Think. Think!
He got out of the cab of the truck and scanned the street, up and down. The office building was the only one on the street, and people were actually starting to stream out of the doors, white lab coats flapping in their hurry to escape.
Oh, God, where was she?
He searched up the west side of the street, saw nothing, then turned and scoured the east side. Half a block away on either side were some of the college’s classrooms. The University of Colorado campus was extensive, stretching all over Boulder, their octopus-like tentacles spreading through the streets and into the businesses. She could be anywhere, in any direction.
And she had the detonator.
Chapter 44
Washington, D.C.
Detective Darren Fletcher
Fletcher had to coax the story out of Loa, a little bit at a time. It wasn’t terrible, by any means, but he could see how much it hurt her to relive.
“You can’t know what love is when you’re thirteen. My mother kept trying to tell me that, and I kept trying to make her see that of course you can. But she was right. She was almost always right.”
Loa was calm again, settled in. She had leaned her head on her right hand, was idly playing with the ends of her hair. She seemed strangely disconnected from the story as she told it, clearly a self-protecting device. Either she’d told this story a hundred times, or she’d rehearsed how she would relay the details.
Fletcher wasn’t so bad as an ethnographic researcher himself. He pulled the pieces from her, slowly at first, as if he’d been digging for days in the desert, and the shovelfuls of information hit the screens, and the sand sifted out, leaving the remnants to expose themselves.
He let her talk, gave her a push here and there, and the rest of the story flowed from her mouth. She seemed almost relieved in the telling, unburdening herself. She had nothing to lose anymore.
“You know they found out she wasn’t really a survivalist, but a researcher, right? They actually shut her up in the cabin for a few hours to discuss things. When they let her out, she raised all kinds of holy hell, trying to explain herself, but it wasn’t working. They were pissed. They told her to get out, and stay out.
“When she told me it was time to move on, I balked. I wanted to stay. I liked the group, they liked me. They treated me as an equal, not as a child. Mother never understood that—she thought that just because she let me stay up late and try champagne and travel the world that she was giving me equal status, but she would flip between friend and mother in a flash. If I didn’t do as she asked immediately, she treated me like a petulant child. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be grounded in front of a crown prince?”
Fletcher just shook his head.
“That was my mother. Hot and cold. I don’t think she ever really wanted to have children, I was most definitely an accident. One she gamely tried to stuff into a backpack and take along just like she did her camera and fresh underwear and toothbrush. And when I was little, that worked. But as I got older, started having my own opinions, wanted to play with my friends, go to school...well, we were destined to clash. She was used to getting her way. I was used to having a lot of freedom. When she laid down the law on me, for the longest time I would acquiesce. But in Colorado, that all changed. I didn’t want to let her bully me anymore. And I had my special friend, and when she tried to force me into something I didn’t want, he would take me aside and explain why I didn’t have to listen. That I was an adult in the eyes of the group, and should anything ever happen, I’d be expected to pull my weight accordingly, so she needed to start treating me as a real equal, like the rest of them did.”
“And that ‘special friend’ was the one you ran away with?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t the group kick you out along with your mother?”
“Because I was thirteen, and they knew I was just along for the ride, not playing a part in the charade. They left the choice to stay up to me. And I wanted to stay. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. Remember, this sort of continual assimilation was par for the course for me. I normally just melded into whatever situation we found ourselves in. But the group was different. They wanted me for me, and I had found a place where I could be comfortable, be myself.”
“Who was your friend?”
“I’d rather not say.”
He let that ride for now. He would come back to it in a bit.
“Your mother posited that the survivalists are all cults.”
“And in many cases, she’d be right. Especially when you look at the groups that are promoting violence, or hate wars, or finding some way to exclude people should the end of days come. But the Blue and Gray were just a bunch of normal people who decided to live life their way. They had no charismatic leader, didn’t have church services and stuff like that. They were totally normal.”
“I’ll take your word for it. So you ran away, they threw your mother out, and then what happened?”
She was growing visibly uncomfortable.
“Let’s just say things didn’t work out according to plan.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, my goodness. I am so late. I really must be going, Detective.” She stood again, this time determined. She was finished talking. He couldn’t make her stay, really; it wasn’t like she was a suspect.
Then again, twenty million was enough to lay the suspect carpet in front of anyone’s door.
He shrugged and rose himself.
“If you think of anything more, I would really appreciate it if you could call.”
There was a knock on the conference room door. Fletcher looked over Loa’s shoulder to see Inez. She had thick white art pages with her. He assumed it was the Identi-Kit.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Detective. The artist rendering you asked for has come in.”
“That’s fine, Inez. Ms. Ledbetter was just leaving. Would you mind showing her out? Thank you.”
