Chapter Text
A large beak gashed the bloodless hand. The man’s body lay on the stones and sand of the winter-frozen shoreline of the East River. Cattails waved to the icy dark sky above him. A splintered fragment of boat lay beneath him.
The sable bird took an awkward leap to one side, then struck again. The fish crow cawed, calling its companions.
Along the horizon the sun had just cleared the skyscrapers, warming the frigid morning air and illuminating the debris the night had left behind.
*****
A small child, wearing a faded, much-patched red snowsuit and a woolen cap pulled tightly over her blond hair, foraged along the beach.
The circling birds made her run forward. Maybe it was something she and her Daddy could cook for breakfast.
She skidded to a stop only when she saw the man lying on the beach.
His garments were worse for a night’s swim in the river. His dark cashmere coat was extensively burned on the back as were his hands.
She bit her lip, then ran back to the small hut where she and her father were squatting this month.
*****
Peter Durban rolled the body over. He studied the man, noting fire-singed auburn hair, dark eyelashes and well-trimmed beard and the expensive tailored clothing.
Memories flooded back so hard that he closed his eyes in pain. He remembered pulling bodies ruptured by bullets from North Korean rivers. He had never forgotten what a small piece of metal could do to a man’s body.
And now here was another body, just as stiff and cold as the ones in his past.
“Rich man,” he grunted, fingering the tie. He felt for a pulse. Nothing. “Just another late night, eh, friend? Jodie, come here.”
“Is he dead, Dad?” the girl asked approaching cautiously.
“Yeah, he is – Wait a minute!”
The exclamation stopped the girl in her tracks.
Opening the shirt he had seen the bullet had exited in the front, just missing the lung, or, maybe, nicking it fractionally. The man had been fortunate that the bullet hole closed before causing major chest trauma. No air had gotten in, and the lung hadn’t collapsed.
He bent over and listened for a heartbeat, just to be certain. He couldn’t tell if the pounding he heard was from his own pulse or something in the chest.
Durban frowned. Somehow, his experience was leading him to believe that this wasn’t a dead man. That wasn’t possible. Was it? The icy chill of the water might have slowed the heat’s beating enough to stop him from bleeding to death. “I wonder…Jodie. Go back to the cabin, and put the wood on the fire good, girl.”
“Daddy?” she said doubtfully.
“Get moving!”
“But, Daddy…”
He turned to her angrily. “Listen to me! He may still be alive! Now get moving!”
Jodie ran, scattering sand. She had been with her father only a couple of years, but knew, when he gave an order, she’d better obey. He hit hard.
Durban turned back to the body. He pulled the shirt closed. “If nothing else, a man like you, there must be a reward attached.” He searched the pockets of the coat.
The breast pocket yielded a calendar book in tan leather. Most of the pages were welted together, but with delicately prying, he managed to see a few names. One name, Edward Richards, Esq., written beside it. This usually indicated a lawyer, Durban remembered. He tucked it into the pocket of the coat.
A stone dislodged under one hand. Durban wondered if it was simply dead muscles unfreezing. He carefully hoisted the body behind one shoulder and headed for the shack. “If nothin’ else, it’s an int’resting face. Maybe she’d like it.”
*****
Jonathan Pope sat in the back of the rocking limousine. The whole problem of Elliot Burch had been solved to his, and Julian Gabriel’s, satisfaction when the ship explosion had blown the young industrialist to smithereens.
Making the most of the golden opportunity provided by the break-up of Burch Industries was keeping Pope fully occupied. The Gabriel might not care if his Avatar Enterprises didn’t profit from Gabriel’s destruction of Burch Industries, but Pope had his own interests beside his mater’s. The breakup was going to be profitable.
The limousine slowed, then stopped. One door opened abruptly and a slender, balding lawyer climbed in, and slammed it shut.
“Where is she?” the man snapped.
Pope eyed him with contempt. The man’s suit had obviously been worn for longer than a day and his face had lines of fatigue and stress. “Your daughter? She’s safe, Mr. Richards.”
