Chapter 93

I CAN BARELY GET THE WORDS out of my mouth fast enough. "Ernie, where are your brother and sister?""They're picking berries," he says. "Why?""That's why!" I say, pointing out to the horizon. "Look at what's there."Ernie turns to see what I see-a huge sailboat, close enough that we can actually make out the shape of the sails. It's not a blip like the other boats we've seen, too far away ever to notice us.We've got a chance with this one. A real chance!"Hurry! Go get Mark and Carrie," I say. "We need to light the fires! Ernie, run!"Ernie races as I push myself up to stand. If I could, I'd be doing jumping jacks or cartwheels, anything to attract attention.Please, let there be someone on that boat with binoculars! I pray.Look this way. I can see you, so you can see me."Holy s.h.i.t!" yells Mark seconds later, bursting through the brush onto the beach. Carrie's behind him. They both outran Ernie, who finally brings up the rear."See! See, I told you!" says Ernie."Yeah, now let's make sure they see us!" says Mark, heading for our campfire.He grabs our ready-made "match," a thick stick wrapped with a swath of one of our blankets, and douses it with the rubbing alcohol from the first-aid kit. As he dips it into the fire and sprints to our three piles of leaves and branches, he looks like he's carrying the Olympic torch."Here goes nothing," he says, lighting the piles.They ignite immediately, their orange glow matching the sky almost perfectly.With the last of the sun disappearing, all we can do is stand here on the beach, our gaze bouncing back and forth between the boat and the flames as if willing them together."C'mon," pleads Carrie. "They have to see us!"This has to be our moment-has to be. We deserve it. So we wait to be spotted, the fires roaring in their perfect triangle. I'm fifty feet away and I can still feel their heat. I keep thinking that at any second we'll see a signal from the boat. A flash of light, a flare shot high into the sky. Something.Anything.I look at the kids and I see exactly what I feel-hope. But as five minutes turn into forty, without any signal from the boat, it fades. Slowly. Painfully. Our fires are beginning to die down. It's getting dark on the beach, in every sense of the word.I want to cry. I don't.I can't. For the kids' sake. For my own sake, too. But this is so cruel."There'll be another boat soon, you'll see," I say instead, trying to lift everyone's spirits.The kids know exactly what I'm trying to do. But rather than calling me on it-something they always used to do-they go along with me.It's as if we all suddenly realize that even though we've had our hopes dashed today, that's better than having no hope at all.How can it be that the more life throws at us, the stronger we become?

Chapter 94

SITTING AT A SECLUDED BACK TABLE in Billy Rosa's, the diviest of dive bars on the outskirts of Na.s.sau, Devoux glanced at his Glashutte Pano Navigator watch yet again. He'd made the trip down to the Bahamas for one reason and one reason only.Insurance. If Carlyle needed backup, he'd be close by to intercede. But he was hoping that it wouldn't come to that.He knew they couldn't afford even the slightest hiccup. Everything had to go as planned, tidy and neat. Like clockwork.But here was Carlyle, over a half hour late. They were supposed to be discussing his flight plan one last time, and exactly how he should commit the murders.What the h.e.l.l was keeping him?"It's not what, butwho, " explained Peter when finally he arrived, a few minutes later.Peter then shared his recent conversation with Agent Ellen Pierce. The upshot was surprisingly simple, not to mention being an amazing case of serendipity. Jake Dunne was taking the fall for everything."Talk about a lucky break, huh?" said Peter before letting go with one of his obnoxious chuckles. He leaned in, his voice cutting back to a whisper. "For a minute there, I almost believed the b.i.t.c.h."Devoux rubbed his square chin, not yet sold either way. "What tipped you off?"Peter reached into his pocket. "This," he said. "She gave it to me so I can call her the minute I find Katherine and the brats."Staring at the satellite phone, Devoux nodded knowingly, a rocket on the uptake. "There's a tracking device inside.""Exactly.""You sure you're not just being paranoid, Peter?""No, she suspects something, all right. I'm not sure how or why, but she does."Now it was Devoux's turn to reach into his pocket. He pulled out a Swiss Army knife, cla.s.sic red."Give me the phone," he said."What are you going to do?" asked Peter."Just give me the phone."Peter handed it over. "Be careful with it, okay? She can't think I tampered with it."Devoux bypa.s.sed both the foldout scissors and the Phillips-head screwdriver on his knife. He went straight for the blade, wedging it hard between the seams of the phone.With a flick of his wrist he shucked the phone open like an oyster."Trust me," he said. "If you're right about your little agent friend, tampering will be the least of our problems."

Chapter 95

THE AREA SURROUNDING Billy Rosa's bar wasn't exactly conducive to a stakeout. Come to think of it, thought Ellen, it wasn't conducive to much of anything. To the left of the bar was the scorched frame of a burned-down warehouse, to the right a junkyard of rusted-out cars and trucks. Dotting the rest of the otherwise barren, sandy landscape was a smattering of withering sea-grape trees and bleached-out gra.s.s.All in all, it was hardly a tourism brochure for the Bahamas in the making.Still, Ellen made do.First she parked her rental, a dark blue Honda Civic, amid the junkyard of cars, propping up the hood so it would blend in. Second, she nestled behind one of the sea-grape trees about seventy-five yards from the bar's main entrance.Third, she waited.Despite the obvious fact that the sun was setting, the heat remained brutal. She was sweating from every pore, and her clothes were absolutely drenched. Even the leather strap of the high-powered binoculars draped around her neck was soaking wet.Of all the places to have a drink on this island, why here, Peter Carlyle?Ellen continued to wait, occasionally glancing at the receiver in her hand, which was picking up a signal from the phone she had given Carlyle. The receiver's screen, about the size of a credit card, glowed bright with a 3-D topo-graphical map of the area, a red dot indicating Carlyle's location right smack inside Billy Rosa's bar.She smiled. She had turned the creepy lawyer into a human LoJack device. Good thing, too. Now she didn't have to follow him around the clock.Just when it counted.Like right now.Staring at the entrance to the bar, Ellen scanned the dozen or so cars lined up in front. Some of them were only a notch above the clunkers in the adjacent junkyard, the rest being either modest compacts or Jeeps.Then there was the one on the end. All she could think of was that bit fromSesame Street: One of these things is not like the others . . .It was a black Mercedes 600CL coupe. Ellen was no car fanatic, but she had learned a thing or two over the years while tailing drug dealers. When it came to Ferraris, Porsches, and Mercedes-Benzes, she could moonlight as a reporter forCar and Driver magazine.Boasting over 500 horsepower and a price tag hovering around a hundred and fifty grand, the 600CL stood out no matter where it was parked. But here, outside Billy Rosa's, it might as well have been painted purple with pink polka dots.And the more Ellen stared at it, the more her gut told her the 600CL was somehow connected to Peter Carlyle.Two minutes later her gut proved right.Carlyle stepped out of the bar.He wasn't alone.Ellen quickly peered through her binoculars. With Carlyle was a man of about the same height and build, maybe a little younger. He wore white linen pants, a blue silk shirt, and dark, mirrored sungla.s.ses. And he was easily as creepy as Carlyle.After chatting for a moment, the two went their separate ways. There was no handshake, barely even a nod from either of them.Carlyle walked over to a white Buick Lucerne. The Mystery Man climbed behind the wheel of the hot Mercedes.Ellen lowered the binoculars, waiting for both cars to leave.Whatcha up to, Peter? Who's your new friend? Anybody I should know about?Only one way to find out.

