The Deadliest Game Page 10

  Dalton had warned he would play hardball. And Blair had seen evidence of that tonight. How much further the agent would go was anyone’s guess. “I realize how this must sound to you,” he said, making up the spiel as he went along. “But my business has gotten a little weird recently. Threats have been made.”

  “Against you?”

  God, this was hard. “Against me, you, our daughter. That’s why I want to use caution.”

  “What kind of threats are we talking about?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters! I will not take my daughter out of school because you have personally been threatened. We have absolutely nothing to do with your business. Now, are you coming over tomorrow night or not?”

  “Mandy, please,” he tried to reason with her.

  “Yes or no?”

  He didn’t know what other argument he could use. He was flying on a hunch. And that hunch could be wrong. “Okay,” he finally said. “What time did you have in mind?”

  “Around six o’clock.”

  He remembered promising his daughter dessert. Now he could spend even more time with her. “Maybe I’ll buy Sandra dinner afterwards,” he said.

  “Fine. That won’t be a problem.”

  “And what about school?”

  “What about it?”

  “Can you keep her home, at least for tomorrow?”

  “Goodbye, Blair.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Early the next morning Blair was at the gym. The cardio portion of his routine was out of the way. He was just starting the first of two sets of weight and conditioning training.

  He took a seat at the cable rowing machine and automatically checked the current setting. One hundred and ten pounds. Almost double his capacity. He quickly glanced around, trying to pick out the colossus that had used the machine last.

  He readjusted the weight to sixty pounds and began his twenty reps.

  The break-in at his apartment had definitely set him off. Blair wished there were a magic elixir, a potion he could swallow to raise his height from five ten, to increase his weight from a hundred and sixty-seven pounds.

  He observed the others in the gym. He caught sight of spandex and tank tops, the posers already in place, seldom spotting a mirror they didn’t like. Most were hulks craving reaffirmation that their bodies hadn’t sagged in the last five seconds or so.

  Blair wondered what it would be like to have time to pamper himself, to not have commitments, to not have a care in the world.

  He went to use the knee-flexor machine. Once more he had to change the weight. He lowered it from seventy-five to forty pounds. Halfway through, he felt a twinge in his back. Another reminder that he wasn’t completely healed from the ordeal he’d been through in Israel.

  What a wimp, he thought, as he went from triceps press-down to vertical bench press, readjusting one weight after the other, all the while disparaging himself.

  Jeremy Samson called him via Skype before ten in the morning and told him they had a bit of a problem with the competitive product. “It concerns our lawsuit,” he said, just as the video feed came into focus.

  Blair took in the computer screen. His own face popped up in the top left-hand corner. “What kind of a problem?” he asked.

  “We served our papers last week. To our surprise, we got served in return. Looks like it’s not going to be as quick a process as I first believed.”

  “So what does this mean for our launch?”

  “Nothing. It means nothing, boychick. That’s why I’m talking to you. In case you hear more rumors. The guy isn’t going to go quietly. Fine. Our lawyer assures us we’ll still win in the end. Meanwhile, carry on like normal. Okay? Remain confident.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Blair said, not feeling confident at all.

  Just before four o’clock it was time to leave for Long Island. He had brought his car into work that morning. He walked toward the outdoor lot on 39th Street where he had a monthly arrangement.

  The attendant, a young Hispanic man who always seemed to have a smile on his face, handed over his keys and went to move the double-and triple-parked cars that were in the way.

  Blair figured two hours would suffice to make it to Queens. But the moment he got on the FDR he could see he’d be cutting it close. The bottleneck appeared to run forever. One of the benefits of living in a metropolis like New York, he grimly reminded himself.

  He turned on the radio but kept the volume low. He occupied his time by wondering why Mandy wanted to see him. Most likely it concerned her moving to Los Angeles. Just as Sandra had warned.

  Horns began to honk. It was the New Yorker’s way of letting off steam. There wasn’t anything specific upon which he could blame the slow traffic. It was stop-and-go most of the way.

  Still, he made it with ten minutes to spare. He turned the corner on to his old street. This was the part of Flushing that had never appealed to him. He pulled into the driveway of the modest house. Then he shut the engine and got out of his car.

  The door flew open before he could knock.

  Mandy was standing there, trembling. Behind her he could see her boyfriend, Frank. His arm was draped around her shoulder.

  “Sandra’s missing,” Mandy said. “She never came home from school.” Her voice was shrill.

  Blair waited for the punch line, waited for his ex-wife to tell him this was a joke. But nothing more was forthcoming. He turned, moved headlong toward his car.

  “Where are you going?” Mandy called after him.

  It took an effort to stop and look back. “I told you to keep her home from school!” he hollered at her. “Christ, Mandy! Why didn’t you listen to me? One day! That’s all I was asking! Would that have been such a bother?”

  “Hey, don’t turn this on me, mister! You said the threats were related to your business!”

