Last Man Standing by David Baldacci
Jerome smiled and said, “It’s in the oven and I’m about to turn on the heat.”
Before Web left, Kevin gave him a sketch he had done. It showed a little boy and a large man side by side.
“Is that you and your brother?” Web asked.
“Nope, that’s me and you,” Kevin answered, and then gave Web a hug.
When he went back to his car, Web got quite a shock. On his windshield was a piece of paper. What was written on the paper made Web look in all directions, one hand on his pistol grip. Yet the man was long gone. He looked at the paper again. It simply read, “I owe you. Big F.”
Some other good news was that Randall Cove had been found.
Some kids playing in the woods had come across him. He had been admitted into a local hospital as a John Doe, since he was carrying no identification. He had been unconscious for several days but had finally come to, and the Bureau had been notified. He was also expected to fully recover from his wounds.
Web went to see him after Cove was flown back to Washington. The man was covered in bandages, had lost a lot of weight and wasn’t in the best of moods, but he was alive. That was something to feel good about, Web told him, and got a growl in return.
“I’ve been right where you are,” Web told him, “except I was missing half my face. You got off easy.”
“None of it feels easy. Not a damn bit.”
“They say bullet wounds give you character.”
“I got enough character to last the rest of my life, then.”
Web had glanced around the room. “So how long you in for?” “Hell if I know. I’m just the patient. But if they stick me with one more needle, somebody around here besides me is gonna be hurting.”
“I don’t like hospitals much either.”
“Well, if I hadn’t been wearing my Kevlar, I’d be at the morgue. Got two bruises on my chest I think are with me permanently.”
“First rule of engagement, always place one in the head.”
“I’m glad they didn’t read your rules of engagement. So you broke the Oxy ring?”
“I’d say we did it.”
“And you popped Strait?”
Web nodded. “And then Billy Canfield added a layer of buckshot. I don’t think it was necessary, but it probably made him feel better. But then again, not that much better.”
Cove nodded. “I guess I can see that.” Web got up to leave. “Hey, Web, I owe you. I mean, I really owe you a lot.”
“No, you don’t. Nobody owes me a damn thing.”
“Hey, HRT, you brought the whole house of cards down.”
“What I did was my job. And to tell you the truth, I’m getting a little tired of doing it.” The men shook hands.
“Take it easy, Cove. And when they cut you loose from here, let the Bureau give you a nice, safe desk job where the only nasty things people are shooting at you are memos.”
“Memos? Sounds pretty boring.”
“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”
Web parked the Mach at the curb and walked up the sidewalk. Claire Daniels was not dressed in work clothes on this warm evening but rather a pretty sundress and sandals. The dinner was tasty, the wine a nice companion to the meal and the lights low and inviting, and Web had no idea why he was here as Claire sat across from him on the couch by the empty fireplace and tucked her legs under her.
“Fully recovered?” he asked.
“Not that I ever will be. Business-wise, I’m great. I thought this thing with O’Bannon would’ve wrecked my practice, but the phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”
“Hey, lots of people are in need of a good shrink—excuse me, psychiatrist.”
“Actually, I’ve been taking a fair amount of time off.” “Different priorities?”
“Something like that. I did see Romano.”
“He’s out of the hospital now. Did you go to his house?”
“No. At my office. He came with Angie. I guess she told him about her seeing a psychiatrist. I’m helping them work through some issues together. They said they didn’t mind you knowing.”
Web took a sip of wine. “Well, everybody sure as hell has issues, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Romano left HRT.”
“We’ll see.”
She eyed him. “So, are you leaving HRT?”
“We’ll see.”
She put down the wineglass she’d been holding. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life, Web. That’s one of the reasons I invited you for dinner tonight.”
He tried to keep it light. “Hey, that’s what I do, rescue hostages.” But then his jovial look faded. “You’re welcome, Claire. I’m just glad I was there.” He looked at her curiously. “One of the reasons. So, what are the others?”
“Cueing on my body language? Reading between the lines?” She refused to catch his gaze, and Web could sense the nervousness underneath the joking manner.
“What is it, Claire?”
