“I didn't say anything. I just wish it had been Esteban.”
“My, how fierce we're getting.”
“Waterloo, Iowa.” She shook her head. She could imagine the hidden laboratory in Libya or even Mexico but not in the heartland of America. “So the lab and the counterfeiting operation are both in Iowa?”
“Probably. It's more than likely that they transferred the counterfeiting operation to the same installation as the lab.”
Everything in place, ready to move. “Where is the target?” she murmured. “And how do we find out?”
She saw a flicker of expression on his face. “Were you lying to me? Do you know where the strike is going to be?”
“I didn't lie to you. I'm not sure.”
“But you do have an idea?”
“Galvez had a fax from Morrisey, who's evidently some kind of advance scout. The fax said his next stop was going to be Cheyenne.”
“You aren't going to warn them?”
“It was mentioned in passing. No clear threat. Should I panic an entire city when it could be nothing?”
“Yes.”
“And when Esteban learns of it, he'll just shift the target and we'll have no chance of intercepting them.”
“I don't care about catching them. I just don't want another Tenajo.”
His lips tightened. “Trust me. There won't be another Tenajo. Not if there's any way on earth I can help it.”
But what if he couldn't help it? She leaned back, listening to the heavy pounding of rain on the roof of the car.
Bad sign, Katz had said.
She hoped he was wrong. They didn't need any more bad omens staring them in the face.
“I missed them,” De Salmo said. “I was too late.”
“There was always that possibility,” Esteban said.
“Should I stick around?”
“No, get on a plane to New Orleans.”
“Is that where she's going?”
Esteban smiled. “Oh, yes, that's where she's going.”
“Where is this safe house?” she asked as she gazed out the window. The rain had lessened as they drove east, but it was still a steady downpour. “We're in North Carolina now, aren't we?”
“About twenty minutes ago. We'll be at the house soon. It's in Northrup, a little town a bit south of here.”
“I want you to call Yael as soon as we get there.”
He nodded. “Whatever you say. Though I told you he might not have––”
Kaldak's portable phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket and punched the answer button.
“Shit.”
There was nothing impassive about his expression now as he listened. His mouth twisted, and a vein pounded in his temple. “Are you certain, Ramsey?” he asked. “When?”
Something was wrong, she thought. The anthrax? Had Esteban set off––
“Bullshit. I can't do that. I won't do it.” He disconnected the phone and his foot pressed down hard on the accelerator.
“What's wrong? What happened?”
“In a minute.” He pulled off the highway onto a small road. He shut off the engine.
“Is it the anthrax?” she asked.
“No.” He looked straight ahead. He grasped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. “There's been a development in New Orleans.”
“A development?”
“An announcement in this morning's Times-Picayune.”
“What are you talking about?”
“An obituary for Emily Grady Corelli, who will be buried two days from now.”
Shock froze her. She couldn't breathe. Then she shook her head. “No, it's not true. It's crazy. It's just some vicious trick of Esteban's.”
He shook his head.
“Don't tell me no.” Her voice was shaking. “It can't be true. Emily was in Mexico. How would she–– It's a lie.”
“I wish it were.” His voice was thick. “I wish to God it were, Bess. It was confirmed. She's at the Duples Funeral Home on First Street. The body was delivered last night by an air freight service with forged health department certifications, cash, and instructions for the funeral.”
“It's a lie. He told me before that she was dead and in the morgue, but it was Rico. It wasn't Emily, it was Rico.”
“It's Emily this time. They took fingerprints and––”
“I don't believe it. You said Yael was going to find her, that he was going to bring her––”
“She's dead, Bess.”
She wouldn't believe it. If she believed it, then it might come true. “No, I'll show you. I'm going to New Orleans and I'll go to the funeral home and I'll prove––”
“No.” He suddenly turned and drew her into his arms. “I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry.”
He was trying to comfort her, she thought dully. But she couldn't accept it. Accepting comfort would be the same as admitting Emily was dead. “I'm going to see her.”
“It's a trap. Why do you think Esteban sent her to New Orleans? It's where you live. He knew we'd be monitoring everything that went on there. He wanted to draw you there.”
“So he killed her?”
He didn't answer for a moment. “He didn't have to kill her. She's been dead for a long time. We think she died of anthrax that first night in Tenajo.”
“No, she wasn't sick. And she wasn't at San Andreas. It was Rico. It was Ric–– ––”
“Shh.” His fingers buried in her hair and his voice was uneven. “I can't take it. Christ, I never thought it would be like this.”
“I have to go. She's not dead. I know it. She's not––”
“Bess. She's dead and Esteban wants you dead too. I can't let you go to New Orleans.”
She pushed him away. “You can't keep me from going to her.”
“Look, Ramsey's rushing the DNA test. They'll have absolute proof within a day or so.”
“Screw their proof. It's not true.” It was all lies. “Start this car. Take me to an airport, any airport.”
“No.” He looked away from her. “I can't do that.”
“You have to do it. I'm not going to any safe house. You can do without your damn witness.”
He shook his head.
