'No matter what you do, he's going to find an excuse to do something nasty to your boy. Or your wife. That's the whole idea behind this gig-make you suffer. But his latest wrinkle with the fingers gives us a chance to find out who he is and where he's holed up.'
'How?'
'He wants your finger. How's he going to get it? He can't very well give us an address to mail it to. So there's going to have to be a drop-someplace where you leave it and he picks it up. And that's where we nab him and make him tell us where he's got your family stashed.'
'What if he refuses to tell us?'
Jack's voice was soft, his nod almost imperceptible.
'Oh… he'll tell us.'
Munir shuddered at what he saw flashing through Jack's eyes in that instant.
'He thinks I won't do it,' he said, looking at his fingers-all ten of them. 'He thinks I'm a coward because he thinks all Arabs are cowards. He's said so. And he was right. I couldn't do it.'
'Hell,' Jack said, 'I couldn't do it either, and it wasn't even my hand. But I'm sure you'd have done it eventually if I hadn't come up with an alternative.'
Would I? Munir thought. Could I have done it?
Maybe he'd have done it just to demonstrate his courage to the madman on the phone. Over the years Munir had seen the Western world's image of the Arab male distorted beyond recognition by terrorism: The Arab strapped bombs to women and children to blow up school buses; the Arab videotaped the beheading of helpless hostages; Arab manhood aimed its weapons from behind the skirts of unarmed civilian women and children.
'If something goes wrong because of this, because of my calling on you to help me, I… I will never forgive myself.'
'Don't think like that. It gets you nothing. And you've got to face it: No matter what you do-cut off one finger, two fingers, your left leg, kill somebody, blow up Manhattan-it's never going to be enough. He's going to keep escalating until you're dead. You've got to stop him now, before it goes any further. Understand?'
Munir nodded. 'But I'm so afraid. Poor Robby… his terrible pain, his fear. And Barbara…'
'Exactly. And if you don't want that to go on indefinitely, you've got to take the offensive. Now. So let's get back to your place and see how he wants to take delivery on your finger.'
5
Dawn blinked in the dimness. Where was she? This wasn't her bed. She The baby!
It all rushed back at her-the labor, the delivery, the glimpse of her baby and his… tentacles?
No, that couldn't be. It had to be a dream. Had to be…
She looked around and realized she wasn't in her room in the penthouse. Some sort of hospital room. The shade was pulled on the single window but daylight seeped around the edges. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and hung on to the bed rails as the room spun. They'd doped her with something last night, injected it into She looked at her arm and saw the IV was still running into her.
'Hello?' she called. 'Is anybody here?'
Almost immediately a woman in green scrubs scurried in.
'You're awake. Oh, good.'
As the nurse busied herself taking her blood pressure, Dawn said, 'Where's my baby?'
The nurse concentrated on the blood pressure cuff's dial. 'Doctor Landsman will discuss that with you.'
A twinge of alarm fluttered through her. 'Discuss? What's to discuss?'
'He'll tell you. He's down the hall. I'll get him.'
She rushed out before Dawn could ask anything more. Minutes later Dr. Landsman appeared with the nurse in tow.
'How are you feeling, Dawn?' he said as he reached the bedside. 'You did really well. No episiotomy or repairs necessary.' He reached over the rail and gripped her hand. 'Any pain?'
Dr. Landsman holding her hand? Something had to be wrong.
'Never mind me, where's my baby?'
He squeezed her hand. 'I'm sorry, Dawn.'
Her chest clenched inside. 'Sorry? Sorry for what?'
'He had neurological birth defects, I'm afraid, ones that didn't show up on the ultrasounds. And they turned out to be incompatible with life.'
' 'Incompatible with life'? What does that mean?'
His smile was sad. 'An old medical term referring to fatal, uncorrectable birth defects.'
'You mean his tentacles?'
Dr. Landsman's eyebrows rose, then fell. 'Tentacles? Where did you get the idea he had tentacles?'
'I saw them. I-'
He patted her hand. 'You were distraught. You'd just gone through an arduous delivery and suddenly your baby stopped breathing. Your eyes played tricks on you. Your baby had birth defects, yes, but I assure you he did not have tentacles.'
'I want to see him.'
'He's… dead, Dawn. Do you really think that's a good idea?'
Dawn wasn't sure what she was feeling-panic or anger.
'I have a right to see him, and I want to see him now!'
Dr. Landsman released her hand. 'I'm afraid that's impossible. The baby's remains were sent to the city morgue.'
'What?'
'It's the law. The baby was full term. His death is reportable.'
'But I'm his mother!'
'Not officially. You gave him up for adoption upon birth, remember? I'm terribly sorry. I thought it was for the best. I've notified the adoptive parents. They're crushed, of course, but they said they'd take care of cremation expenses.'
'Cremation! But I should be able to see him at least once!'
Dr. Landsman shook his head. 'I wish I'd known you'd feel this way. But since you'd put him up for adoption, and did try to abort-'
'Stop throwing that in my face!'
He patted her hand. 'There, there. I know you're upset.'
Upset? Upset didn't come close to how she was feeling.
But why? All she'd wanted all these months was to be free of that baby, and now she was. But she hadn't wanted him dead-at least, not anymore.
She couldn't explain this terrible sense of loss.
Wait.
She'd seen tentacles, or things that looked like tentacles. She hadn't imagined them. Were those what had so fascinated Dr. Landsman on the ultrasounds? Was that why he'd never allowed her even a peek? He'd said nothing was wrong, that there was nothing to see, but he'd lied. And if he'd lied about that 'I don't believe you,' she said.
'Trust me, my dear, he had no-'
'I don't believe you about the tentacles. I don't even believe he's dead. I think you've hidden him away.'
He loosed a strangled laugh. 'Why would I want to do that?'
'I don't know.' The words seemed to form on their own and poured from her in a torrent. 'But I do know there's been a lot of strange stuff going on with this baby. Jerry wanted him, then Jerry's brother stopped me from having an abortion. Those crazy monks wanted him-or at least I think they did-and then Mister Osala came along, and he wouldn't let me have an abortion. He had a reason for that-supposedly for my own protection-and it sounded good, at least in theory, but I wonder, because the outcome of it all was to keep me pregnant with this
