art minihospital.

It was divided into two separate areas — glass-enclosed operating theater and recovery room. The recovery room had a large hospital bed and a smaller rollaway bed, not unlike the one in the farmhouse.

Both beds were occupied, but Haley could not yet see by whom.

The gray-haired man — Martin — approached her and Cat. He was still in his scrubs as well, though his were bloodstained. His eyes were tired-looking and bloodshot.

“Everything went well,” Martin said. He was speaking to both Haley and Cat, his tone professional and calm. “We stopped the bleeding, were able to remove his spleen, and close the entrance and exit wounds. He was lucky the bullet passed through muscle without hitting anything.”

Haley sensed that there was more, though, and braced for it.

“However,” Martin said, “Johnny is currently unresponsive.”

“What does that mean?” Cat half-asked, half-demanded.

Martin was speaking to Haley now. “Johnny’s in a coma. I’ll be honest, I’m not surprised by this, considering the amount of blood he lost. He may come out of it in a matter of hours, and let’s hope for that. But there’s always the risk that it could go on for a while. Possibly even indefinitely. We’ll watch him very closely, do everything we can, I promise you—”

Haley had heard enough and moved around the doctor fast, heading for the recovery room door. As she approached it she could see through the glass that it was, in fact, Johnny on the large hospital bed.

Breathing tube taped to his mouth, monitor relays attached to his arm and chest. Two IV bags, both filled with clear liquids, hung on a stand by the head of his bed.

His eyes closed, Johnny was motionless except for the rising and falling of his chest.

Haley entered the room, had to pass the smaller bed on which Jeremy lay, still unconscious. Reaching Johnny’s bedside, she carefully but quickly took his hand.

The pregnant woman brought a chair and placed it bed-side, then exited. Haley sat down, leaning forward, getting as close to Johnny as she could, her face just inches from his.

Cat entered the room and stepped to the foot of Jeremy’s bed, but Haley didn’t look at her. She sensed, though, that Cat was uncertain how to approach her brother. Or maybe reluctant to see him in his current condition.

It wasn’t long before Haley heard voices.

She recognized them: Johnny’s father and the doctor. They were talking in hushed tones — no, Haley realized, they were talking in full voices that were muffled by the glass.

That went on for a few moments, and then the door to the recovery room opened and Haley heard Johnny’s father say softly, “Cat, can we see you out here?”

Haley could feel Cat looking at her, but she wouldn’t turn away from Johnny. She was gently stroking his forehead when Cat left the room and closed the door.

There was more muffled talking, but Haley didn’t even try to listen.

Alone, she leaned closer still and began to whisper into Johnny’s ear.

“I know you can hear me, Johnny. I know you’re still in there. Don’t even think about leaving me, okay? Don’t even think about going where I can’t follow. You said you’d always be there for me, and I’m going have to hold you to that. If you hear me, Johnny, squeeze my hand, okay? Squeeze my hand, just the tiniest bit, okay?”

Haley felt nothing, held his hand even tighter, had to close her eyes and hold them closed to clear them of tears.

When she opened her eyes again, she turned her head and looked through the glass. She saw that Smith — Kirkland — had joined Cat and her father. The doctor was gone.

Whatever the trio was talking about was clearly serious business.

Haley then saw someone else emerge from the mazelike corridor and join them.

Richter McVicker.

Tears in his eyes, too, but standing straight, and with an expression of determination on his hard face.

While the others continued their discussion, Richter was looking at Haley through the glass.

He spoke, nodding toward her, and then, briefly, everyone else looked at her, too.

Haley sensed for some reason that they were about to come get her — something was happening, or about to happen.