“Of course. Ma’am, if you’ll just follow me.” Inez handed the drawing over, and he glanced down at it. It was a man. Just a man. He didn’t know if he was expecting horns and a forked tail, or a sign that blinked neon and screamed: I did it. This was just another run-of-the-mill schmo with a square jaw, short hair and shaded cheekbones. Caucasian features. It could be anyone.
Then he had a thought.
“Wait a minute. Loa, will you give this a quick once-over, see if it’s anyone you might recognize?”
She squared her shoulders. “Is it a picture of the man who killed my mother?”
“Possibly. We’re looking at every angle, and this man had contact with Marc Conlon recently. It’s worth a shot, just in case.”
He handed the paper to Ledbetter and watched her eyes grow wide, and her face drain of color like someone dropped a black-and-white screen over her. Two seconds later her eyes rolled back in her head and she started to fall.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Fletcher tried to catch her and missed, and she hit the floor, surprisingly hard for such a small woman. Inez hurried back to them.
“Wow. That gives a whole new meaning to fainting dead away. I have never seen anyone go down like that before. What did you do?”
“What did I do? Thanks for the vote of confidence, Inez.”
Fletcher knelt down next to her, felt for a pulse. It was just a faint, she was already starting to come to. Inez got on her knees and pulled Ledbetter’s head into her lap.
“Little help here,” Fletcher called out. One of the young guns appeared in the door.
“Holy crap, is she okay?”
“Just fainted. Get her some water, will you?”
He looked at Inez, who was smoothing Loa’s hair back from her forehead with one hand and fanning her with the other, all while shushing her like she was a scared puppy.
“I t
hink it’s safe to say she knows him,” Fletcher said drily.
* * *
Ledbetter was back among the living in a few minutes. They got her seated at the conference table, and she clutched the bottle of water, pale as a ghost, a look of sheer, unadulterated fright on her face.
Fletcher sat down next to her.
“Loa, who is he?”
She shook her head like a child who doesn’t want to rat on her friend, quick and with her eyes closed.
“Loa. You obviously know this man. That in and of itself makes him more than just another pretty face. Come on. Who is he?”
She kept her eyes closed and whispered, “He told me his name was Ryan. Ryan Carter.”
“How do you know him?”
She took a big, deep breath before she spoke again, then finally opened her eyes.
“He was my husband.”
Chapter 45
Dillon, Colorado
Dr. Samantha Owens
Sam was quiet as Xander drove them back up the mountain. She felt like they were going in circles, and had no idea if they were on the right path. If they were, why weren’t Fletcher and the rest of the JTTF here, combing these mountains? Unless they really did feel the man they’d arrested was responsible for the attack. She was getting really frustrated and didn’t know what to do next. She didn’t want to call him again and get another well done you, not until she was sure they were totally on to something. But she needed him to call out the troops, to get the CDC to Sal Gerhardt’s farm, and the FBI and Homeland here to deal with this. She was only one person, and there was no way she could handle all of this.
But she knew they were on to something. Something bigger than what they originally thought they were dealing with.
Clouds were gathering, blotting out the sun with unholy speed. Summer in the mountains: one second sunny, the next a torrential downpour. It fit her mood. She’d been all over the place today, exaltation and sorrow, jealousy and possessiveness.
She guessed that’s what love was supposed to be about, but wow, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for this again.
It scared her. She didn’t want to belong to someone again, to have him belong to her. Belonging meant there was a chance of loss, and she didn’t think she had the strength to go through it once more.
But she couldn’t deny that her feelings for Xander had gotten completely out of her control. They were wild and untamed and so strong it took her breath away.
And she knew he felt the same way. It was becoming unavoidable. They were rushing toward a huge brick wall, and it was going to be up to her to either slam on the brakes before they hit the barrier, or make herself malleable and willing, and let a door open that would allow them to pass through safely to the other side.
She wondered what had driven Loa Ledbetter. Was it love, or heartbreak? Was she running away from something, or toward it? The constant travel, the desire to live off the land, to disappear into other cultures, other lives. What was she looking for? Why would she take her only child into that world with her?
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She wrapped her hand around Xander’s. “I was just wondering why Loa Ledbetter felt so compelled to be on the move, to expose herself to so many different worlds. It seems exhausting.”
“I was thinking about that, too. She may have been on orders.”
“What do you mean?”
“I ran into people like her from time to time while I was in the Army. They were the ones with actionable information that we used to topple governments, or steal weapons caches.”
“A spy?”
“Of sorts. Versatile. More an information broker. She had the perfect cover if she was, her ‘research’ allowed her to travel the world, to go anywhere, with impunity. Some of the terms she uses in her book are ones I’d attribute to a broker. Or a spy.”
“So what did she want with the Mountain Blue and Gray?”
“I think she wanted Will Crawford.”
“Your friend? Wait, the one we’re heading to see right now?”
