The Thirteenth Skull
Page 16
When she and Joe got back in the car and headed out, Joe was uncharacteristically silent and grim. Lucy drank her soda pop and enjoyed the lovely rolling hills, covered with thick forest, which surrounded them now. These were the South Dakota Black Hills, full of gold and silver, now the location of Mount Rushmore and countless vacationing families. They’d been passing motor homes and minivans since they’d crossed the border into South Dakota.
“Can we see Mount Rushmore from here?” she asked Joe.
“Afraid not, it’s tucked back into the hills to the west,” he said, a lighter expression coming across his face. “I looked up the location just in case. I just hope it’s not – not disturbing, like Devils Tower.”
“Exactly!” Lucy said. “That’s the word I was trying to think of.”
“That’s what I feel, too. I don’t like it.”
“Like it’s looking at you.”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Exactly. Maybe if Ted’s feeling up to it we can cruise on up and check Mount Rushmore out before we go back. See something friendly, for a change.”
“I’d like that,” Lucy said, grinning. Joe’s face, however, fell back into a worried, gloomy look.
“I’m nervous about being here, I guess,” he said. “Most of all I’m worried about changing Eileen’s focus. She needs to find out what happened to Dr. McBride, and with me here I’m just distracting her.”
“Oh, right, she’d be much happier here trying to find a killer while you’re trying to avoid another one down in Colorado Springs,” Lucy said. “Yeah, that would make her real happy. Don’t be silly, Joe, she hasn’t lost focus. We’ve all just been looking in the wrong places, I think. There’s something here other than Bob the crystal skull and his jewels and the Atlantis legend. It’s all fascinating stuff, but I don’t think it has a thing to do with McBride’s death.”
“I don’t think so either, really,” Joe said. “Still, there’s something there.” He trailed off and for a few minutes there was silence. “You don’t think I’m causing her to lose focus?”
“No, Joe,” Lucy said. “Me, I’ve lost focus. I really don’t give a rat’s butt right now if Dr. McBride was killed by Aztec ghosts or Howie Magnus. I want to know who the fat man is. I want to set you up as bait and see if we can draw him out. I want to catch him and put him behind bars for the rest of his life.”
“I want him dead,” Joe said abruptly, “and I don’t care if you know it. I want him dead. He killed Sully. I don’t know how many people he killed, but we’d be a damn sure further along in missile defense if our best people hadn’t gotten killed.”
“I know,” Lucy said. “Believe me, I know. I’ve got the missile defense file. I know who’s died.”
“But you don’t know what he’s done,” Joe said, and clutched the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Most of what we do in missile defense is secret. But the big tests are made public, and a lot of those have been failures. There aren’t that many brains around, you know. Kill off five or six in an industry and you can wreck the whole industry.”
“An anti-John Galt,” Lucy murmured.
“Who?”
“John Galt. He was the hero of a book called Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand. I read it in college and I thought it was really good. This guy named John Galt went around convincing the motors of the world to quit. You know, the real motors; the people who make things go. So he caused civilization to fall because he got the men and women with brains to quit.”
“Hey,” Joe said. “I should read that.”
“I think you’d like it,” Lucy said. “But Galt didn’t kill people. He just wanted them to stop working for the government types, the looters. Your guy wants to kill people.”
“He kills people,” Joe said. “I don’t know why he wants to kill people in missile defense. Back in the Cold War days I’d say he was a hired killer from the Soviet Union, but that doesn’t make sense. China? They haven’t been in the game that long. Japan? Who knows.”
“We need to know his name. Could you remember his face?”
“Yes, I could. Absolutely.”
“Okay, then,” she said. We’ll start from there, after we wrap up McBride’s killer.”
“That easy, huh?” Joe gave her a sideways grin and she smiled back.
“Oh, sure. Eileen said she might have an idea who did it.”
“Did she tell you who she thinks it is?”
“No, she didn’t, the skinny wench. She said wait until we’re back with Ted and she’ll tell us if her suspicions are correct.”