  “And that they could involve you and Sandra!”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know how. There was nothing specific.”

  “Exactly! And you expected me to follow your suggestion on a … whim?”

  “Mandy, we’re wasting time. I’m going to her school.”

  “I’ve already been there. That’s the first thing I did when she didn’t show up.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No, we were waiting for you.”

  His hand was just going to the car door. He let it drop. “Waiting for me? Why, for heaven’s sake?”

  “The school authorities suggested it. They wanted to first do a thorough search themselves. I figured by the time you got here, we’d know the results.”

  “But they haven’t called?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Um, almost an hour ago.”

  A full hour? For a moment, Blair wanted to throttle her. The school authorities were trying to protect their asses. And she had let them do it. “I’m going to the school anyway,” he said.

  He got in the car and started it.

  His cell phone went off.

  “We have your daughter,” John Dalton said.

  CHAPTER 30

  He couldn’t remember shutting off the engine. But he must have done so. The air conditioning had stopped working and it was now sweltering inside his car. He turned the motor back on.

  “Blair?” He heard his name being called.

  “You bastard!” he swore. “Who the hell are you, John?”

  “You know who I am.”

  “No, I mean, really.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There isn’t a government agency in the world that would kidnap a six-year-old child!”

  “Blair, we didn’t kidnap her. We, uh, borrowed her for a while. To convince you to listen to reason.”

  “I want the name of your superior, your supervisor, whoever it is that you report to!”

  “I’ll be glad to give you his name, after your mission has been completed.”

 
“No! I want it now!”

  “You won’t get it now, Blair.”

  He bit down on his lip. “How do I know my daughter is all right?”

  “I guess you’ll have to trust me.”

  “Trust you? That’ll be the day! I want to talk to her, John.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “You sonofabitch! I will not cooperate!”

  “Blair—” The agent’s voice became conciliatory. “—has anyone ever counseled you about your temper?”

  He was livid and petrified, both. “Let me see her, John.” He tried another tack. “Please?”

  “You’ll see her when we want you to see her.”

  “What am I supposed to tell my wife?”

  “You mean, your ex-wife, don’t you? Make up something. But whatever you do, don’t tell her the truth. Just get out of the car now and go talk to her.”

  Blair jerked his head around. The bastard was watching him. “Where are you, John?”

  “Closer than you think. Now, go talk to Mandy. And keep her boyfriend out of this.”

  Again, he tried to find him. He lowered himself in his seat, looked in front, in back, both sides.

  “Make up a good story,” the agent instructed. “Talk to your ex, then call me back. Do you still have the card I gave you? It’s got my mobile number on it.”

  “No, I don’t have your card.”

  Dalton recited the number. Then he uttered his warning again: “Don’t divulge the truth to your ex-wife, Blair. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Unless you want to endanger Sandra’s life.”

  The phone went dead.

  CHAPTER 31

  He remained in his car.

  Reason was telling him that Dalton’s agency was run by the U.S. government. They wouldn’t harm his daughter. But experience dictated that the agent himself was completely untrustworthy and capable of doing anything.

  Blair didn’t know what he should say. Mandy wasn’t stupid. She would pick out any lies he tried to tell in a heartbeat. His only course, he decided, would be to walk the thin line between fact and fiction.

  He stepped out of his car. The clouds were darkening, the breeze picking up.

  “What’s wrong?” Mandy asked as he approached. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  She indicated her boyfriend. “You can talk in front of Frank.”

  “No. I mean in private, Mandy.”

  She hesitated. Then she followed him back along the driveway until they reached the curb. “What is it?” she asked angrily.

  “I just spoke to a friend of mine,” he said, without a clue where the story was coming from. “The guy’s a cop. Sandra’s okay. But she has to stay under his protection. The police are concerned that Sandra could be used as bait, to draw me out. But you mustn’t discuss this with anyone. Especially not with Frank.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it could compromise our daughter’s safety. I’m just following orders here, Mandy.”

  “How long will they have to keep her?”

  “I don’t know. Until the threat against me is nullified. Maybe a week or two at the most.”

  “A week or two?”

  “Maybe less,” he quickly said. His lies were becoming second nature to him.

  “Can I see her, then?”

  “Uh-uh. It would be too dangerous.”

  “But, I’m her mother! What’s the name of this police friend of yours? I want to talk to him.”

  “Mandy, don’t make this worse. You don’t want to put Sandra’s life in jeopardy, do you?”

  “I have a right to see my own daughter!”

  “You can’t. Just be cool for now. Okay? I’ll try to find out more.”

  It began to drizzle. Still, Mandy seemed hesitant to seek shelter. “Why do I have the feeling I’m being manipulated?” she asked.

  “It’s raining,” Blair said, hoping for a reprieve.

  “I don’t care about the damn rain! I want to know what you’re not telling me!”