“I’m filing my report with the FBI soon. The report detailing what I believe happened to you in the alley when you froze. I wanted to discuss it with you first.”
Web sat forward. “Okay, let me have it.”
“I think O’Bannon gave you a posthypnotic suggestion. A command, an instruction of sorts to stop you from doing your job.”
“But you said that you can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do, or wouldn’t do normally, while under hypnosis.”
“That’s right, but there are always exceptions to such rules. If the person being hypnotized has a very strong relationship with the person doing the hypnotizing or that person is a powerful authority figure, the person may do something outside his normal range of action, even hurting someone else. The rationale may be that he feels this authority figure would not make anyone do something really wrong. It really comes down to issues of trust. And according to his notes, O’Bannon had established a trusting relationship with you.”
“How do you get from trust to me freezing? Did he brainwash me? Like the Manchurian Candidate?”
“Brainwashing is something very different from hypnotizing. It takes time and is more of an indoctrination in which, through sleep deprivation, physical torture and mental manipulation, you change the personality of someone, make him wholly different, you break his will, his spirit and then you recast it as you wish. What O’Bannon did was build an order into your unconscious. When you heard the phrase ‘Damn to hell’ the reaction would start.
“The phrase was coupled with a safety valve of some sort, in case you heard the phrase or something similar to it elsewhere. In your case I think that safety valve was hearing communications over your wireless receiver when you were in the alley. Remember, that’s when you said you actually froze. In O’Bannon’s notes was a record of the Taser gun story you also told me. So the physical reaction he programmed in was one he knew would paralyze you. ‘Damn to hell’ plus communications over the radio would cause you to freeze, like you had been hit with a Taser dart.”
Web shook his head. “And O’Bannon could do all that to my mind?”
Claire said, “I believe you to be a somnabule, Web, a person very susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. But you were almost able to override that suggestion. I’m certain you weren’t supposed to be able to rise and walk in that courtyard. That was your pure will coming through, if that makes you feel any better. It was probably your most remarkable feat of the night, machine guns notwithstanding.”
“And they used the phrase ‘Damn to hell’ to further incriminate the Free Society because it was the name of their newsletter.”
“Yes. When I saw that on their website lots of things started making sense.”
“That’s a lot to take in, Claire.”
She sat forward, her hands in her lap. Suddenly Web felt like he was back in her office, enduring another session. “Web, I have something else to tell you, something even more disconcerting. I should have told you before, but I wasn’t sure you were ready to deal
He ignored the compliment and simply stared at her. “Tell me what?”
She looked directly at him. “When I hypnotized you, I learned a lot more than that your father was arrested at your sixth-year birthday party.” She added quickly, “But I couldn’t tell you about it then. It would have been too traumatic.”
“Tell me what? I don’t remember a damn thing happening other than the party, and even that was a little fuzzy.”
“Web, please listen very carefully to me.”
He rose in his distress. “I thought you said I was in complete control. That it was a heightened state of awareness. Damn it, that’s what you said, Claire. Did you lie to me?”
“It’s usually that way, Web, but I had to do it differently. For a very good reason.”
“The only reason I let you play around in my mind, lady, was be- cause you said I’d be there running the show.” Web sat down and clenched his hands together so they’d stop shaking. What the hell had he told her while he was under other than the birthday fiasco?
“There are times, Web, when I have to make the decision not to allow the patient under hypnosis to remember what occurred. I don’t take that step lightly, and I certainly didn’t do it lightly with you.”
He had to admire her. In voice and manner, she was in control. He didn’t know whether to lean across and kiss her or slap her face.
“What, exactly, Claire, did you do to me?”
“I gave you a posthypnotic suggestion.” She looked down. “The same technique O’Bannon used on you to make you freeze in the alley, so you wouldn’t remember some things from our hypnosis session.”
“Great, Claire, I’m easy, I’m a frigging somnabule so it’s easy to screw with my mind, right?”
“Web, I did what I thought was best—”
“Claire, just tell me!” snapped Web impatiently.
“It has to do with your mother and your stepfather. How he died, actually.”