When they drove into Rapid City Lucy realized how acclimated she’d become to the vast emptiness of Wyoming. The traffic seemed overwhelming, the number and color of buildings and businesses seemed too loud and jammed together. Joe rubbed his head briefly but shook his head when she asked him if he was hurting. They left the bulk of Rapid City behind and took the Radar Hill Road exit.
The Mustang purred up and around an enormous hill where there was, indeed, a large radar.
“I don’t see the airport,” Lucy said.
“The radar is for Ellsworth Air Force Base,” Joe said. “If you look behind you you’ll see the base.”
Lucy twisted around and saw the familiar outlines of a military base, complete with runways and hangers and dull tan buildings.
“What does Ellsworth do?”
“They store nuclear weapons there,” Joe said shortly. “See those bunkers in the distance? That’s where the nukes are. The kind they load on planes and drop. I guess they’re slowly getting rid of most of them. More power to that.”
“Amen,” Lucy said fervently. She turned back and saw a tiny cluster of buildings on top of a small plateau. “I guess that’s the airport?”
“That’s the airport,” Joe said. “How could the fat man and his plank buddy know that I’m in Rapid City?”
“They can’t,” Lucy said, suddenly feeling uneasy.
“Exactly,” Joe muttered. He hunched a little over ’Berto’s steering wheel, looking left and right with palpable unease. “It’s just being back in a city, that’s what it is. Fat man can’t find me in Wyoming because there aren’t enough people there. I don’t think that makes much sense, but…”
“Oh, it does,” Lucy said. “Ever since cities began putting cameras on traffic lights I’ve become as paranoid as a conspiracy chat room. And I’m one of the people the conspiracy nuts talk about. You know, working for the Agency and all.”
“Daddy,” Hank said suddenly from the back seat. “Daddy here?”
“Soon, baby,” Lucy said, turning around to see Hank blinking dazedly and looking out the windows.
“Not baby,” he said firmly.
“Big boy, want some water?” Lucy asked.
“We’re almost to the airport,” Joe said.
“Do they have passenger pick up, or do we need to park and walk?” Lucy asked, consulting her watch as she handed back a covered cup of water to Hank. He took it and sipped from the plastic straw at the top with greedy little-boy pleasure. Joe laughed. It had a strained sound Lucy didn’t like.
“What?”
“We’re talking about the Rapid City Regional Airport,” Joe said. “You blink, you miss it. We’ll park in front and Ted will come walking right out to us from baggage claim, which is on the same level as parking, the one cafeteria, ticketing and check-in.”
“That’s useful,” Lucy said.
“You should see Cheyenne, Wyoming’s airport,” Joe said. “The one time I flew through there the same woman who sold tickets to us went outside and put big ear muffs on and waved the plane in, then she put gloves on and loaded the bags on the airplane, then climbed right on board with us and served drinks. It was wild.”
“So we don’t have to get out of the car, you’re saying,” Lucy said. “I’ll get out anyway, if you don’t mind. I need a big Hollywood kiss from my guy.”
“Oh, right,” Joe said, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m still thinking about the fat man.”
“Here we are,” Joe said, turning from the little two-lane highway onto the airport access road. The heat shimmered off the alfalfa fields and a small herd of cattle stood under a single tree, crowded together in the shade.
Lucy saw a tiny little airport building appear in front of them, a cheerful building that looked like a child’s set of piled up blocks. There was a colorful double row of small airplanes sitting on a huge stretch of concrete and behind them a plane suddenly flashed down. Lucy jumped, thinking it was Ted’s plane, but then realized the color was dark brown. A UPS package jet, then. At least the airport was big enough to handle jets. Joe took a hand off the wheel to point at a tail rising behind the small airport building. The tail was a passenger jet, and it was already on the ground. Lucy felt a great burst of happiness inside her. Ted was on the ground, and she was going to see him. Until this moment she hadn’t let herself believe she was actually going to see him. She missed him terribly, even though they’d only been apart for a week.
“It’s daddy, Hank,” she said in a high, breathless voice. “We’re going to see him.”
“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Hank sang, kicking his feet.
“I’ll pull up in front,” Joe said. “Tell me if you see him.”
