by Stuart Woods
After lunch, Holly walked Stone and Dino down to the lobby, and the three paused at the front door.
“Dinner tonight?“Dinneight?” Stone asked Holly.
“I can’t tonight,” she said, “but I’m glad you two got to visit the building.”
“I’m not glad,” Dino replied.
“What, Dino, you didn’t like being on a diet?”
“It’s not that, it’s the lipstick.”
“What do you mean?” Stone asked.
“Before the lipstick,” Dino replied, “we had an easy out. If we couldn’t find a murderer, all we had to do was endorse Shelley’s report, and we were out of here.”
“Not anymore,” Stone agreed.
“Holly,” Dino said, “could you recommend a diner, or something, on the way back to the city? I’d like to stop for some lunch.”
12
Dr. Josh Harmon reported to his trauma center at half past one for his two-to-twelve shift. He looked over the charts of patients seen but not admitted during the morning shift. He was pleased with the decisions made by his staff, and he posted a handwritten note on the bulletin board congratulating them on no unnecessary admissions and overall good judgment.
Josh got into clean scrubs, secured his locker, and walked into the treatment room to see a gunshot wound in a young Hispanic male. The boy was fortunate that it had passed through the upper arm muscle without striking bone, but he had lost some blood, and Josh put on a surgical mask and was gloved, while he called for the administering of one unit of whole blood.
He had just begun to work on repairing the wound when a woman in her late thirties appeared, complaining of abdominal pain. He was immediately struck by how familiar she looked, but for the life of him he could not place her. Something was different from his memory, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He looked up often as he worked, trying to jog his memory, but to no avail. The woman was diagnosed with severe constipation and was sent to a curtained booth for an enema, then he forgot about her.
Josh finished with his suturing and left an intern to dress the wound and issue a sling to the young man, before discharging him, and Josh dealt with two more patients before his break. He was sitting in the coffee room with a hot cup when it hit him: Orchid Beach. He and Holly had had dinner with the woman and a man, and he couldn’t remember either of their names.
When his break was over he went back to the treatment room and found the woman’s chart. Her name was Jessica Smith, with a La Jolla address, but he knew the name wasn’t right. She remained on his mind for the rest of the afternoon, and it was driving him crazy. Then, during his dinner hour, he decided to put an end to it. He went to a pay phone and called Holly’s direct line at the Agency.
“Holly Barker,” she said.
The sound of her voice got to him; he hadn’t been expecting that. “Hi, it’s Josh,” he said, finally.
“Well, hello there,” she said. “How are things in San Diego?”
“Going better than I could have expected at this stage,” he replied. “How about you?”
“Oh, you know how the work goes-win some, lose some. Lose more than I would like.”
“Has Lance got the director’s job yet?”
“Not yet,” she said, but said no more.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that on an Agency line.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“Reason I called is, I saw a woman in my trauma unit today who came in complaining of abdominal pain. Turned out all she needed was an enema.”
“Hey, you get all the exciting cases, don’t you?”
He laughed. “She wasn’t my patient, but I thought I recognized her. It drove me crazy all day, and finally I placed her.”
“Josh, you didn’t call to tell me about an old flame, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. In fact, if anything, she’s your old flame, in a way. You remember that couple we had dinner with at a little beach house? The guy was a great cook, and for some reason I can’t even remember his face, but I remembered hers, so I checked her chart for her name, and it wasn’t the right one.”
“Wasn’t the right one?”
“No, it wasn’t her real name, but I can’t remember it. Surely you remember her-the two left town suddenly.”
Holly took in a sharp breath. “Lauren Cade!”
“Yes, that’s it! And what was his name?”
“I don’t remember,” Holly said, “but it was a false name anyway.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And I can’t explain it to you, Josh, you know the drill. What name was Lauren Cade using?”
“Jessica Smith. You want her address?”
“Yes, please.”
Josh dictated it to her from memory. “It’s near the beach in La Jolla. I know the area.”
“Thank you very much, Josh. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m late for a meeting.”
“Nice talking with you,” he said.
“Same here.”
Josh hung up and went back to work, relieved of the necessity of remembering the woman’s name, but now he had Holly’s voice in his head.
HOLLY LOOKED IN HER computer for Todd Bacon’s satphone number and rang it. The ringing was interrupted by a loud beep.
“It’s the office,” Holly said. “Stand by to write. We have a Lauren Cade sighting in San Diego. Here’s an address in La Jolla.” She recited what Josh had given her, then hung up.
Ten minutes later her phone rang. “Holly Barker.”
“It’s Bacon. How recent is this information?”
“Early this afternoon, local time. She turned up at a trauma center complaining of abdominal pain and was given an enema and discharged.”
“Thanks for that image,” Todd said.
“You’re welcome.”
“You have no way of knowing if the address is good?” he asked.
“That’s why you’re out there, bub,” she said. “Get back to me when you know the answer to that question, and when you do, have a plan.” She hung up.
