The Old Man

“You know,” the young man said. “I bet you didn’t either.”

“You’re working for military intelligence. What do they want from me after all this time?”

“I think they’re trying to do a favor for somebody. Whoever sent those guys.”

“How did they know I was Daniel Chase and living in Vermont after all these years?”

“The intelligence guys told me it was time and technology. Even old records got computerized after you disappeared. Now it’s easy to find out that the serial numbers of the money you took had turned up over ten or so years, most of them in New England. They found your old service pictures and used a new algorithm to age your face, and then searched public surveillance recordings in New England with face recognition programs for a year or so. A bunch of guys who looked like you got spotted, but agents eliminated all of them but you.”

“Why were the two killers upstairs carrying passports?”

“I was supposed to get them to the airport and put them on a plane tonight, right away.”

“A plane to where?” Caldwell said.

“They’re from Libya.”

“If I leave you alive, will you give the intelligence people a message?”

“Right now that sounds like a good deal.”

“All I was trying to do from the start was take back the money and return it to the government. My bosses cut my communication, and then set me up to get arrested. The offer is still open. I give them the full amount I delivered to Libya and brought back. They tell whoever sent these guys that they killed me. Nobody ever sees me again. Got it?”

The young man hesitated. “What happened to the two guys upstairs? Are they dead?”

“Of course.”

“That means your count is up to five.”

Caldwell shrugged. “I didn’t go after them. They came after me.”

“Look,” said the young man. “When you could have shot me or thrown me to your dogs as a chew toy you gave me eating money and let me go. I’ll say what you want. But if they don’t buy your deal, don’t be surprised.”

“I won’t be. Humor me.”

“Suit yourself. But can you at least make me look right?”

Caldwell moved instantly and struck him across the forehead with the pistol. He fell to the ground, unconscious. Caldwell opened the garage, backed in, and came back with a roll of duct tape. He wrapped the man’s wrists and ankles, dragged his unconscious body a few feet from the garage, and propped him against a tree. He used a length of baling wire he found in the garage to tie him to the tree. He could see that he’d hit Harriman in the right spot, just at the hairline. It was the hardest part of the skull, but the wound bled freely down his face to his shirt.

Caldwell ran back up to the apartment. He calmed the dogs and let them out of his room, put on the topcoat that held the cash and identification kit, and went to Zoe’s room.

She was sitting dazed on the bed. Beside her was a leather overnight bag with a shoulder strap. He said, “Ready?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“No?”

“Those two men are dead,” she said. “You shot two men to death.”

“They came here to murder me, and they would have murdered you too.”

“Why? Why did they come here? Just because you’re rich? There are thousands of rich people in Chicago.”

“Please, Zoe. I’m trying to save your life. As soon as we’re away from here I’ll tell you everything, and answer any question you can think of. But the danger isn’t over. It’s coming closer and closer.”

“Go if you want, but I can’t be part of this. And in about two minutes I’m calling the police.”

He picked up the pistol she had left untouched on the bed, and pocketed it. He went into his bedroom, put a few things in his coat pockets—wallet, keys, pocketknife—and returned to Zoe’s room.

She was standing now, facing the window. She shook, as though she was sobbing, but he couldn’t hear her, and in the dark he couldn’t be sure. As he approached, she started to spin to face him.

The duct tape was already in his hands. He wrapped the first strip over her mouth and around to the back of her head. As her hands came up to tear it away he spun her around again so she couldn’t face him, threw her down on the bed, wrenched her wrists around behind her, and wrapped them with duct tape too. He continued the tape upward to her elbows, so she had no hope of wrenching her hands free. She rolled to try to kick him away.

Caldwell put his arm around both legs and stepped down to her ankles, wrapped them around and around with duct tape, then put the rest of the roll in his topcoat pocket. He took her bag. “Others will be here soon. I had hoped you’d cooperate, but either way I can’t leave you here to die.”

Thomas Perry's books