Forty-nine
Despite the lack of any plan to deal with Bartow,
they had no choice but to gather in Francis’ suite and allow Evelyn to
venture out alone the following evening. There were too many unknown
factors to allow for a plan. Either they made a blind grab for Bartow, or
they left empty-handed and defenseless.
Craig offered to accompany her, but Evelyn thought
the offer amusing. “You’d behave like a pit bull. Bartow would never
nibble at the bait if I had you breathing down my neck. You guys hide in
the dark and I’ll bring Mr. Bartow home with me, and then you jump out at
him and say ‘boo!’.”
“World class security and you’re going to take him
home for the evening.” Craig looked unhappy.
“It’s happened.” Evelyn said
it with a shrug. “I’ve had
super important people behave in truly stupid ways with me. Want
examples?”
“We’ll let the details slide for
the sake of my peace of mind." Craig looked suddenly concerned.
"Don’t let Bartow make a glutton of himself.”
“I quite imagine that Jennifer will spoil his
appetite when the time comes,” Evelyn assured the man before closing the
door behind her.
Craig paced the room. Jennifer joined him in his
restless wandering while the others sat about, filing fingernails or
watching television oblivious to anything on the screen. John
watched stoically from a recliner in the corner of the room.
“She won’t score on the first night,” Craig said
hopefully.
“If Bartow talks to her,” Emily said, “he’s a goner.
She’s that good.”
“Have you established a relationship with Evelyn?”
Francis asked cautiously of the man.
Craig challenged her with a look of resentment that
masked doubt over the credibility of that sort of relationship with the woman. “She
wants out of the business. She said she’d leave with me when this is
over.”
“She feels secure in your presence,” Francis said in
support of Craig’s disclosure. “I don’t imagine she’ll stay with us
after all she's been through. She'll hold herself responsible for
too much of it. The past few days isn’t much of a basis for a relationship, but
it’s a start.”
Craig gave a curt nod of appreciation.
Francis’ suite consisted of three rooms. They were
all scattered about the suite dozing after midnight. Jennifer closed her
eyes on the couch and rested. The rattle of the key in the lock brought
her awake hours later.
John rose from the shadows like a monster from a
horror movie. Color drained from the face of the man pausing just inside
the door. He turned to leave. Evelyn grabbed him by the throat with one
hand. She put her revolver to his forehead with the other, something
of an oversight
on the part of Bertrand’s security, and backed him into the room. “Get
the door for me, Jennifer,” she said mildly.
Jennifer bounced up with her heart beating furiously
and her knees curiously rubbery. She took a quick look up and down the
balcony outside and closed the door, locking it behind her. She turned,
and then leaned against it for support.
John and Craig looked on
without immediate comment. Evelyn had brought along Bertrand Bartow
as promised, and Jennifer could see it in his face when he saw her for the
first time. He knew in a heartbeat who she was and she, in turn, was
looking at the only blood relative she had met face to face since
childhood. But he was a short man with a stocky physique and she
strolled closer and deliberately gazed in disdain upon the man who wanted
her dead.
“My God,” he murmured, and even his voice sounded
familiar. It was the voice of a father she had heard in the night as a
child.
And that’s as far as her interest in the man went. A
cold feeling whelmed up from deep within her, numbing everything except
overwhelming hatred. “Kill him,” she said to Evelyn. “I don’t want him
looking at me.”
Evelyn brought the hammer of her revolver back and
put it to the side of Bertrand’s head.
Bertrand fell against a wall to catch his balance,
his eyes still on Jennifer. “You’re her,” he said. “You little bitch.
You’re her.”
“I’m her,” Jennifer said. “I’m still alive, and
you’re dead, you sack of shit.”
“You’ll never get away with it,” Bertrand said,
wetting his tongue, stuck with cliques as shock enveloped his mind.
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “Shoot him,” she said
mildly, knowing that she was in shock herself, and less than rational.
“If you want money,” Bertrand said hurriedly, “my
lawyers will cut you a deal. Call them. Tell them you’re holding me for
ransom. We’ve made arrangements should this ever happen. You can get
away Scott free. I promise.”
“We’ll turn you loose unharmed if you can bring my
friends back to life,” Jennifer said. She smiled wearily. “Dimitri can
stay dead. He’s burning in hell, and we wouldn’t want to disturb him.”
“Disciples of Chaos,” John said from somewhere behind
her. “Who are they?”
Bartow blinked. “What? Who are they? I don’t know
what the hell you’re talking about!”
“The people you hired to kill Jennifer.”
“I didn’t hire anyone! I was keeping track of her in
Los Angeles and she disappeared! I told my men to look into it and that
was all! That was years ago!”
“And what about me?” Evelyn said with a smile.
“Rosie put Dimitri up to killing me by way of my father’s people. Who was
behind that? It’s all a bit too coincidental, me and Jennifer. And you.”
