"So that's it, then?" I said. "You're now God's understudy? It doesn't matter who you kill-a reporter for the Times, a doctor with a guilty conscience, or even other people from your company picnic-because it's all part of a bigger plan, one that the rest of us couldn't possibly understand?"
"Every war has casualties, Mr. Mann. But I'm guessing you've never fought in one, have you?"
"That makes me lucky, not brain-dead," I said. "What's your excuse?"
Damn. Wrong button.
Karcher's face flushed red in an instant, the veins in his stumplike neck bulging out above his collar.
"You know what? Fuck the kid," he said. "I don't care if you know where he is, you can take that to your goddamn grave."
But all I really heard was Crespin's panicked voice in my ear. "Quick, tell him you know where Owen is!"
Crespin didn't need to see the deranged look in Karcher's eyes. He could hear the craziness in his voice, the way he referred to my grave as if it were imminent.
I needed to stall.
But again, it was too late. With the slightest flinch-small but telling-I'd just broken Crespin's second rule. Whatever you do, don't look like you've got someone talking in your ear.
"Jesus Christ," said Karcher. "You're not alone, are you?"
CHAPTER 102
"NO, HE'S definitely not alone," she said.
I turned to see Valerie pulling up a chair to our table. She couldn't play the waitress, but her being seated nearby was the next best thing. And with her mirrored sunglasses and jet-black wig, there was no way Karcher would've recognized her.
He still didn't.
The Beretta in her lap, however, he spotted instantly, and it sure as hell wasn't pointed at me.
Give the prick some credit, though. Karcher barely blinked. "Friend of yours, Mr. Mann?" he asked coolly.
"One of many," said Valerie. "Which is why you need to wrap your weapon in that napkin and place it slowly on the table."
Karcher looked down at the napkin in front of him like it was a piece of enriched plutonium. He had no intention of touching it.
"Thank you for the suggestion, young lady, but I think I'll pass," he said. "It might be a good idea for you to do it, though."
Those should've been the words of a madman, a last-ditch effort to buy some time in this chess match, using little more than misdirection and a touch of outright confusion. Call it Karcher's Gambit.
But the tone was more cocky than confused. He was too sure of himself. He knew something we didn't, and I couldn't stop the feeling of pure dread that was suddenly spreading from the pit of my stomach.
I looked at Valerie, and for the first time, she took her eyes off Karcher to look back at me, if only for a split second. But that was all the time it took.
"Shit," she muttered.
Karcher smiled. "Looks like I've got some friends, too," he said.
"Show him," came Crespin's voice in my ear, only he wasn't talking to me. Valerie was wearing the same transmitter. With her eyes locked back on Karcher, she removed her sunglasses so I could see what the hell was going on.
"Shit," I muttered.
Staring back at me in the mirrored lenses was a new addition to my forehead. The small red dot of a laser sight. I was one squeeze of a trigger away from having my brains blown out, which somehow managed to trump getting shot in the crotch. Either way, it was suddenly a lose-lose.
We were definitely off script now … .
"I know you, don't I?" asked Karcher, staring straight back into Valerie's naked eyes.
"Maybe," she answered. "Or maybe not. But I definitely know you."
"What about Mr. Mann here?" he said. "How much do you really know about him?"
"Enough to be sitting here," she said.
"Keep stalling him," came Crespin's voice in our ears.
"I suppose you know more, though?" Valerie tacked on.
"He shot a federal agent in Manhattan, for starters, and got a detective up there killed as well."
Karcher looked at me to see if I'd take the bait and try to argue otherwise. All along, he'd been defending himself without admitting to anything. Now he was hoping I'd trip myself up in the heat of the moment so he could build some semblance of reasonable doubt.</ol>
But I gave him the best comeback I could. Silence.
Not Valerie, though.
"What about outstanding parking tickets?" she deadpanned. "Does he have any of those as well?"
"No, but he does have a dead guy in his bathtub. I forgot to mention that," Karcher said, his voice tinged with what could only be described as glee. Extra creepy on a guy his size. "The police searched his apartment yesterday."
"You know, if there was only some way I knew you were telling the truth, some type of method," she said. "Wouldn't that be something? I mean, what wouldn't we all give for that?"
