Chapter 17 - WIDOWER
The code word stayed on the screen.
WIDOWER.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
Scheduled for tomorrow.
I looked at Christine.
She looked back at me as if she had finally reached the bottom of something she had spent half her life refusing to see.
"He was going to kill you," she whispered.
Mason answered before I could.
"Looks that way."
Christine shook her head.
"No."
Her voice became stronger.
"He threatened Michael before."
"Threatening and hiring are different things."
"Dad always said killing created more problems than it solved."
Mason gave her a tired look.
"Your father also kept a video of himself murdering Frank Delaney."
Christine stopped speaking.
I watched her process that contradiction.
The father she feared had always been dangerous.
But even she had drawn lines around him in her own mind.
Lines he had already crossed.
"Who is the contractor?" I asked.
Mason swiped through the file.
"Account is registered to a company called Northpoint Recovery."
"Real company?"
"On paper."
"Owner?"
"Martin Vale."
The name meant nothing to me.
Mason's expression said it meant something to him.
"You know him."
"I know the name."
"From where?"
"Private security. South America. Balkans. Domestic work after that."
"Contract killer?"
"He would call himself a risk consultant."
"Does he know Raymond?"
"Probably through Vargo."
"Photo?"
Mason pulled one up.
Mid-forties.
Close-cropped hair.
Ordinary face.
The kind people forgot while still looking at it.
I studied him.
"I haven't seen him."
"That doesn't mean he hasn't seen you."
Detective Shaw entered with Agent Keene.
Keene was tall, tired, and had the calm expression of a man who had already accepted that the night would not end soon.
"We are moving you," he said.
"Where?"
"Secure medical floor in another facility."
I looked at Jake's room.
"He cannot be transported without his doctor."
"Already discussed."
"Christine?"
"Separate transport."
"Why separate?"
"Because we do not know whether the threat is only against you."
Christine nodded immediately.
"Do it."
I looked at her.
She met my eyes.
"Keep Jake away from me if that's what it takes."
The sentence hurt for both of us.
But it was the right sentence.
Keene continued.
"The route will not be broadcast."
"Local police?"
"Not involved."
"Hospital staff?"
"Only transport team and attending physician."
"When?"
"Soon."
I almost smiled.
"You don't tell targets exact times."
Keene's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Mason said you used to be irritating."
"He undersold me."
Mason nodded.
"True."
We moved Jake just after sunrise.
The sky outside the ambulance windows was pale gray.
I had been awake nearly twenty-four hours, but adrenaline had replaced fatigue with something sharper.
Jake wore a knit cap the nurse found for him because he said the bandage near his hairline made him look weird.
I told him the cap made him look like a bank robber.
He said bank robbers probably did not wear dinosaur socks.
I told him that was exactly what made the disguise effective.
He smiled.
For two minutes, we were father and son again.
Then the ambulance turned onto the highway.
A black SUV appeared three cars behind us.
I noticed it because it changed lanes when we did.
Then slowed when we slowed.
Then remained three cars back.
I leaned toward the state trooper riding in front.
"Black Tahoe. Left lane."
He checked the side mirror without turning his head.
"Seen."
The driver changed lanes.
The Tahoe did too.
My body became cold and focused.
Jake noticed.
"Dad?"
I turned toward him.
"Everything's okay."
The lie sounded better when it was spoken for a child.
The trooper touched his radio earpiece.
"Escort two, confirm visual."
A voice answered.
"Confirmed."
The Tahoe moved closer.
One car behind now.
Then traffic opened.
The state unmarked vehicle behind us accelerated and boxed the Tahoe into the far lane.
The Tahoe driver swerved.
For one second, I saw his face through the windshield.
Not Martin Vale.
A woman.
Dark hair.
Melissa Crane.
"That's Vargo's sister."
The trooper reacted instantly.
"Confirm suspect Melissa Crane."
The escort vehicle moved closer.
Melissa accelerated hard.
The Tahoe shot past us.
The state vehicle followed.
Our ambulance took the next exit without warning.
Jake sat up slightly.
"Was that bad?"
I touched his shoulder.
"Just somebody driving stupid."
He frowned.
"You said stupid is a bad word."
"Temporary exception."
"Can I use it?"
"No."
"That's unfair."
"Parent privilege."
He rolled his eyes and lay back down.
The trooper looked at me.
"Nice recovery."
"I have an eight-year-old."
"Clearly."
We reached the second hospital safely.
Melissa abandoned the Tahoe twelve miles away and disappeared on foot.