Bertrand stared up at her in horror, clearly clueless
to the facts she had presented as an accusation. Jennifer could see
innocence in his eyes, and it gave her a cold chill. If Bertrand was
guiltless, as had been Senator Hacks, they had achieved nothing, and she,
as far as anyone knew, was still condemned to die.
“Evelyn Haxx, daughter of Senator Caliph Hacks,”
Craig said helpfully.
“But she was a liability! How could I be expected to
back a Senator with a prostitute for a daughter! I wanted her found! I
wanted her...”
“Killed,” John said.
Bertrand swallowed hard.
“And Jennifer. You wanted her dead as well.”
“It never came to that,” Bertrand said. “I swear. I
don’t know how you made the connection. We destroyed everything, wiped
out her entire past history.”
Jennifer and John eyed one
another in confusion. Francis was shaking her head in confusion.
“Please, I don’t understand what’s happening,”
Bertrand said, his voice harsh with stress and reduced to a whisper.
“Speak with my lawyers. They’ll give you anything you want.”
Silence gathered. “We're
goldfish in a piranha pool," Craig reminded them all. "We need a way out of this”
“There’s no way out until we know who’s behind it
all,” was John’s counter-reminder. “Someone’s yanking our strings. If
Bertrand here is one of us, a victim rather than a perpetuator, we’re
still in the dark, still lined up in someone’s crosshairs.”
“We’ll talk to his lawyers,” Jennifer said. “They’ll
know who I am.”
“You’re nobody,” Bertrand said with surprising
vehemence. “You’re a mistake that should have been aborted when you were
born.”
“An indiscretion?” John coaxed. “Heir to your
father’s money?”
Bartow clenched his fist and forced himself to
silence.
Jennifer eyed John in despair.
“I know, kid. Things are moving fast, but it’s not
hopeless just yet, just a bit confusing.”
John turned back to Bertrand. “Got a phone on you?”
Bertrand gave a nervous nod.
“You’ll stay here with our friends. Have your
friends take us to someone who can work out a compromise. We’ll work it
on the honor system and trust one another implicitly, because at this
stage of the game, we’re all a gnat’s ass away from a bullet in the head.”
Bertrand snatched his phone from a breast pocket and
gestured wildly while arguing with his security, men who were left behind in the
streets below. Once an accord was reached, he spoke without looking at
his hosts. “One of my men will take you. They won’t try anything. Just
go talk to my fucking attorneys and get something figured out so that I
can get the fuck away from you fucking people.”
The entire group moved in unison toward the door.
“Just me and Jennifer,” John said, but grinning for the first time in
sympathy for their morass of confusion. “If we don’t make it back, shoot the bastard in the
feet.”
“What?” Emily blurted in confusion.
“Work your way up, feet, knees,
testicles. Pace yourself. Last shot goes
between the eyes.”
Jennifer had no clean clothes to change into. John
looked vicious, unshaven and his narrow eyes bloodshot, which in
Jennifer’s opinion worked in their favor. They left together hand in hand
without being accosted, down the hall to the elevators, and from the
ground floor elevator to the streets outside where a dark limousine
awaited them, and men wearing shoulder holsters.
The ride to a chrome and glass citadel took ten
minutes. Another and much faster elevator that made John groan took them
to the top floor and an office with a white rug and black enameled
furniture. An immaculately dressed man escorted them to an office,
closing the door behind them, and gesturing to seats before the desk.
“I’m James Glasgow.” Glasgow sat behind his enormous
desk and looked nervous. “I hear you’re Jennifer Wessner.”
“Was my father Basil Bartow?”
“Basil confirmed your heritage when you were born.
He confided in me. He didn't quite know what to do with you at the
time.
Yes, Basil Bertrand was your father.”
“Why is Bertrand trying to kill me?”
Glasgow shrugged. “He hasn’t been actively trying to
kill you as far as I know. Locate you, perhaps, but he feared your death
would lead to discovery of your identity. Your autonomy was safer.”
“Why did my father allow this all to happen to begin
with? Someone told me my mother died of cancer.”
“She had cancer. She
would have died. Yes, that did happen when you were quite young.
At the time, you, your mother, Bertrand and Basil were something of a
family, albeit an odd one. The
agencies into custody you fell knew nothing of your father and your father
never knew what happened to you. You both vanished from the face of the
Earth many years ago.”
Jennifer stared at the man without expression,
patiently waiting for a more detailed explanation.
“Basil Bartow sent for you and your mother.
You were about ready for school, your mother was scheduled for
chemotherapy, and Los Angeles was to have been your home. You were about four at the time.
You and your mother left Dubuque, Iowa, by car. Her choice.
She wanted to see the scenery.