There was a small crowd of taxis and cars parked in the passenger pick-up area. Joe pulled in an empty spot and kept the engine running. Lucy unbuckled and turned around to slip Hank’s shoes on his feet.
Joe’s mouth dropped open. Everything jammed up inside his brain as he saw Ted walking with the fat man and his plank-faced friend. Ted was talking with them politely, his face showing a mild puzzlement at their obvious friendliness. Ted was carrying a single bag. He also had a leather valise swung over his shoulder. Fat man was smiling at Ted, responding to something Ted had said. The fat man’s enormous round face was as cheerful and as inhuman as a painted balloon. His eyes blinked like a doll’s eyes, dark and blank and soulless, and Ted Giometti didn’t know there was a killer behind the eyes.
Then with the instinct of humans who are being watched, all three men turned their gaze to Joe behind the wheel of ’Berto’s Mustang. The plank man reacted instantly, eyes narrowing and his hand reaching for Ted’s elbow, obviously meaning to grab and hold him. The fat man turned his balloon face to Joe and a small smile touched his plump little mouth. Their eyes met and they looked at each other for the first time. Joe felt a crusted hate boil out of him, a hatred so pure and naked he felt the stitches on his head immediately pound into furious, screaming pain.
“Ted!” Lucy suddenly screamed, directly into his ear. Joe realized he was shouting wordlessly.
Ted’s smile dropped from his face. For an eyeblink his expression was stunned and confused. Then Ted Giometti’s face flashed comprehension and he did an amazing thing, something Joe couldn’t believe. He spun elegantly on his toes, his valise and his small bag spinning with him as he twirled. His arm ripped out of the plank-like killer’s grip and his valise caught the other man in the gut. Ted finished his ballet-like twirl with a strange, odd dip of the shoulder that brought the fat man stumbling to his knees, clutching the center of his chest. Then he turned and ran like a greyhound towards the Mustang.
“Go, Joe, go goddamn it, go!” Lucy screamed. Joe put the Mustang in gear and there was an earsplitting roar as the engine cycled up. Ted dove neatly through the open window and landed on Lucy. He wasn’t a small man and Lucy’s screaming stopped abruptly. Joe squirted smoke out of the Mustang’s tires and saw all activity at the little airport come to a total halt as he shot out of the parking space like a bullet from a gun. The rich choking smell of burning rubber filled the car. The Mustang flashed by the fat man, still trying to haul his enormous bulk to his feet, and the scrambling plank man, who was digging furiously in a bag at his feet.
“Hank, Hank,” Lucy wheezed. Ted reached the back seat by flipping over the front seat as neatly as he’d dove in the window. He did something to Hank’s car seat that Joe couldn’t see, but suddenly Hank was lying flat on his side in the back with his father’s body covering him.
“Shit!” Joe finally shouted. His voice was hoarse; he’d been screaming wordlessly, like an ape. That was the first word he’d gotten out. Lucy, who was breathing again, climbed over the seat as Joe shot out the exit to the airport. There was no tollbooth to negotiate since they hadn’t parked. He would have blown through the tollbooth, if he had to, but he would have hated to bang up ’Berto’s car.
“How long until they have a car? Seconds?” Lucy screamed over the roar of the Mustang.
“Seconds,” Joe said. “Shit, Lucy, oh God. Did he get a shot off? Is Hank okay?”
“Hank’s okay,” Ted said in a remarkably calm voice. “Lucy, come back here and cover him. Joe, I need to drive.”
“Are you kidding me?” Joe snapped. He was frantically searching for a police car, but not to ask for help. A Rapid City cop would be dead before he drew his gun if he tried to take on the fat man and his friend. Joe didn’t want to ask for help, he just didn’t want to be stopped. He wove in and out of the sparse traffic, trying not to break the speed limit too extravagantly. Once they were on Interstate 90 he could make the ‘Stang walk and talk.
“No,” Lucy said. “Joe, Ted used to drive cars for a living. You need to switch.”
“You’re not making sense,” Joe said.