“I walked away from Elliot Burch when he needed me the most because you kidnapped my daughter. You said you’d let her go. When?” Richard curled his hands into claws, glaring at the stocky man opposite him.
Pope folded his hands. “I have my orders to take you to her.”
“Orders from Gabriel?” The other man’s voice was ripe with scorn. “From that sociopath out on the Island? What did he have against Burch?”
Pope’s eyes estimated the danger of telling Edwards the truth. Since he would be joining his daughter, there was no danger of anyone else knowing. “Burch wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Vincent.”
“Vincent? Was that the person Elliot was protecting?” Richards said incredulously. “Why didn’t he tell – never mind. Now that Burch has disappeared – “
“You won’t be seeing the good Mr. Burch again,” Pope said with a touch of amusement. “He’s dead.”
Richards went pale.
“Yes, dead. He was blown up on a ship called Compass Rose.”
“You ordered him killed, didn’t you?” Richards whispered in horror. “You and Gabriel? Are you mad?”
“Hardly. Burch was a loose end that Gabriel ordered tied up.”
“A LOOSE end? Is that what people are to Julian Gabriel? Just loose ends?”
Pope eyed him. “At least you don’t have to worry about Burch finding out your little bit of treachery, Mr. Richards.”
“I was a coward to leave him without an explanation. But if I’d told him why, he would have ordered me to go.”
“A good employer.” Pope’s voice had a trace of mockery.
Richards looked out into the passing sunset light. “You’ll find out just how good he is, someday. Where are we going now?”
Pope’s eyes narrowed. Richards might be a good corporate lawyer but his face showed every emotion. He knew something about Burch that he wasn’t telling. What was he trying to insinuate? Was it worth keeping him alive? No, Gabriel had given his orders. “You’re going to see your daughter.”
He fired his gun with deadly accuracy. Richard slumped, his blood staining the door.
Reaching over, Pope searched the lawyer’s body and found in one pocket a gasoline receipt and a slip from an ATM out on Long Island. He frowned. The slip was for a great deal of money, and Richards wasn’t carrying it on him now. What had he done with the money?
Pope disliked loose ends almost as much as Gabriel did.
He tapped on the connecting window. “Are we there?”
“Almost,” the driver replied laconically.
Pope shoved the body away, and picked up the car phone, dialing a number from memory.
A man picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Wilson?”
“This is Pope. Your partner, Edward Richards, is dead. I want you to check his office tonight for anything that would link you or him to Avatar or Gabriel. Also, look for anything on Elliot Burch dated in the last three days.” Pope eyed the slip in his hand as the car flowed by a deserted stretch of river. “I may want you to find out something else for me later.”
“Yes, sir.” The man on the other end was terrified from the shake in this voice. “Anything.”
*****
Father, the elderly dark-haired leader of the Tunnels, studied the chessboard intently. Vincent had left him a new chess problem and Father had no idea how to get his knight out of imminent slaughter.
Mouse popped up beside him, giving Father a perceptible start. “Father?
“Yes, Mouse?”
“Explosions.”
Father turned him. “What? Where?”
“North. Where Tower was.”
Burch Towers. Elliot Burch. The man who’d died, trying to help Vincent find his son, young Jacob.
Father frowned. Burch’s extensive New York real estate holdings were being sold off, including the uptown site where Burch had planned a huge building called the Towers. Catherine Chandler, with the help of the neighborhood committee, had blocked his construction. If they were blasting now, someone must have had more power with City Hall than even Burch. Who could it be?
“What kind of damage have they done?” Father pulled himself from behind the chessboard. The pieces wobbled.
“Not through yet.”
“Father, what’s wrong?” Vincent entered the room silently, carrying his infant son. Mary followed closely behind. She’d appointed herself the child’s nanny when Vincent had brought him back from Gabriel’s fortress.”
“They’re drilling in the Tower Site again, Vincent.”
“I thought Catherine ended that. How can we stop this?” Mary asked worriedly.
