Chapter 67
CHAPTER
DUDE IS REALLY brINGING IT lately,” said Jackson. “I mean, even more than usual. Think he can see the end of the tunnel coming. Maybe with a train coming, too,” he muttered under his breath.
He and Shock were in the kitchen of the training facility having their dinner. There was a TV show on to which they were only half paying attention.
“Must be the tats and the bald head,” quipped Shock. He rubbed his scalp. “Worked for me,” he added with a laugh.
“Seriously, though, he’s looking like a real weapon now.”
“Told you, man. He’s learned way more than folks I’ve been drillin’ for ten years.”
“But he’s never killed anybody, Isaiah. You and me know that’s the real deal.
And I don’t think the boy’s there. I really don’t.
He was hammering me today, but when I pretended that he’d really hurt me, he pulled back; probably didn’t even know he had, but he did.
That ain’t good if he’s going to do what he needs to do. ”
Shock sat back, his gleeful expression melting away. “I know. I saw that shit, too. And I’m not sure what to do about it. It’s not like I can call a friend and have him come here so Walter can kill him for real.”
Jackson shook his head. “Please don’t tell me that over a year’s worth of fifteen-hour days has been for nothing.”
“I can’t answer that. Not yet.”
“Where is he now?”
“Went for a run.”
“He worked his ass off all day. And he went for a run?”
“What did I tell you ’bout his daddy’s motor? See, I think that acorn fell right at the base of that mighty oak.”
“Well, let’s hope he can make it the last mile, which is the only one that matters.”
Shock nodded and glanced over at the TV when a news anchor abruptly interrupted the program that had been on.
When Shock saw the picture that was on the screen, he forgot about everything else.
Nash was running on the track that encircled the facility.
One time around was half a mile. He had done it six times and didn’t really feel tired.
He had never been in this kind of physical shape before, and it was like he awoke each morning with a sense of renewed purpose bolstered by a nearly inhuman amount of energy.
He had turned forty-one months ago and he felt like he was twenty-one.
Each night he still diligently checked all the news feeds and social media platforms for any possible news about Maggie.
He had also kept tabs on the investigation around Barton Temple’s death.
He was now convinced that Rhett had been behind it.
He had inherited billions from his father, and Nash had also learned that Rhett had gained control of the board and reinstalled himself as CEO after pushing Elaine Fixx out.
She had then taken over Nash’s old position, or so the business news had dutifully reported.
He outmaneuvered his father and Fixx somehow. But then kept Fixx on for some reason.
He wasn’t speculating here about Rhett outsmarting his father. Barton had told him that at his death Nash would become the CEO with Fixx as the backup. Barton had then confided in Nash that he had taken pains to have the necessary legal documents drafted and executed to carry out that wish.
If Rhett had managed to undo all that, then Nash had to reevaluate his appraisal of the man. He clearly was cagier and more strategic than Nash had given him credit for. If they were to meet up again, Nash would need to build that reevaluation into his own strategy.
Nash had, despite Shock’s warnings, communicated with Agent Morris on several occasions. He felt guilty about disobeying his friend’s wishes, but Nash was, if nothing else, a practical man. He needed information, and only the Bureau could provide it.
The FBI agent had expressed his belief in Nash’s innocence and, more important for Nash, kept him up to date on Steers and company.
However, he also told Nash that others at the Bureau considered Nash toxic to their efforts.
It also seemed that Victoria Steers was still trying to find him, Morris had written.
And there was no indication that the woman was going to stop.
He had also informed Nash that with Rhett back in charge, Steers’s focus on Sybaritic as a criminal tool remained undiminished.
Thus, the FBI was looking for another way in, but as yet had been unsuccessful.
He had also told Nash that the financial misdeeds he had found before Maggie had been taken had led to quite a bounty of additional intelligence and several search warrants that had produced still more evidentiary progress.
Steers was also aware of this, he had said, but there was nothing she could do about it directly.
When Rhett had been reinstated as CEO, Nash had told Morris about his suspicions regarding Rhett and his father’s death, writing that Barton had told him that he was to be the CEO at his death.
He also told Nash that he didn’t trust Rhett at all.
So Nash informed Morris that Rhett had the strongest possible motive to kill his father—money and power.
And it could be that Steers had worked with him to get it done.
Since it had come out that Barton was terminal with cancer, Nash reasoned that Steers might have been nervous that he might make a mistake, or even confess his misdeeds as his time on earth drew to a close.
Morris had thanked him for this analysis, and promised to push it up the chain.
Nash had then asked Morris another question, having to do with his wife.
Has she been seeing Rhett?
Morris had sent a one-word answer: Yes.
At his place?
Morris had given the same answer.
Finally, he had asked about Maggie.
Any hope that she’s still alive?
Pointedly, Morris had not answered him, which was an answer in itself.
Nash ran on as the wind picked up and a few drops of rain fell.
He looked up at the darkened sky and it struck him, and not for the first time, how his entire life had changed, irreversibly.
Daughter gone and probably dead, wife sleeping with another man, his career ended, his body and looks changed beyond all plausible reckoning.
And his being a notorious fugitive, with the closing act on this drama having yet to be written.
He had wanted to be out there looking for Maggie every day, though he had no way to really do that.
One step out of place and he would be in prison.
Before you can accomplish the impossible you must achieve the possible.
He knew that both Shock and Jackson were happy with his progress in all ways save one: They don’t really believe I can kill someone.
He had pulled back when pummeling Jackson today. He had sensed real pain and then realized only later the man was faking it, just to test him.
I believe that I can kill if absolutely necessary. My mind has gone there, or at least close to there, and I’m confident my body will follow. It has to.
The rain picked up and he increased his pace, making it inside right before the downpour hit. Smiling at his timing, he went to the kitchen for his final meal of the day.
Shock and Jackson were sitting at the table. Their attention was riveted on the TV.
When they heard him come in, they turned to look at him, the misery on their faces something to behold. But Nash was not paying attention to them.
A picture of his daughter was up on the TV screen, and the news anchor was reporting how the remains of Maggie Nash had been found in a remote area of…
Nash didn’t take in the location because he could not pull his eyes or his mind from his daughter’s face.
He knew the picture. It was when they had gone to France together to celebrate Maggie’s high school graduation.
Nash had actually taken the photo, right outside a restaurant in a small, lovely village in Provence.
Maggie had later posted it online. It had been one of the most wonderful days Nash could ever remember.
They had been so happy, so thoroughly happy.
Everything was right with them and the world. Everything.
And now?
His mind came back into focus when the news anchor uttered grimly, “The police are looking into whether Ms. Nash’s father, Walter, who has been a fugitive from justice for well over a year now, had any involvement in her death.
” A picture of the old Walter Nash came up on the screen.
It looked nothing like the current version of the man.
The anchor provided a tipline number for viewers to call with any information that could help locate him.
Shock said in a trembling voice, “Walter, I am so sorry. I—”
Nash didn’t wait to hear the rest of it.
He turned and left the kitchen without his final meal. He was no longer hungry.
He had known that the odds were very much against his daughter being found alive. But now, with the fact of her death indisputably established, it was the difference between being hit with a bat and being blown apart with an atom bomb.
As he walked slowly to his room the rage that had simmered just below the surface all this time suddenly became the sole element of his being.
The transformation of Walter Nash was now complete.
First had come the physical piece.
Then the mental one.
And now my soul has gone through the ultimate metamorphosis.
Because one minute ago I just lost my humanity.
Forever.