Chapter 96

HURRY!Ellen sprinted to her rented Honda and slammed the hood shut. After climbing in, she snapped her wrist hard against the key and gunned it. The puny four-cylinder engine instantly squealed its disapproval.Talk about a mismatch! Could she even catch up to the Mercedes, let alone follow it?She sure as h.e.l.l was going to try.The Mystery Man was the break she needed, she was pretty sure of it. She knew he didn't look kosher. As for Carlyle, she'd catch up with him later-not a problem, thanks to the transmitter.No, the problem lay straight ahead, speeding down the dirt road. That Mercedes was already a blip on the horizon. Soon she wouldn't be able to see it at all.Or maybe not.Ellen blinked with disbelief.The blip was getting bigger. No lead foot for the Mystery Man; it was more like helium. He was taking his own sweet time.That probably had something to do with the quality of the road, she thought.While Carlyle had left the same way Ellen had come, the Mystery Man was heading the other way, fittingly into the unknown. It was a dirt road, b.u.mpy and winding. Not a building in sight. Not even a sign or a billboard. If Billy Rosa's bar was isolated, this direction was d.a.m.n near off the map.Suddenly Ellen had to do what she least expected: hit the brakes. She was getting too close to the coupe and had to pull back lest she arouse suspicion.Where are we going, Mystery Man?He wasn't telling, not yet.One mile became another, and another and another. Ellen's eyes stayed focused on the back of the Mercedes. Her mind, however, began to drift. Out of nowhere she heard a voice from her past. It was her grandfather, as if he were sitting right next to her, riding shotgun. In his thick, raspy staccato he was invoking one of his favorite expressions.Take the devil you know versus the devil you don't.Back in those days, when Ellen was a young girl, she never really understood what it meant. That's probably why she forgot about it.Until now.Ellen glanced down, peeking through the steering wheel at the speedometer. The Mystery Man was puttering along at no more than thirty miles an hour. Wherever they were heading, they weren't in any hurry.Then, in a flash, all that changed. The Mercedes took off like a missile, all 500 horsepower firing at once. Before Ellen could speed up, it was gone behind a wall of dust.s.h.i.t!Ellen's foot found the gas, but it was probably a lost cause. No contest, right? She couldn't see the Mystery Man now. She couldn't seeanything.Including the bullet heading straight for her head.

Chapter 97

AN INCH.Maybe two inches.That's how close she came to dying on the dirt road somewhere in the Bahamas.The bullet ripped through the windshield, buzzing Ellen's right ear amid shards of broken gla.s.s. She had no idea what was happening. Until . . .Duck!Dead ahead, the Mystery Man was standing squarely in the middle of the road, staring down the barrel of a 9-millimeter Beretta.As he fired again, Ellen flung herself against the seat, her foot jamming the brake pedal.Smack! went her forehead against the glove compartment as the car slowly skidded to a stop.For a second she lay there, her head throbbing, the brainwaves scattered. She listened for another shot. It didn't happen right away. Instead she heard something worse.Footsteps.He was coming for her.My gun! Where is my gun?She reached down her right leg. She could feel the shin holster, the rippling grain of the worn-out leather. But no gun.She never kept it strapped. It must have fallen out!The footsteps stopped. Ellen twisted in a panic, looking up at her driver's side window. There he was! He was right there!His body blocked out the setting sun, a bada.s.s eclipse if ever there was one. He raised his arm, c.o.c.king the gun with absolutely no remorse in his eyes. This guy, this Mystery Man, had clearly killed before.And he was about to do it again.No!Ellen threw the car's shift in reverse, her foot hopscotching from the brake to the gas. Suddenly a second shot shattered the driver's side window.Am I dead? Badly wounded?No. He missed!Accelerating backward now, she kept her head tucked just below the dash. With one hand she gripped the steering wheel, struggling to keep the car straight if she could. With the other hand she searched frantically for her gun, feeling blindly under her seat.There!She wrapped her fingers around the grip and pulled it up to her side. The chill of brushed steel had never felt so good.Then, spinning the steering wheel like a top, she threw the car into a seemingly endless three-sixty. One wall of dust deserved another.It's my turn, you son of a b.i.t.c.h.

