The Target (Will Robie 3)

Reel ignored this as she stepped closer. “And I have something to show you too.” She slipped from her pocket a picture and held it out to him. “I think you’ll recognize him even if he looks a little pale.”

Earl put out a shaky hand and took the photo from her. When he gazed down at the picture he immediately gasped.

“Albert, I think, is his name,” said Reel. “He’s dead, of course, but you should still be able to tell it’s him.”

“How did he die?” said Earl in a croaky voice.

“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention that. I killed him. Broke

his neck. For such a big guy he went fast. Which was good for me. I had other pretend-Nazis to deal with.”

Gaping, Earl looked up at her, his eyes wide. “You done killed him? Him!”

“I don’t think I ever told you what I do now, Earl. On behalf of the American people I take scum like Albert and make sure they never hurt anyone ever again. Like this bastard.”

She pulled another picture from her jacket and dropped it on Earl’s belly. He took it with a trembling hand, his face the color of ash.

“This is one of your buddies too. Leon Dikes. I knew him a long time ago. We recently got together. At his insistence. Apparently he was hanging around the prison and coincidentally saw me when I came to visit you. Talk about a small world.”

Earl looked up into her face. “Did you kill him too?”’

Reel made a rough oval with her hands and then ripped them apart. “Highly effective move. Death is instant. Before he died Leon sent his regards and told you he was sorry your plan didn’t work.”

Earl dropped the photo like it was a snake about to bite him. “Ain’t know what you talkin’ ’bout.”

“Sure you do, Earl. Don’t back away from the credit for all this now. It really was very clever, and I don’t give compliments easily, I can assure you.”

“You making no sense. Now, you got nothing else, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Well, I think your nap will have to wait.”

“Why’s that?” snapped Earl, his confidence returning. “You got nothing or else you woulda done brought the cops with you. What they gonna do to me anyway? Arrest me? Put me in jail? Shit!” He laughed until he choked.

“No, no police. No new charges. The old ones will suffice.”

“So like I said, get your ass gone. I need my rest.”

“But you’re doing great. A lot healthier than you were.”

He sat up straighter. “What the hell you talking ’bout? I got terminal cancer. I ain’t getting better.”

“Yeah, but there’s more to it than that.”

She pointed to her right. Earl looked that way and saw the female prison doctor striding toward them.

“Dr. Andrews, thank you for coming in tonight,” said Reel.

Andrews gave a forced smile. “My pleasure. Wouldn’t have missed it, actually.”

Reel said to Earl, “I explained to Dr. Andrews her role in getting you and me back together. And also how that led to a very nice visit with your good friend Leon Dikes and his group of merry neo-Nazi freaks.”

“Yes, it was fascinating, Mr. Fontaine,” said Dr. Andrews, who looked like she wanted to pull a gun and fire a round right into Earl’s brain.

“I ain’t got no idea what you two gals are jabbering ’bout,” said Earl. “No idea a’tall.”

“Well, let’s see if I can make it crystal-clear for you,” said Reel. “First, Dr. Andrews has some terrific news for you.”

Earl looked at Andrews. “What news?”

“While your cancer is still terminal, it’s been determined that your condition has stabilized.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That means that you can leave the hospital ward and this prison. You’re being sent back to solitary confinement on death row.”

Earl’s face collapsed. “But they can’t execute me.”

Andrews smiled. “Unfortunately, that’s true, but you can be cared for there, although I have to say it won’t be nearly as pleasant as here. And you will have no human contact with anyone other than the prison personnel.”

“You…you can’t do that,” Earl protested.

“Well, actually we can,” said another voice.

A man in a suit walked in with four beefy guards behind him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” exclaimed Earl.

Reel looked behind her. “The warden of this fine facility and his men are here to take care of your transfer back to death row at the Holman Correctional Facility.”

There was a flash of lightning at the barred window, followed by a vicious crack of thunder.

The warden waved his men forward. “Just roll the bed and all right out. The transport vehicle is waiting.”

“You can’t do this,” sputtered Earl. “You can’t.”

“Get him out of here,” ordered the warden. “Now!”

The guards unhooked Earl’s shackles from the wall and rolled his bed, with him screaming his head off, out of the room. They heard his shouts for another minute before a heavy door clanged shut and then Earl Fontaine was heard no more.

Reel turned to the warden and Andrews. “Thank you,” she said.

“No, thank you,” said Andrews. “To think that bastard used me to…to try and accomplish all these horrific things.”

“Damn right,” said the warden. “We might not be able to execute him. But we can make whatever time he has left as unpleasant as legally possible. And we will.” He marched off.

Andrews said, “When I got your call I really couldn’t believe it. I thought I was helping a father find his daughter. I should have known that Earl Fontaine was a man who didn’t care about that.”

“He took a lot of people in, Doc,” said Reel.

“But never again,” said Robie.

“No, never again,” added Reel.

After thanking Andrews again for her help, they turned and left the prison.

“Feel better?” asked Robie when they climbed into the car after running across the parking lot as the rain continued to pour.

“Actually, Robie, I don’t feel anything. And maybe that’s for the best.”

Robie put the car in gear and they left the Alabama prison, and with it Earl Fontaine, behind forever.

Chapter

49

THE NORTH KOREANS HAD NO facility like the Burner Box. They didn’t have the budget for it. No country spent what the Americans did on defense or internal security. But Chung-Cha felt like they made up with effort and dedication what they lacked in funding.

She ran through the streets of Pyongyang until she could run no more. And then she kept going. The State Security Department had a generic gymnasium facility where she built up her strength. They had shooting ranges deep underground where she worked on her aim, reaction time, and motor skills in the use of all sorts of firearms and other weapons. There, against only men who were far larger and stronger than she was, she drilled on certain close-quarter combat techniques, some of which she had employed to subdue Lloyd Carson in Romania.

Her training wasn’t only physical. She could speak fluent English as well as three other languages.

But what she really excelled at, in addition to remaining calm under the most extreme circumstances, was martial arts. There had never been a man to beat her. Not even several of them. She attributed this to her