Susan nodded and led Frank and Joy to room 504 just down the hall.
“You know he’s very sick?” Susan said quietly.
Frank and Joy stared at her, confused.
“What kind of sick?” Joy asked.
Joy looked at them a moment. “You said you were close friends of his?”
“What kind of sick?” Frank asked, his voice stern. “We’re family. What kind of sick?”
Meeks inhaled, pausing. “He’s dying. Cancer.” Susan paused. “If you’re his friends, you should know that, because his file says he’s not dealing with it, nor has he told his wife.”
Joy looked away, trying to hold back her compounding emotions. Frank remained stoic, but the shock was visible in his eyes.
They arrived at the door to Jack’s room. Two FBI agents stood on opposite sides.
“Can we help you?” the first agent said.
“And you are?”
“Special Agent Matt Crews,” the taller agent said.
“Have you notified Jack Keeler’s family of his presence here? Have you notified anyone? Has he spoken to an attorney?”
“You need to speak to Director Tierney-”
“No, we are his family, and we are going in to see him.”
“I can’t permit that.”
“Has he been charged with a crime?”
“No.”
“Are you holding him against his will, then?”
“You need to speak to Deputy Director Tierney.”
“I don’t give a shit if you come in there with me, but I’m going to speak to the DA.” Frank nodded to the nurse, who slipped the key into the door and opened it.
Crews stepped in her way.
“You,” Frank said to Crews, “come in with me. And you,” he said to the other agent, “you go get your boss. Bring him in here to speak to me. You guys have crossed the line. You have denied this man his lawful rights, and there will be hell to pay.”
The short agent hustled off down the hall as Frank and Crews stepped into the room. Frank turned to Joy. “Get the car. If I’m not down in fifteen, go home, because I won’t be leaving here for a long time.” And he closed the door.
“Hey, Jack,” Frank said, seeing his friend bound to the bed, his eyes red and tired.
“Frank.”
“They say you’re nuts.” Frank smiled.
“I think I am.”
“Well, I’m glad you finally admitted it. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
Jack looked at him. “Yeah, but first, can you do me a favor and loosen my wrists?”
“Sure, just give me a second.”
Frank spun around, his gun drawn and aimed in Crews’s face. “Could you please kneel down?”
“They’re going to be here any second,” Crews said as he complied, putting his hands on top of his head.
“Which is why we have no time to waste.” Frank pulled out his first set of handcuffs and slapped a cuff on Crews’s right wrist. He pulled him to the other side of the bed, laid him on the floor, threaded the cuff around the bed leg, and slapped the other cuff around his left wrist. He pulled a handful of tissue from the side table and stuffed it into the agent’s mouth.
“Now, about that favor.” Frank nodded as he tore back the Velcro straps from Jack’s arms and released the strap around his chest. Jack sat up and quickly climbed out of the bed.
Without a word, he tore the layers of white bandages from his left forearm.
And he felt his heart fill with hope.
• • •
The door exploded open, and Tierney and the shorter agent, Philippe, charged in to find Jack out of the bed and standing in the corner. Philippe drew his gun as the door slammed closed behind him, but it was too late. Frank’s pistol was pressed against the back of his head.
“Either of you make a sound, he’s done,” Frank said, thwacking the agent in the back of the head with his pistol.
“What the hell, Frank?” Tierney yelled.
“What the hell, Gene?” Frank shot back. “You’ve got Keeler strapped to a bed, without counsel, family, anyone notified?”
Frank took his second set of cuffs and secured Philippe’s hands behind his back, threading the cuffs through the leg of the bed, where he was awkwardly crouched.
Frank turned his gun on Tierney and motioned him to the bed. “Get your ass in bed.”
Tierney glared at him. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I have every idea what I’m doing. Now, lay the fuck down.”
Tierney complied; Jack strapped him to the bed.
“You want to tell me what’s really going on?” Jack asked as he leaned over Tierney.
“You’re insane.” Tierney struggled against his bindings.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Where is Cristos holding my wife?”
“Your wife is dead-”
Jack drew back his fist and pile-drived Tierney in the jaw. “Don’t you say that. I know she’s alive.”
“She died in the car accident,” Tierney growled. “You know it, and I know it.”
“What is the FBI so scared of? What’s in that box that you so desperately need?”
Tierney said nothing.
“Can I tell you a little secret?”
“Fuck you, you’re nuts.”
“I wanted to be caught. I knew full well where you would bring me.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“You think so? You don’t think I’m fully aware of police protocol when it comes to the arrest of high-level people, when it comes to bringing in someone like a DA on charges that no one will believe? I knew I’d be brought up here to the psych ward.”
“Why would you do that? You wanted to be committed?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jack said. “You’re good; you had me convinced, using my friend to bear your false news. Talking about all of those dead people, trying to convince me it was all in my head.”
“So you think you’re not crazy?”
“I know I’m not crazy. Now, where is Cristos holding my wife?”
“Fuck you.”
“You know why I think you’re working with Cristos? Because once I was captured, once he got what he wanted, it would be far easier to pin it all on me, to kill my wife, dump her body where it would never be found, convince me and the world that I was crazy, no trial, just lock me up in a padded room until I succumbed to the cancer.”
“That sounds like a pretty good plan,” Frank said, half joking.
“But you know what? There is something in that box that Cristos was not expecting.”
Tierney’s eyes narrowed slightly, just enough for Jack to see.
Frank thumbed through Tierney’s phone, through the names of his last twenty calls, and passed the phone to Jack. “You know this guy?”
Jack looked at the phone log, the last eight calls all to the same number, the same person. Someone Jack knew and trusted above all. “Son of a bitch.”
Cristos sat in the passenger seat of the Suburban. Josh drove at a leisurely pace so as not to draw any more attention. Cristos had raced down the stairs, his prize in hand, and exited through the back of the unfinished
