Walter thanks him, tells him he can leave. Then he pulls up an antique rocking chair beside the bed and sits down.
“Are you okay?”
I nod.
“Can you talk?”
I swallow, clear my throat. In a weak voice, I say, “Yes.”
“Good. Now tell me who did this.”
“It was”—I have to clear my throat again—“Zane.”
Nothing changes in Walter’s face. No surprise. No confusion.
“Walter, did you hear me? I said it was Zane.”
“What does he want?”
“Walter”—I sit up even straighter—“how can that be possible? Zane … is dead.”
He leans forward. “What does he want?”
“The flash drive.”
Walter closes his eyes. He places his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“They have Casey and David. They’re going to kill them if you don’t give them the flash drive.”
Again he doesn’t react when I use the plural form. Nothing surprises this man. He no doubt heard Sylvia’s story already, about the men in suits … that is, if Sylvia is still alive.
“How’s Sylvia?”
“What?” Walter looks up, blinks at me. “She’s fine. Shook up, but she’s fine.”
I think briefly of the bloody carpet, the lump of fur. “And Baron?”
Staring at me, Walter shakes his head.
“How is this possible, Walter? Zane … he’s supposed to be dead.”
“Take me through everything that happened this morning. Every single detail.”
“Walter—”
“Goddamn it, Holly, tell me what happened.”
I tell him what happened. From the moment we left the house today, to the pool, to the kids picking on Casey, to David coming to her rescue. To my lesson to David in the parking lot, to my first call, to my second call, to watching Colin and Mitchell die, then to getting in the car and taking off and meeting up with Javier Diaz and then to where they tied me up in Walter’s study.
“How many would you say there are, in total?” Walter asks.
“At least six. Zane, Javier and the two in the car, the guy who took the kids, the Porsche’s driver, and the shooter back at the pool.”
Walter nods, as if this is what he’s thinking too.
“There’s probably more, though,” I say.
“Probably.”
“How is Marilyn taking it?”
His eyes stare at me for an instant, quickly shift away.
“Jesus Christ, Walter. You haven’t told her yet?”
“She’s had meetings all day.”
“Then call her.”
“Not yet. Not until I decide what needs done.”
The hundred thousand cash registers have gone silent. The only sound now is the blood beating away in my ears.
“What needs done,” I say, swinging my feet off the bed and onto the floor, “is getting your kids back.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“You don’t seem to care.”
“You have no idea how I’m feeling right now.”
“They’re your kids, Walter.”
“I understand that. I fucking understand that. But what they’re asking for in return is something … fuck.”
He throws his arm aside, knocking the glass against the wall. The shattered pieces scatter on the carpet.
For a moment there’s silence. Walter glares at me, his jaw set, his face red. There are no tears in his eyes. I can’t say I’m not surprised. After all, the man has been trained to be like steel. Even when his children’s lives are on the line, he shows no emotion.
For the very first time I pity him.
“You need to tell her, Walter.”
“My wife is a great woman.” Even though he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s speaking to himself. “She has sacrificed so much for our family. Now … now this.”
“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? That’s why you assigned the agents to watch us.”
“I’d had an idea they would retaliate. Especially when I found out your father was involved.”
A trapdoor opens up beneath my feet. For an instant I’m weightless, falling, falling, falling. Then I steady myself. I close my eyes. Take a breath. Open my eyes again.
“What did you say?”
Walter blinks. “You mean Zane didn’t mention him?”
“My father”—I shake my head slowly—“is alive?”
“Don’t be naïve, Holly. You saw Zane with your own eyes. If he’s alive, your father’s alive too.”
“But I … I shot him.”
“That’s what they wanted you to think.”
“There was … blood … blood all over him.” I pause, glance back up at Walter. “You knew?”
He doesn’t respond.
“You fucking bastard. You knew this entire time. Why didn’t you … why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“You should go home, Holly. Get some rest. I’ll have someone drive you.”
“How long have you known?”
Walter shouts out a name, and a moment later the same soldier from before enters the room.
“Rick, please drive Miss Lin home, would you?”
Rick nods and steps forward.
I ignore him. I keep glaring at Walter.
“How long have you known?”
“Go home, Holly. There’s nothing else for you to do here.”
I close my eyes. Shake my head. Try to hold back the tears. I want to beat this man sitting in front of me right now. I want to kill him. But instead I take a deep breath and open my eyes and turn and walk past Soldier Rick out of the room.
Down the hallway to the stairs, down the stairs to the landing, from the landing through the hallway to the living room, then the kitchen, I pass at least a dozen soldiers, many MPs, looking for evidence, whispering to each other, trying to do everything they can so they don’t have to bring the actual police into the situation. After all, this isn’t a civilian issue. This is an Army issue, a United States government issue, and they will try to keep it as hush-hush as possible.
Outside there are a half-dozen cars and SUVs parked in the driveway and along the street. I don’t know which one to go to. I wait until Soldier Rick comes out and then I follow him to one of the cars and get in and then just sit there, my arms crossed, staring out the window.
“Where to?” he asks, starting the engine.
I
