“What do you mean?”

“He showed up at the airport in a stolen police car, the wooden box under his arm. I tried to tell him…”

“Tell him what?”

“I tried to stop him.” Dreyfus’s voice filled with a painful regret.

“I had no idea,” Nick said.

“He stole my plane,” Dreyfus continued, looking out the window, unable to meet Nick’s eye. “He held a gun to my head, took the keys, and stole my plane. If I had any idea, I would have stopped him, I would have killed him to prevent what happened.”

Nick stared at Dreyfus as he struggled to speak, confused about where the conversation was going.

“I watched him fly my plane right into that jet, into Flight 502. I watched them fall from the sky to their deaths.”

Nick sat there in stunned silence, never having imagined that the two horrible events in Byram Hills were related.

“I’m sorry,” Nick finally said. He realized the look in Dreyfus’s eyes was not a feeling of betrayal but one of anguish and sorrow, of overwhelming guilt, for his brother was responsible for the deaths of 212 innocent people.

Not another word was spoken as Nick pulled out of the parking lot and drove the mile and half home.

Nick pulled in front of his house. He and Dreyfus got out of the car and solemnly shook hands. “I appreciate the loan of the car.

“And Nick,” Dreyfus continued with a serious look. “If they think your wife can identify them, if she has a video of the robbery, they won’t stop until they silence her. If I were you, I would get her away from this town now. If you’ve got friends you can trust, I’d find them. Because I wouldn’t trust anyone in that police department if I were you.”

“I agree,” Nick said.

Dreyfus nodded in appreciation as he climbed in the driver’s seat of Nick’s Audi, closed the door, and rolled down the window. “Good luck, Nick.”

Nick watched Dreyfus pull out of the driveway and disappear around the corner. He pulled the watch from his pocket and checked the time: 2:57. Julia’s Lexus wasn’t in the driveway. He didn’t know where she was at this moment but this moment would soon be over.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed McManus, glad that he had taken the young private’s phone number. He looked at the sheet of paper from Dreyfus with the names of the other cops on it.

“Hey, Private McManus.” Nick said as the call went through. “It’s Nick Quinn.”

“Yes?”

“There are three other cops involved with Dance: Randall, Arilio, and Brinehart. Tell your commanding officer to pick them up. Again, the names are Randall, Arilio, and Brinehart.”

“Mr. Quinn, to be honest with you, Mr. McManus is no longer of this world.” Nick recognized Dance’s voice.

“Where are you? Are you home?” Dance paused. “Understand something, I’m coming for you, I will find you, and when I do, I’m going to snap your neck.”

“You listen to me-” Nick began, but was quickly interrupted.

“No!” Dance exploded. “You listen to me. Your wife? Julia? Can you picture her dead? Can you do that?”

Nick froze in shock. He tried not to conjure up the image that he knew so well but couldn’t avoid it.

“A bullet to the head,” Dance continued, “or how about a knife, drawn across her belly so she can watch her insides spill out?

“My men are already looking for her, and when they find her-well, why don’t you just let your imagination run wild on that?”

1 P.M.

NICK RAN ACROSS THE side yard straight to Marcus’s house. He barged through the unlocked front door without bothering to knock, raced through the foyer, and tore open the pocket doors to the library where he knew Marcus was working.

“Well, good afternoon to you,” Marcus said, unfazed by Nick’s abrupt entrance. He sat behind his large desk, his three computers humming.

Nick pulled the envelope from his pocket and laid it before Marcus.

“What’s this?” Marcus stared down at the water streaked letter, curious, finally recognizing his own handwriting.

“Before you open it, I need to ask for your help.”

“Why do you always say that? Just sit down and ask.”

Nick reluctantly sat in the wingback chair across from Marcus.

“I’ve got three minutes to convince you of the impossible. What’s in that letter is absolutely true; you wrote it at my insistence.”

“What are you-”

Nick held up his hand. “Before you say anything, know that I would never deceive or manipulate you. Know that I’m totally sane.”

Marcus stared at him in all seriousness before finally picking up the letter and tearing it open. “You’re an idiot,” he said, half in jest.

“Dear Me,” Marcus read. The words were water blotched but legible, and most important, recognizable as his own. “I know this sounds crazy. Oh, that is rich. When did I write this?” he looked up at Nick, his eyes slowly squinting with confusion.

“Just read it,” Nick said quickly.

Marcus’s reading fell off into silence.

Dear Me,

I know this sounds crazy but I’m writing to myself. You

(meaning me) know this is my handwriting as no one could

possibly duplicate our chicken scratch except Uncle Emmett, but

seeing he’s dead…

As hard as this is to believe, Nick is standing before you

asking for your help, asking you to help save Julia.

MARCUS BRIEFLY LOOKED up at Nick, before casting his eyes back at the letter.

Somehow Nick knows the future without question. Now

before you start thinking he’s crazy or you’re crazy for writing

this, I will prove to you the validity of my-our words.

You don’t know this yet, but Jason Cereta is dead. You won’t

know this until after three o’clock when his wife calls the office

in tears. Jason hopped on the flight out of Westchester this

morning and was killed in the crash. He was going to Boston to

speak with Reiner Hertz about opening discussions for the

purchase of his Halix Ski Company. Remember that you never

mentioned your desire to purchase Reiner’s company to anyone

but Jason, never told anyone including Nick about how you

loved their skis and particularly the Swiss spokesmodels they

hired each year. I loved their black and orange design since I

was little when Dad bought me a pair for Christmas against

Mom’s wishes and taught me at Hunter Mountain on that

blizzard of a day, it was December 27, and Mom was especially

pissed because we didn’t get home until after midnight. Anyway,

Jason was a good kid, thought he was doing something that

would make you-us-me happy while advancing his career. May

he rest in peace.

Nick is standing before you now asking for your help to save

Julia. Suffice it to say, I have seen the future and what Nick had

to do to convince me of the truth was the most shocking,

horrible thing I have ever seen. They are coming to kill Julia

and if you don’t help him, she will die.

You already feel guilty about losing Dad without ever

reconciling with him. Know this, the future is coming and if

you don’t help Nick, Julia will be dead before the sun sets and

the fault and guilt will lie squarely on your shoulders if you

don’t do what he asks.

With sincerest imploring,

Me-which is you, Marcus Bennett

MARCUS STARED AT his signature, at the raised corporate seal that he hadn’t removed from his desk in weeks. He reached back into the envelope and pulled out the online Wall Street Journal headline page and quickly scanned it.

A whole minute went by before he looked up at Nick.

Without a word he picked up his phone and dialed.