Meanwhile, the field office is working on a search warrant, yes.”
“Don't move on him without the warrant and backup. We don't want this creep slipping through any legal loopholes later, and you certainly don't want him giving you the slip.”
“Don't worry. Like I said we're all over this guy and he doesn't even know we're parked on his-”
Two gunshots rang out along with the sound of shattered glass and a scream-Petersaul's scream, then silence.
Jessica shouted into the phone, calling Petersaul repeatedly but to no avail, when suddenly a male voice with a slightly familiar, irritating motorboat-like gravelly sound behind it said, “Is it you, my might've-been Mother? Dr. Jessica Coran?”
“Gahran?”
“The one who killed my father?”
“Listen to me, Giles.”
“Giles is it? Do you have any idea how much I hate you? Be wise. Don't come looking for me, or you will lose a major portion of your skeletal makeup like these two when I'm finished with them.”
“Giles, you need help.”
“Help? I've done quite well without anyone's help. Or do you mean to say that you wish to help me debone these two?”
“Giles, I know why you hurt, how deeply you hurt. I know how awful your mother-”
“Do you now understand me-you-Father's obsession?”
“I do, more than anyone on the planet, I do.”
She struggled to keep him engaged, her mind doing cartwheels. She wrote out a note telling Richard to call Chicago PD to get a car immediately to the address where Petersaul and Cates had staked out the apartment. Richard was immediately on it.
Giles said over the phone, “Have I become your obsession, Jessica? You keep coming at me like it's so, like you're looking for Father in me. If so, there's no stopping the inevitable, is there, and you become my obsession, and together, we are both mad.”
“Giles, there's a name for what you have, a mental disorder, and there are drugs and therapies, and we will get you the best doctors in the-”
“Only doctor I want is you, Jessica. You'd make a wonderful gift for dear old Dad.”
“It does not have to come to that, life or death for either of us.”
“They say history repeats itself. It happens all over again like New Orleans in that Mardi Gras graveyard where you almost died. We'll just have to find the proper time and place, you and me. But I won't take just your blood like Father.”
“You don't have to be like him, Giles!”
“But I am… just like Father. And I will take all of you. I'm going to cut out”-she heard him rummaging through Petersaul's wallet-”to cut out Agent Petersaul's spine like the others, you can be sure, along with this fat man, Cates.”
Jessica heard the sound of the car's ignition, and then Giles Gahran came back on. “I know you've been chasing me just as you chased my father before me, as you've chased all the truly brilliant and ingenious monsters, all the heirs to Jack the Ripper, all of us. But if you come after me, I will debone you, do you understand? Debone you.” His laughter was the last thing she heard before the phone went dead.
“Christ! I don't even know the address.” Jessica was rattled, but she knew she had to remain calm.
“Chicago field office agents are racing to the scene now,” Richard told her. “They're on it, Jess. Nothing we can do but pray they cut off his escape and that our agents are not dead.”
“Not sure I want to wish them alive in his hands,” she replied.
Robert Towne listened closely to the terrible turn of events.
“We've got to get to Chicago without any further delay!” she announced once off the line with Chicago FBI, who were on the lookout now for the car, the apartment at 3010 North Sheffield, the Hermitage Apartments, in the Wrigley Field ballpark area known locally as Wrigleyville.
“They're going to treat the apartment as a crime scene. We'll see it as is, untouched. They hope to have word on the missing field vehicle, Agents Petersaul and Cates, and the suspect by time we get there.”
“What're we waiting for?” asked Sharpe. “The jet is juiced up.”
“What about our video?” asked the young director. “This is going to go to CNN, Fox, MSNBC, all of 'em. It's going to put Scorp-Ion Productions on the fucking map, man.”
“Perhaps more than you know. How dramatic will it be to do a live feed from a jet plane to the networks? And can you do it? Do you have the equipment for it?”
“Are you kidding? We've got state-of-the-art, same as reporters had during the Iraqi war. Sure…”
“Terrific, but there's to be no information going out about our destination.”
The young man, Darren Callahan, turned to his technicians and fellow actors. “So, who's up for a trip to Chicago?”
“Cool!”
“Way cool!”
“I'm in, man.”
“Hey, bud, this is going to rock!”
The others looked at Jessica with large, expectant eyes. She replied, “Why the hell not? My expense account is blown anyway.”
“Before we send this out to every major network in America-”
“This is going worldwide, Dr. Coran,” Callahan corrected. “The final take, after we're OK with the last edit and audio, is going to hit a number of satellites at once, and it's going via laser-beam feed to the world.”
“All the better. But we give Governor Hughes one last chance to call the warden for a stay.”
“Damn, can't we just run it?” asked Callahan. “It's great stuff.”
Sharpe replied, “The kid's right. Hughes had his chance. Fuck him.”
“No, Richard. We lay it all out for Hughes. Give him fair warning.”
“He's not going to believe you, Jess. It's just a waste of time.”
“All the same, we warn him.” “Prick doesn't deserve any warning,” said Towne, “but go ahead, Dr. Coran.”
Jess contacted Hughes's office, getting Mrs. Dornan, who began making excuses for her boss, saying he couldn't be disturbed.
“You mean he's sleeping through the execution?”
“Not at all. He's simply washed his hands of your… you crusaders.”
“Mrs. Dornan, I called to give him fair warning. The man sitting in the cell on your death row is not Robert Towne but his brother, Darwin Reynolds.”
“What? I've never heard of such… such a bold ploy in all my life. The very idea.”
“We have a tape of the exchange between the brothers, and a blood test performed by Dr. Waters only an hour ago will prove you have Agent Darwin Reynolds on death row and not Towne. Towne is here with me, on a jet plane, thirty thousand feet over D.C.,” she lied. “Now, would you care to wake the governor or not? Your call, dearie. Oh, and by the way, within fifteen minutes, the story is going to break on every network in the U.S. and abroad.”
“I–I-I will get the governor on the line. Hold on. Hold on.”
It took several minutes but finally Hughes, his voice thick with sleep, came on, asking, “What is this nonsense, Dr. Coran? Do you know how upset you have made Mrs. Dornan, my personal-”
“You don't have Towne on death row.”
“What're you saying?”
“The FBI has Towne. / have Towne. You have Reynolds. Take a lot closer look at the man you intend on executing while you sleep.”
“This is preposterous, a lie.”
“Ask Warden Gwingault why Dr. Waters gave your phony Towne a last-minute blood test tonight, and it will prove what I say. Or call Dr. Waters directly and put it to him. He is expecting your call, and he expects to lose his