“Don't you tell me no. It's my life.”
“No, it's not. Not entirely.”
What was he saying?
“There's a very good possibility you have an immunity to the mutated anthrax,” he said.
She looked at him in bewilderment. “Immunity.”
“You should have died at Tenajo. Everyone else did.”
“You said the anthrax dissipated too soon.”
He shook his head. “It had weakened, but it was still potent enough to do the job. It killed Rico. It killed your sister.”
“It didn't kill Emily. Esteban––”
“It killed them, Bess.” A muscle in his cheek jerked. “You survived. Why do you think Esteban didn't kill you right away? He couldn't understand why you didn't die, and he wanted to run blood tests.”
“I don't remember––” The Band-Aid covering the needle marks. Not all sedative injections as she had thought. “Blood tests.”
“Esteban didn't broadcast what he was doing, but I knew he didn't like what he found.”
“What . . . did he find?”
“Immune antibodies.”
“You can't know that.”
“Yes, I can. I stole one of the blood samples from the hospital lab before I took you out of San Andreas. Ed ran a test last night. There was too much deterioration for it to be useful, but it tested positive for immunity. Do you know what that means? It may cut the time for developing a serum from nearly a year to weeks or even days.” He paused. “That's why you can't take any risks. You're the answer, Bess. We'll need to take frequent blood samples from you so the CDC can work on a cure that will stop Esteban in his tracks.”
The answer. She didn't want to be the answer to anything. She just wanted everything to be as it was before Tenajo. She just want
ed Emily to be alive and well.
And Emily was alive. She had almost let Kaldak convince her that her sister was dead, that she was in that funeral home in New Orleans. “I'm going to see her.”
“They'll be waiting for you.”
“So you need to protect your precious blood supply. I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but you'll have to take a new sample in New Orleans.” She added bitterly, “Unless you want to follow in Esteban's footsteps and lock me up and keep me under sedation.”
“That option has been suggested.” When she stiffened, he added roughly, “Do you think I'd let them do that to you? I'm just telling you so you'll realize how important this is. Ramsey didn't even want me to tell you about your sister's death.”
“She's not dead,” she said woodenly.
“If you believe that, why run the risk of walking into Esteban's trap?”
Because she had to know, she had to be sure. “If I'm immune, then Emily is too. She's my sister, and she's always been healthier than me. I'm the one who always caught the colds and the––”
“It doesn't work like that,” he said gently.
“And Josie,” she said desperately. “What about Josie? Josie didn't die. Josie has to be immune too.”
He shook his head. “Josie has no immune antibodies. Esteban lost interest in her almost immediately. She was just lucky enough not to have been exposed to the money by actual physical contact. Your sister and you were going from house to house and had to come into contact with the money at some point.”
The cantina, the general store––she couldn't remember all the places. They hadn't put on the gloves and masks until after they had examined the bodies in the cantina. Had she and Emily touched the pesos, pushed them aside as they tried to help––
She was becoming frightened. Kaldak's logic was too convincing and she had to shut it out. “It's not true. It's not her. Take me to New Orleans and let me show you.”
He didn't move.
Her hands clenched at her sides. “Please, Kaldak,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Goddammit.” He turned on the ignition. “It's faster to go back to Atlanta. We can get a direct flight to New Orleans from there.”
Relief flooded her. “Thank you, Kaldak.”
“For what?” He entered the highway with a violence that caused the tires to squeal. “Being stupid? Taking a chance that may get you killed? Taking a chance that could kill a city?” He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. “We're coming, Ramsey.” He listened for a moment and then said, “I don't give a damn. We're coming. So pull out the stops on security.” He pressed the end button and dialed again. “Meet us at the Atlanta airport at the Hertz check-in desk in an hour, Ed. I'll have the sample for you.” He hung up again. “When we get to the airport, I need to take blood from you and give it to Ed Katz.”
“How are––”
“I told Ed to include a kit in the briefcase he gave me this morning. I knew I'd have to get a sample to him as soon as possible.”
“So you were prepared,” she said slowly. “When were you going to tell me?”
“After I had you safe. But I wanted to tell you right away.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“I couldn't risk it. You couldn't think of anything but your sister. If you knew how valuable you were to Esteban, you might have tried to arrange a swap for Emily.”
“And you couldn't permit that.”
“I couldn't permit that,” he said grimly. “Any more than I can take you to New Orleans without getting that sample. It will give Ed a small chance even if Esteban kills you.”
The bluntness of his words should have unnerved her, but it didn't. She had to retain control, or she would fly into a thousand pieces. She had to hold herself together until she got to Em––Oh, God, it couldn't be Emily.
Emily was safe, hiding somewhere in those hills in Mexico. There were so many places to hide. She and Josie had found caves and hollows and––
It wasn't Emily.
Ten
The Duples Funeral Home was a large white building. The paint was starting to peel and the lawn was yellowing in patches. A statue of a winged angel with a trumpet was balanced on a pedestal beside the front door.
Was the angel supposed to be Gabriel? Bess wondered dully. Emily would have hated this place. She always liked things neat and well kept.