Chapter 98

THE DIRT ROAD WAS no longer a road-it was more like a Kansas-style tornado.With the dust funneling round and round, Ellen peeled off her second three-sixty, backing up the car about a hundred yards.She threw it into park for all of five seconds, just long enough to lift her feet and kick out what remained of the front windshield. As the gla.s.s splintered across the hood she raised the gun.Then she hit the gas.The little blue Honda choked and sputtered its way past thirty, forty, fifty miles an hour. When it finally emerged through the dust, it was pushing past eighty!Are you still there, Mystery Man? Are you waiting for me? Well, here's a little surprise for you. Today you're going to get shot, not me!The split second she saw him, Ellen started firing. He was still smack in the middle of the road, precisely where she'd left him. Only there was one big difference now. His gun wasn't visible.The psycho was standing there, not firing back. What? Did he have a death wish?Fine! She had no problem giving him exactly what he wanted.Ellen was a crack shot, but shooting from a speeding vehicle over a b.u.mpy road wasn't exactly target practice at the range. On her third pull of the trigger, though, her brain made all the necessary adjustments.She was locked in.But then she watched as the Mystery Man pulled the Beretta from behind his leg.

Chapter 99

DEVOUX WHIPPED HIS ARM FORWARD, locking the elbow before firing just one shot.Bull's-eye!With a thunderouspop the right front tire exploded, shreds of rubber spinning wildly round and round as the little car weaved out of control.The rest was pure physics. He could tell she was trying to hit the brakes. It didn't matter.You're way too late for that, sweetheart. It's all over-you just don't realize it yet.The two left tires lifted off the ground. Then it was all four. Her car launched into the air, flipped once, twice, and then landed with a crushing thud upside down, the roof buckling into a zigzag of twisted metal.The engine hissed as flames shot out from the grille, the smoke black and thick. As the dust settled, Devoux stood and watched with his gun still drawn, waiting for any sign of life.What he saw was her hand, streaked with blood, reaching out from the driver's side. She was clenching the dirt; she was trying to pull herself out.Sc.r.a.ppy little thing, isn't she?Though not for much longer. Devoux began to walk forward, then to jog. It was time to finish her off, DEA agent or not.It had to be done. She was a loose end, a fly in the ointment, and a risk he could ill afford to take. As long as she was alive, she'd be looking for the goods on Peter Carlyle, and she just might find something.That's when he stopped short.Coming fast up the dirt road was another car. He was about to have company, an eyewitness, maybe even plural.But there was still time. He fixed his eyes back on Agent Ellen Pierce, about to run over and shoot her dead.s.h.i.t.Her other hand was reaching out of the overturned car. This one was holding her gun. Slowly, clumsily, she was taking aim at him again.Time to go.Devoux retreated to his Mercedes and fishtailed as he sped off. Looking in the rearview mirror, he could see a shaky and bloodied Agent Ellen Pierce stumbling to her feet, staring down the road at him.Kill ya later, sweetheart.

Chapter 100

LIEUTENANT ANDREW TATEM hightailed it into the emergency room of Princess Margaret Hospital in Na.s.sau and was immediately escorted to a nearby examining room. That was one of the fringe benefits of being a man in uniform and an officer. Most people dropped everything in order to help you. It was a good thing.The message relayed to him from the headquarters of the Bahamas Air Sea Rescue a.s.sociation, BASRA, was only that Ellen Pierce was at the hospital. He didn't know why. He didn't even know whether she'd been hurt or it had been someone else.That little mystery got solved the moment he saw her lying in the bed. It was her all right, and she was clearly a patient. Cuts, bruises, lots of bandages from head to toe."Christ, what happened?" he asked."Car trouble," she said, her sense of humor still intact. "Flat tire, actually."Ellen described her showdown with the pistol-packing Mystery Man from Billy Rosa's bar. She had no doubt that Carlyle had arranged to meet him there. As to why exactly, she wasn't sure, but she had her suspicions, none of them good.So did Tatem."We can't let him fly out of here in the morning," he said. "We've got to ground him.""Believe me, I've been lying here trying to figure out how we can. Legally, that is."Tatem rolled his eyes. "You almost got killed today. At least to buy us some time, I think your office would understand if we concocted something to keep Carlyle on the island. Don't you agree?"Ellen shot him a sheepish look."What's wrong?" asked Tatem. "What am I missing here?"She glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were alone. The nurse in the hallway seemed safely out of earshot. Besides, her vote didn't count."You see, technically I'm not here," said Ellen."I don't follow.""Let's just say that my boss back in New York didn't exactly share my concerns about Peter Carlyle. I'm kind of . . . on vacation down here."Tatem rolled his eyes again, her confession sinking in. "Let me get this straight-you contacted me on your own? You're flying solo on this, with no clearance?""Bingo.""I hate bingo. Christ, that's why you wanted me to play airport courier for you. You couldn't be seen with Peter Carlyle.""I'm sorry," she said. "I'll make it up to you. I don't know how yet, but I will.""I'll make sure you do," he said, allowing a smile. Above all else, Agent Ellen Pierce certainly showed initiative, and guts. He liked that. She was trouble, sure, but his kind of trouble. Never mind that she was also very attractive-even all banged up in a hospital bed."Here's the problem," she said. "If Carlyle somehow has it in for his family, the only way to ground him would be to lock him up. To do that, we need evidence.""Which we don't have, of course. Do we?""Not yet." She thought for a second. "Wait, what about that life jacket your guys found, the burned one? How fast can we have it tested for explosives?""That depends. You plan on bringing anyone up to speed? The feds, perhaps?"Ellen shook her head."I didn't think so," said Tatem. "The Coast Guard isn't exactly an investigative unit, although I do know a pretty decent lab guy in Miami. Figure eighteen hours- twenty-four.""Good enough, I guess.""And in the meantime?" he asked. "What are we supposed to do?""Simple," she said. "We pray your Coast Guard boys find the Dunne family before that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Carlyle does."

