by Harlan Coben
The Chao Phraya area was quiet this evening. The gentle splashing sound s f rom an occasional boat enhanced the feeling of calm, of solitude. Ther e w as no mist in the air, only the stifling humidity, and yet there alway s s eemed to be a fog rolling across the city, as though mist and fog coul d b e detected by some sense other than sight and smell.
"Nothing changes here," George said.
Surakarn nodded.
"Bangkok is a constant."
"I need to use the safe phone."
"Of course." Surakarn pointed to a radio with a microphone.
"The radio leads to a cellular phone aboard one of my vessels near Hon g k ong."
"I see."
"You asked to make a call that could not be traced. This is it."
Surakarn moved toward the far end of the boat.
"You need not fear. I will not listen."
George checked his watch. He called in the number to the captain of th e d rug boat in Hong Kong, who proceeded to hook him up with the Unite d s tates. No matter what Surakarn claimed, the call was still, after all , traceable. The authorities could, in theory at least, figure out th e c all was made from a cellular phone (no doubt a stolen one) in Hon g k ong. But to find out who made the call and then to find out that ther e w as a radio hook-up to Bangkok, well, that would be nearly impossible.
Worst case scenario: it would take weeks.
A few moments later George heard the voice.
"Hello."
"Perfect," George said.
"You're right on time."
"I can barely hear you," the voice said.
"Don't worry about it. We won't be on long."
"Is he all right?"
"Kne. We're having a ball together. Did you transfer the money?"
"Yes."
"All of it."
"Every last penny," the voice replied.
"How did you get it?"
"That's not your concern."
""I'll check my account tomorrow morning just to be sure. If it is no t a ll there, my house guest will be missing a few fingers by tomorro w a fternoon."
"It's all there." The voice faltered for a moment and then said, "Wh y d id you have to kill the nurse?"
"Excuse me?"
"The nurse. Why did you have to kill her?"
"She saw me."
"But you're supposed to be an expert. How could you let that happen?"
The words stung because George knew that they were true.
He had miscalculated. That was rare. And very bothersome.
"It was just a freak thing."
"Listen to me closely: I don't want any 'freak thing7 to happen t o m ichael Silver "
"Don't use names, imbecile! Someone could be listening."
"What oh, sorry."
The voice was extra-taut tonight, George thought, like somebody wound s o t ightly he would either snap or stretch into something unrecognizable.
George had not liked it when the voice was nervous.
Now he feared that his employer was beginning to lose contro l c ompletely.
That was not good. It was, in fact, very bad.
"I guess I should be thankful," the voice continued.
"At least you didn't kill Sa uh, his wife."
"I was able to sneak up behind her," George replied evenly.
"She never got the chance to see me."
"Otherwise?"
"Otherwise she would be lying on a cold slab too."
"No one else is to be hurt without my say-so. Absolutely no one. Jus t k eep a hold of you-know-who. Make sure you treat him well."
"HI do what I have to do."
"No. You listen to-" "Good-bye," George said.
"Wait. How can I reach you?"
"You can't." George had trusted his employer too much already but n o m ore. It was time to take control.
"Just follow our plan." He snapped off the radio.
"Surakarn?"
"Yes?"
He tried to smile, but he was still distracted.
"I feel good. Let's take a little ride."
"Where to?"
"I just came into a lot of money."
"Congratulations."
"Tell me, Surakarn, can a man still buy anything in Bangkok?"
Surakarn smiled toothlessly.
"Do you still like them older?"
He nodded.
"She has to be at least twenty."
Jennifer Hiker's whole body shook. Over the past three days she had rea d t he press reports, seen the news of Michael's kidnapping on th e t elevision, witnessed the outrage of a country.
But Jennifer felt more than outrage.
She felt fear.
Susan was going to be home in another two days, but Jennifer now kne w t hat she could no longer wait until then. She had been wrestling wit h h er decision for three days now and had come to the decision that th e s takes were too high for her to hold back.
Michael's life might depend upon her actions.
But when she reached over and picked up the packet, her mind started t o v acillate again. No evidence, after all, linked this mailing with th e g ay Slasher or the kidnapping. No evidence at all. These were jus t s tandard medical files and lab samples.
Period. That was it.
Then why had Bruce mailed them the day he committed suicide? And why ha d t hree of the patients listed in the files Trian, Whitherson, and Martin o b een murdered? Coincidence?
She thought not.
She wavered long enough. The note written to Susan, well, that wa s s usan's and there was no way Jennifer was going to open it. But th e o ther contents in the packet were not personal. The files were not, sh e k new, for everyone's eyes, but there was one person who might make sens e o f it, one person who might be able to piece together why Bruce felt th e n eed to mail it to a seldom-used address on the day he died.
Jennifer picked up the phone and dialed Harvey's private extension.
Enough lying around.
Sara threw the blankets off her body, stood, and took hold of her cane.