Kaldak's grasp tightened on her elbow. “You can change your mind.”
She shook her head and quickened her pace up the walk. Just get it over with, she told herself. Find out they'd made a huge mistake and then get out of there.
“You've gone too far, Kaldak.” A tall, gray-haired man stepped out from an alcove. “My God, do you want them to put her down?”
“It's your job to see that they don't, Ramsey. Have you checked out the funeral home?”
“Yes. Get her out of here.”
Kaldak glanced at the row of houses across the street. “What about those?”
Ramsey nodded curtly. “We went through them. No snipers. I had to tell them we were having a presidential visit. They'll probably call their congressman. Why the hell would the president come here?”
Kaldak's gaze went beyond him to the foyer. “Where is she?”
“First room on the left.” Ramsey's glance moved to Bess. “It's a waste of time, Ms. Grady. You don't want to do this. It's a closed casket.”
“Why?”
Ramsey shifted uneasily. “She died in the hills and was buried there. It was hot and conditions weren't conducive to––”
“You're saying Esteban dug up her body and sent her here?” Callous and hideous. As hideous as digging a hole and tossing a woman in it in the first place.
But it hadn't happened to Emily. It was someone else in that room.
She opened the door and went inside. First room on the left. An oak casket in the center. Candles burning at either end. No flowers. Where were the flowers?
Her chest was constricting. She couldn't breathe.
“Bess.” Kaldak was beside her.
She moistened her lips. “Open it.”
“No.”
“Open it, Kaldak.”
“You heard Ramsey. You don't want to see––”
“I have to see. I have to know. Open it, or I'll do it myself.”
He muttered a curse and stepped forward. He threw open the lid of the coffin.
She would take just one look and she would know they were wrong.
Just one look and it would be over.
Oh, Jesus!
Kaldak caught her when she fell.
“Emily.”
“Hush.” Kaldak was carrying her, climbing stairs, she realized vaguely. The stairs leading to her apartment. How had they gotten there? “Don't think. Just try to sleep.”
“I didn't believe––”
“I know.”
“Was she in pain?”
“Not for long.”
“They just threw her in the ground, Kaldak. They just tossed her away.” Her fingers were digging into his shoulders. “No one deserves–– Emily was so bright and warm and–– I didn't say good-bye. I just gave her Josie and ran out the door. I should have said good-bye.”
“She would have understood.”
“But I should have––”
“Please stop crying.”
Was she crying? She couldn't feel the tears. Her entire body ached like an open wound. “I'm sorry.”
“I didn't mean––” He sat down in a chair and held her on his lap. “Cry. Hit me. Do whatever you like. Just don't––” He was rocking her back and forth. “Don't hurt like this.”
“I can't help it. She's . . . dead. Emily's dead.” The truth was tearing her apart. Emily was lying in that shiny oak box at the funeral home. Emily would never laugh or smile or boss her around ever.
“It will be all right.” Kaldak's low voice was agonized. “It will get better. I promise, it will get better.”
How could it get bette
r?
Emily was dead.
Kaldak carefully put Bess down on the bed and drew the coverlet over her. He hoped she wouldn't wake up right away. It had taken hours for her to fall asleep. He left her bedroom and gently closed the door.
He dropped into an easy chair and leaned his head back. He never wanted to go through anything like that again. He had felt her pain and her loss as if they were his own. The loss did belong to him, the loss and the responsibility and the guilt. Oh, God, yes, the guilt.
Stop thinking about it. It was over. Now he had to find a way to protect Bess, to keep her from suffering ever again.
Yeah, sure.
His gaze wandered around the small living room of the apartment. The furniture was simple and clean-lined except for the beige and burgundy striped chair and couch. The photographs on the wall were striking: one little black girl with enormous wistful eyes, Jimmy Carter in shirtsleeves at a Habitat site, the Somalian bandit he had mentioned to Bess. On the end table were family pictures: a much younger Emily in shorts and T-shirt on a swing beside a river. Emily in a wedding gown standing beside a tall man in a tuxedo. Emily and a little red-haired girl with bold, curious eyes. All Emily.
He glanced away to the Persian rug covering the oak floor and then to the plants that filled the room.
Plants.
He touched the African violets on the table beside him. Real.
He reached for his telephone and dialed Ramsey.
“You told me the apartment was safe,” he said when Ramsey answered. “Bess is out of the country most of the time. Who has a key to get in to water her plants?”
“It is safe. Her landlord comes in twice a week. He hasn't been approached by anyone. Someone does know their job besides you, Kaldak.”
“Sorry.”
“How is she?”
“How do you think she is?”
“I told you that you shouldn't have brought her.”
“No sign of Esteban?”
“Not yet. But you know he has someone here.”
Yes, he knew it. Esteban would have had a man at the funeral home and he knew exactly where Bess was right now. “Did you check on the air freight service?”
“They were just doing a job. Maybe a little too willing to accept forged papers, but that's all.” Ramsey paused. “We need to talk.”
And Then You Die Page 12
