Witness to Death Read online

  Apparently, they understood each other, because the woman made that tsk sound again and said, “They will hear you, Peter. Down there. If I shoot you, they will hear me and things won’t go over smoothly. They can’t find out for a while.”

  Callahan looked over the cliff and could see some streetlights and darkened houses.

  “Christine, I told you… This is stupid. You’re going to be caught. You’re going to be put in a military prison. And even if you aren’t, I’ll kill you. For Ashley. For Michelle.” Callahan’s voice didn’t waver. He wished he could see where the gun was.

  “It’s not time for that bullshit. I—” She paused and Callahan started to turn toward her. But she put her hand on the pressure point again and he froze. “I’m going to kill you.”

  The words cut through him. What he’d surmised now felt real as he heard the words spoken aloud. The air whooshed from his lungs and his throat closed. He tried to get his feet under him and run, but the woman just pushed him to the ground again. He was shaking his head back and forth. He bit down on his cheek harder, feeling the stream of blood cover his tongue. He spit it out, and heard it strike the snow.

  “Don’t do this,” he said. He didn’t like begging, but he needed more time to figure a way out of this.

  “Shut up,” Christine said.

  Callahan said, “We don’t need more blood on the ground, Christine.”

  He heard more movement, something being pulled against cloth.

  There was a long silence. Callahan wondered what she was thinking.

  Wind whipped through the trees below him, and Callahan wondered if their empty branches would be the last thing he saw. Or the lights from the houses in the distance.

  It’d been a long time since he’d been this close to death. What was she going to do to him?

  “Say hello to Ashley.”

  Callahan’s mouth went dry. He shut his eyes. His chest was on fire.

  He heard a sound like a zipper again and he opened his eyes. He knew what was coming. The question was: Was he fast enough?

  He tried to get his arms up as something flashed across his vision.

  Callahan took a breath before he felt the thin wire touch his throat.

  The reason someone trains is to learn and gain experience. The Farm had taught Callahan ways to survive nearly any kind of attack. Learn what to do in training, repeat it over and over again. That way when it happens in real life, instinct and muscle memory kick in.

  The key to surviving an attack from a garrote was to get something in between the wire and the airway. Get his hand up, and let that take the punishment. Then either spin around and go on the offensive, if there was room, or swing your heel back, kick the shin and scrape down.

  Callahan got his left hand up in time. He knew because blood started to squirt from his palm and trickle down his wrist. Christine pulled the garrote tighter and Callahan’s knuckles drove into his throat. His eyes bulged and flecks of snow dropped into them.

  He dug his knees into the ground, opened his mouth wide and tried to get a mouthful of air.

  He gasped some down.

  He snapped his head back into Christine’s stomach and twisted right. Before she could pull tighter, he dropped his butt on to his feet and leaned underneath the garrote. She snapped her left leg into his ribs. The air he’d inhaled exploded out of his mouth. While he felt the throbbing in his ribs, she caught his open chin with a hard right that spun him around. His brain went foggy, and he hit the snow face first.

  Pressing his palms deep in the snow, he felt the sharp gravel beneath it dig into his cut. He got himself into a push-up position, refusing to give into the pain, and looked at Christine. She stood, waiting for him to lunge at her.

  He started to get to his feet, but Christine stuck a knee in the small of his back pushing him back to the ground.

  Callahan rolled again, and leaped to his feet ignoring the roar through his torso. He rushed Christine, wrapping her up as if he was Lawrence Taylor and she was a quarterback. They toppled into the snow.

  Callahan pushed himself to his feet, quickly this time, snow dropping off his face and shoulders. He turned to see Christine jump to her feet as well. Christine pulled a gun clear of the holster at her waist, but she seemed unsure if the safety was off, flicking at it with her thumb. Callahan charged her.

  The moment’s hesitation was all Callahan needed, catching her with a quick right and left to the stomach before she could turn the gun on him. She grunted. Callahan reared back and hit her in the jaw with all his remaining strength. It was Christine’s turn to spin and go down to her knees. Blood poured from her lip, spattering against the white ground. Tottering on her knees, she closed her eyes and fell to one side.

  Callahan knew the feeling of trying to will the air back into his lungs before they were ready to accept it. The pain of the air sticking in his windpipe.

  Callahan ran.

  Toward the cliff.

  He pumped his knees high so his feet wouldn’t drag in the snow.

  Behind him, floodlights from the hangar snapped on, and he heard men yelling in their direction. Sandler must have sent his men to look for them. Callahan didn’t want to wait to see what they wanted.

  Callahan didn’t hesitate.

  He leaped off the cliff.