13
Teddy Fay woke suddenly. Something-a noise, maybe-had startled him. He tried replaying whatever he had been dreaming and realized it was a gunshot that had wakened him, one that he had fired at some shadowy figure in his dream.
Teddy lay back in bed and slowed his breathing. Something was still wrong. His girlfriend, Lauren Cade, stirred beside him. “You awake?”
“Yes,” he said, “something woke me.”
“What-noise? Doorbell?”
“Something else. It’s happened before. I’ve learned not to ignore it.” Teddy had been a fugitive for years now, and he had remained free because he listened to this sixth sense. It was as if someone had unexpectedly tapped him on the shoulder and said clearly, “It’s time to go.”
Teddy got out of bed, took the Colt Government .380, which was a miniature of the .45 Model 1911, and slowly began to walk the perimeter of the little beach house in La Jolla, a San Diego suburb. He and Lauren had left Santa Fe after a CIA officer had tracked them down there. They had been safe and happy in La Jolla for more than a year, but they had to run.
He went, barefoot and silent, from room to room without turning on any lights. There was half a moon that night, and as he looked out every window in its turn, he could spot no one. He went back to the bedroom, where Lauren was sitting up in bed. “It’s time to go,” he said.
“Teddy, are you sure? Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, I’m not sure. The only way to be sure is if someone sticks a pistol in my ear and cuffs me. And I don’t know anything you don’t, except that I do. I just do.”
“All right,” she said.
“Are you with me, sweetie?” he asked. “You can always bail out, if you’re tired of this.”
“I’m with you,” she said. “I’m not tired of you.”
“All right,” Teddy said, looking at the luminous hands on his watch. “We have to be out of here in one hour-
say, three o‘clock. That’s an hour and five minutes. Start with what you absolutely cannot bear to leave behind, then widen your circle to include the less essential but important. We’re not going to turn on any lights. We’re going to load the car with the garage door closed and head out.”
Lauren started dressing.
Teddy started with his computer equipment-a MacBook Air-and his printer, and two magic boxes he had built himself and was thinking about marketing. He could forge any document, break into any database, with those. He always kept the original packaging for important things, and he located the boxes and manuals in the dark. Next came his tool kits and weapons-a silenced sniper rifle in a briefcase that he had designed and made for the CIA during the twenty-odd years he had served in the Agency’s Technical Services department. They didn’t know that he had made a duplicate rifle for himself.
He went to the sixty-inch safe, opened it, and took out the handguns and the cash. He already had cases ready for everything. He loaded all these things and put them into the SUV, then he climbed on top of the vehicle and unscrewed the bulb that normally came on when the garage door opened.
He went back to the bedroom and began throwing clothes into a suitcase. “How are you coming?” he asked.
“Pretty well,” she replied, packing a bag. “I’ll be ready by three.”
“Sooner, if you can,” he said, handing her a pair of latex gloves and pulling some on himself. “I’m going to start wiping down the house.”
He started with the bedroom, then went to the bath and kitchen, then to the rest of the house, spraying things with alcohol-and-water window cleaner and wiping with a clean dishcloth. When he finished, Lauren’s things were in the SUV, and she was ready. They got into the car.
“Ready?” he asked, handing her a SIG Sauer P239. “There’s one in the chamber.”
“Ready,” she said.
He switched off the auto-on interior lights. He touched the remote control, and the garage door rose silently. He had aligned and greased it carefully for such a moment. “Let’s give it a push,” he said.
They both opened their doors and got the vehicle rolling, then got back in. As the car rolled down the driveway, he touched the remote again to close the garage door. He had chosen the house, in part, because of the hill, and now the car rolled noiselessly down the street. He was two blocks away before he started the engine, then he used as little power as possible for another three blocks, checking the mirrors constantly for another moving vehicle. Nothing. He finally switched on the headlights.
They drove out to Montgomery Field, eight miles north of San Diego, to a never-used back gate that Teddy had cut the lock and chain off and substituted his own combination padlock. Lauren unlocked the gate and opened it, then closed and relocked it when Teddy had driven through.
The field was dark, except for the runway and taxiway lighting. Teddy drove to their hangar, parked, and unlocked the hangar and opened the door. The two of them pushed the Cessna 182 RG out onto the ramp and quickly loaded their things into it, then Teddy put the car into the hangar, wiped it down, and closed and locked the door. Nobody would bother to look in it for at least another month, when the rent hadn’t been paid. If he had had more time he could have sold it, but what the hell? He could eat the loss.
Teddy had a good look around the field and saw nothing moving. The tower was closed, as takeoffs were discouraged between eleven-thirty P.M. and six A.M. He ran through the checklist quickly, then started the engine, waiting only a moment before moving to be sure it was running smoothly. He taxied across the ramp and straight onto the short runway, 28 Left, at a point that left him 2,000 of its 3,400 feet, more than the airplane needed to get off the ground. Leaving the airplane’s lights and transponder off, he pushed the throttle to the firewall, waited for seventy knots, then rotated. He leveled off at 200 feet, then turned inland.