She turned back to Johnny and whispered, “There’s something I need to say to you. Something I realized recently that you need to know. So listen to me carefully, okay?” She took a breath, then said, “When we first met, you looked so lost. There was so much…pain in your eyes. When I finally asked why that was, you told me that you’d been deprived of your destiny. Of what you were born to do. I’d never heard anyone talk like that before. But that was exactly how you looked. Like a man whose world had been shattered And then yesterday I heard your sister say that to you back at the hotel, when you were waiting for the elevator, right before Jeremy took off. I could hear everything you two were saying. I never doubted you, Johnny — never doubted that that was what you thought and how you felt. But I need to tell you now that I think you’re wrong. The way I see it, if you hadn’t lost everything, you wouldn’t have ended up in Thailand. You wouldn’t have been there exactly when I needed you. And if we didn’t need to hide from what happened there, we wouldn’t have gone to Dickey, and if we hadn’t gone to Dickey, you wouldn’t have been there when your sister and brother needed you. So the way it looks to me, everything that happened to you, as terrible as it was, got you to where you needed to be — to where we all
needed you to be. If that isn’t fate or destiny or whatever, Johnny, I don’t know what is. So maybe you were born for a reason after all, just not the reason you had grown up thinking. Maybe you were born to save your family, to bring them back together. As far as destinies go, how could that be bad, right? How could that not be a reason to live? And go to on living?”

She paused, then whispered, “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, Johnny. Okay? Please just squeeze my hand.”

She waited but felt nothing.

Something made her glance toward the glass door again. The quartet was still in conference — Richter and Kirkland talking, Cat and her father listening.

Intensely, gravely.

And Kirkland was holding something in his hand.

A cell phone, which he held up so Cat and Johnny’s father could read the display.

After a moment, Johnny’s father spoke. Then he and Cat broke away and stepped toward the recovery room door.

As they did, Kirkland began pressing the cell phone keyboard with two thumbs.

Composing a quick text, then sending it.

Entering the recovery room, Cat and Johnny’s father studied Jeremy as they quietly filed past his bed, Cat first, her father behind her.

Reaching the foot of Johnny’s bed, they studied him, too, with matching expressions of concern, then finally looked at Haley.

Cat said in a soft voice, “We need to talk to you.”

Haley didn’t move, simply stated in a flat voice, “He’s alive, isn’t he? The Russian. Richter’s men didn’t find his body.”

Cat nodded. “We know where he is. Kirkland managed to get him to stay put, but we can’t exactly storm the place and take him by force.”

Haley remembered the trick Richter had played on her — coming to the door of the apartment she was hiding in, telling her that Johnny had sent him to take her to safety.

She also remembered Fiermonte wanting her to use her as bait to bring Johnny out into the open.

All she would have had to do was text Johnny.

It was clear to her what the general plan was, and why they were coming to her. Still, she said nothing, just sat there and looked at Johnny, listening to his breathing.

“Martin is ready to give you a crash course,” Johnny’s father said. “Tell you what to do and what to say so you can pass for an authentic medic.”

“My father taught me field first aid,” Haley said.

Johnny’s father hesitated, then nodded and said, “I’d like to tell you that you can say no and no one will think less of you, but you’re all we have right now. Bill and I will be nearby. We have a special cell phone for you, with a live mic, so we’ll hear everything that goes on. And Richter will drive you in, then take a position in the lobby once you’re inside.” He paused, then said, “I’m not going to lie to you, Haley. What we need you to do is dangerous. But we have to stop him while we can. If we don’t, none of us will ever be safe. If Gregorian can’t get to me right away, he’ll wait. And if he can’t get to me, he’ll get to my children.” Another pause. “Or those my children love.”

Haley continued looking at Johnny.

Cat gave her a moment, then said softly, “If we’re going to do this, we have to move, Haley. Right now.”

Haley closed her eyes, then leaned down and kissed Johnny’s hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” she whispered to him. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Then she let go of his hand, rose, and turned to face Cat and her father.

“Just tell me what you need me to do,” she said.

Richter was driving, Haley was in the backseat.

It was approaching seven in the morning, but with the low, dark clouds and heavy fog, it felt more like twilight.

