have to wait and see if the self-obsessed blowhard would play nice and share. He needed Darby to play nice. He needed him to share his new toy with the other kids. And that, he knew, was never easy. Not when you were dealing with a spoiled brat, let alone one with a righteousness complex.
He picked up his phone and hit another speed-dial key. The man on the other end had been waiting for the call.
Buscema just said, “We’re on. Leak it,” then hung up.
Chapter 65
Shannon, Ireland
The Gulfstream was parked by a service hangar, away from the small airport’s terminal. Gracie was pacing around by the plane as she spoke on her cell phone. She was out in the open and wasn’t really worried about being spotted. It was night, and there was no one around apart from a few dozy and disinterested maintenance guys who were refueling the jet.
It was much colder there, another shock to her system after the chill of the South Pole and the warm embrace of the Egyptian desert. The cold, though, felt good. Bracing. Numbing. Which was helpful, given that she was on the phone with the abbot and reliving Finch’s death in all its grisly detail.
He was on his way back from Cairo. He told her they’d delivered Finch’s body to the American embassy there. It hadn’t been easy getting there. He told her that fierce clashes had erupted among the hordes outside the monastery once news of Father Jerome’s departure had been made public. Jeep-loads of internal security men had stormed across the plain and contained the outburst, and were now clearing away the last troublemakers, but the situation had repeated itself in Cairo and in Alexandria and in other cities across the region.
Gracie saw Dalton coming toward her, waving his BlackBerry, indicating there was a call for her. She was thanking the abbot when he remembered something and said, “I’m also very sorry about your friend’s glasses. One of my brothers broke them by accident. We put the frame in the pocket of his jacket.”
Dalton was right up with her and mouthed “Ogilvy” to her. Seemed like it was pretty urgent. Gracie raised a pausing index finger at him, her foggy mind trying to make sense of what the abbot was talking about.
“I’m sorry, Finch’s glasses?”
“Yes,” the abbot said. “One of my brothers stepped on them by accident. He didn’t see them.”
“That’s all right,” she said, nodding to Dalton like she was done. “I didn’t notice them either,” she added.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” he corrected. “They weren’t outside. They were in the keep, and as you know, it’s quite dark in there. Anyway, I’m really sorry. I know it’s the kind of personal belonging that matters to loved ones at times like these. Would you please apologize to his wife on my behalf?”
“Of course,” Gracie said, still distracted by Dalton. “Thanks for everything, Father. I’ll call you from America.” She clicked off and took the other phone from Dalton.
It was Ogilvy. His news pushed any thought of Finch to the sidelines.
“It’s out,” he told her, his tone urgent. “The word’s out that Father Jerome’s on his way here.”
“What do you mean? It’s been leaked?” Gracie asked. “How?”
“I don’t know. It came up on Drudge half an hour ago and it’s everywhere now.”
She scanned around with her eyes, suddenly paranoid. A vision of converging mobs flashed before her, then evaporated. “Do they know we’re here?”
“No, they didn’t mention that. All they know is that Father Jerome is out of Egypt and on his way here, to Houston. It doesn’t even mention Darby.”
Gracie frowned. This wasn’t good. She pictured the media circus and the chaos that would be greeting them.
“We’ve got to change destinations. Fly in somewhere else. Somewhere quiet.”
“Why?” Ogilvy asked.
“’Cause people are going to go nuts when they see him. We’ll get mobbed.”
“I called Darby. He told me he’s got the cops lined up to help. They’re gonna cordon off the tarmac, provide a rolling escort. It’ll be fine.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Are you kidding me?” Ogilvy asked. “This is still our story.
Chapter 66
Boston, Massachusetts
“Dad?” Rydell couldn’t believe his ears. His pulse raced ahead with equal doses of fear and hope. He could feel it pounding against his cell phone. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “They got me out. I’m fine.”
Rydell’s heart cartwheeled. Her voice had a quaver in it, but she didn’t sound afraid.
“Hang on,” she said.
He heard some shuffling as the handset evidently changed hands, then he heard the last voice he was expecting.
“Are you alone?”
He recognized Matt’s voice. A sudden panic seized him. “Where are you? What have you done?”
Matt ignored his question. “She’s safe. Can you get out without the escorts?”
“I don’t know.” Rydell faltered. “I . . . I can try.”
“Do it,” Matt ordered. “Do it right know. And meet us outside the place you took Rebecca for her eighteenth birthday.”
The line went dead.
Rydell didn’t know what to think. Was she Matt’s hostage now? Was that his plan? He wasn’t sure what he preferred—knowing she was in his hands, or in Maddox’s.
He wasn’t sure either way. What he was sure of was that now that Rebecca was out, Drucker didn’t have any hold over him. Unless he tried to grab him and substitute him for Rebecca.
He had to get out.
Now.
He picked up the hotel phone and hit the reception button. Got an answer on the first ring.
“This is Rydell. I need security up here. Right now. As many guys as you can send. My bodyguards are up to something; I need protection right now. From them.” His tone left no room for doubt as to the urgency involved.
The flustered voice on the other end was still fumbling through a reply when Rydell hung up. He darted to the bedroom, found his wallet and his coat, and pulled his shoes on; darted back to the door of his suite and eased against it for a peek through the peephole. He could see the two bodyguards, Maddox’s men, standing outside his door. Looking bored, killing time. He waited. About ten seconds later, he heard the whine of the elevator’s motor