Chapter 101

PETER WAITED IN HIS HOTEL ROOM the next morning until he heard the five magic words. At 9:15 his phone rang. "You have a FedEx package," said the front desk. Now he had everything he needed.Securing a private plane had been no problem. In fact, he had his pick of aircraft. Under the guise of being Good Samaritans, about a dozen aviation leasing outfits were willing to offer-for free, no less-the use of one of their planes.Of course, their real motivation just might be the gobs of free publicity they would attract thanks to this ultra-hyped media story.Everyone's an opportunist, right? Nothing new about that. Greed is always at the core of human nature.By 9:45 Peter was out on the tarmac at Pindling International, performing the requisite visual inspection of his loaner plane. It was what they called an amphibian, able to take off and land on both the ground and the water.Slowly he circled the aircraft. The Coast Guard had probably begun its new search at the crack of dawn, but Peter didn't care about its head start.Good luck, fellas. You'll need it.While its complex computer models were busy trying to reconcile a bogus EPIRB signal, a found life jacket, and the migrating habits of giant bluefin tuna, Peter's search area would be based on the one thing the Coast Guard didn't have: the actual coordinates of whereThe Family Dunne went down.Peter climbed aboard the plane and strapped himself in. Even in the private confines of the c.o.c.kpit he still felt the need to glance left and right, like a kid about to cheat on his math test, before going over his flight plan one last time, reviewing exactly how he should commit the murders. The preflight checklist followed. All instruments and gauges were operational. Everything responded. No glitches. At least, it seemed that way.Peter wasn't a hundred percent focused on his instrument panel and he knew it. He also couldn't help it. His mind was elsewhere. It was impossible not to dwell on Katherine and the brats, namely on what he had in store for them. Hispost flight checklist.1. Kill them all, whoever had survived the explosion.2. Bury the bodies.3. Pretend to search the area for a few more days.4. Tearfully give up, undoubtedly before tons of news cameras from around the globe.The voice of the tower crackled through Peter's headset. "Mr. Carlyle, you are cleared for takeoff on runway A-three. On a personal note, here's hoping you find your family."Peter thanked the voice from the tower, grinning behind his sungla.s.ses.Be careful what you wish for, pal.

Chapter 102

THE DAY WAS A PILOT'S DREAM, all right. Nearly perfect visibility. With barely a cloud in the sky, Peter could see everything from his perch at three thousand feet.Everything, that is, except Katherine and her obnoxious brat pack. Plus their uncle, of course.He'd covered a half-dozen islands along the southernmost tip of the Bahamas that qualified as uninhabited. Sure enough, they were still uninhabited.There remained two ripe prospects in his mind, and he had the coordinates for both.A half hour later, that was down to one.Peter wasn't given to self-doubt, and that wasn't changing as he steered the plane due east and throttled up. It was Devoux's work he was beginning to question.With his charts and graphs, the guy had certainly made the search seem like a slam dunk.Of course, that expression had some interesting history with the CIA, didn't it?Peter still had an unfair advantage over the Coast Guard. Its search wouldn't expand this far south until the following day-at the earliest. Still, what good was having the extra time if he came up empty?Peter increased the throttle and the plane responded seamlessly. He very much liked the way it handled. Even when pushed, she still felt smooth.Very smooth. With the engines purring, he gave the throttle one more nudge.Why not get there a little faster?Out of nowhere, the plane answered with a loud sputter.That's why.Jolting up in his seat, Peter looked out his side window to see the left propeller slowing down. Then it stopped.Immediately the wings seesawed, the plane lurching hard left. Peter threw his weight against the control stick, struggling to steer it back to the right.Again he looked out the window-both sides now- checking the ailerons on the rear edge of the wings. They looked intact, but he was still losing roll control.Peter's gut shot up into his throat as the small plane began to spiral downward. Once, twice, he tried to restart the engine, but with no luck. The nose of the plane plunged farther and farther south. Within seconds there would be nothing he could do.Except crash into the sea.Was this G.o.d intervening? Was there some kind of cosmic justice after all? Nah!Peter shook his head, clenching his jaw. With one last heave he pulled back on the control stick, trying to bring the plane out of its spin. If he could level the plane, he'd have another shot at restarting the engine.That's it, baby, straighten out! You can do it.The left engine stirred, then stammered, the propeller clicking, clicking, clicking . . .Then catching.Sweet music to his ears, the engine fired up, kicking out a burst of air and sending the plane hurling forward out of its spin. Only when it leveled out a few hundred feet over the water did Peter remember to breathe."Unf.u.c.kingbelievable!"he shouted.But that was only the half of it. Peter stared out over the nose of the plane, quickly lifting his sungla.s.ses. The island! Twelve o'clock, straight ahead! Were those animals?No, they were people.And not sunbathers, either-not tourists enjoying a secluded day at the beach.Back on went the sungla.s.ses. He throttled down, the plane swooping lower and lower. He wanted to get closer, close enough to know for sure that what he was seeing was for real.That it was the Dunnes.

Chapter 103

I'M NOT THE FIRST TO SPOT IT, Mark is. He yells so loud that I think I'm back in the ER and there's a big problem.But the second I turn to see him down by the water, his arm outstretched and pointing feverishly into the sky, I know he's screaming for joy.The next second we all are.Carrie and Ernie, sprawled in the shade by the top of the beach, jump up like two jack-in-the-boxes. They practically trip over each other as they sprint to join their brother.No one says a word about lighting the fires.We don't have to!That's how close this low-flying plane is. It's coming straight toward us, no mistake. There's no way it can't see us.Still, just to be sure, Carrie runs over to our SOS spelled out with rocks. I actually laugh as she elaborately motions to it with her hands. She looks like one of those silly prize girls onThe Price Is Right. Wow, this is really happening! We're about to be rescued!Yesterday we thought our ship had come in. Today, for real, our plane has!It's only a few hundred yards away and dipping lower, as if to say h.e.l.lo, signaling that it's seen us.That's when Mark screams out again. "Look!" he says. "It's got pontoons!"He's right. I was so happy to see the plane, it never occurred to me where it might land.No problem at all.It's got a runway as big as the ocean.With a giantwhoosh! the plane sails right overhead, its wings angling into a steep turn. I catch a glimpse of the pilot-or at least the silhouette of the pilot. It looks like a man, or maybe I'm just a.s.suming that. I really can't tell for sure. But if it is, he's going to get the biggest hug of his life, whoever he is."It's coming around to land!" yells Mark. "He's coming! He's coming!"We watch the plane circle back at the far end of the beach. The wings level out no more than a couple of hundred feet above the surface. In all my years of sailing, I've never actually seen a water landing.Talk about a memorable first time.The plane approaches, its twin propellers like two perfect circles against the sky. Any second now it will begin to dip toward the surf, those pontoons gently easing down.But that expected moment never comes.Right before our eyes-so close, so very,very close-the plane continues straight past us, the roar of its engines drowning out our screams."Noooooo!"Stunned, we watch as it flies off into the distance. It doesn't turn around, it doesn't come back. Instead it disappears over the horizon.Gone.How could what just happened here possibly have happened? Who was that maniac who just buzzed us?