Gregorian’s son has seen Cat, in person as well as in surveillance photos Morris had provided the Russian.

Johnny’s father and Cat had told Haley that.

And though Gregorian’s son and Haley had both occupied Fiermonte’s living room for a few moments, the Russian had not once looked up from the floor during that time.

Cat was certain of that.

Haley glanced at her reflection in the review mirror. All but a few inches of her red hair had been cut off — by Cat, after which it was dyed black in the guest room sink.

If the Russian had been provided surveillance photos of Johnny and Haley, a dramatic change in her appearance would be necessary.

A long-sleeve shirt and denim jacket donated by Martin’s wife hid the bold dragon tattoo on Haley’s arm.

Maybe the Russian knew of it, and maybe he didn’t. There was, though, no point in risking it.

Looking at herself now, Haley marveled at how unrecognizable she was, even to herself.

She was reminded of Johnny’s transformation shortly after they had met — his long hair buzzed down to military shortness, his traveler’s beard gone.

Like a different man
.

She remembered the look of life returning to his eyes.

When will I see that again? she wondered.

She couldn’t imagine her life without him. There was no point in even bothering to do that.

We are what we think, the Buddha taught.

And what was it Emerson had said?

What she and Johnny had read on the Zen Quote of the Day calendar on the day before all this began?

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

Haley wanted to remain focused on memories of herself and Johnny — the tiny world they had made for themselves in Williamsburg, two survivors of violence clinging to each other and their careful routine.

The bar just a few blocks away, a market just across the street from the nondescript building in which they lived, windows often covered with blankets.

She wanted to hold on to the memory of their last time together in their bed — when he had come back from meeting his sister, needing Haley, having to have her.

His need for her was as much a source of pleasure to her as his loving touch.

But try as she might to hold those memories, doubts crept into her thoughts.

Where would they go from here? How far would she and Johnny have to run to escape all that had been done, and what she was about to do?

She attempted to follow her breathing, but that skill suddenly eluded her.

Glancing at Richter’s eyes framed in the rectangular mirror, she watched him study the road as he drove.

A road that was at times all but invisible.

She thought of his loss and the responsibilities that were now his to bear.

She also thought of how, at times, he had seemed to her to look a little too much like Johnny’s possible future.

Hard face, burning eyes, permanent scowl.

And then she thought of something Johnny had said to her not too long ago.

Ask him about his name some time.

He’d said that as he was getting ready to leave in search of his missing kid brother.

Buckling his belt, pulling on his boots in the living room of the apartment they would never see again.

It took a moment for Haley to speak to the man who for so long had frightened her.

And who was now nothing less than her lifeline.

“How far are we from the bridge?” she said.

“Five minutes,” Richter answered.

Once at the Henry Hudson Bridge, Richter was to call Johnny’s father, who was somewhere behind them in this fog, with Kirkland, following in an untraceable car that belonged to one of Richter’s men.

After that call Kirkland would use Fiermonte’s disposable cell phone to send the final text to the Russian.

She’ll be there in thirty.

Haley took a breath, let it out, then said, “Johnny told me once to ask you about your name. If you had been named after the Richter scale.”

Richter met her eyes in the mirror. She held his stare.

The look of him had terrified her once upon a time. But she wasn’t the person she was a year ago, when she’d first seen him.

She wasn’t the person she was just hours ago, for that matter.

She got the sense, though, that Richter already knew what her question would be. Wasn’t it an old joke between the two older Coyle kids and Dickey McVicker’s only son? One that had been first told decades ago, in better, or at least different, times.

“So are you asking?” Richter said.

He was clearly playing along.

“Yes.”

Richter McVicker nodded but didn’t answer at first.

“You must be very scared right now,” he said finally. “Considering what you’re about to do. Are you?”

Haley answered without hesitation. “I am.”