He had recently installed a Garmin flat screen that was capable of Synthetic Vision, a GPS-generated map of the world that displayed high terrain and obstacles. When he was well inland, he began to climb, so as to clear the Santa Monica Mountains east of Los Angeles. When they had crossed the peaks, he turned north over the desert, avoiding the restricted area surrounding Edwards Air Force Base, on a dry lake bed.
Teddy finally spoke for the first time. “How does San Francisco sound?” he asked.
“Sounds good,” Lauren said. “Do you think you were right about your feeling?”
“I think so,” Teddy said. He altered course, but something still nagged at him. “No,” he said, “not San Francisco. They’ll work {ey>“I thintheir way up the coast, checking every general aviation airport, and they’ll find the airplane.”
“But it has a new paint job and a new legal registration number.”
“They’ll be looking for a new paint job,” Teddy replied.
“Then where will we go?”
“East,” Teddy said, looking at his planning chart. “We’ll overnight somewhere in the Midwest, then tomorrow, into the belly of the beast.”
“Washington, D.C.?” she asked, incredulous.
“Near enough,” he said. “Clinton, Maryland, Washington Executive Airport. As close to D.C. as we can get. They’ll never think of that.”
14
The team of six men let their vehicles roll silently down the hill, nearly to the house, then they got out and trotted the last thirty yards. Todd Bacon gave them the hand signal that told them to take the positions worked out during their planning session at the motel, none of them on Teddy’s property, which Todd knew would have motion sensors.
When enough time had passed, Todd walked up the front walk at a normal pace, crouched before the front door, and used a professional lockpick to open it, then he unslung his light machine gun and spoke one word into his handheld radio: “GO!”
They came into the house from all sides, kicking doors open. One minute later, Todd spoke again on the radio. “They’re gone,” he said. He was disappointed but not terribly surprised.
“All right,” he said into the radio, “let’s take this place apart. Bag anything that might be remotely of use.”
The team went to work. Two hours later, they had three garbage bags full of what Todd knew was nearly all garbage. Still, there might be that one thing.
“All right,” he said. “I want you to pull out all stops, yank in as many bodies and phones as you can get your hands on. I want a survey of every general aviation airport-nothing is too small-that has had land today a stranger in a Cessna 182 RG with a fresh paint job, and do callbacks from a month ago to now.” Todd clapped his hands together. “Let’s get to work, people.” He got into his vehicle and drove back to the very nice motel that had been home for the past twelve days.
Todd dumped his bag in his suite, dug out his satphone, and walked out to the pool. It was too early for swimmers, but he’d have a clear view of the satellite. He punched in the number, and it rang.
“This is Holly Barker,” she said.
“It’s Todd Bacon.”
“How did it go in San Diego?” she asked.
“It went extremely well,” he replied.
“Does that mean you actually bagged Teddy?”
“No, that would have been super well. We missed him by, well, maybe as little as thirty minutes-four hours, max.”
“Poor timing, then.”
“We’ve been working flat-out. We couldn’t take him yesterday afternoon, when you got the call from the doc in San Diego. It would have caused an uproar in the neighborhood, would have been all over drive-time news. We do not want to be the talk of the town on this ~ey>e c job.”
“Certainly not,” Holly replied. “You were right to wait until the middle of the night. You must have spooked him somehow.”
“Impossible,” Todd said. “He had no idea.”
“So he’s in his airplane now, free as a bird.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Listen, next time concentrate on finding the airpl
ane first, then stake it out so if he runs, you’ll get him at the airport.”
“That’s a very sensible suggestion,” Todd said.
“It’s not a suggestion,” Holly said emphatically. “You should have thought of it earlier, instead of waiting for me to tell you.”
“All right, all right. I have a good team, though, and we are going to get Teddy. We’ve already started a survey of every GA airfield on the West Coast, all the way to the Canadian border.”
“Why the West Coast? I mean, apart from why not?”
“His choices were south to Mexico, north up the West Coast, or east to God-knows-where. I think he likes the West Coast, it’s a very appealing place. I can’t see Teddy disappearing into Kansas, you know? He has certain needs of a hometown-some arts, good restaurants, shopping. We mustn’t forget that he has the girl. She’s not going to rely on Walmart for her shopping.”
“I know her,” Holly said, “and your assumption is correct. She needs opportunities for style around her.”
“Well, that sounds like San Francisco or Seattle to me-how about you?”
“Either would fit the bill, or any suburb of the two places.”
“The airport is the key,” Todd said. “He has to have that to make his escape when we rumble him, and we will rumble him. How much time have I got?”
“I want a definitive, provable, but very quiet end to this well before our man’s term is up.”
“That’s eighteen months. Have we got that long?”
“Make it a year.”
“I can do it in that time,” Todd said.
“I think you can, too,” she replied, “and if you cant, there’s always that big pot of oil we keep on simmer down in the basement, waiting for your tender carcass.” She hung up.
Todd hung up, too, and then he gulped. It wouldn’t be boiling oil, he knew; it would probably be something worse.
15
Stone and Dino were having breakfast when the phone rang, and Stone picked it up.