Chapter 104

CHRIST, IT'S DARK . . .Not that Peter was complaining. This was exactly what he had been waiting for, the cover of night. The darker, the better.Walking through the thick and tangled brush, he kept his flashlight low, shining it ahead only enough to see where each step was about to land. Anything more would've been too much. It would make him into a walking lighthouse.He was an uninvited guest, after all-the ultimate surprise visitor-and the whole key to his plan was keeping it that way until the very last moment.Now he just had to find his lovely family, once and for all, and finish them off.The plane was anch.o.r.ed on the other side of the island. Earlier he'd cut the engines and performed a near-silent "dead drop" a few miles from sh.o.r.e.Hey, kids, don't try that at home-trust me on it.For one thing, there are no do-overs.It took hours for the current to drag the plane close enough to the island, but hours he had. If he'd really thought about it, he would've included a few magazines in the FedEx box.Other than that, though, he'd packed everything he needed. One fold-up shovel. The flashlight. Some double-braided rope. Of course, the most important was his Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum. And yes, he was ready to use it. The murders wouldn't be a problem for him.Peter pressed on. The night air was warm and still, peppered only with the high-pitched chirping of some kind of bird. Short of that, the only distinct sound was the pounding of his heart. The adrenaline was now gushing through his veins. Maybe the murders would be a small problem.Finally, through a clearing, he saw it. Distant but definitely there. It was a small orange glow.Their campfire.The edge of the beach was only a few yards away. Reaching it, he immediately kicked off his docksiders and wet his feet, made sure he was balanced in his stance.Each step he took now was silenced by the squishy give of the sand. He was quiet as a mouse.As he got closer, his eyes began to distinguish among the shapes near the fire. Bodies. All horizontal. Fast, fast asleep. No one seemed to be stirring. He could even hear some snoring.One big happy family.But who was who? Peter wondered.Did it even matter?For some perverse reason, it did. Yes, the first shot would be reserved for Katherine. He had nothing against her, really. There was no need for her to see the kids slaughtered.Peter took one more step forward, his eyes squinting down to narrow slits.Until. . .The light from the fire shifted ever so slightly, illuminating Katherine's face for only a split second.There you are, sweetie pie!With a stiff arm he swiftly raised his gun in front of him, the barrel aimed squarely at Katherine's head, right between her eyes. All he had to do was pull the trigger.At least, that's how it might have looked."But trust me, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I was there to save my family, not to kill them."

Part Six

Trust No One

Chapter 105

PETER'S a.s.sEMBLED DREAM TEAM of lawyers looked like an ad for Paul Stuart suits as they conversed in hushed tones around the defense table. As for Peter himself, having traded in his flashy Brioni for a Brooks Brothers gray flannel, he kept his focus squarely on the jury as they were led back into the courtroom after a one-hour recess for lunch.That's right, people, make eye contact with me. Only an innocent man can stare a jury straight in the eyes, right? That's been my experience, anyway."All rise!" bellowed the court clerk.Judge Robert Barnett, midfifties with slicked-back gray hair divided by a razor-sharp part, made his way to the bench and further cemented his reputation as a no-nonsense, no dilly-dallying man even before he sat down. He dispensed with any idle chitchat-not even a "Please be seated"-and asked the prosecution to call their first witness.Nolan Heath, the lead prosecutor, promptly stood and straightened his rep tie before adjusting his wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. Heath was a deliberate and pensive man, his expression always like that of a chess player considering his next move."Your Honor, the prosecution calls Mark Dunne."Mark, pot-free for over four months now, rose quickly from the first row behind the prosecution table. If anything, he looked a little too anxious to testify. Who could blame him? He had something to say here, something hugely important.As he was sworn in, he stared at Peter Carlyle, his hatred of the man on full display for all to see.Heath said, "Mark, would you please describe the events, as you recall them, of the night of June twenty-fifth earlier this year?"Mark nodded and took a deep breath. That was something Heath had repeatedly reminded him to do on the witness stand.Breathe. Think, then speak.Slowly Mark began to answer. "My sister, Carrie, and I had been taking turns watching over our campsite on the island while everyone else slept. A large snake had attacked our mother a few days earlier, so we wanted to make sure nothing snuck up on us during the night. Carrie and I were vigilant."Anyway, a few hours in I heard something. It was dark, but I knew it wasn't just the wind blowing. Or even an animal. They're quieter. Sure enough, I could see someone approaching. I mean, I couldn't tell who it was, but I knew it was a person."Heath nodded. "You must have been excited, right? You thought you were about to be saved.""Yeah, that's what I thought at first," said Mark. "Then I wondered why the person wasn't calling out to us or anything. It didn't make any sense. That's when I saw the gun in his hand.""So what did you do?" asked Heath, as if he were hearing the story for the first time."I protected my family as best I could. As soon as I saw him raise that gun and point it at my mother, I hit him with a heavy branch. Thankfully, it knocked him out.""And when you sayhim, who are you referring to, Mark?"Mark pointed, jabbing his finger as he had done when he spotted Peter's plane flying toward the island. "Himright there. Peter Carlyle. My stepfather.The son of a b.i.t.c.h! "The courtroom buzzed until Judge Barnett banged his gavel. "Young man, I won't tolerate that kind of language in my courtroom. Do you understand?"Mark nodded dutifully before turning back to Heath. No one would ever know by the prosecutor's expression that he was extremely proud of his young witness. Mark had delivered the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h line exactly as he had been told."No further questions, Your Honor."