  Blair wished this charade could end. “I’ve told you everything I know. You’ve got to trust me.”

  “I’ll give you one week,” she said. “Not a day longer.”

  “What are you talking about? I already mentioned how long this could take.”

  “One week, Blair,” she said. And she walked away.

  He waited for her to reach the house. He watched her lips to see if she was already relating their discussion to her boyfriend.

  It was impossible to tell.

  He got in his car and slowly backed out of the driveway.

  A few blocks later, still in a residential area, he pulled over to the curb. He needed to think. But the confined space felt restrictive. He opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  A car came to a quick stop behind him. Before he could move, the driver rushed out and confronted him. “Mr. Mulligan,” he said, “John Dalton would like to have that meeting with you now.”

  Blair waited.

  The man moved in and put an arm on his shoulder.

  He shook it loose.

  Unfortunately, the one man became three, each massive, incongruously wearing a suit and tie.

  “Mr. Mulligan,” the same man repeated. He tried to guide him toward the car.

  At first, Blair didn’t resist. But then something snapped. His daughter had been taken hostage. These were obviously the men responsible. His brain shut down and a feral instinct took over. He fought even though he wasn’t a fighter. And he wanted to give as much as he got. Even as his nose was flattened, making it difficult to breathe. Even as a tooth rattled in his mouth, causing him to spit blood.

  He continued to flail away, until a punch connected with the side of his head.

  Images began to blur … and he descended into darkness.

  CHAPTER 32

  Blair was on his hands and knees, throwing up in the toilet of a darkened bathroom.

  Gradually, the nausea eased.

  He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  Other than the incident in Israel, he had only been knocked out once before, when a neighborhood friend, Tommy Curry, had taken a shovel to the back of his head. He’d been all of seven years old at the time.

  Now, he leaned back on his haunches and tried to get his bearings. He searched for something in the dark to act as a focal point. He reached a hand out until it made contact with the wall.

  He was just coming out of the bathroom when someone opened the door to the window-less room. The light was so strong, he had to shut his eyes for a moment.

  “Mr. Mulligan?” a female voice inquired.

  He imagined someone young.

  “Rena Castaway,” she introduced herself.

  He opened his eyes.

  Castaway was not only young, but attractive. A brunette. In her mid-twenties, he guessed.

  She motioned; he followed. Along a dingy corridor, past three locked doors, behind which he could hear muted voices.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, a slight accent in her voice.

  He figured he was in the basement of a house or townhouse. “Hungry?” he repeated.

  “Yes. It’s almost dinnertime. Perhaps I can fix you something to eat?”

  “No,” he said. The thought of food made him ill. “But I could use some water.” It came out like “wadder.”

  “Fair enough,” she said.

  They came to a kitchen and Castaway led the way inside. There was a stove, refrigerator, double sink, and a dozen or so cupboards. The windows were covered by black curtains.

  She lit a candle and placed it on the wrought-iron monstrosity of a table. “Have a seat,” she said.

  The metal chair screeched as he moved it back on the tiled floor.

  “Are you all right?”

  He sat in the chair, his hands doing a lousy job of supporting his chin. “I’m fine,” he said, as a fresh wave of dizziness swept over him.

  “Ta
ke this,” she instructed. She placed two pills and a glass of water in front of him.

  He sat, staring at them, wondering if she was trying to poison him.

  “They’re aspirins,” Castaway said as if she could read his mind.

  He forced his head up. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “A little over two days.”

  “And what happened to my nose?” It sounded like “node.”

  “Your nose suffered a bit of damage. But it’s not broken. You also have a chipped tooth, plus the odd cut. Nothing serious. We had a doctor examine you.”

  That accent of hers; he couldn’t place it. “Where’s John Dalton?” he asked.

  “He’s tied up.”

  “Such a busy man…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you work with Mr. Dalton?”

  “Yes, of course. We all work together.”

  “Like one big, happy family?”

  “I’m sorry. I really can’t make out what you are saying.”

  “I could use a coffee,” Blair requested.

  “Take the pills, Mr. Mulligan,” Castaway said. “They’ll help you.” She placed the kettle on the stove. She stood by it as if her presence could bring the water to a boil sooner.

  Finally, she poured the coffee and carried it to him. She leaned in close. Her ample bosom brushed against his shoulder. “Here you go,” she said. “You take it black, don’t you?”

  His stomach roiled from the aroma, then settled. He took a tentative sip. How does she know I take it black? he wondered. And was that breast-brush an accident or intentional?

  Neither spoke until he finished the coffee. Then he asked if he could see his daughter.

  “She isn’t here,” Castaway said.

  “Oh? Where is she, then?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” She turned.

  He became aware of how short her skirt was, falling five or six inches above the knee.

  “Wait here a moment,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  After she left, he slowly came to his feet. He began to probe into the cupboards and drawers. There were no secret documents, nothing incriminating he could use against John Dalton.