His face flushed for an instant. Web was suddenly fearful. He suddenly hated her guts. “I already told you how he died. He fell. It’s in your precious little file. Go read it again.”
“You’re right. He did fall. But he wasn’t alone. You told me about a pile of clothes near the attic entrance?”
He stared at her. “They’re gone, they’ve been gone a long time.” “They were a great hiding place for a terrified and abused young man to hide.”
“What? Meaning me?”
“A great hiding place at the behest of your mother. She knew that Stockton went up there to get his drugs.”
“So what? I knew that too. I told you that when I wasn’t hypnotized.”
“You also told me about some rolls of old carpet.” She added very quietly, “That they were as hard as iron.”
Web stood and backed away from her like a frightened child. “Okay, Claire, this is officially nuts.”
“She got you to do it, Web. That was her way of taking care of the abusive father.”
Web sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands. “I’m not understanding any of this, Claire. None of it!”
Claire took a deep breath. “You didn’t kill him, Web. You struck him with the carpet and he fell. But your mother—”
“Stop it!” he shouted. “Just stop it! This is the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
“Web, I’m telling you the truth. Otherwise how would I know these things?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted. “I don’t know anything!”
Claire knelt down in front of him, reached out and took his hand. “After all you’ve done for me, I feel terrible about all of it. But please believe me that I only did it to help you. This was so hard for me too. Can you understand that? Can you believe that? Can you trust me?”
He stood so abruptly she almost fell backward in surprise. Web headed for the door.
She called after him. “Web, please.”
He walked outside and she followed him, the tears falling freely from her now.
Web climbed in the car and fired up the Mach. Claire walked unsteadily down the sidewalk toward him.
“Web, we can’t leave it like this.”
He rolled down the window and looked at her even as Claire’s eyes searched his.
“I’m going away for a while, Claire.”
She looked bewildered. “Going away? Where?”
“I’m going to see my father. Why don’t you analyze that one while I’m gone.”
He gunned the car and drove off under a sky dominated by a gathering storm, the black Mach quickly vanishing into the darkness. Web glanced back once, his gaze catching Claire Daniels standing there, illuminated by the wash of light from her cozy house. And then Web looked ahead and kept going.
Acknowledgments
To my good friends Philip Edney and Neal Schiff at the FBI for all their help and counsel. Thanks for always being there for me.
Thanks to Special Agent W. K. Walker for his help and advice.
To Dr. Steve Sobelman for his invaluable assistance with the psychological aspects of the novel and for being a great guy and dear friend. Steve, we’d love you anyway, even if you weren’t married to your fabulous wife, Sloane Brown.
To my wonderful friends Kelly and Scott Adams for all their help and advice with the equestrian and horse farm aspects of the novel, and for tramping through the snow with me over a couple thousand acres. Kelly, thanks also for teaching me to ride Boo. I’ll be back for more!
To my new friend Dr. Stephen P. Long for help on the Oxycontin portion of the book. Steve, your comments were insightful and right on the mark.
To Lisa Vance and Lucy Childs for keeping my literary life straight.
To Art and Lynette for all they do for us.
To Steve Jennings for again reading every page with his eagle eye.
To Dr. Catherine Broome for patiently explaining complicated medical matters to me in a way even I could understand.
To Aaron Priest for all your great advice on this one. I owe you.
To Frances Jalet-Miller for another superb editing job. You outdid yourself this time, Francie. And to Rob McMahon for his very thoughtful comments.
To Deborah Hocutt for making my life so much better. And to her husband, Daniel, for designing an incredible website.
To Michelle for keeping our crazy world straight on course.
To all those wonderful souls at the Warner Books family, including Larry, Maureen, Jamie, Tina, Emi, Martha, Karen, Jackie Joiner and Jackie Meyer, Bob Castillo, Susanna Einstein, Kelly Leonard and Maja Thomas: You’re the best.
And, finally, to my friend Chris Whitcomb, Hostage Rescue Team operator, who also happens to be a wonderful writer and one of the most extraordinary individuals I’ve ever met. Chris, I couldn’t have done this novel without you. You went far beyond the call of duty in helping me and I will never forget it. I wish you every success in your writing career, you deserve it.