Justin watched her go into the room to the left of the foyer. She came out a minute later and handed him a floppy disk.
"I have a friend," he told her. "She's in her car, parked, half a mile down the road. Her name's Deena. I'd like you to go to her and wait for me."
"Leave here on my own?" she asked.
"Yes. Can you do that?"
Aphrodite nodded. "I've dreamed about leaving here on my own. I've dreamed about it my whole life."
"Did you dream about what you'd do when you left?"
She smiled a deep, inward smile. "Yes," she said. "I definitely dreamed about that."
"You go wait with Deena. Then we'll help you do whatever you dreamed about. Okay?"
She smiled again, nodded, turned, and walked out the front door and headed back toward the gate. Justin watched as she walked the path that would take Aphrodite outside the walls that had so long imprisoned her.
Aphrodite never looked back. Justin saw her step past the wall. He saw her smile brilliantly right before she turned, heading toward Deena, and then she disappeared from view.
Five minutes later, waiting exactly where Aphrodite had told him to, he came face-to-face with Douglas Kransten and Louise Marshall. Kransten was tall and rigid, with long, wavy silver hair and deep crags in his tanned face. His fingers were long and elegant. Justin was surprised to notice such beautiful hands on an old and despicable man. Louise was younger, but the years didn't really matter because her age no longer was discernible. She had had too many face-lifts. Her skin was unnaturally smooth and wrinkle free. Her breasts were too large and firm under her sweater. Her hair was too dark and her features seemed frozen, cast in something that only resembled human flesh. Neither of them made a sound when they saw him.
Justin didn't say anything either. There was no point. Words meant nothing now. The only thing that had any meaning was that now he could finish what he'd come halfway around the world to do.
Ten minutes later, it was done.
Louise Marshall didn't utter a word before she died. Douglas Kransten said only one thing. He looked straight into Justin's eyes and whispered, "Aphrodite?"
Justin understood the question. The old man was asking if his experiment had survived. Would continue to survive.
Justin let him die without ever finding out the answer. When he reached Deena, she was sitting in the car, parked off the narrow dirt shoulder of the road. She was sitting there alone.
"Is it over?" she asked as he walked over to her side of the car.
"It's over," he said. He peered into the car, checked out the backseat. Then he glanced around at the quiet countryside. "Where's the girl?"
Deena looked at him questioningly. "What girl?"
He didn't know how to tell her, couldn't begin to explain, so he just said, "A little eight-year-old girl. Dark hair. Very pretty. Didn't she come find you?"
Deena shook her head, said, "Who is she?"
Justin shrugged, his eyes focused down the road, half expecting Aphrodite to appear. "The daughter of one of the servants, I guess."
"And she just left on her own? Will she be all right?"
Now Justin nodded. "I think she will. She seemed to have some kind of plan."
"An eight-year-old girl with a plan?" Deena said. "Should we go look for her?"
"No," Justin said. "We should let her be." He smiled, opened the car door, and slid in behind the wheel as Deena moved over to the passenger side. "And we should go home," he said.
36
Kendall came rushing up to Deena and threw her arms around her. Despite all the homemade french fries she'd devoured over the past week, she was definitely glad to see her mother. Deena hugged the girl tightly and planted kisses all over her face until Kendall began to protest and squirm. When she finally escaped her mother's arms, she made her way over to Justin and, with a bit more decorum, kissed him on the cheek. He couldn't help himself-he grabbed her tightly too, and hugged her to him. The girl didn't squirm this time. She seemed instinctively to understand Justin's need to hold her.
"You're lucky," he said to Deena's daughter.
"I am?" she said. "Why? Because I got to stay here and go swimming every day?"
"No. Because you get to grow up and experience all these great things that life has in store for you."
"But there's a lot of bad things, too, Jay. I know there are 'cause I heard you telling my mom. It scared me."