“Friend is a loose term. But yes. This is between us, okay? I don’t want you sharing it with Fletcher.”
“I can’t promise that. If it’s vital to the investigation, Xander, you know you can’t ask me to withhold information.”
“I’d never ask that of you, Sam. Not if it mattered.”
“Okay, then. I promise not to breathe a word.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you. I think Ledbetter was trying to find Crawford. She wouldn’t know his name—no one does. But Will...how to best put this? You’ve heard of Anonymous, right? The group of hackers trying to bring down big government across the world by creating as much chaos as possible?”
“The ones who use the mask from that movie, V, as their symbol.”
“Right. They are practically an open group, anyone who’s into hacktivism can join. But Will is also an anarchist. He is antigovernment, antijudiciary, anti-just about everything. He unconditionally rejects the concept of centralized political authority, and authority in general. His groups work behind the scenes to hack into the computer systems of the major corporations and governments who support democracy. It’s a war to him, just as sure as boots on the ground in Iraq was to America.”
“He’s the head of Anonymous?”
“No. They’re the kiddie pool. Will’s actions are much bigger, and much stealthier. His hackers wouldn’t dare draw attention to themselves. They get in, get the information they need, and get out with no one the wiser. They aren’t merry pranksters, or looking for any sort of vindication. Their reward is destroying the concept of a government by the people and for the people from the inside.”
“Good God. He’s not an anarchist, Xander, he’s a terrorist.”
“That may be,” he said. “But he wasn’t always like this. He used to do work for the alphabet suits. CIA, FBI, NSA. Something tripped his switch and he went out on his own, working against them instead of for them, stealing the information they’d need right out from under them.”
“So he’s a wanted man.”
“Yes. But he’ll make a mistake, and the feds will bring him down. That isn’t our problem.”
Sam disagreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment but kept her tongue. Xander continued.
“No, our problem is Will knows the attacker. Knows where he is, too. I’m sure of it. He lied to me before, sent me off thinking it was the work of the Farmer, but he’s covering for someone. I’m not sure why, though. I’ve never known Will to have any allegiance to anyone but himself.”
“Maybe he is the Metro killer, and he’s just trying to send you off his trail.”
“I thought of that. And I haven’t ruled it out completely. He wasn’t a part of the Blue and Gray, but it’s possible he has something to do with them that Ledbetter was after. The key lies there. If she is a broker, he would have been a massive coup.”
“What are you going to say to make him talk?”
“I have no idea.”
“Xander, think about it. He could easily have ties to all the victims. Marc Conlon was talking to someone who he thought he could research and write a thesis about. Loa Ledbetter was trying to broker the information to take him down. And Congressman Leighton’s appropriations bill has funding for massive increases in military spending. I’d say the three would be an anarchist’s field day, especially if one of them identified who he really was. Conlon might have picked up the banner where Ledbetter left off. If she lost her daughter in the process, maybe she threw up her hands and quit, went back to her research and stopped her spying because the cost was too great. And Conlon, having studied at her feet, was in the perfect position to follow in her footsteps and keep searching for answers. And he found them, so he had to be killed.”
“That’s
a solid theory, Sam. I won’t discount it.”
“But?”
“Will isn’t a murderer.”
“You don’t know that. You of all people understand how hate changes a person.”
They were pulling into the Whitfields’ drive now.
“We getting your dad to come along?”
“Among other things.”
His tone was dark, and Sam could only imagine what he meant.
The dogs bounded up to the car, happy to see them. She assumed it was going to be the last welcoming committee they’d encounter for a while.
Chapter 46
He was running now, fighting to keep himself from screaming her name. If he could find her, there was still time. She was small, she couldn’t have gotten far. But he didn’t know that, not for sure. He had no idea when she’d gotten out of the truck. Had someone come by and seen her? That would have been impossible, she was on the floor. They’d have to climb the hood of the truck and look in the windshield to see her.
No, she must have gotten out by herself.
He felt for the keys in his pocket. He had locked the door, thinking that was enough. He should have chained her. Damn devil’s spawn. He should have chained her to the arm rail like he’d done with her mother, though that stupid bitch had broken her own wrist to slip out of the handcuffs and make her escape.
Stop. Regroup. Think. Look.
He scanned the sidewalks. Estimated in his head, used the geometry that flowed through his brain like a second nature. If she’d gone half a mile in twenty minutes, a mile in thirty...
How could a little girl walk away unnoticed on the busy streets of Boulder? Especially one with fire-red hair?
He needed to start looking inside the businesses, then he’d be forced to ask about her. It couldn’t be helped. Decision made, he opened the door of the nearest shop and stuck his head in.
Nothing. He ran to the next, and the next. A wail built behind him. The fire trucks. First responders. Coming to see why the alarms were blaring at the baby-killing business.
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