The inactivity, the babying, the looks of pity all behind her now. Sh e h ad to stop crying. She had to get up and act. She had to find out wha t w as happening and who was behind all of this.
She had to save her husband.
"Where are you going?" Cassandra asked.
"To speak with Max and Harvey. They're at the clinic." "Wait a second,"
Cassandra said.
"You can't tell anyone about this yet not even Max and Harvey. This i s s till Dad we're talking about."
Sara nodded.
"I know. I won't say a word about him until we speak to him tonight.
"I'll meet you at the house at eight o'clock."
The sisters embraced. Then Sara left for the clinic. She arrived at th e d oor of the third floor lab a half hour later.
"I want to know everything," she said.
Max and Harvey turned toward the lab door.
"Sara," Harvey began, "what are you doing here? You should be-"
"I should be right here," she interrupted.
"Max and I are doing all we can," Harvey continued in a calm voice.
"Why don't you go back home and rest? Well let you know if anythin g c hanges."
"Don't patronize me, Harvey."
"I'm not patronizing. I'm trying to do what's best for your health." Sh e c ontinued to stare at them, her eyes both wide and defiant.
"I'm fine. I want to know what you've learned."
Harvey's next protest was cut off by Max.
"Then come over and sit down," Max said.
"We don't have time to argue."
Sara limped over to the table and pulled out a chair.
"Okay, what have you got?"
"A few things," Max said.
"First, we've been going over the files of the murdered patients."
"Learn anything?"
"Maybe," Max said, his leg shaking up and down.
"Maybe not. They were killed
in almost the same order they got here.
Trian and Whitherson were both original patients at the clinic an d m artino came in a couple of months later. The other three cured patient s k rutzer, Leander, and Singer all came in about a year later."
"what's that mean?"
Max hesitated, his fingers entwined in his own hair.
"I don't know," he said.
"It might mean nothing, but something about it bothers me."
"How does Bradley fit in?" she asked.
"Or.. or Michael?"
"They don't really. They have no similarity to the other three victim s o r for that matter to the three who are still alive. In fact, the onl y s imilarity I can see is that both Bradley and Michael were V. I . P p atients."
Harvey snapped his fingers.
"But maybe that's it. Maybe the killer is after the important patients , not merely the cured patients."
"Could be," Max shrugged.
"But that raises the larger question why kill four patients, one nurse , and presumably one doctor and not kill Michael?"
Harvey looked at Sara hesitantly.
"Excuse me for suggesting this," he began carefully, "but we reall y d on't know if Michael is alive, do we? The killer may have just move d h is body."
"It wouldn't make sense," Max replied.
"Kill him at the clinic and then move him out? Very risky."
Harvey was about to point out that Bradley Jenkins had met a simila r f ate but chose not to push it in front of Sara.
"Okay, let's move on."
The intercom on the table buzzed. A woman's voice said, "Dr. Riker?"
Harvey lifted the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Riker is on line 6," the receptionist said.
"Take a message." "She said it's urgent."
"Sure. Her alimony payment is probably a week late. Tell her I'll cal l h er back." Harvey replaced the receiver in its cradle.
"Nothing important. Go on."
Sara nodded, struggling in her ongoing battle against coming apart.
"How do you think the kidnapper got in and out of the clinic?"
"We think he used a secret entrance," Max replied.
"There is a small tunnel in the basement that leads to an apartmen t b uilding two doors down. Somehow, he found out about it."
"How?" "I don't know," Max said.
"Then someone has to be giving out information on this place," Sar a s aid.
"And what about the timing, Max? Markey decides to use Michael as a g uinea pig and the next thing you know he vanishes. It has to b e r elated."
Max quickened his pace, his teeth working on a stubborn hangnail.
"Agreed."
"Hold on a second," Harvey interrupted.
"This makes no sense. No one has access to that kind of information , except ..."
He stopped.
Max stopped.
"Except whom?" he prodded.
Harvey shook his head.
"No one."
As if on cue, Winston O'Connor came around the doorway.
"Hey, gang," he drawled.
"What's going on?" "Where the hell have you been?" Harvey almos t s houted.
Winston looked confused.
"No reason to bite my head off, Harv. Hell, I went fishing. Stayed i n t he family summer cabin on the lake. Caught the hugest humdinger of a f ish "
"Don't you get a newspaper?"
"Shit, no. We don't even have a phone out there." He stopped, looke d a round.
"Now what in the hell is going on around here?"
Max walked toward the chief lab technician.
"Will you excuse us a moment?" he said to Harvey and Sara.
"I'd like to speak with Winston alone."
Chapter 18.
In Bethesda, Maryland, four powerful men sat in a plush office in a p icturesque baronial structure on the campus of the National Institute s o f Health.
One was powerful in the religious world; one in the political realm; tw o i n the medical community.
It was a beautiful day. The sky was dark blue and clear. Th e w ell-manicured grounds outside were alive with green. The whole are a r esembled the most exclusive of country clubs.