Justin gave her a mock scowl. He chewed on the inside of his lip, wondering when and how kids got to be so smart. "You're right, as usual," he finally agreed. "There are a lot of bad things. But you can't let them scare you."
"But what if they're really scary?"
"Well, for one thing, your mom and I are here. And one of our jobs is to make sure the really scary things don't ever get to you."
"But what if you're not here? What if they do?"
"Then," Justin said, "you just have to realize that all those scary, bad things don't really matter. They're just a part of life. Once you know that, they're not so scary."
"I don't want them to be part of my life."
"I guess nobody does. But you know what? There are so many good things that are also part of life, they make up for all those scary things. They more than make up for them because they're so much more important."
"What kind of things?"
"You know what the good things are," he said. "You don't need me to tell you."
"You mean stuff like how much my mom loves me and all of that?"
"That's exactly what I mean."
"So you don't think I should worry?" the girl asked. "No, Kenny," Justin said. "I don't think you should worry one bit. Why don't you leave that part to me."
Kendall looked at him for a long time. Then she grinned and said, "Okay, Jay. I believe you. I won't be scared anymore and I won't worry, okay?"
"Okay," he said as his mother and father came out of the den and walked up to them.
"She was a pleasure," Lizbeth said, touching Kendall on the small of her back. "I'm going to miss her. We both are."
Jonathan Westwood nodded his agreement.
"I'm sure she's going to miss you, too," Deena said.
"Lizbeth said I can come back any time I want, Mom. I bet you could too, if you wanted to."
"You both can," Lizbeth said, smiling. "You're both welcome."
"Can you stay for a few days?" Jonathan Westwood asked.
"No," Justin told him. "There are some loose ends that need taking care of. We've got to get moving."
"Will we see you soon?"
"I hope so," Justin said. "I hope so too," his father told him.
Deena turned to both of Justin's parents. "Thank you for taking care of my daughter," she said.
Lizbeth reached over and, to Justin's astonishment, took his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you for bringing our son back home," she answered.
37
Gordon and Wendell Touay were all packed.
The plan was simple. Nothing remotely fancy. They were going to drive to East End Harbor. They were going to wait until Justin Westwood and Deena Harper were together and they were going to kill them. If possible, they would hurt them first. Hurt them badly. But that would be a luxury. All they really cared about was putting an end to their lives. Putting this whole unpleasant situation behind them. The bonus, they hoped, would be the little girl, Kendall. Her they'd let live for a while. A little while, anyway.
They went out through the small workout room, into the garage. They had no luggage; they weren't planning on staying overnight. When this was all done they had decided they were going to put their luggage to good use. They were going to take a long vacation. Maybe down to the Islands. Spend a few weeks on the beach, soaking in the sun, drinking margaritas. Looking for some new and different kinds of fun.
"I've been meaning to ask you," Gordon said as he opened the car door.
"What?"
"Did you drink my Diet Coke?"
"What? No."
/> "Well, somebody did."
"Gordon," Wendell said, "I don't drink Diet Cokes. I have never in my life had one of your Diet Cokes."
"I'm just saying, I had one in the fridge this morning and now it's gone."
"Maybe you drank it and forgot."
Gordon shook his head. "I didn't drink it."
Wendell looked at his watch. "Can we discuss this while we're on the road?"
Gordon was certain Wendell was lying-who the hell else would have been in their house, been in their refrigerator-but he sucked back his annoyance, nodded at his younger brother, opened the door to the driver's side of the car, and stepped in. Wendell got in the passenger's seat, reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out the automatic garage-door opener. He pointed and clicked and the door began to slide up and open.
"Oh, for God's sake," Gordon said as he put the key in the ignition. "Look."
Wendell turned his head. On the floor of the driver's side, by the gas pedal, was a hand grenade. Wendell had a collection he'd brought back years ago from the Gulf. Gordon reached down and picked it up, handed it to his brother.
"For God's sake," Gordon said again, then snapped, "How the hell can you leave this thing in the car? Have you lost your mind?"