Chapter 106

JUDGE BARNETT MOTIONED to the defense table. "Your witness," he announced."Thank you, Your Honor," cooed Gordon Knowles, presumptive captain of Peter's dream team. He stood up and nodded politely at the jury.Then, as if to please the impatient judge, he turned to Mark and got right into it."You just testified that you were on guard duty that night on the island. So in a way you were sort of looking for trouble, weren't you?"Heath bolted up from the prosecution table. "Objection, Your Honor! He's putting words in the witness's mouth.""Sustained," muttered Judge Barnett with a disapproving glance at Knowles. "You know better than that, Counselor."Yes, he did.And he would do much better, too."Tell me, Mark," he continued before quickly stopping himself. "You don't mind if I call you by your first name, do you?""Not at all,Gordon. "The jury chuckled."Fair enough," said Knowles, pretending to laugh along. "Now, Mark, when you first saw Mr. Carlyle arrive at your campsite on the island, could you see what he was wearing?""No, I couldn't," answered Mark. "As I said, it was dark.""Yes, it was, wasn't it?As you said, you didn't even know who the person approaching was until after you attacked him."Heath was halfway through his objection when Knowles rephrased. "I'm sorry," he lied. "Sprang into action, I should've said."Judge Barnett frowned. "Get to your question, Counselor.""Gladly, Your Honor. My question is this. Mark, if you had known that it was Mr. Carlyle, would you have hit him with that heavy branch?"Mark blinked a few times as if trying to keep his mental balance. He saw where Knowles-Gordon-was going with this line of questioning and didn't want to be tripped up. Not by this p.r.i.c.k!"He had a gun," Mark answered, slowly and distinctly."That's not what I asked," said Knowles. "If you had known who it was, would you have hit him with that branch?"Mark fell silent again.Judge Barnett leaned toward the witness stand. "Please answer the question, son," he said."No, I wouldn't have hit him," said Mark softly."Why is that?" asked Knowles."Because he was my stepfather.""Someone who would have no reason to harm you or anyone else in your family, right?""But he had a gun!" Mark repeated, his voice cracking."Yes, he did," said Knowles. "For the same reason you claim to have jumped him.For self-defense. " He turned to the jury, throwing up his arms in mock desperation. "After all, Mr. Carlyle had more than large snakes to worry about that night. As I mentioned in my opening statement, he had been told by none other than a federal agent that drug traffickers may have been involved in his family's disappearance. So Mr. Carlyle came prepared. He had a gunfor self-defense. It makes all the sense in the world."Heath stood to object again, but it was too late. A few members of the jury were shrugging in agreement.Gun =guilty .The damage was done.So was Knowles."No further questions," he announced.

Chapter 107

PETER'S EXTRADITION from the Bahamas was one thing, but this trial is definitely another kind of circus. I don't know how much more of it I can take, and this is only the beginning! The madness has just begun.It's not just the trial itself, though. It's what it represents-what this feels like for the kids and me.It's as if we're taking the trip all over again.We were finally getting on with our lives and moving forward. I had filed for divorce as soon as I got home, and it would be final in just a few weeks. The incessant media coverage had died down-no more pictures every day in the paper or boldface mentions in the gossip columns. Even my broken leg had healed nicely.Then,pow! the trial throws us right back onThe Family Dunne and we have to relive everything.No wonder I'm back on the couch in Mona's office. Once again, I thank G.o.d for her soundproof walls."d.a.m.n it! d.a.m.n it!d.a.m.n it! " I yell, barely a minute into our session. "This is so unfair to the kids."With the trial taking up almost the entire day, Mona agreed to see me late for what she's calling a "gripe and grub." Translation: after I vent to her for an hour, we grab dinner together at the restaurant of her choice. My treat-my very expensive treat.I quickly apologize for the yelling, and as usual Mona tells me it's more than okay."In fact," she says, "I think it's good for you.""Maybe," I reply. "What would really be good for me is seeing Peter locked up behind bars. That can't happen soon enough.""At the same time, you need to prepare yourself if -"I lift my hand, telling her to stop right there. I don't even want to hear those two horrible words.Not guilty.What Peter did-and I'm convinced way beyond a reasonable doubt that he did indeed do it-is hard enough to swallow. The idea that he might not be punished makes me want to throw up.Others agree with me. Not the least of whom is Agent Ellen Pierce. She risked her job, if not her career, following her gut about Peter Carlyle, Esq."What did you think when Agent Pierce first approached you?" I ask Mona."I didn't know what to think. At the time I thought you were dead. That was shocking enough. The idea that Peter might have been responsible . . . Well, the least I could do was carry that tape recorder for her. I just wish it had helped.""Isn't it ironic, though?" I say. "The person who I thought I trusted the most was trying to kill me, and the people who I thought I couldn't count on-my kids-were the ones who ended up saving my life.""That's definitely the word for it," says Mona. "To think you were sitting right here in my office before the trip, wanting so desperately to save your family." She smiled. "It almost killed you, but mission accomplished. You all came out better for it."We both fall silent, suddenly realizing that's not entirely true.We didn'tall come out better."I'm sorry," says Mona. "I didn't mean to forget Jake. I haven't. None of us have.""It's okay," I say. "Sometimes I wish I could, if you know what I mean. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think about him.""What about the kids? Have they dealt with it?""Mark and Carrie have. They're older. For Ernie it's taking a little longer. He really looked up to Jake."I hear myself say that last sentence and I know exactly what Mona's thinking. Probably because I've been thinking the same thing."It's time, isn't it?" I ask Mona."Yes," she answers. "I think it is."