Father leaned heavily on his cane as he limped to his ornate desk. “We must, first, find out who’s doing it. Then we can plan ahead. “
“You have a plan, Father?” Vincent said softly.
“Yes. Diana… no, she said she was going to be out of town for several weeks.” Father glanced over at a clock, a gift from a very unusual helper, to replace a smashed lamp. It showed 6:07. “It’s night up there now. We need someone who can get in-depth information fast. Mouse? Do you remember a man who helped us who sounded like me?”
*****
Robert McCall spread that day’s Wall Street Business out on his kitchen counter and scanned the front page as he stirred the tortellini. His comrade, Mickey Kostmayer, was firmly ensconced on the couch, his eyes on a basketball game. McCall was finally catching up on the news that had passed them by while they answered Control’s desperate call for help in Romania. Whoever said the falling of the Eastern Bloc would bring harmony? It was a proven fact that espionage increased in times of peace.
His blue eyes were caught were by a headline. Burch Enterprises Out On A Limb. McCall had had dealings with Elliot Burch in Los Angeles years before, and had met him socially several times since. In McCall’s opinion, Burch was supremely confident in his professional abilities, slightly arrogant and capable of a charm that had won him more ladies in a short time than McCall cared to count. He had an unstated admiration for the young builder.
He scanned the article. It was written by Frank Hayes, a writer McCall enjoyed. He’d never been able to fault Hayes’ reporting; the man was as fair as a newsman could be.
Burch Industries Holdings had been huge; shipping, banking and real estate. Elliot Burch built it from scratch. Born and raised in Hell’s Kitchen in New York City, Burch created another world for himself, rising to the top of his profession. As a builder, Burch’s skyscrapers were solidly constructed, uniquely decorated and comfortable to boot.
Then the world crashed around him. In the course of a month, Burch Enterprises had been forced into Chapter 11 bankruptcy, and Burch had been arrested on suspicion of murder for the death of District Attorney Mareno. He’d made bail and vanished, a wanted criminal by federal and state law enforcement. The business world was watching like vultures to see which pieces of Burch Enterprises came up first at the January 25th bankruptcy auction.
McCall shook his head in disbelief. He folded to the continuation of the article. Ah, that’s it! The ladies connection. Burch had been connected with Catherine Chandler, the woman lawyer whom McCall had rescued from a Mexican drug dealer, with the help of her companion, Vincent, the leonine man of shadows, the man who lived in the tunnels under the city.
Catherine had died months ago, in odd circumstances. McCall had sent a donation to the homeless charity that had been listed in the obituary, and gone on with his life.
Something was wrong. McCall could feel it. So had Hayes from the tone of the article. It was slightly skeptical of the charges brought against Burch. Elliot Burch accused of killing a District Attorney? I don’t believe it. Burch had stepped on more than a few toes on the way to the top, and had his fingers in a number of dirty pies – McCall knew that personally, but Burch wasn’t a murderer.
“McCall?” A voice broke in on his thoughts. “That doesn’t look like spaghetti.”
McCall dropped his gaze to the tortellini, then up at Mickey who was now slouched on the counter. The dark hair was freshly cut but still looked as if it hadn’t met with a comb in a month, and the dark eyes were full of mischief. Thought he was 20 years younger than McCall, he was as close a friend as the Equalizer ever had, fighting as his partner in a dozen wars, “Just because we had to miss that dinner in Venice, it doesn’t mean I’m going to miss my tortellini. Let me drain it.”
“But I like spaghetti,” the younger man whined with a grin.
“I know. You made that clear before the trip.” McCall spooned the pasta into a bowl. “The chicken is in the oven.”
“Aren’t we a little early for eating dinner, McCall? The movie’s not until 9.” Mickey opened the oven and breathed in the scent. “Yummmm.” Picking up a plate, the newspaper caught his attention. “What’s that?”
McCall held out the paper. “The death of ambition.”