"I didn't leave that in the car," Wendell said quietly.
"Well, who else do we know who has toys like this?"
"I'm not saying it's not mine. It is. I have two of them left. I'm just saying I didn't leave it here. And I didn't drink your Diet Coke, either." Then they both fell silent.
The silence was broken when their cell phone rang. The twins looked at each other. As far as they knew, Alfred Newberg was the only one who had that particular number. And he'd made it clear that he would not be calling anymore.
"Hello?" Gordon said tentatively into the receiver.
"I got your number from Newberg," a man's voice said.
"Who is this?"
"Also your address."
"What the hell do you want?" Gordon asked.
"I just want to tell you two things," the voice went on.
"Fuck off," Gordon said. When the man didn't say anything in response, Gordon put a little bit of sneer into his next words. He was getting angry. Whoever this guy was, he was going to suffer. "Okay, here's your big break. What do you want to tell us, asshole?"
"First, thanks for the Diet Coke."
Before the man could continue, Gordon and Wendell both heard the noise at the same time: a rolling noise, like a bowling ball slithering down a lane. The noise ended when whatever the object was came to a stop, bumping up against something. The rear right tire, it sounded like.
"You want to know the second thing?" the voice asked. "'Cause I'd really like you to hear it."
Gordon swiveled around, saw a man standing outside their garage. The guy looked familiar. He looked like-
"Shit," Wendell said. And when Gordon turned to face him, the younger twin said, "The other grenade."
"Bye-bye," the voice on the phone said. "That's the second thing." They both reached desperately for the door handles, Gordon to his left, Wendell to his right. Wendell got his fingers wrapped around the metal handle. Gordon didn't even get that far.
By the time the fire trucks arrived, Justin Westwood was over a mile away, driving back north, heading out of New Jersey on the two-and-a-half-hour drive toward East End Harbor.
When he reached the sign on the side of the highway that welcomed him to Long Island, he realized he was whistling and had been whistling for quite some time.
38
FBI Assistant Director Leonard Rollins thought he was having a bad dream. In this dream, he was suffocating. He couldn't breathe. It felt so real, as if something was stuffed down his throat, cutting off his air supply. At some point, the pain in his throat deepened, and that was when he realized he was awake. This was not a dream. He was in his queen-size bed in his room in the not-very-swank East End Motel, naked under one sheet. His eyes were open and above him he could see Justin Westwood. Westwood was holding a gun. The barrel of the gun was jammed into Rollins's mouth. He could feel it pressing against the back of his throat and he could see Westwood's finger on the trigger.
"I'm here to give you a message," Westwood said. "And I want you to tell your boss exactly the way you hear it from me." Justin tossed that morning's Times on the bed. It landed on Rollins's chest. Justin eased his finger off the trigger, then slid the barrel of the gun out of Rollins's mouth. He motioned so the agent knew it was okay to move, to sit up.
Justin flicked on the bedside lamp and Rollins squinted at the sudden brightness. He waited a moment to focus his eyes, reached for the newspaper, and angled it so he could read the front-page story Justin wanted him to see. The story told about the discovery of the bodies of Douglas Kransten and Louise Marshall. The bodies were found in a room in their remote estate in the English countryside. One gun was found in the room. British police had ruled it a suicide pact. They determined that Kransten had shot his wife of over thirty years, turned the gun on himself, and pulled the trigger. Although there was no suicide note, the Justice Department had already issued a statement saying that Kransten and Marshall had been investigated for the past several months for illegal financial manipulations of their company, KranMar. The transgressions were of Enronlike proportions. Chase Welles, the head of the FDA, said that Kransten had been falsifying medical-research reports on many of KranMar's products that had recently been released on an unsuspecting public. According to the Times, the company was about to declare bankruptcy and the couple faced, in addition to public disgrace, charges that ranged from fraud to murder.