Chapter 108

"YOUR WITNESS, Mr. Knowles."Gordon Knowles thanked Judge Barnett with a sharp nod as he rose from the defense table. Agent Ellen Pierce was a key witness for the prosecution, and he was champing at the bit to cross-examine her and take her testimony apart."Agent Pierce," he began, his tone as warm and inviting as a bed of nails, "you just testified that you followed my client to Vermont, where you trespa.s.sed on private property and secretly photographed him with a woman. Do you think that proves beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Carlyle was planning to kill his family?"Ellen answered quickly and confidently. "No, I do not.""Earlier today we heard testimony from an explosives expert who said his lab found traces of RDX, a military-grade explosive, on the life jacket salvaged from the Dunne family's boat. Do you think that proves beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Carlyle was planning to kill his family?"Ellen, dressed modestly in a black pantsuit and simple white blouse, glanced over at the jury, as if to express her dissatisfaction with this line of questioning. She was being walked like a dog by Knowles and she didn't like it. Not one little bit.It was time to bite back."What Ithink is that the jury might start to wonder if all these coincidences, as you'd like to call them, are something more than just a coincidence," she said.Judge Barnett didn't wait to hear Knowles's objection to intervene. He quickly turned to the jury box. "The jury will disregard the unsolicited speculation by the witness." He then fixed his disapproving gaze on Ellen. "Ms. Pierce, please just answer the question.""Sorry, Your Honor," she said. She wasn't sorry, of course. In fact, she felt quite content that her point had been made. Somebody needed to make it if justice was to be done here."To repeat the question, Agent Pierce -"She cut him off. "No, I don't believe that the trace explosive alone proves beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Carlyle was trying to kill his family."Knowles smiled with smug satisfaction. "Agent Pierce, you were suspended by the DEA for your reckless actions in pursuing my client, correct?"Instinctively Ellen looked over at Ian McIntyre, seated behind the prosecution table. She was somewhat surprised that he had come to lend his support. It almost took the sting out of the three-month "vacation" he had given her."I don't think the wordreckless -"It was Knowles's turn to interrupt. "Were you or were you not suspended from duty?""Yes, I was.""Indeed, you had been told explicitly by the head of your divisionnot to pursue Mr. Carlyle, correct?""Yes.""Nonetheless you met with Mr. Carlyle under false pretenses and lied to him about Jake Dunne's being suspected of drug smuggling, didn't you? In fact, you warned Mr. Carlyle that if he found his family, they were still potentially in danger.""What I was trying to do -""Yes, that is the question, isn't it?What were you trying to do? Was it some kind of revenge?"Every ounce of Ellen was now telling her to keep her cool, not do this j.e.r.k.-.o.f.f. any favors by getting emotional. Still, she had to defend herself. "That's preposterous," she said firmly. "There was no revenge. That's utterly absurd and insulting.""Is it, though? The head of your division himself said that your judgment may have been clouded because of a trial a few months back in which Mr. Carlyle successfully defended someone you had vigorously investigated.""Trust me, the only clouded judgment was the verdict in that case," replied Ellen. She knew she should've just answered straight, but she couldn't help herself. Not anymore. "Sometimes justice truly is blind," she added.Knowles shook his head.Tsk-tsk! "It sounds to me, Agent Pierce, as if you have serious contempt for our legal system.""No," said Ellen, looking him squarely in the eye. "Just for defense attorneys."

Chapter 109

ONLY ONE DAY of school. That's all I'm allowing the kids to miss for the trial,I tell myself.For Carrie, that's one day too many. She wants nothing to do with Peter, even if it means seeing him locked up for the rest of his miserable life. Hopefully it will.Anyway, that's fine with me. Carrie's exactly where she should be-enjoying her soph.o.m.ore year at Yale. There's no more school nutritionist, no more school psychologist. Just school. Her body weight is back up to normal, and something tells me it's going to stay that way.Mark, of course, had to miss a day of cla.s.ses at Deerfield in order to testify. I'm so proud of him, and I think he did a fine job under the circ.u.mstances. He, on the other hand, is a little b.u.mmed about the way Peter's buddy-buddy lawyer-"the d.i.c.kwad"-played hardball with him.Speaking of b.u.mmed . . .It's Ernie.After an early dinner with Nolan Heath to discuss my testimony tomorrow, I return to the apartment and relieve Angelica for the evening. She tells me Ernie's in his room doing his homework.In a lot of ways Ernie should be on cloud nine with the rest of us. It was his idea to put the note in the bottle.He saved us. And from the moment we flipped that transponder back on in Peter's plane, his was a hero's welcome. From theTodayshow toLarry King toOn the Record with Greta Van Susteren, he did more than a dozen TV interviews. In every article written about our ordeal, he always got the most ink.Except he never really enjoyed any of it, even though it was always his choice whether to make an appearance or not. He smiled for the cameras, saying and doing all the right things like the trouper he is. But I'm his mother. I could tell. And after more than four months, this funk of his hasn't gotten too much better. I blame myself, of course.Gently I knock on his half-open door. "Mind if I come in?" I ask.He's sitting at his desk in the far corner. "Sure," he says, his eyes fixed on the glowing rectangle of his iMac. "Hi, Mom.""How's your essay coming?" Five hundred words on the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation. Not countinga 's andthe 's. This is what I get for cutting back my hours after returning to the hospital, something I was so sorely missing: the details of my kids' lives."Three hundred and eighty-seven words . . . and counting," Ernie answers, his fingers tapping away on the wireless keyboard. "I'll make it.""Absolutely."I browse around his room for a minute, not wanting to get into it right away. I glance at a poster of Albert Einstein, the one in which he's famously sticking out his tongue.Then I stop in front of a framed photograph of Ernie with those two fishermen, Captain Steve and his first mate. Jason? No-it was Jeffrey, I remember. What a couple of characters those guys are. Look how they're smiling, too! Then again, that shot was snapped right after I gave them their reward. Who wouldn't be smiling?I certainly was. Best million dollars anyone could ever spend."Are you scared?" asks Ernie out of nowhere, breaking the silence in the room."You mean about testifying tomorrow? I guess I'm a little nervous," I say. "You'll be there to support me, right?"He nods. The one day he's chosen for attending the trial is when I'm scheduled to take the stand. I can't begin to explain how good that makes me feel."Ernie, there's something I want to talk to you about," I say.Maybe it's the tone of my voice, the notion that we're not about to discuss the weather or anything else that's trivial in our lives. He turns away from his computer and stares right at me. "What is it, Mom?" he asks.I sit down on his bed, taking a deep breath before I begin. I've been planning this conversation in my head for years, all along thinking that I could prepare myself properly, not get too emotional.So much for that."Why are you crying, Mom?"I tell him the truth. "It's Jake," I say. "I still miss him a lot.""Me too.""I know you do, honey. That's what I want to talk to you about.""Did I do something wrong?" Ernie asks."No. Absolutely not."I did. But it's the best mistake I ever made, something I'd never change.I stare at Ernie, his eyes and face, and it's as if I can see him more clearly than ever before, as if I know who he really is."Mom?" he asks. "Is there something you want to tell me?""Yes, honey, there is."And so I do.I tell Ernie who his father is.