  Over the lip of the incline, he landed on his butt and started to slide. The hill’s angle was steep, but Callahan managed to lean back and tried to hit each branch feet first. After an instant he was tumbling, bouncing at each rock, praying he wouldn’t dislocate a shoulder or break an elbow or worse. The snow around him split and shot in the air like the wake behind a boat. Branches cracked, old leaves crumbled and dirt drove up Callahan’s crack like a bad wedgie.

  A nightmare sleigh ride.

  He tumbled into someone’s backyard. The lights in the house were out, and Callahan hoped it was late enough on a Sunday that the homeowners were sleeping.

  Before he could stand however, his ribs erupted with vibrating electricity. It wasn’t like before, when she’d kicked him. That was a roar, and he thought they’d been bruised. Now as pain fired through him when he tried to roll, he gasped and thought he may have cracked the ribs. He tried to sit up, but the pain was too much.

  He fell backwards, closed his eyes. The fire subsided.

  He opened them, and tried to look up through the trees to the lip of the cliff. He couldn’t see anything except the glitter of the stars.

  ****

  Christine leaned over the cliff but couldn’t see much through the dark.

  Was he dead? Did the fall kill him?

  A man in a trenchcoat rushed up next to her, holding a machine gun two-handed. He leaned over the edge to take a look, and then glanced back at Christine.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Callahan took a spill.”

  The trenchcoat leaned again. Christine waited.

  “Think he’s dead?” he said.

  Christine shrugged.

  “Take a couple of men down there and look. If you find him, bring back the body. If he’s hurt, shoot him right there.”

  “What if someone finds the body?”

  Christine shook her head.

  “Bring. The. Body. Back.” The cold air burned her lungs.

  The guy in the coat nodded and rushed back toward the hangar.

  “Don’t tell Sandler or Tony,” she called after him. “I want to. Just make sure Callahan’s dead.”

  Michelle watched her father’s face go from paper white to stop sign red in about twenty seconds. Omar was bouncing on the balls of his feet and leaning forward slightly.

  “Discuss?” Michelle’s father asked. “There is no discussion. Everything is mapped out.”

  Michelle felt her muscles contract again, and not from the electricity. She wasn’t sure what was going on. She gave John a look, but if he noticed, he didn’t react.

  “The Intrepid?” Omar screamed. “At that time of morning? There won’t be m
any people around. At least not enough to make a mark.”

  “Omar,” her father said.

  “It’s President’s Day. There will be police everywhere.”

  “We will not discuss this here.” Her father slammed his fist on the table and silverware clattered.

  Michelle heard footsteps behind her and looked over her shoulder. Tony Verederese came through the same door Omar had, and leaned against the jamb, watching. Christine was visible behind him.

  “Listen to me. When I was away, I thought this all out. Let me wear the device and go somewhere with less security. A shopping mall.”

  Omar looked over toward Tony then back to Michelle’s father as if waiting for them to say something.

  “Think of it. More people, less security. Fewer problems would arise. We would terrify many. The entire country would think they were being hit. Shopping malls would empty. Streets would clear. It would be a bigger symbol—”

  Michelle’s father shook his head and then stood slowly from the table.

  “Omar, we’ve gone through this. You know your idea is not possible. We need an American symbol. We need to make a statement.”

  Omar shook his head. “You also need me. No one else will do what you want me to do.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Michelle noticed Tony, dark hair slicked back and wearing a blue striped shirt, come all the way into the room.

  “We don’t need you,” he said.

  “I—”

  “You’re not the end of things. When you ran out, we started a contingency plan.”

  “I need him to make this work out,” Sandler said. “My way.”

  He looked at Michelle, and reached toward her, as if he wanted to hug her. Michelle didn’t move. John stepped between the two of them. Her father’s mouth opened slightly and he glanced at the ground, as if he were looking for words in the dirt.

  “You don’t understand,” Omar said. “I’ve been planning this for years. This is the best way.”

  “No, Omar,” her father said. “Tomorrow morning we follow the original plan.”

  Omar didn’t respond. But Tony did.

  “I knew you didn’t have the guts for this. You’re trying to change the plan to get out of it. You’re scared.”

  Omar clenched his fists. “How dare you?”

  “Eh, whatever. We don’t have much time,” Tony said. “Either you do what we say or you don’t.”

  Omar shook his head. “Your plan is going to fail.”

  “Kill him.” Tony turned toward Christine

  “No. We can’t do that,” Sandler said.

  “Yeah, right. Cause we’re not about to kill a thousand other people. We should really worry about this guy.”

  Omar’s left arm snapped out in front of him and grabbed Michelle’s father and pulled him close. Sandler tried to pull away, but Omar pulled a knife from his pocket and pressed it to his throat.

