He logged onto the IDT account he’d recently set up for a nonexistent someone named Eric Garter, accessed the e-mail service, and uploaded the text he’d written earlier and stored in memory.
Thirty seconds later, with his message zapping through the Internet, he logged off. He unplugged the Thinkpad from the Dataphone, snapped the. top shut, and headed for the front doors and the parking lot.
So easy, so anonymous, so completely untraceable. So safe. Too safe, maybe. Too easy. Almost a letdown.
12
Paulie eased the Lincoln to a stop before the front entrance of the Holy Family Elementary School.
Didn’t look much like a school. More like a big old house, two sprawling stories of dark stone and cement with ivy crawling all over it.
He reached for the keys but hesitated. He didn’t want to do this. It just wasn’t right.
Okay, it’s one thing to snatch a guy. He’s an adult. Another man. He should be watching his ass but he got careless, so now he’s snatched and somebody’s got to buy him back. That’s life, dude: You pay for, your mistakes.
But a kid… shit. Kids can’t protect themselves. They don’t know the rules. They’re sitting ducks. And putting the screws to some guy through his kid… that was low. Worse than low, it was unmanly.
Paulie slammed a gloved fist against the steering wheel. Goddamn, Mac!
He was tempted to shift the car back into drive and burn rubber out of here. Pick up Poppy from that rented dump in Falls Church and roar off to parts unknown.
But Mac would be pissed out of his mind. He’d come looking, and sooner or later he’d catch up to them. And that would be ugly. Only one of them would walk away from that scene, and Paulie doubted it would be him.
And besides, he’d made a deal. He hadn’t known a kid would be part of the deal, but a deal was a deal. Is that how it really is? he wondered. Or am I just yellow? How low will you go, Paulie? he asked himself. When do you say enough is enough? He should’ve listened to Poppy and stayed clear of this one.
Growling with disgust, he grabbed the keys and got out of the car. He adjusted his dumb chauffeur’s cap and headed up the front steps.
A middle-aged woman at the desk inside the door phoned, spoke a few words, then led him back to the principal’s office.
The lighting wasn’t the greatest but he kept his shades on. The less these people saw of his face, the better.
The principal’s office… jeez, did that bring back memories.
Sister Louise was an older nun, all in black from head to toe. The only skin showing was on her hands and face—and that was encased in something that looked like a cut-out Whitman Sampler box. Looked about as comfortable as a vise. She stared out at him from that box through thick rimless glasses that magnified her watery blue eyes. Her jutting lower jaw made her mouth look weird when she smiled.
Which she did when she greeted him.
“Good day, Mr… ?”
“Anderson,” he said, glad he remembered to look at the ID Mac had given him. “James Anderson.”
“And you’re here to pick up… ?” What is this? Twenty questions? She knows damn well who I’m here for.
“The Vanduyne child. Katie Vanduyne.”
“Oh, yes. Dr. Vanduyne called and told me you’d be coming.” She stuck her head out the door. “Camille, would you fetch Katie Vanduyne from K-3 and bring her here?” Then she turned back to Paulie and held out her hand. “Your identification, please, Mr. Anderson.” He fumbled in his pocket. Suspicious old broad, wasn’t she. Mac might be a mean, sneaky, rat bastard, but he’d covered all the bases. Paulie pulled out his Reliance Limo ID and hoped she wouldn’t notice how his hand shook when he handed it over. But he held back on the driver’s license. No need to appear too cooperative.
Sister Louise’s brow furrowed as she studied the ID.
“This isn’t a photo ID.”
“No,ma’am.” She looked up and studied him just as closely with those old blue eyes. She was still smiling but Paulie began getting a bad feeling about this nun. She had this sweet little-old-lady air about her but she was a sharp old bat, and suspicious as all hell.
“Do you have an ophthalmologic condition?”
“Beg pardon?”
“An eye condition, Mr. Anderson. Is there something wrong with your eyes?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why are you wearing your sunglasses indoors?” Paulie felt himself begin to sweat. He didn’t like the way this conversation was going, and he liked the way Sister Louise was looking at him even less.
“Habit, I guess.”
“You may take them off.”
Paulie struggled with the best way to go. Refuse and push her from overly cautious to downright suspicious, or cooperate and graduate.
He took off the glasses.
“There now,” said Sister Louise as her searching eyes bored into his. “Isn’t it easier to see?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, trying not to look away.
“And please remove that hat. We don’t wear hats indoors. It sets a bad example for the children.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, making sure he opened his jaw so he wouldn’t be speaking through clenched teeth. He felt naked.
And then someone he assumed was Camille delivered a dark-haired little girl in a plaid uniform to the office.
“Hello, Katie,” Sister Louise said. “This is Mr. Anderson.
Remember how I told you earlier that your father was taking you on a trip back to Georgia? Mr. Anderson is going to take you home now.“
The kid looked up at him with her baby blues and smiled. Jeez, she was little. And cute.
“You’re gonna take me to my Daddy?”
“That’s right, miss,” he said, turning on the charm— for Sister Louise’s sake as well as the kid’s. “I’m taking you home, then taking you and your dad to the airport. And then you’re off to Georgia for a vacation.”