You and your mother never arrived. We have reason to believe your
mother died in a car accident. You were apparently rescued, but
without identification. Basil turned every state between Iowa and
California upside down looking for you. Basil died of a heart attack
a short time later. Bertrand destroyed your birth records. He
continued his search, but only to destroy early photographs of you in the
company of your mother and father. He wanted everything he inherited
for himself.”
“What does that all mean for me now?” Jennifer said.
“It means the Bartow estate rightfully belongs to
you. Your father stipulated as much in his will. Without knowing your
fate for certain, he never fully accepted the inevitability of your
death.”
“How much money is it?”
“Stocks and holdings worth four billion, give or take
a few hundred million.”
Jennifer closed her eyes for a time.
“What’s changed?” John said.
Glasgow smiled a cold and unfriendly smile.
“Bertrand cut his own throat. We all knew it years ago. If Jennifer
ever showed up, Bertrand could do little
to defend himself. He fraudulently holds his company position.
We allowed it because he has been an effective business leader.
Regardless, he could easily be prosecuted and sent to jail for what he has done.”
“What if I don’t want that to happen?”
Jennifer said.
James Glasgow frowned. He cleared his throat. He
and John exchanged puzzled looks.
“I don’t want it,” Jennifer said. She turned to
John. “I want things to stay the way they are. I want to make Bertrand’s
life a living hell knowing I’m out there and that I can take it all away
from him if I want, but all that money will ruin everything for us.”
“After everything that’s happened,” John said, “you
just want to let it go?”
“Of course. It isn't over
yet, is it? I'm still poisoned, aren't I? Someone still wants
Evelyn dead."
John grew agitated, fully aware of the direction her
thought processes were taking.
“But you won’t let anything bad
happen to me," Jennifer said. "Not if you can help it. You’ll
stay with me for as long as it takes, just to make sure."
"Not if I can help it," John
said, clenching his fists in near panic. "How do you expect me to
help you?"
She smiled. "One thing
leads to another. You made it all happen. Maybe things aren't
as bad as they seem. Bertrand never wanted me dead. Nobody's
going to want to kill Evelyn now, not if she's going to make headlines as
the dead whore daughter of a senator. Make that call. Tell
them Evelyn is still alive and that she’ll stay that way, regardless of
what happens to me, because I said so.”
“Jennifer…”
“Would you kill her for me?”
John blanched. He dared
not answer the question.
“You would. You know it
would ruin everything between us, and that's more important to both of us
than even my life."
“The Disciples of Chaos,” John said to James
Glasgow. “Do you know of them?”
“Never heard of them. How are they involved in
this?”
“Don’t know. Time to find out.”
Jennifer reached for John’s hand.
“Phone Bertrand,” John said to Glasgow
on the way out. “We’ve got
ourselves a stalemate. Everybody gets turned loose. Nobody gets hurt.
Make sure he understands what’s at stake in no uncertain terms.”
“Consider it done. And, Miss?”
Jennifer managed a polite smile for the man.
“If you ever change your mind, consider me an ally.
My interests are with the company, and your father’s wishes.”
“I will, thank you.”
On the street below, John stopped in a pool of bright
sunlight. He punched out numbers on his cell phone. It rang
continuously.
A man wearing a dark suit and sun glasses separated
himself from a crowd nearby and approached, stopping just close enough for
his voice to carry in the early morning traffic. “That won’t be
necessary. We can conclude our business face to face, here and now.”
Jennifer gawked. John experienced an unfamiliar
intensity of panic, but he put his arm about the girl’s shoulders and
contained it. “Evelyn Haxx is still alive,” he said.
“We know.”
“We won’t kill her.”
“No need. Jennifer’s life is in no danger.”
John all but stumbled so suddenly did the burden of
the past few days vanish from his shoulders.
“Why?” Jennifer said, voicing the only question left
to be answered. “Why did they all have to die?”
The stranger’s gaze remained on John. “No one had to
die. Consider the parties involved.”
“The Carvellis,” John said. “Caliph Haxx. Bertrand
Bartow.”
“Francis Peugeot and her girls,” the man said.
“Yourself. And one other.”
“Rosie,” John said. “The Disciples of Chaos.”
“A truly volatile mix. We have no control over the
behavior of the individual.”
“Who are you?”
The man shrugged. “Forces that be.”
He started to turn away.
“One question,” John called
out.
“I will answer your one question.”
“Like Jennifer asked to begin with. Why?”
“A helping hand,” the man said. “Think about it
carefully. A nudge here and there in the right direction until the world
can stand upon its own two feet and manage its own affairs. Left to its
own resources, the road would be so much more difficult, or perhaps
impossible.”
The man turned away again and all too quickly vanishing
back into the crowd.
Jennifer opened her mouth to protest.
Tears flooded her eyes.
“We’ll talk about it later,” John said. “I need time
to think.”