Mickey shifted a filet onto his plate, then spooned up the pasta. “Elliot Burch. Hmmm…did I ever tell you when I met him?”
The front door buzzer sounded. McCall shared a glance on Mickey, then set the sauce pan on an unlit burner.
“Expecting company, McCall?”
“No, and they got past the alarm.”
Mickey slide a gun out of his pocket and took up position on one side of the door as McCall cautiously looked through the peephole.
He saw two figures, anonymous in winter clothing. Both wore hats that shaded their faces. One, elegant in an antique suit, leaned heavily on a cane.
“Yes? Who’s there?”
The man with the cane looked up. “Jacob Wells. I’m glad you’re finally home. I need your help, Robert McCall. May I come in?”
McCall opened the door to admit Father and Mouse.
*****
The last streaks of the afternoon sun lay across the worn comforter covering the man and reflected off the clock above the door, and in the mirror which sat above the elegant, though small, desk. A pattern of small roses and baby’s breath decorated the wallpaper, and lace curtains that flanked the cracked window overlooking the sand dunes in the back yard.
Jodie sat beside the bed, keeping an alert watch on the sleeping man, despite having a book cradled in her lap. While watching over him, she’d read most of the fine collection of children’s books in the room. She’d be willing to watch the wounded sleeper forever, just to be able to sit in the small bedroom, decorated in ruffles, and read.
The clock chimed as it reached the half-hour. Jodi looked up. 7:30. It was almost time for dinner. Another can of soup if she could get the man to drink it.
He stirred and his eyelashes flickered. She put the book down, and touched his face. It was cool and dry, no longer fevered.
The lawyer, Richards, who’d brought them here, had barely recognized the wounded man. Neither she or her father had seen Richards after he’d dropped them off a the beach cottage. He’d given them money for a nurse Ms. O’Carvey, for a week’s round-the-clock care, but the woman had left as soon as she could. Since then the man had been left up to Jodie to tend with her father’s help.
She felt proprietary. It had been two and a half weeks since the man had washed up on her beach. Maybe, soon, he’d wake up and talk to her.
The old house creaked and she cocked her head. The wind? Or Daddy? She hadn’t seen her father for two days. He’d taken off after reading a newspaper article, ordering her to take care of the man and not call the police.
Jodie shivered. He’d kill her if she did, she didn’t doubt. Or do worse…like last time.
Jodie went down to the kitchen and heated the soup, then brought the bowl upstairs. She had just put it on the desk when the man opened his eyes. His gaze roamed around the room before meeting the girl’s. “
She stared at him, then said, “Hi.”
Silently, he moved his right hand and shuddered. Pain showed on his face, creasing fresh lines. “Where…am I? What’s your name?” His low voice was hoarse.
“Jodie, sir.”
“Where…am…I? Come…here…”
She inched a little closer. “Do you want some water? Or soup?”
“This isn’t a… hospital. Where…am…I?”
“Jodie!” her father called from outside the room. “Come here.”
She jerked, then hunched her shoulders. The man noticed her reaction. His gaze moved from her to the doorway.
“Gotta go,” she mumbled. “He’ll be here in a second.”
“Jodie,” he called from the bed. “Jodie…call…police…”
She fled down the stairs away from the voice that told her to do what she thought she should have done two weeks ago.
Her father was waiting at the bottom of the staircase with two others.
One was an older woman. Her tall, thin body was clad in black, a stark contrast for the light reddish hair surrounding her chiseled face. Behind her, a bulky hulk of a man, with long unkempt hair and dressed in mismatched rags, blocked the hallway.
“What a beautiful child,” the woman replied. “Such innocence in her face.” Her voice was clear and high and colder than the river water. Durban, behind her, stood straighter, upright like a soldier. Jodie felt a shroud of fear falling on her shoulders.
“Who’re you?” she said loudly as if to scare her fears away.
The woman smiled, “And she can talk too. Where did you find THIS one, Peter? Never mind. I am Tamara, Jodie. Your father used to work for me I’ve come for Elliot Burch.”