  “I will kill him if you don’t do what I say,” Omar said to Tony.

  Michelle leaned her hands on the back of the wooden chair. She closed her eyes. She wanted to scream, but sound wasn’t coming. She wished she hadn’t known anything about tonight.

  Her father said, “Please. Let me go. We can discuss this.”

  Michelle wanted to scream. This was insanity. Had she ever known this man?

  Tony sat down.

  “There will be no discussion.” The words were addressed to her father.

  “I will do it,” Omar said.

  “I dare you,” Tony laughed.

  “Last chance,” Omar said. The knife dug into the flesh and Michelle thought she could see blood.

  Tony spread his hands and said, “We are going tomorrow morning. President’s Day. The original target.”

  Omar dragged the knife toward him and Michelle’s father’s neck opened up. A flood of red washed over his shirt and Omar’s arm.

  Her father slid to the floor slowly. A gurgle emanated from his lips.

  Omar looked up at Tony. “Now that you know I’m serious, we nego—”

  A clap of thunder and Omar’s torso snapped to the left. Another boom, and his forehead disappeared behind a red mist. He crumpled to the gound. Michelle’s throat felt like she’d swallowed gravel. She turned to see Christine aiming a pistol.

  Christine walked up to Omar’s body and put another bullet in it. Then she did the same to Michelle’s father.

  “Time to burn every piece of paper in this place. We need someone to wear the bomb,” Tony said.

  Michelle started to mumble. No words at first. Her brain was going too fast for her to comprehend what she was thinking. But whatever she said, whatever came out of her mouth, Tony heard.

  He walked over to her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her close. John reached out for her, but Christine held him back.

  “Yes,” Tony said. His breath smelled like Irish whiskey and Listerine. But if he was under the influence, he didn’t show it. “Your father was a genius. Just a little shy on the trigger finger. We just need someone to execute the plan.”

  He squeezed her arm tight. Michelle’s skin reddened around the fat man’s fingers.

  Michelle said, “No!” She wriggled out of Tony’s grasp and fell to the ground. She got to her knees, and then crawled to her father, putting her arms on him.

  “Dad?” she said. “Dad?”

  She shook him once, but he didn’t move. She pressed her ear to his nose, and she heard no breathing. Her hands were on his chest, and they felt warm and sticky. As she glanced down, she saw they were covered in blood.

  “Come on. You think she’s gonna miss?” Tony said, putting the gun on the table. “He was already on his way out.”

  Michelle closed her eyes. She gritted her teeth. Her sides still hurt where Christine had tasered her. Her father was dead. He was gone.

  He’d tortured her, but he kept telling her that he’d do anything for her. She felt hollow.

  “You can’t make me do it,” she said. “I have nothing left.”

  Tony grinned and pointed the gun at John. “I think you do. I could shoot this turd.”

  Michelle felt as if the blood in her body had seeped into the floor. Like she’d sat down for the first time in a week. John didn’t deserve to be shot. He didn’t deserve to be involved in any of this.

  “No,” she whispered. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

  “Oh this is so much fun,” Tony said.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

  Her body started to shake, and the tears fell from her eyes. She tried to breathe smoothly, calm herself down, but air only came in hiccups.

  “Stop!”

  The words cut through her brain like another gunshot. She opened her eyes and saw John, standing clear of Christine.

  “She can’t do it,” he said, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Look at her. She won’t even be able to get through the Lincoln Tunnel, nevermind get to your target.”

  What was John doing? Couldn’t he just let her go? Get all this over with? There wasn’t anything left in her. Why couldn’t he understand that?

  John shook his head. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll do it and you let her go.”

  Tony dropped his arms to his sides, flared his nostrils and the corner of his lips curled upward.

  “Okay,” he said. “That’ll work.”

  John’s face seemed to tighten.

  “We’ll set it up, strap the bomb on you. Get you to drive to the Interpid. You know the Intrepid? Big boat, a symbol of America? Then just sit there. A few minutes later. Off to the big classroom in the sky.” As Tony spoke, John took a deep breath through nose and let it out through his mouth. “And if you don’t . . . If you try to escape. If you do something stupid. If the bomb goes off anywhere but the Intrepid . . .” He looked at Michelle. “Well, that would suck for her and you.”

  Michelle shook her father once more, then rolled off him. She wanted to scream at John. She wanted to tell him to stop talking. To let h
er do this. She was brave. She could find a way out. And if not, there was nothing left for her. He wasn’t brave. He wasn’t strong. He never knew what to do.

  Her heart pounded hard in her chest.