Gibson backed slowly out of the garage and out onto the deserted street. He shifted the car into drive and waited for the garage door to close for the last time before accelerating away into the night. It was a straight shot south to Dulles. At the hotel, Gibson backed in beside the Yukon and transferred Damon Ogden and his suitcase from one trunk to the other.
He reviewed all the false trails that he’d left for investigators to chase down: train tickets, bus tickets, plane tickets, phone traveling cross-country to San Diego, calls to the Chinese embassy, and Ogden’s car parked at a hotel near an international airport. The first rule of disappearing was to make it difficult for anyone to follow you. Creating a sea of misinformation was textbook procedure, and with any luck that would be exactly how the CIA would interpret what Gibson had left for them. He wanted them to think their man was on the run, possibly going over to the Chinese. He wanted them scouring the four corners of the globe far, far from abandoned power plants in Northern Virginia.
Gibson dragged Ogden down the long service corridor into the deep recesses of the power plant. Gradually, the howling wind faded from earshot until the only sound was of Ogden’s heels scraping the concrete floor.
In the cell, Gibson laid Ogden gently on his back. Once he unbound his wrists and ankles, Ogden looked almost peaceful. Undressing Ogden, he methodically folded each piece of clothing and stored it in a garbage bag. Getting an unconscious man into a jumpsuit proved to be a nightmare. It was like dressing the world’s most uncooperative five-year-old. When she wasn’t in the mood, Ellie’d had a way of going limp that increased her body mass. Ogden was worse.
Don’t think about Ellie now.
When he finally finished, Gibson sat on the end of the cot and took a last look at his handiwork. He’d been over every square inch of this room a dozen times, but with Ogden lying there, it had stopped being an abstract exercise and become all too real. Over the past week, he’d stripped the windowless, eight-by-ten bathroom down to the floor. The tile, the mirror, the toilet paper dispenser—anything that might be fashioned into a tool or a weapon had been removed. The feet of the cot were bolted into the floor. All that remained of the original bathroom were the toilet and sink.
In one corner, crates of protein bars were stacked to the ceiling. Gibson couldn’t stop by three times a day to feed him, but if Ogden rationed himself, he should have no problem making them last. Not that Gibson envied him the constant diarrhea and stomach pain as his body adjusted to its new, one-dimensional diet. It would be unpleasant, but Ogden would survive. Or he wouldn’t. That was up to Ogden now. But he had everything that Gibson had been given.
Looking at Ogden on the floor, Gibson remembered waking up in his cell for the first time. The anger. The despair. The hopelessness. Eighteen months. A forced—and now likely permanent—separation from Ellie, the most important person in Gibson’s world. That was what Ogden owed him. Gibson wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t kill him. But he’d promised his father that Damon Ogden would know how it felt. In eighteen months, Gibson would let him go. But Ogden wouldn’t know that. He wouldn’t know how long he’d been there or how long he had left. Wouldn’t know if he’d ever be free. This was fair. Just. Eye for an eye. Who knew, Ogden might even make a friend or two while he was here.
Gibson left Ogden lying on the floor of the cell and went out into the hall. He took one last look at the prisoner. He’d check in on him in a few months when the heat was off, but until then, Damon Ogden would be alone with nothing but his conscience for companionship. Gibson swung the door closed, expecting a rush of euphoria. He’d done what he’d set out to do. What he’d promised his father in the cell. When that didn’t come, he waited to feel anything at all. Nothing. He felt nothing. He turned the locks and slid the dead bolts into place. It would take a tank to knock this door down.
Now Damon Ogden would finally pay.
Still nothing.
He stepped back. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted. He needed sleep—in the morning he would feel like a new man. Duke had promised him that he would. He wished Duke were here to reassure him. Discouraged, he stowed his gear in a cubbyhole and went out down the service corridor, scattering debris to cover the drag marks. He didn’t expect anyone to come this way, but if they did he didn’t want to leave a trail of bread crumbs to Ogden’s door.
It was a cloudless night. At the top of the stairs, the sky flexed and then crumpled like a beer can in God’s fist. It pressed down on Gibson, vertigo spinning him, driving him to his knees. As bad as it had ever been. Static filled his eyes, and he couldn’t breathe. Bear knelt beside him.
“One,” she said.
He closed his eyes.
“Two.”
He took a halting breath.
“Three . . .”
At ten, Gibson climbed tentatively to his feet.
“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again,” he said.
“You’re still being silly.”
“Why are you here? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with this.”
“Because you need my help. I told you that.”
“But why would you help me at all? I don’t understand.”
“Because you came for me. I’m returning the favor.”
“I was too late, Bear. I’m always too late.”
“No,” she said. “No, you weren’t. Look at me. Gibson, look at me. My daughter is safe because of you. Catherine is safe. You gave her a chance. You did that.”
“Stop it.”
“You’ve helped so many people. Why don’t you see that?”
“You’re not going to talk me out of this,” Gibson said. “He has to pay. He has to understand what he did.”
“You will regret this for the rest of your life. You already regret it.”
“You would say that.”
“I’m not saying it, stupid. You are.” Bear began to cry.
He felt terrible, but his mind was made up. The irony of that sentiment was, unfortunately, lost on him. “I’m sorry, Bear. He has to pay.”
Gibson got back in the SUV. He started the engine and waited for Bear to get in. She stood in the wash of the headlights, unmoving. He left her there and drove home in silence, trying not to think about her dire warnings. The static in his eyes made it hard to drive, and Gibson needed both hands on the wheel. For the first time in weeks, he couldn’t sleep unless every light was on.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning, Gibson woke to an awful headache. He’d spent a largely sleepless night tortured by Bear’s warning at the power plant. Afraid that she might be right. That this had all been a terrible mistake. And where was his dad? This had been Duke’s idea in the first place. Why wasn’t he here to explain why Gibson didn’t feel fixed? That had been the whole point, hadn’t it? But it was as if the ghost of his father knew that he’d written a bad check and wanted to avoid paying up. Gibson felt hollowed out. All he wanted was to turn off his alarm and sleep forever. He lay there listlessly with a pillow over his face.