Karcher deflected her with a chuckle, but it was quickly drowned out by something else I was hearing.
My head was suddenly filled with footsteps, only they were more than steps. They were strides. Crespin was running, his breathing heavy as if he were in a full sprint. I knew Valerie could hear it, too, but she kept right on talking to Karcher. Stalling him.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that I really, truly wished I hadn't.
CHAPTER 103
NO! NO! NO!
I wanted so desperately to signal her somehow, wave my hands and tell her she had to stop. But I was helpless; I knew I couldn't. It would be like yanking the pin on a grenade.
The waitress. Betsy. Ponytail and rolled-up sleeves. She was heading to our table.
"Huh, looks like we have a party of three," she said, pulling up between Karcher and Valerie. She was half distracted, clutching her order pad while searching for a pen in the deep pocket of her apron. "If you'd like, I can move you all to another table."
"No, that's okay, I was just saying hello to these guys," said Valerie, flashing a polite smile. "I'll be getting up in few seconds."
But from the moment I felt the tap on my foot underneath the table, I realized this wasn't just a figure of speech. Valerie was giving me a signal. In a few seconds, she really was getting up, and the reason was right in front of me. Literally.
Our waitress, Betsy, was directly in the line of fire.
I stole a peek at Valerie's sunglasses now folded on the table, the lenses angled up toward my face.
The only question was whether or not Karcher had noticed, too.
Asked and answered.
Karcher's eyes lit up as he glanced at me. He saw it. Or, rather, he didn't see it. The red dot on me from the laser sight was gone, blocked by the-
"Now!" yelled Valerie.
She had Karcher in no-man's-land, his hand swinging. For a fraction of a second, he was undecided where to aim his gun.
A hell of a lot can happen in a fraction of a second.
Valerie lunged for Karcher as I sprang from my chair, the sound of Crespin in my ear, still sprinting, matching the pounding of my heart.
Betsy had no idea what was happening; she immediately jumped back based on nothing but reflex and fear of the unknown. I was heading right for her, no stopping, the M on her apron the target of my dive.
I could feel the wind being knocked out of her as I tackled her to the ground, the crack of a rifle shot from only-God-knows-where splitting the air above us. But nothing more.
Small comfort. Oswald's first shot in Dealey Plaza missed, too.
I turned my head, looking up to see Valerie still struggling with Karcher, each with a hand on the other's gun. He outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds, but she'd gotten to her feet first and had the leverage. For how long, though?
"Stay down!" I barked at Betsy, as if there were a chance in the world she was about to get up.
No, that was my job now.
Palms down, I began to push off the ground, my eyes trained on Karcher. His face and neck were a mishmash of muscle and tendon straining for all the strength he had. Slowly, his gun was moving back toward Valerie. She had about six inches to live.
That was when I saw it. The only thing that could make things worse. And only one word came to mind to warn her.
"Red!" I yelled.
I don't know what came next, what I heard or what I saw. But Valerie knew what I meant and knew her geometry, and as the second shot echoed in my ears I saw her step back and take Karcher with her, the dot jumping from her back …
To his.
The only red now was blood. Lots and lots of it. Karcher fell to the ground faceup and only inches from Betsy, who shrieked in horror as she caught sight of the gaping hole in his barrel chest from the exit wound.
"Drop it! Drop your weapon right now!"
Valerie and I turned to each other and then up to the rooftop down the street. It was Crespin in our ears. He was done running. I don't know if God actually knew where the shots were coming from. But now Crespin did. He'd reached Karcher's sniper.</ol>
"I got him … it's over," he said, catching his breath. "It's over."
Of course, if that were only true …
BOOK FIVE
TRUTH OR DIE
CHAPTER 104
FRANK KARCHER had been the master of making all sorts of things disappear. People. Problems. His moral compass. But the one thing he couldn't cover up was his own death.
Instead, others were going to do it for him. At least, that was the way it was playing out.
There were a dozen witnesses to what happened outside the Mallard Café, and they all knew what they'd seen. When the police arrived and a couple of detectives fanned out to ask what had happened, each and every one had an answer.