Three days ago Fiermonte told me to rent two rooms at the Chelsea Hotel,
Kirkland had told them.
One for Gregorian and another for the woman from Detroit. The room number Gregorian texted back to me is the woman’s room on the seventh floor, directly below his.

His point was that there would be one less floor between Haley and Richter waiting down in the lobby. It was a minor detail meant to be taken as good news, as if it might offer some degree of relief to those who knew the danger Haley would be facing.

But it relieved no one, not even Kirkland. And Haley knew that a lot could happen in the minutes it would take Richter to reach the seventh floor, should things go terribly wrong, which they so easily could.

“It was something my father told me once,” Richter explained. His eyes were on the road — or rather the wall of white fog that at times obscured all but a few feet of the road. “I never had many friends growing up,” he continued. “Other kids were afraid of me because of how I looked. Or they made fun of me behind my back, made fun of my name. It was funny, I was bigger than anyone else on the playground, and yet I was scared to go to school. I hated it, used to cry every morning, drive my poor mother nuts. One day my father sat me down and asked why I was so afraid. I told him that kids were making fun of me. I told him I hated my name and I was mad at him for naming me that. Even Cat and Johnny teased me about it. He looked at me and said he couldn’t have a son that was afraid all the time. Or ashamed of anything about himself. He said he needed his son to be brave and confident. He needed his son to be the kind of man who could tear his way through anything — any door or wall, anything or anyone who got in his way.”

Richter paused for a moment. Haley remained silent, waiting, watching his eyes in the rearview mirror.

Taking a breath, Richter continued. “Then he asked me if I knew what the Richter scale was. I told him I didn’t, and he said, ‘It’s how scientists measure the force of earthquakes, which are the most powerful things in the whole world.’ He smiled, let that sink in, then told me that whenever anyone gave me shit about my name, or asked me if I’d been named after the Richter scale, I was supposed to look right at them and say one thing. And it was the same thing I was supposed to think to myself whenever I got scared. He said all I would need to do was remember that one thing and I’d be okay. I’d remember that I could do anything. So that’s what I do, whenever I get scared.”

“So what’s the one thing?” Haley asked.

His eyes met hers again. “That I wasn’t named after the Richter scale.” He paused, smiled his father’s smile, and said, “The Richter scale was named after me.”

They rode in silence for the next few minutes. As they reached the Henry Hudson Bridge, which would carry them from the Bronx into Manhattan, Richter took out his cell phone and made the call.

“Send the text.”

Then he closed the phone and looked at Haley in the mirror again.

“There’s only one man in the world I’d never want to go up against, and that’s Johnny Coyle. I’m sure he taught you some things, right? He was crazy good with a knife, even before he went into the army.”

Haley nodded.

“If anything goes wrong, you do what you have to do till I get there. Understand me? I will get there, no matter what. Just stay alive.”

She tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Okay.”

Richter looked at her a moment more with his hard eyes.

“You’re going to do fine, I promise,” he said.

As they approached the manned tollbooth, Richter lowered the sun visor. This was, Haley knew, to hide his face from the cameras mounted above each booth.

Haley thought of hiding her face from the attendant by looking down at her lap, or turning her head and looking out the window to her right.

But she didn’t, choosing instead to watch the man as Richter paid him.

Richter did so, she noticed, with a handful of quarters.

The man was too busy counting to look at either of them.

When he was done, he muttered, “Go ahead,” pouring the quarters from his hand into the cash drawer.

Richter pulled away and headed down the West Side Highway.

Haley looked for the Hudson River but could barely see it through the fog.

She thought of Johnny growing up on its eastern bank, dreaming as a boy of becoming a paratrooper like his father and his father’s father.

A soldier, a warrior.

A Coyle, he’d once told her, had served in every conflict, going all the way back to the Revolutionary War.

She eventually pushed that from her mind, though, needed to focus now on what was to come.

What she would need to do to keep those she loved safe.