She said, “Oh,” and that was it. Didn’t seem too overjoyed.
He held out his hand. “Ready to go?”
Pulling on a red beret, she said, “Sure,” and turned to Sister Louise. “Bye, Sister.”
“Just one moment,” said the nun, staring at him like she wished she had X-ray vision. “Tell me, Katie. Have you ever seen Mr. Anderson before?”
The kid shook her head. “No.”
Sister Louise’s fingers drummed the desk. “Before I let you go, I think I’d first like to make one call.”
Oh, Christ! Who was she calling? “We’re on a tight schedule, ma’am,” he said.
“This will only take a second,” Sister Louise said, reading a number off her desk top as she punched it into the phone.
Paulie’s heart kicked into overdrive. His mouth, already dry from the cotton plugs, suddenly felt like a stretch of desert highway. This was bad. Very bad. He widened his stance to keep from wobbling as he began planning his getaway. Did he grab the kid and take her with him? Or did he simply make a fifty-yard dash for the car and head for the hills?
He took a slow, deep breath and waited, hoping to hell Mac had this covered.
13
Snake sat before his home desktop Pentium.
He was still hacked into the C&P mainframe, still sitting on Vanduyne’s line, monitoring his calls. Two so far, both for his mother—one from a bridge partner, and one from the doc himself. Since both had originated in the District, Snake had let them through. The call he was watching for would originate in Maryland.
This little exercise in caution was probably overkill, but it would be a damn shame if he let the whole gig go to hell because he couldn’t hang out an extra half hour or so and keep an eye on— There!
Snake bolted upright. A call from the 301 area. He checked the number and it matched Holy Family Elementary’s. Had Paulie fucked up?
He hit enter on his keyboard, sending in a preprogrammed command that would shift the call to his phone. He waited with his hand poised over the phone on his des
k. And waited.
When it didn’t ring, he glanced at his monitor screen.
Had Holy Family hung up? No! The call was passing through to Vanduyne’s.
Shit!
Frantically Snake pounded on the keyboard, entering another command to send the call his way. Two rings already at the Vanduyne house. If the mother picked up…
He jumped as the phone next to him suddenly began to ring. He leaned back, caught his breath, then picked up in the middle of the second ring. He cleared his throat and modulated his voice to a soft, even tone.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Vanduyne, this is Sister Louise from Holy Family.”
“Yes, Sister. Didn’t the driver arrive? I told him—”
“Yes, he’s here, doctor. I just wanted to double-check with you before I released your daughter to a stranger.” Snake closed his eyes and thanked the stars he’d stayed hacked in to C&P.
“I appreciate your caution. Sister. The driver should be Jim Anderson of Reliance Limo.”
“That is correct. Very well. I’ll let Katie go with him then. Sorry to bother you.”
“Absolutely no bother at all. Sister. You can’t be too careful these days.” He hung up and slumped in his chair, staring at the monitor and relishing the furious pounding of his heart.
No, sirree… no way you can be too careful.
14
Paulie was so dazed with wonder, trying to figure out how Mac had worked that bit of magic, that he almost forgot to strap the kid into the backseat. He quickly pulled open the back door and buckled her in.
Good thing too. That Sister Louise was standing on the front steps, watching his every move.
His fingers shook a little and his knees still felt a bit wobbly. He’d thought it was all over back there in her office, but Mac had had it covered. No doubt about it: The guy was a genius.
“What’s this box?” the kid asked.
“Oh, that?” he said. “That’s candy.”
“For me?”
“For all our special customers. Help yourself.”
“My Nana doesn’t like me to eat candy before lunch.”
“This is a special day. Your daddy told me to make sure I told you to eat all you want. Go ahead. Don’t be shy. Plenty more where that came from.” He got behind the wheel and hit the ignition.
“Wave to your principal,” he said as they rolled toward the street. Paulie made sure he waved too. Good-bye, you old bat. You’re one sharp cookie, but I’m hooked up with a dude who’s even sharper.
Which reminded him… He pulled out a cellular phone and pushed two buttons to dial a preprogrammed number. A few seconds later he heard Mac say, “What?” He wanted to ask him how he’d managed that phone thing but decided to stick to the script.
“Loaded up and on my way.”
“Right,” and Mac broke the connection.
“Who are you calling?” said that little voice from the back seat: “That was the, uh, dispatcher. Just letting him know I’m heading for your house. How’s that candy?”
“Deee-licious!”
“Excellent. Keep eating.”
“Okay. What’s this blanket for?”
“That’s for in case you get cold or sleepy.”
“Oh. My daddy’s a doctor, you know.”
“Is he, now.”
“Yeah. But he doesn’t see sick people anymore.”
“Really?” Paulie had been wondering what this was about. Maybe he could get a clue from the kid. “What’s he do?”
“He works with other doctors. But they’re not sick.”
“Where does he work?”
“In a big, big building.” So much for prying information out of this one. Paulie glanced in the rearview mirror. The kid had the box of chocolates on her lap and was digging in.
Keep eating, he thought.
“You want some candy, mister? They’re real good.”
