“Henry? Are you there?”
“We’re sure he’s headed for DC?”
“One hundred percent.”
“You think he’s headed for me?”
“It’s a real possibility. He’s either headed for you or to the FBI. Going straight there with evidence. And then what?”
“I’d considered that as well.”
“Either way, we have to deal with him. The stalling has only gotten us so far. Are we good to go?”
Graff squinted, tears in his eyes, thinking suddenly of his father, an unloving, brutal, sadistic bastard who he had worshipped. The type of man he himself had become. And for what? He had operated in the shadows for so long that he was immune to pain. Or at least he thought he was. Her treachery was something he hadn’t imagined. Not by a long shot. She seemed to calm his soul. He loved Feinstein’s high intelligence as much as her high cheekbones. But the reality was he had been played.
The hunter had become the hunted.
It was at that moment that Graff himself realized the fate that awaited him. It wouldn’t stop at just Jack McNeal. Or Caroline McNeal. He knew the story. He saw in staggering detail how it was going to play out.
Graff might have reached the end of his usefulness. He sensed he would eventually become a liability. He knew how Karen operated. Why the hell hadn’t he seen it before now? He was expendable. Just like all the rest. For the first time, he was expendable. He closed his eyes for a few moments as he mused on that point.
“Henry, you got quiet on me. Are you okay? Are you conflicted about this?”
“Where is the stop?”
“We’re going to flag him down just outside Calverton. We have a place in mind.”
“Double tap to the head?”
“What else.”
Graff sighed.
“Is this a go?”
“What’s the ETA to when he hits Calverton?”
“Ninety minutes, give or take. The team is in place.”
“Go green. I repeat, it’s a green.”
Forty-Three
McNeal drove twenty miles north of Baltimore, anticipating when his GPS would be pinged. His cell phone rang in the cupholder. He expected it to be Peter. But it wasn’t. It was Graff.
“Jack, I’m sorry to bother you so late.”
McNeal knew at that moment he was not only in mortal danger, but that his plan had kicked in. He needed to roll with it now, come what may. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve found out quite a bit about you. The thing is, I don’t know what you know about me, Mr. McNeal. But I suspect you know a lot more than you’re telling me.”
“Go on.”
“And I’m guessing you harbor negative feelings toward me. Would I be correct?”
McNeal let the silence linger.
“I suspect you want to kill me. I suspect you believe I may have been involved in the death of my wife.”
“You want to get to the point, Mr. Graff?”
“I know you’re headed down I-95. Maybe you’re headed south to the Carolina beaches. But maybe not.”
McNeal glanced in his rearview mirror. A motorbike was in sight behind him. He assessed whether he was being followed, possibly all the way down from Westport. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“I’m trying to figure it out. You’re either heading my way or you’re going to the Feds. Which one is it?”
“A man is free to do what he wants in this country. At least the last time I checked.”
“Thank God for that, I say.”
“What’s on your mind, Graff?”
“I want to meet up.”
McNeal was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected that. He had expected a set-up. But maybe this was it. Was this a trap? Almost certainly. Had to be. “And why would you want to meet up? You gonna confess your sins?”
Graff sighed. “You’re not a million miles from the truth, what you said. I have sinned.”
“I’m not a fucking priest. You want to talk?”
“I want to talk. I want you to know some things.”
“What kind of things?”
“I’ll get to that. There’s a lot you need to know. Plans that are in place.”
“I’m surprised at you, Graff.”
“In what way?”
“I expected a more dramatic way to intercept me.”
Graff was quiet for a few moments. “I can help you.”
“Is that right? How?”
“Jack, right now I am the only person who can help you stay alive.”