“Honey,” Ted said, scrambling into the front seat. “Not you Joe, I mean Lucy,” he said, as Joe threw him a surprised glance. Ted Giometti looked like what he was, a mild English teacher. He was tall and thin with a slight rounded belly and with his black hair thinning out on top. He had pale skin and hair that grew along the backs of his hands and out the top of his sporty yellow polo shirt. His face looked shocked, but not because of the fat man. Ted was looking at Lucy. “I didn’t know that you knew.”
“He was a Mafia chauffeur,” Lucy said tightly. “There, I said it. Pull over and let him drive, Joe. Honey, I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Don’t,” Joe and Ted said in unison. Joe, in fact, felt a lot like throwing up himself. His head ached fiercely and his stitches throbbed. He shot through a yellow light that turned red before he was completely into the intersection, and he ignored a chorus of honks behind him. No cops, yet. He pulled over to the side of the two-lane highway and jammed on the brakes, making his decision. He unbuckled and shifted over as Ted scrambled over the top of him to get to the driver’s seat. Ted took the Mustang up to speed on the shoulder, and then shifted onto the highway.
“Let’s put our seatbelts on, shall we?” Ted said smoothly, as though he were giving a busload of tourists a scenic tour. “This is a very nice car, Joe,” he added. “We can outrun anything back at the airport with this. Unfortunately it’s a powder blue ’67 Ford Mustang and everyone who sees it is going to remember it. And it’s easy to spot if they have helicopter backup.”
“I don’t know about backup,” Joe said, buckling his seat belt and still fighting nausea. Hank, Lucy, Ted, they were all in danger. Because of him. “Take Radar Hill Road, there’ll be a sign saying ‘I-90.’”
“Helicopter?” Lucy said from the back, where she was still sheltering a bewildered Hank. He wasn’t crying but wasn’t happy with his current squashed circumstances, held prone on the back seat with his car seat still buckled around him and his mother crouched over him. Joe looked back and gave him a little wave. Hank looked unhappily back at him.
“Helicopter is a possibility, isn’t it? I’m used to hits where they’re backed with lots of money. Back in the bad old days, of course.”
“They found out at the FBI academy,” Lucy said softly. Joe looked back at her and she was near tears. Her hair was in wild disarray and a button had popped off her sleeveless summer shirt, leaving it hanging askew. A piece of flowery, lacy bra was revealed in the gap where the button had been, someth
ing Joe was sure she was wearing for the reunion with her husband. She was staring at the back of Ted’s head. Joe, helpless to leave the conversation, glanced at Ted. His hands were resting lightly on the wheel and his eyes flicked professionally back and forth from the front of the road to his rearview mirrors. He was driving the car so smoothly Joe didn’t realize until he saw the speedometer that they were going 90 miles per hour on a highway where the regular traffic was going only 65.
“So they broke open my juvenile files, the ones sealed by a court order, is that it? Then they came running to tell you what you’d married?”
“That’s right,” Lucy said from the back seat. “That your dad was a Mafia chauffeur and you were being brought up into the ranks. Your dad was clean as could be; he was a bodyguard. Then he got killed and you got sent to your aunt.”
“He died protecting Mary Lisoletto and her unborn child,” Ted said, his face as smooth and unconcerned as though he were discussing Chaucer at an English teacher’s party. “That was his job, and it would have been mine. But I got sent to my Aunt Lisa and she got my juvy records sealed and that was that.”
“And I don’t care, Ted,” Lucy said. “I’ve known and I don’t care. I didn’t care then and I don’t care now.”
“Cop,” Joe said tensely.
“Saw him,” Ted said serenely. “Look at the speedometer.”
Joe did. It showed a sedate sixty-five. He hadn’t even noticed the car slowing down. Had Ted even hit the brakes?
“We’ll be taking Highway 90 across to Spearfish,” Lucy said. “But first we have to get through the traffic around Rapid City.”
“We could lose them in Rapid City,” Ted said calmly. “They’re behind us.”
Joe and Lucy swiveled around in their seats to look behind them. Joe could see nothing.
“I don’t –” Lucy began.
“Look at the dust cloud, half a mile back,” Ted said. “They ran a car off the road, either passing or cutting in too close.”