"I know all about this," Rollins said. "Who the hell do you think formulated the Justice Department's response?"
"The threat's over," Westwood said. "Nobody has anything to worry about from Kransten or from the Aphrodite experiments. It's over."
"I told them it was you. They didn't believe me. They couldn't figure out how you got out of the country." Rollins gathered himself under the sheet, propped himself up farther, and stuck out his hand. "You did pretty good. I told them they shouldn't underestimate you."
Justin ignored Rollins's hand. Wouldn't shake it. He waited until the agent slowly dropped it back by his side. "I did better than you think."
"And I'm sure you're going to tell me about it."
"As a matter of fact, I am. Here's the first thing you have to know- and here's the first thing you have to tell your boss: Kransten had what you were so worried about. The formula was finished. He had the fountain of youth in his computer, along with marketing plans and a multi-million-dollar launch. The government's worst nightmare come true. It exists."
"What's the second thing?"
"I've got it. The complete formula. All the details of the years of experimentation. It's enough to re-create it perfectly."
"Then just turn it over," Rollins said, "and the whole thing'll be forgotten."
"Not a chance," Westwood told him.
"You don't want to be in that position, Justin. As long as you have it, they're going to come after you."
"As long as I'm the only one who has it."
"Oh, Christ. What are you telling me?"
"It's been distributed. To quite a few people. Everyone I trust has a copy."
"You fucking idiot. You don't know what you've done."
"I know exactly what I've done," Justin said quietly. "I've made sure you bunch of lying psychopaths leave me, Deena Harper, and her daughter, Kendall, alone."
"You've done just the opposite. You just signed your own death warrants."
"I don't think so. You pass all this along: The people I've sent copies to…no one knows what he's got. They don't know its purpose. Everyone knows one thing only: Over the next ten years, starting today, if anything happens to me, Deena, or her little girl, they're all to make the notes and the formula public. They've got instructions on exactly how to do it. And you'll never be able to stop all of them."
"W
hy ten years?"
"Less than that, you people hold grudges. You'd kill us out of spite as soon as you thought it was safe. More than that didn't seem realistic. After a decade, I'll take my chances. I figure by then you'll be old and I'll be able to take you in a fair fight if you decide to come after me."
Rollins sank back in the bed. "How many people have copies?"
"Too many for you to go after. And in case you decide to, they've all got the names of three other people who have the disks. Anything suspicious happens to any of them, someone's going to release the formula and spread the word."
Rollins stayed quiet for the longest minute of his life. Finally, he said, "And all we have to do is leave you alone?"
"No. I want news coverage clearing us. Me, Deena, Frank Manwaring. I want a plausible explanation for Maura Greer's death made very public. I want Wanda Chinkle to get credit for solving the case so you can't fire her. You can link it to Kransten or Newberg or whoever you want. But we're absolutely cleared of any suspicion in any of it. Same for the murders of Ed Marion and Brian Meves. Solve those cases and make sure we're cleared. Wanda can get credit for everything, if that makes it easier for you. But I want to read about all of it in the New York Times and see it on every television news show in the country within forty-eight hours."
"I don't know if that's possible," Rollins said.
"I do. You want me to run down the list of murders the govern-ment's been involved in that have never come to light? How about just a list of supposed suicides?"
"I have to check with my superiors."
"Fine. While you're at it, check and see how they'll like it if CNN gets proof of the conspiracy that's been going on for fifteen years with the pharmaceutical companies."
"All right. Let's assume you've got a deal."
"I want to make it even clearer. I want to make absolutely certain you understand the way things stand, you little shithead. If anything happens to me, Deena, or Kendall over the next ten years-and I mean anything-you're fucked. If any of us get hit by a car crossing the street or choke on a chicken bone in a restaurant or get cancer, the Aphrodite formula is made public and the conspiracy's revealed. So you might not just want to leave us alone, you guys might want to hire crossing guards for us and make sure we've got really good medical insurance. You got it?"
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