Chapter 110

AFTER A NIGHT of telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth to Ernie, I promise to do the same in court the next morning.So far, so good.As I wrap up my testimony for Nolan Heath and his prosecution, my only complaint is the hardness of the witness chair. Would it kill them to include a cushion on this thing? Seriously, though, I think I'm doing okay. The jury seems to believe me, if not to feel downright sorry for our family. The elderly lady on the end of the first row looks as if she wants to bake us cookies.That said, I'm not sure how much anything I have to say matters. The most I can prove is that I'm a woman who got duped by one of the best. I thought I was marrying a really great guy. How was I supposed to know that charming Peter Carlyle was a lying, cheating, murderous lout?That was the point, I guess. I wasn't supposed to know who Peter was. Sometimes I still find it hard to believe.My husband tried to murder my entire family."Your witness," Judge Barnett announces. I immediately feel a twinge.All it takes is Gordon Knowles rising from the defense table for me to realize that "so far, so good" only gets you so far in a murder trial. The real test is about to come."Dr. Dunne, this sailing trip with your children was your idea, wasn't it?" he asks."Yes," I answer."Mr. Carlyle had nothing to do with arranging it, am I correct?""Yes. Although he did know about it well in advance. Months in advance, actually."Knowles grins. "Oh, I see. Because he knew about it in advance, you're suggesting he had ample time to plot your family's murder.""I'm just saying -""Of course, lots of people knew in advance that you were taking this trip-for instance, the people you work with at Lexington Hospital.""I'm pretty sure no one there wants to see me dead.""What about you, Dr. Dunne?"I'm taken aback. "I'm not sure I understand the question. Could you rephrase, please?""You've been under the care of a psychiatrist for some time, haven't you?" asks Knowles."Yes, I see a therapist. Lots of people do.""Are you on antidepressants?"In a flash I can feel my blood, comfortably on a low simmer up until this point, begin to boil. The wordincredulous doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. "Are you suggesting I had something to do with all this?" I ask with a shaky voice."Your Honor, could you please instruct the witness that I'm the only one permitted to ask questions right now?" says a smug Knowles."I think you just did that for me, Counselor. Get on with it," says Judge Barnett, directing one of his sternest looks at the defense attorney."With pleasure," says Knowles. "In fact, I'm just getting warmed up . . ."

Chapter 111

KNOWLES TURNS BACK TO ME, edging closer. So close I can smell his designer cologne. Eau de Pompous, perhaps? I never liked this man, not even when he was at Peter's and my wedding reception. Hard to imagine it now. Peter's buddy cross-examining me in court at a murder trial?"Do you know the very last words recorded by the Coast Guard when Jake radioed them during the storm?" he asks."No, I don't.""I do-it's right here," he says, strutting back to the crowded defense table. He picks up a yellow legal pad and adjusts his gla.s.ses. "Right before the radio went dead, Jake Dunne screamed, 'No, Katherine, don't!'"Knowles folds his arms and stares at me. "Don'twhat, Dr. Dunne?"I look at him blankly. I'm trying to remember-there was so much going on during the storm.Finally, it comes to me.The bin."I think I was opening -"He cuts me off. "Youthink? What is that supposed to mean? Do you remember it or not?""Objection, Your Honor," says Heath, rising from the prosecution table. "He's badgering the witness. Dr. Dunne isn't being given a chance to answer the question.""I'll retract the question," says Knowles.Of course he will, the tricky b.a.s.t.a.r.d-it's already done its damage. No wonder Peter likes this obnoxious creep so much.He continues: "Dr. Dunne, how much money did you inherit when your first husband died?""I don't know the exact amount.""Would it be safe to a.s.sume that it was over a hundred million dollars?""Yes," I say."You were the last person to see your first husband alive on his boat, were you not?""Actually, no -""Objection!" shouts Heath. "This is outrageous. Relevancy!"Knowles quickly turns to the bench. "Your Honor, the death of Stuart Dunne was ruled to be accidental. I'm simply trying to point out that accidents happen on boats, just like anywhere else.""I'll allow it," declares Judge Barnett.Knowles pivots back to me. "In fact, Dr. Dunne, as you mentioned in an earlier deposition, your boat had suffered mechanical difficulties-accidents,if you will-prior to the storm, correct?""Yes. We had a ruptured through-hull line.""For those nonsailors among us, that's basically a hose that channels in seawater from outside the boat to cool the engine, right?""I didn't know that myself until Jake explained it to me.""Indeed, your former brother-in-law managed to fix the problem. As you mentioned in your deposition, how did he describe what he did?"Even before Knowles finishes the question I realize how damaging my answer will sound."He cut out a piece of the fuel line and spliced it onto the engine-cooling water line," I say."I'm sorry, could you please speak up, Dr. Dunne? Did you say he cut the fuel line?""Yes.""So he cut out a piece of the hosing that carries the flammable fuel to the engine and then he patched it back together? Is that right?""I don't know for sure. I wasn't with him when he did it.""Ah. Which means you don't know how good a job he did, do you?"This guy's like a human minefield. No, he's worse than that. He's Captain Knowles of the SSReasonable Doubt.And I'm starting to get a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach."Last question, Dr. Dunne, and I'll remind you that you are still under oath," he announces over his shoulder. "Have you ever been in the employ of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency?"I can practically hear the neck of every person in the courtroom snap as they quickly look from Knowles to me. Where didthat come from? What a bombsh.e.l.l of a question.Same for the answer, I suppose.The whole truth and nothing but, huh?I lean forward to the microphone. Lord knows I don't want to have to say it twice."Yes, I worked with the CIA."