But the four men were oblivious to their resort-like surroundings.
Arguments raged. Accusations were hurled. Fingers were pointed. And i n t he end nothing was resolved. Through it all, one man had not raised hi s v oice. One man had not engaged in the bitter debate. One man a normall y v ery verbose man had not said a word.
But the man had listened. And the man had made a decision.
As the meeting broke up, the man pulled Dr. John Lowell to the side an d s aid five words: "We have to talk alone."
To which Dr. Lowell nodded and replied, "Let's get back to New Yor k f irst."
Max closed the lab door.
"So how were the fish biting?"
"Pretty good," Winston drawled.
"I caught one of the biggest bass ya ever did see. She must have weighe d a good "
"Great. Congratulations. Now why don't we stop playing games?"
"Playing games? I don't getcha, Lieutenant."
Max renewed his pacing with surprising vigor.
"Would you mind telling me why you were in Washington three days ago?"
"How do you know "
"Don't worry about how. Just tell me why."
Winston's expression remained cool, his tone impatient.
"While I don't reckon it's any of your goddamn business, I stopped i n w ashington to visit some friends on my way home. Happy?"
"Your home in Alabama?"
"That's right."
"The cabin by the lake and all that."
"Yep."
"Tell me something else, Winston what parts of Washington did yo u v isit?"
"I don't see why that's important."
"It's not really. I just want to know why you went to the Nationa l i nstitutes of Health."
Winston tried to glare at his interrogator, but Max had his back turned.
"You had me followed?"
"Yes."
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Lieutenant, but there is nothing ver y s inister in that. I was visiting a couple of former co-workers.
I used to work there."
"Interesting," Max replied.
"Then how come there is no mention of it in your resume?" Max reache d i nto his coat pocket, withdrew his hand, reached into his front pant s p ocket, withdrew again.
"Damn, I had it here someplace."
"Lieutenant ..."
"Here it is." Max took out the crumbled piece of paper and unfolded i t w ith quick fingers.
"Now this resume covers your work history from your undergraduat e s tudies to the present day.
When exactly did you work for the NIH?"
Again the silence. Then: "I have a friend who works for the NIH, okay?
Is that such a crime? I didn't want to say anything because I knew h e w ould jump "
"Now there are two ways we can play it," Max said, ignoring Winston's s hifting explanations.
"One, you can tell me what I want to know. Two, you can continue you r l ittle charade and I can arrest you."
"On what charge?"
"Murder in the first degree. Breaking and entering. Assault."
"You're out of your cotton-pickin' mind. Who am I supposed to hav e m urdered?"
"Riccardo Martino."
"Who?" Max smiled.
"The patient who was murdered in the clinic."
"I don't know the name of any patients. Harv must have told you that."
"Riccardo Martino was mentioned in the story on Newsflash a few night s b ack."
"I don't recall the name," Winston said with a dismissing wave of hi s h and.
"And anyway, you got nothing on me."
Max leaned forward. O'Connor's expression was relaxed, but Max had see n t he familiar scared shadow cross his face briefly.
"Sure about that, Winston?"
"Whadda ya mean?"
"We have a witness who will swear under oath you were in the hospital a t t he time of Martino's death, even though you claimed to be home."
"Get lost."
"The same witness saw you hit Dr. Riker over the head. We also know yo u w ere in the lab breaking into Dr. Riker's files."
"You're bluffing," he said.
True, Max thought, but now he noticed that O'Connor's voice was not a s c onfident as it had been. Max decided to give him another little push.
"And one other thing." Max turned his head so that his back was t o w inston.
"Drop the southern drawl. It's insulting."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Max turned around, his eyes toward the floor, pencil between his teeth.
Something close to a smile passed his lips.
"No one who has lived in New York for the past twenty years has a s outhern accent that thick. You sound like somebody on Heehaw."
Again, silence.
"We know you work for the NIH," Max continued.
"We assume you're CIA-trained. And we know what you've been up to."
"You don't know shit." The southern accent was weaker now, les s p ronounced. Winston's Adam's apple bopped up and down continuously as h e s wallowed.
Max took the pencil out of his mouth and examined it.
"I know I have the authority to drag your ass down to headquarters, boo k y ou for murder, and seal you in a cage. If you think your CIA or you r n IH buddies are going to rescue you, you are very much mistaken. Thi s c ase is too hot. They'll let you rot before admitting you're one o f t hem."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Winston said, but there wa s n ow a clear waver in his voice.
"Then just humor me by listening to your other option," Max continued.
"You might find it interesting." "I told you I don't know "
"Option 2: you can tell me what you know," Max interrupted.
"In return, I will promise to keep our conversation confidential it'l l j ust be between you and me. Washington will never know anything abou t i t. Think about it. The choice is yours." There was a stony silenc e w hich Max by taking out his handcuffs and a plastic card from which h e r ead: "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you "
"Hold on a minute."
Max looked up from his card.