Inside the new facility, Jake was placed in a private room under an alias.
Only a small circle knew the floor.
I finally slept for forty-five minutes in a chair beside him.
When I woke, Mason was in the room reading a newspaper like a man from another century.
"You know phones exist."
"Phones tell people too much."
"Newspapers tell people yesterday."
"Yesterday is underrated."
He folded it.
"We found Martin Vale."
I straightened.
"Where?"
"Not him. His records."
"Meaning?"
"Travel."
"Here?"
"He landed yesterday."
"Where?"
"Regional airport. Rental car under a different name."
"Current location?"
"Unknown."
"So he is here."
"Yes."
I looked at Jake sleeping.
"Does he know we moved?"
"Shouldn't."
"Shouldn't isn't enough."
"Nothing is enough for you right now."
"Correct."
Mason leaned back.
"Then listen to this."
He handed me a printed page.
Northpoint Recovery's scheduled payment had a second field beneath WIDOWER.
A location code.
STV-3P.
St. Vincent.
Third floor pediatrics.
My stomach dropped.
"The hit was supposed to happen at the hospital."
"Looks like it."
"How?"
"Unknown."
"Melissa."
"Maybe."
"She had access."
"Yes."
"Why take a photograph first?"
"Proof of access."
The realization made me sick.
The picture of Jake had not only been a threat.
It might have been a reconnaissance photo showing the contractor where I was.
"Did she know the target was me?"
"Probably."
"Then why didn't she do it herself?"
"Because she may be support, not shooter."
I rubbed my face.
"Martin Vale is still out there."
"Yes."
"Raymond is still out there."
"Yes."
"Scott is still out there."
"Yes."
"Melissa too."
"Yes."
"This is going well."
Mason smiled faintly.
"You always were optimistic."
My phone vibrated.
Secure handset.
Agent Keene.
"We found Ross."
"Dead?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"River access road."
"Shot?"
"Once."
"Weapon?"
"Unknown."
"Scott?"
"No sign."
"Anything else?"
Keene hesitated.
"Ross had a note in his pocket."
"What note?"
"Handwritten."
"By Raymond?"
"We don't know."
"What does it say?"
Keene read it.
"Michael Hale should have stayed retired."
I looked at Mason.
Raymond was not only cleaning his network.
He was leaving messages.
Trying to pull me toward him.
"Anything on Vale?"
"We found his rental car."
"Where?"
"Parking garage at St. Vincent."
My heart kicked.
"When did he leave it?"
"Camera shows him entering the hospital around midnight."
I stared at Mason.
"We were there."
"Yes."
"How long was he inside?"
"Camera lost him after he changed clothes near the service corridor."
"Uniform?"
"Looks like hospital transport."
My mouth went dry.
Martin Vale had been inside the hospital while Jake slept.
Maybe within yards of me.
"Did he leave?"
"No confirmed exit."
I stood.
"Then he could still be there."
"Search underway."
"Which means moving us may have worked."
"Maybe."
I was beginning to think "maybe" was the word investigators used when they wanted to avoid promising the universe anything.
Keene continued.
"There is something stranger."
"Go."
"We pulled Vale's phone metadata."
"And?"
"He received one call from Raymond last night."
"Expected."
"And six from Christine."
Everything inside me stopped.
I looked through the glass wall toward the secure floor where Christine had been moved separately.
"When?"
"Over the last month."
"Duration?"
"Several minutes each."
"You sure it was her number?"
"Her personal cell."
Mason stared at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Keene said,
"Michael, I need you to stay where you are."
"I'm not moving."
"Good."
I ended the call.
My hands felt numb.
Christine had called the man hired under the code word WIDOWER six times before this night.
Six conversations she had never mentioned.
Six conversations with the man apparently paid to kill me.
Mason spoke quietly.
"There could be an explanation."
I looked at him.
"You don't believe that."
"I believe explanations exist until facts kill them."
I stared toward Jake.
The old instinct returned.
Trust no one.
Then my secure phone rang again.
Not Keene.
Christine.
I answered.
"Michael."
Her voice sounded terrified.
"What?"
"I need to tell you something before the police do."
I closed my eyes.
"Martin Vale."
Silence.
"You know him."
Christine began to cry.
"Yes."
"Why did you call him six times?"
"Because I hired him first."
I stopped breathing.
"You did what?"
"I hired him to protect you."
The room became very still.
"From who?"
Her answer came in a whisper.
May you like
"My father."