“No thanks. I’m on a diet.”
He glanced back again. Cute little thing. Happy with the chocolates and so trusting. Complete faith in him… because he said her daddy had sent him.
Jesus, he felt like a rat.
15
Before leaving the White House, John Vanduyne stopped by the press office and found Terri Londergan in her cubicle. Her desk was littered with yellow sheets, all scribbled up this way and that. She had a phone receiver crammed between her shoulder and her ear and was taking furious notes on a fresh yellow sheet.
She looked up and smiled at him, rolling her dark, dark eyes as she pointed to the phone.
“Yes, he will,” she said into the receiver. “Yes, I’m sure he will…” John watched her as she did her deputy press secretary thing, fielding questions from some far away newspaper or magazine editor. He loved the way her blunt-cut raven hair fell across her face when she tilted her head and how she’d toss her head to flip it out of the way. Her sharp nose and strong jaw were softened by her full-lipped smile. Oh, that smile. It had drawn John the length of the executive offices when he’d spotted her talking to Stephanie Harris last year. And he’d stood there like a dummy until Stephanie had introduced him.
A few minutes of conversation with Terri and he’d been completely taken by her. After that he’d made a point of running into her on his regular White House visits, but it wasn’t until a few months ago that he’d mustered the nerve to ask her out. They’d been dating ever since.
Terri was in her mid-thirties—about ten years younger than John—but had the poise and self-assurance of someone older. She and Katie had met and spent a few evenings together—in the neutral territory of restaurants—and seemed to get along fine. Katie was always asking when they were going to see Terri again. John was ready to admit to the possibility that he might find someone else, that there might be life and even love after Mamie.
“… of course,” she was saying. “He’ll answer all those questions at the press conference. That’s right. Right. Have a nice day. Goodbye.” She hung up and then cradled her head facedown in her arms on her desk. She spoke into the chaos of papers under her nose.
“No more calls! Please, no more calls!” John placed his black bag on her desk, moved behind her, and began massaging her tight shoulder muscles, working a thumb along each trapezius. She groaned and the sound excited him.
“Ooooh, that feels good. You do, know what a girl needs.”
“Rough morning?”
“The roughest. Ever. Times ten. I—there… oh, yes right there. I was in a hundred percent agreement when I listened to him last night.”
“You were?” That surprised him. He knew she didn’t use any drugs, and with her strict Irish Catholic upbringing he’d assumed she would oppose legalizing them. But then, she’d already proved herself to be remarkably liberated regarding sex, so why not the same attitude toward drugs?
“Yeah, I were. But now I’m not so sure.”
“Why the change?”
“The phones! The calls from Europe were already backed up when I walked in at six this morning. They’ve been going wild ever since. Anyone with a newsletter, a local radio show, a fanzine, an online chat nook, everybody in the western world wants more information.” She lifted her head. “And oh God the West Coast is just waking up. I’m going crazy!”
He laughed. “Now there’s a good reason to change your principles.”
“I have my principles,” she said, turning and smiling up at him. “But you learn quickly in this town that you’ve got to be practical too.”
“In other words, if this is going to cause you extra work, drugs should stay criminalized.”
“You got it. Doc,” she said, still smiling. She pulled on his tie and drew his face down to hers. “C’mere,” she murmured. “Gimme a kiss.” And kiss her he did. On the lips. He loved the feel of those lips on his. He started thinking about—
The electronic warble of her phone jumbled his thoughts. She picked up without breaking the kiss and held the receiver to her ear. John heard an indecipherable st
accato buzz.
Terri pulled away from him. “Go ahead,” she said into the receiver. “Oh, great! Yeah, put him through.” She turned back to John. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Sure,” he said. “We still on for tonight?”
Her expression became pained. “Oh, I don’t think so. The boss has called a meeting and God knows how long it’s going to run. I could be here till ten or eleven. Maybe later.”
“I understand.”
She smiled. “You’re an angel. Let’s make it same time, same place tomorrow.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
She smiled and turned back to the phone. “Hello? Yes, this is she.” She blew John a silent kiss as he waved and left her.
He allowed himself a rueful smile as he headed for the outside. If he hadn’t been in favor of this decriminalization stuff before… he was really against it now.
16
By the time Paulie returned the Lincoln to the bottom-level of the garage, the kid was sound asleep, thanks to the Valium-laced candy. Great idea. Maybe he’d keep the leftovers for himself.
He wound around the entire lower level, checking it out, looking for people leaving or retrieving their cars. He found none. All quiet.
He pulled to a stop behind the panel truck, lining up his passenger-side rear door with its back end. Then he got out, opened the panel truck’s rear doors, leaned through the Lincoln’s rear passenger door, and wrapped the kid in the blanket.
Now the hairy part. Now something could go wrong.
He straightened up and scanned the level again. No one in sight. He set his jaw and bent to it: quick—one, two, three—he transferred a limp, kid-size, blanket wrapped bundle from the car to the truck. He closed and locked the truck’s rear doors.
He was breathing hard and not from the exertion. Done. The worst was over. All he had to do now was leave the Lincoln in the panel truck’s spot. Mac would come by later and take care of the car.
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