Persuader

Richard was watching them with blank eyes.
    "Talk to your mother," I said to him. "You need to convince her to get away."
    "I'm not leaving," Elizabeth said again.
    "Me either," Richard said. "This is where we live. We're a family." They were in some kind of shock. I couldn't argue with them. So I tried to put them to work instead. We walked up the driveway, slow and quiet. The wind tore at our clothes. I was limping, because of my shoe. I stopped where the bloodstains started and retrieved the e-mail device. It was broken. The plastic screen was cracked and it wouldn't turn on.
    I dropped it in my pocket. Then I found the heel rubber and sat cross-legged on the ground and put it back in place. Walking was easier after that. We reached the gate and unchained it and opened it and I got my jacket and my coat back and put them on. I buttoned the coat and turned the collar up. Then I drove the Cadillac in through the gate and parked it near the gatehouse door. Richard chained the gate again. I went inside and opened the big Russian machine gun's breech and freed the ammunition belt. Then I lifted the gun off its chain. Carried it outside into the wind and put it sideways across the Cadillac's rear seat. I went back in and rolled the belt back into its box and took the chain off its ceiling hook and unscrewed the hook from the joist. Carried the box and the chain and the hook outside and put them in the Cadillac's trunk.
    "Can I help with anything?" Elizabeth asked.
    "There are twenty more ammunition boxes," I said. "I want them all."
    "I'm not going in there," she said. "Never again."
    "Then I guess you can't help with anything." I carried two boxes at a time, so it took me ten trips. I was still cold and I was aching all over. I could still taste blood in my mouth. I stacked the boxes in the trunk and all over the floor in back and in the front passenger footwell. Then I slid into the driver's seat and tilted the mirror. My lips were split and my gums were rimed with blood. My front teeth at the top were loose. I was upset about that. They had always been misaligned and they had been a little chipped for years, but I got them when I was eight and I was used to them and they were the only ones I had.
    "Are you OK?" Elizabeth asked.
    I felt the back of my head. There was a tender spot where I had hit the driveway. There was a serious bruise on the side of my left shoulder. My chest hurt and breathing wasn't entirely painless. But overall I was OK. I was in better shape than Paulie, which was all that mattered. I thumbed my teeth up into my gums and held them there.
    "Never felt better," I said.
    "Your lip is all swollen."
    "I'll live."
    "We should celebrate." I slid out of the car.
    "We should talk about getting you out of here," I said.
    She said nothing to that. The phone inside the gatehouse started ringing. It had an old- fashioned bell in it, low and slow and relaxing. It sounded faint and far away, muffled by the noise of the wind and the sea. It rang once, then twice. I walked around the Cadillac's hood and went inside and picked it up. Said Paulie's name and waited a beat and heard a voice I hadn't heard in ten years.
    "Did he show up yet?" it said.
    I paused.
    "Ten minutes ago," I said. I kept my hand halfway over the mouthpiece and made my voice high and light.
    "Is he dead yet?"
    "Five minutes ago," I said.
    "OK, stay ready. This is going to be a long day." You got that right, I thought. Then the phone clicked off and I put it down and stepped back outside.
    "Who was it?" Elizabeth asked.
    "Quinn," I said.
    The first time I heard Quinn's voice was ten years previously on a cassette tape. Kohl had a telephone tap going. It was unauthorized, but back then military law was a lot more generous than civilian procedure. The cassette was a clear plastic thing that showed the little spools of tape inside. Kohl had a player the size of a shoe box with her and she clicked the cassette into it and pressed a button. My office filled with Quinn's voice. He was talking to an offshore bank, making financial arrangements. He sounded relaxed. He spoke clearly and slowly with the neutral homogenized accent you get from a lifetime in the army. He read out account numbers and gave passwords and issued instructions concerning a total of half a million dollars. He wanted most of it moved to the Bahamas.
    "He mails the cash," Kohl said. "To Grand Cayman, first."
    "Is that safe?" I said.
    She nodded. "Safe enough. The only risk would