Read Online Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 by Day of the Cheetah (v1.1) - Free Book Online

were puzzled by this exchange, but Maraklov ignored them. They no
longer existed. It was just the two . . . brothers. They wouldn’t understand.
                 What
could he say to ease things for this man . . . ? Kenneth James, Sr., was, he
had learned, a stressed-out war veteran who had taken out his frustrations and
failures in civilian life on his family. He had killed Matthew, the younger
son, on one of his drunken sprees. How could a son forgive the man? But
apparently Ken James, Jr., could. Or wanted to.
                 “Sure,
Ken,” Maraklov said quietly. “Sure I do. He was our father, a war hero, he
wasn’t . . . responsible.”
                 But
Maraklov’s words seemed to make things worse. Something in James’ face, misery
and terror in his eyes . . . “He wasn’t responsible—” Maraklov repeated, and
James’ body actually began to tremble and he shook his head. “No ... I did it .
. . I—”
                 Maraklov
stared at James, finally understanding what the American was saying.
                 “I
didn’t mean to do it.” James was crying now. Maraklov motioned to one of the
men with him to lay the boy down on the bed. “I didn’t hate him, I didn’t
really hate him. But damn it, Matthew was making father spend all his time with
him. Not like it used to be when we were together so much. I felt all alone and
it was Matthew’s fault ...”
                 Left
alone ... Malakov knew something about that... “You shot Matthew . . . ?”
                 “An
accident, I was just going to scare him. I got father’s gun and went and told
Matthew to stop it and... the gun went off. . .”
                 “Go
on, Ken.”
                 “Father
saw me and he saw Matthew and he told me not to worry, just like you now” ...
his eyelids were beginning to close ... “he called the police and an ambulance
and they took him away. I saw him just once when he got out of the hospital. He
made me promise never to tell, it would be our secret ... I hated mother for
marrying Frank, I hate her, and Frank, hate myself too. But don’t hate father.
You understand . . . ?”
                 Maraklov
tried to put it together, to readjust. Ken had killed his brother. To protect
his son, his father had taken the blame for the shooting. There was no drunken
rampage like Ken’s mother had said. His father had endured years in a mental
institution to save his son. No wonder he went crazy.
                 And
now another thought forced itself on him. He bent down to James. “Kenneth?”
                 The
American opened his eyes.
                 “Cathy.
Cathy Sawyer. Where is she?”
                 “Gone.”
                 Footsteps
could be heard outside the hotel door. One of the KGB agents grabbed Maraklov’s
shoulder. “Stop this, let’s get out of here.”
                 Maraklov
shrugged off the hand and bent closer to James.
                 “Answer
me. Where? Where is she?”
                 “She
never loved me, said she never wanted to see me again. Even laughed at me when
I said I loved her . . .” He stopped, reached up as though to touch Maraklov’s
face, the face so like his own, just a fraction of an inch from the freshly
healed plastic-surgery scars. “Thank you . . .” The hand dropped, the haunted
eyes closed for the last time.
                 “Took
longer than it should have,” mumbled one of the agents, then nudged Maraklov
out of the way and began to strip off James’ jewelry and clothes.
                 “He
killed his brother . . . and his girlfriend,” Maraklov said half-aloud, trying
to absorb it, and understood the personal impact of it. He rubbed his eyes, his temples.
                 “Get
undressed, Maraklov . . .”
                 “James,”
Maraklov