“Because you have more than proven your loyalty.”
And here I had almost let her bleed out in the car. And part of me wanted her to die.“You need to rest. And then you can make decisions.”
She closed her eyes and, probably due to the meds put into her port, was soon asleep.
And not for the first time since his nightmare had commenced, Walter Nash had no idea what he was supposed to do.
He had previously bought a burner phone with cash. He now slipped out of the hospital room and left a voicemail for Agent Morris, telling him about the assassination attempt.
Over time Nash had made recordings of discussions he’d overheard with Steers and her associates. In addition, he had chronicled his observations, including Masuyo’s information drops in the park. Using the burner phone he had sent all this, and the photos of Maggie’s things in the box, to Agent Morris via the secure portal the man had provided. He’d then deleted everything, including the portal, from his phone in case anyone tried to force him to reveal what was on it.
As soon as he returned to the hospital room his phone buzzed. It was Thura.
“We got a package delivered here, Dillon. It showed up in the lobby. The reception guy said some dude left it and then rushed out. Weird as shit. And with what happened to Ms. Steers I called the police. They scanned the exterior for bomb stuff and it was clean, so they left without opening it. They couldn’t tell me what was inside from the scan. So what do I do?”
Nash gave him the address of the hospital and told him to get here as soon as he could. When Thura arrived a half hour later, Nash instructed him to remain in Steers’s room until he got back. “Eyes on her at all times. You never leave.”
“Right.”
Nash grabbed a cab back to the penthouse and rode up in the elevator. He was met by one of Steers’s young female attendants, who had clearly been crying.
“Has. . .will she be all right?” the woman asked.
“Yes, she will. Where is the package?”
She led him into a small room off the dining area where a sturdy box with a lock sat. On top of the box was a letter and a key.
He read the letter. The message was brief: “We are returning your property, Ms. Steers.”
It was unsigned.
Nash looked the case over. It was black with chrome hinges and a clasp lock.
He figured since it had already been checked for any explosives, there was only one thing to do. He took the key and inserted it in the lock.
He counted to three, and then, ready to jump if the thing contained a snake or some other danger, he opened it. When Nash looked inside he saw an object but couldn’t tell what it was because it was wrapped in opaque plastic and tied off at the top.
He lifted it out and set it next to the case.
Drawing a long breath he gingerly undid the tie and pulled the plastic free.
He had to fight back the urge to vomit.
Staring back at him was the severed head of the elderly woman who had been substituted for Masuyo at the prison in Myanmar.
CHAPTER
42
STEERS SAT VERY STIFFLY INthe chair in her office while Nash sat across from her.
She had been home from the hospital for several days, much of the time either asleep or in pain. She was now rested, but the ache was still with her.
And the fear.
Nash had disposed of the severed head before she had returned, but he had told Steers about it.
“That is most. . .unfortunate,” she said, her mouth seeming to have difficulty forming the words.
