The Final Twist
- Автор: Дивер Джеффри
- Серия: Colter Shaw #3
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: G.P. Putnam's Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-525-53913-1
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Final Twist». Краткое содержание книги:
Following the enigmatic clues his father left behind, Shaw plays cat and mouse with the company’s sadistic enforcers, as he speeds from one gritty neighborhood in the City by the Bay to another. Suddenly, the job takes on a frightening urgency: Only by finding the courier bag can he expose the company and stop the murder of an entire family — slated to die in forty-eight hours.
With the help of an unexpected figure from his past, and with the enforcers closing the net, Shaw narrows in on the truth — and learns that the courier bag contains something unexpected: a secret that could only be described as catastrophic.
Silence for a moment as the Rolls climbed California Street and swerved around a cable car, bristling with enthusiastic tourists.
“I don’t think I believe you, Mr. Shaw. You’re playing hard to get. I’m going to assume you found the vote tally certificate. You hid it somewhere. And you’re holding out for more.”
Shaw appeared exasperated. He tried not to overdo it. “Voting about what? Why’s it so important?”
“It just is.” Devereux was growing irritated. Finally the man controlled his pique. “I would be willing to pay seven figures to you, in cash, untraceable, for the certificate. You will never want for anything again.”
Curious phrase, archaic. And an odd concept; Colter Shaw had not wanted for anything for a long time. Maybe since birth, and money had nothing to do with it.
“This tally, whatever it is, wasn’t in the courier bag. What do you want it for?”
The man who would be king...
Devereux didn’t answer. He looked out the window. Very few people disappointed Jonathan Stuart Devereux, Shaw supposed. And fewer still did not do what he wished them to.
If this were Ebbitt Droon, of course, Shaw would probably be on his way to a warehouse in a deserted part of the city. Maybe across the Bay Bridge to Oakland, a city where there would be far more industrial spaces practically designed for torture and body disposal.
The Tannery...
When they had met once earlier in the month, Droon had tried to extract information by threatening him with a .40 pistol — a big, nasty bullet — targeting joints, which would have the effect of altering them forever. Now, apparently he’d returned to the twisting knife — what he’d used on Amos Gahl.
Devereux turned back to him. “All right. Eight figures.”
Shaw wondered where on the scale between ten million and ninety-nine the man was thinking. He guessed the payoff would be on a low rung of the ladder.
“A higher number isn’t going to miraculously produce something I didn’t have two minutes ago. In exchange for leaving my family alone, I’ll give you the Urban Improvement Plan evidence, whether or not you say you don’t know what it is.” He shrugged. “If it’s not enough for the prosecutor, then it might at least point the police in a... helpful direction.”
Sullen, Devereux muttered. “I doubt that will be a very productive endeavor, Mr. Shaw.”
They had arrived back at the place where they had picked Shaw up. Carrie was nowhere to be seen.
The CEO looked around for her.
Perhaps it had been one jab too many.
Devereux shrugged. “It happens. Those girls...”
Shaw thought: Good for you, Carrie.
Devereux tapped the driver on the shoulder. The man shut the recorder off. The tape was soon to be erased.
A sigh. “I would hate to have to turn this matter back to Ian Helms and Irena Braxton. They’re so... unsubtle. Let me encourage you to have another look at the contents of the courier bag. Discuss it with your bearded friend. Eight figures is, after all, eight figures.”
He handed the copies back and Shaw slipped them into his backpack.
The driver was out of the car and opening the door. Shaw stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Shaw heard Devereux’s voice. “I would look very carefully for that tally, Mr. Shaw. It would be good for everyone.”
55
“How is it there?” Shaw asked.
Victoria Lesston said through the speaker on Shaw’s Android, “We’re vigilant. Carrying sidearms. Your friend’s guys brought a machine gun.”
“Mary Dove told me.”
“What’re you up to?”
Back in the Pacific Heights safe house, sitting beside an open window and letting a pleasant breeze breathe past him. “Just hung out with a lecherous billionaire.”
“You have all the fun.”
His eyes were on the sketch he’d done of Echo Ridge, in the Davis & Sons frame, hanging on the wall. Even though it was in save-a-few-bucks plastic, the art didn’t look at all bad.
“Your mother,” she said, “was telling me about Ash. Sorry I never got a chance to meet him.”
“He was quite a man. Troubled, complicated, compassionate. Nobody like him in the world. He was a crusader.”
“This thing you found? So, you think it’s true?”
He said, “It is, yes. A real voting tally from nineteen oh-six. If it got out in public, it’ll change... well, it’ll change everything.”
“Is it safe? The tally.”
“I hid it in a picture frame.”
“In plain sight?”
“Not really. It’s facing backward.”
“A framed blank page — isn’t that a little obvious?”
“There’s a sketch I drew on the back. A landscape.”
“But it’s not what your father was looking for?”
“The tally? No. He didn’t even know it existed.” His voice grew terse. “He was looking for evidence to bring down BlackBridge and get the president — this guy named Helms — arrested. But there never was any. Only the vote tally. Oh, he had a mixed tape too.”
“A what?”
“Another story for when I see you again.” He wished they could have a longer conversation, but this wasn’t the time or place.
A pause. “Which will be when?”
Shaw nearly said as soon as possible. He missed her. But chose: “A few days. Just some loose ends here.”
The front door opened and Russell walked into the living room.
“My brother’s here. I better go.”
“Say hi to the mystery man for me.”
Shaw liked the lilt in her voice.
They disconnected.
Russell asked, “How did it go with Devereux?”
“He had an idea we’d found the tally. But he wasn’t sure. He might think Gahl hid it somewhere else. He offered to pay us a little money for it.”
“Little? Six figures?”
Silence.
“Seven?”
“More.”
“Hmm.” Russell’s go-to response. The accompanying facial expression was: easy come, easy go.
“He suggested that Braxton and Droon were going to step up to bat again.”
“Used a baseball analogy?”
“No, that was mine. He collects money. Devereux.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“No. I mean, he’s a real collector. Old coins and bills. Ancient. A hobby. Does that make him a numismatist?”
“Couldn’t tell you.” Russell walked close to the frame and examined his brother’s sketch.
It was only then that Shaw realized that it might be titled View from Echo Ridge. Which was, of course, the very spot where Colter had believed his brother had murdered Ashton. What had subconsciously motivated him to pick that scene for the drawing?
His brother studied it closely.
Would he remark on Shaw’s choice?
“You can’t see the typewriting on the other side” was all he offered. He turned away.
“They used thick paper back then.”
Shaw was about to say something but then tensed, cocking his head.
“Colt?” Russell asked.
Shaw held up a finger. He rose and stepped to the front door. He peered through the peephole.
He stepped outside, hand on his gun. He noticed a woman in a maid’s uniform, sorting towels on a cart, facing away. He returned a moment later and closed the door. “Maid.”
It was then that a brilliant white flash from outside filled the room and an instant later the staccato crack of an explosion rattled windows. Car alarms were wailing.
Both brothers drew their guns and looked out.
Two men in tactical black and ski masks had blown open the door of Russell’s SUV. Apparently the vehicle had extra reinforcement and the bang had not completely breached the vehicle. One of them was trying to pull the door open all the way.