But what?
Barnes ran through a variety of scenarios, and the most likely involved the local police showing up at the nurse’s house while Dobson and Strunk were engaged in the activities he’d prescribed. But even that was a stretch. A neighbor would have had to have seen something suspicious and called the police, or possibly even intervened directly. But his team’s response in either scenario would have been to eliminate the witnesses. They would have had no qualms about it, and neither would Barnes. Far better to have collateral damage than anything even potentially leading investigators back to Harmony House.
So what was the holdup?
He called his team again. Both calls went right to voicemail. Something was very wrong. As he imagined various locations where his two men might be, Barnes never considered anywhere remotely close to their actual location. Which was the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
Parts of them were there, anyway.
CHAPTER 83
Peaceful Easy Feeling, 5.3 Nautical Miles off the New Jersey Coast, May 27, 10:14 p.m.
The GPS coordinates were N 39°37’51.44”, W 74°05’56.59”. The National League East fans had jointly purchased the Albemarle 360XF three years ago, mostly because of the Volvo Penta IPS engine that came with it. IPS stood for Inboard Performance System, and that was what set this fishing boat apart.
At the moment, however, the Volvo Penta IPS wasn’t being asked to give them anything, because the engine was turned off. The boat was still, except for the gentle rocking caused by the ocean currents beneath it. They had picked this location because of the three-hundred-foot vertical wall that was directly beneath them. The wall teemed with carnivorous life that didn’t seem to care about whether its food came from land or water. Whatever the sharks didn’t eat, the marlin, cod, mackerel, and Atlantic barracuda would. And whatever they declined would be savored by the bottom-feeders, which never rejected anything remotely edible. The absence of sunlight apparently made everything look good.
The key to getting these fish to feed on human remains was to chop up the bodies into pieces small enough to look appetizing. This was exactly the activity the boat-owning assassins were engaged in. And it explained the blood spattered all around the back of the boat, including over its beautifully scripted name.
The partners accomplished their work with matching Henckels carbon steel eleven-inch meat cleavers. The blades were razor sharp. Neither man showed any emotion about the work. It was just part of the job. The mess would all be hosed away within minutes after the last chunk of human flesh had been tossed overboard.
Giles paused as his phone rang. Not his regular phone. The encrypted one used exclusively for communication with their employer. They were probably calling for a progress report. He answered by saying, “The job is complete.”
“I had no doubt,” Stenson replied. “That’s not why I’m calling. I have another job for you.”
“I’m listening,” Giles responded, which was what he always said when Stenson called. Murphy paused to listen in.
“It needs to be done tonight.”
To the National League East fans, this only meant one thing: their boat was going to be paid off a lot sooner than they had anticipated. And if they got lucky, they would still make it to Citizens Bank Park the following day to watch their favorite teams battle each other for divisional supremacy.
CHAPTER 84
American Heritage Foundation, Alexandria, Virginia, May 27, 10:15 p.m.
Realizing how long this night was about to become, Stenson was thankful he had taken the time to play doubles and get a massage earlier that day. It took serious conditioning to stay sharp and alert for twenty-four continuous hours, and sometimes much longer. Such marathons were rare, but they arose without warning. Any given day could turn into one, which was both an exciting part of working at the American Heritage Foundation and a frustrating one.
Foundation employees were on call 24/7/365. They were emergency-room doctors. The world was their patient. One who could go into cardiac arrest at any moment. Or suffer a cerebral hemorrhage. Or think it had when it had merely bumped its forehead. Most patients had no idea what they really needed, and the same was true for the world.
At least, that’s how Bob Stenson saw it.
He had been administering critical care to a patient on and off life support for the greater part of three decades. The patient was far better off now than when their unique program of intervention began operations, and that was all the proof Stenson needed to validate his efforts.
He keenly watched the infrared images on his computer screen as the National League East fans discussed the specifics of the new assignment they had just been offered. Stenson had transmitted the subject’s name (Michael Barnes), along with his relationship to the subjects of the just-completed assignment (their superior), and highlights of his military and civilian record (the list was long and impressive). The baseball fans needed to know exactly who and what they would be going up against.
They were taking considerably longer than usual to arrive at a price, which Stenson had expected. He had never tasked them with going after such a well-trained subject. By now, Barnes had certainly realized his two-man team was gone. Which meant someone had eliminated them. Whoever did the deed had recognized what Barnes’s next move would be, and preempted it. Barnes would now be on the alert for an attack. This assignment required outthinking one of the best in the game, and success was by no means guaranteed.
“Five hundred thousand.” The number hung in the air, both over in the boat 5.3 miles off the New Jersey coast, and inside Stenson’s office in Alexandria, Virginia. It was ten times their standard rate. Twice what they had charged for Senator Townsend.
Stenson didn’t reply for a good twenty seconds. He had decided before he made the call not to respond right away no matter what figure was quoted. He wanted his killers to sweat a little.
He had doubted they knew just how big a number he was comfortable with, and their price was a reflection of that. It was half. One million dollars would not have made him flinch. Perhaps they wanted him to think they were giving him another bargain. Or perhaps it was because Stenson was more familiar with Barnes and what he was capable of. Barnes had been a thorn in the side of the American Heritage Foundation for too long, and Stenson was prepared to pay greatly for that thorn to be removed.
“The terms are acceptable.” Stenson hung up the phone and watched on-screen as Giles delivered the news to his partner. They high-fived, then began chopping up what was left of the two bodies as quickly as they could. They had a lot of preparations to make.
CHAPTER 85
Secaucus Junction, Secaucus, New Jersey, May 27, 10:20 p.m.
It took Eddie another 317 steps to reach the Philadelphia-bound train, which brought the total to 552. This number included two flights of stairs, which contained thirty-two steps each. Eddie had remarked after descending each staircase that thirty-two steps was an unusually high number for one flight of stairs, but perhaps not for train stations, which Eddie could not comment on because Secaucus Junction was the first one he had ever been inside.
Skylar led him into the car farthest from the stairs, which happened to be the first car, the one directly behind the locomotive. They sat at the rear of the car, because no one standing on the platform could see them, and it gave them a tactical vantage point on the car doors. They would see anyone entering the car before they saw Skylar or Eddie.