Guilty Minds

“Yeah. Uh, are you going to fill me in on what exactly you’re planning?”

It was a reasonable question, but there was no quick explanation. I didn’t finish outlining for him the operation I had in mind until we were back at the hotel suite.

“You don’t even know for sure what to expect-what this guy Vogel’s house is like, what kind of security precautions he takes. I mean, we’re flying blind here.”

“Not really. I know people like Vogel. So do you. I know what someone like Vogel would do. Which reminds me.”

I took out my phone and texted Vogel, using that Disappearing Ink app:

Wrapping up business. Flying back to Boston tomorrow morning. How is Mandy?

The answer came thirty seconds later:

Alive.

I wrote back:

Want proof of life.

The reply took almost five minutes. It was a picture of Mandy, seated. Her eyes open, obviously alive. Looking exhausted and terrified. There was a cut on her cheek. Her hands were at her side, probably bound. I couldn’t tell where she was. Some kind of garage, maybe.

Then the picture disappeared.

73

Merlin drove home, and Dorothy and I talked for a while. We ordered some room service-a club sandwich for me, a Cobb salad for her. She picked at her salad; she didn’t seem hungry. She had a glass of white wine, and I had a beer.

“Why are you so sure Vogel’s going to keep Mandy alive?” she said.

“She’s only leverage if she’s alive.”

“But for how long? Do we have till tomorrow?”

“He’s planning on at least that long. Until I return to Boston, he said.”

“Where do you think they’re keeping her?”

“I don’t know. It looked like she was sitting in a garage of some kind. There were garden tools hanging on the wall behind her.”

“What you’re planning for tomorrow-it’s risky.”

“No question.”

“Are you sure it’s… a good idea?”

“Vogel’s the sort of guy who responds only to overwhelming force.”

She looked into her wineglass for a few seconds, then set it down. “Can we speak frankly?”

I smiled. “Do you ever do anything else?”

“As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been what I’d call cautious. You always seem to be willing to go to the very edge.”

“Only when I have to. I don’t play games, and I don’t take chances when I don’t need to.”

She sipped from her wineglass, and I took a bite of my sandwich. “From where I sit, it doesn’t look that way. You always seem to be pushing. Almost asking for trouble. I’m asking you to think twice, this time. Take some precautions.”

“I always do.”

She sighed. “You’re not-afraid?”

“Of course I am. George Patton-I know, he was a jerk, but the guy was brilliant-said, ‘I’ve never seen a brave man. All men are frightened-the smarter they are, the more frightened.’”

“These guys are ruthless, Nick. Just be careful tomorrow. You don’t know what you’re facing.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I don’t.”

We both went to bed early. We had a long day ahead of us.

I was exhausted yet unable to fall asleep. I tossed and turned and thought about the next day’s plans, rehearsing them, looking for holes. Then I tried to clear my mind. I breathed in and out. I stared at the clock on the bedside table.

My restless mind didn’t give up the struggle until maybe two in the morning.

74

I got up early-I’d barely slept, actually-but Dorothy was already up, drinking room service coffee and staring at her computer screen.

“Where’s the package?” I asked her. I knew she’d be tracking it.

She nodded. “Looks like it’s in some sort of central sorting facility in DC. Any more messages from Vogel?”

“Not yet.” My head was pounding, and my eyelids felt like they were made of sandpaper. I’d been too keyed up to sleep. I looked at the remains of our dinner, still on the dining table, with disgust. My stomach was tight.

“When’s Merlin coming back?” she said.

“I’m meeting him at his place, in Dunkirk. He’s got a garage where we can work.”

I checked my e-mail and found a message from Merlin, listing which of the items from what he called the “Nick Heller scavenger hunt” he’d found, and which he hadn’t. He’d struck out on two of the most important things, the tranquilizer rifle and the electric blasting caps.

He’d e-mailed me before five o’clock, so I knew he was up. I called him.

“Morning,” I said. “You feeling energized today?”

“Not yet. Mostly hungover. Too much Scotch last night.”

“I need you battle-ready.”

“I’ll be okay after I’ve had some more coffee. I went through half a pack of cigarettes last night.”

“You nervous about today?”

“I’m… out of practice. I do technical surveillance now, you know? It’s tame stuff. Compared.”

“You’re not trying to worm out of this, are you?”

“I’ll be there. For you. For a brother.”

“I appreciate it. It’ll be fine. Can’t find a tranquilizer gun?”

“Incredibly hard to find, Nick. They sure don’t sell them at Cabela’s. I mean, they’re sold to licensed veterinarians and wildlife rangers and zookeepers and whatever. Give me a couple of days and I can get one, but not this morning.”

“Couple of Tasers, then. Police-grade if you can get it.”

“No problem. I have a contact for blasting caps, now. A buddy just called me back. He can get us two.”