“How are you, buddy?”
How the hell did he think? “I don’t have Katie yet. But you know that.”
“Yeah, I do. But they’re closing in. Won’t be long now. A couple of hours and she’ll be safe home.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.” John wanted to ask why the call, here, just this side of noon, in the middle of nowhere. But he didn’t. He let it hang.
Tom cleared his throat. “John… I’ll be leaving Bethesda in a few minutes.” Even with the air conditioner running, the summerlike sun had kept the inside of the car uncomfortably warm.
But now John felt a chill.
“What?”
“I’ve got to, Johnny. I’ve got to show up at the drug summit tomorrow morning. If I don’t the whole program will sputter to a halt.”
“But they’ve still got Katie! You said—”
“She’s as good as back, John. She—”
“But she’s not back! We’re in the middle of the woods, Tom—the mother of all goddamn woods! They could hide her here for days, weeks!”
“You know if I thought there was the slightest danger to Katie I’d stay right here, but the plot, the conspiracy, whatever you want to call it, is a bust. This woman who’s got Katie obviously cares for her and—”
“And no doubt cares for her own life too! The only thing we know for sure about this Poppy Mulliner is that she was born in the Jersey sticks, has a criminal record, and was a party to kidnapping my daughter. The rest is all talk. For all we know she could have been stringing us along since day one, feeding us a line to help her work out a deal with whoever she had a falling out with. One guy’s already dead. She may be bargaining with Katie to save her own ass.”
“John—”
“If you suddenly appear in public in perfect health, they’ll know they’ve lost. They’ll do whatever they can to cut their losses, eliminate anything that connects them to this plot. And Katie’s one of those connections.” He was so afraid… little Katie in the hands of those soulless animals. “Please, Tom. I’m begging you. Just one more day. You promised.”
“John…” A long silence, then: “I’ve got to show up— on time, and in tip-top shape. You know what they’ve been saying about me: that I’m kicking my habit, that I’m in rehab, that I’ve had a breakdown… all rational explanations for my irrational ideas.”
“Who cares what anybody says! This isn’t talk, this isn’t a reputation that’s at stake—this is Katie’s life!”
“I know that, John. Don’t think I don’t. And don’t underestimate my love and concern for Katie. But this is bigger than you and me and Katie. This is a bunch of lowlifes trying to dictate the policy of the United States, John. My oath of office doesn’t allow me to make a choice between the country and a little girl I dearly love. If I had my way…” The cold sick fear was fading in the heat of his growing anger.
“Bullshit, Tom! Bullshit!” John found the end button and hit it. He stared at the phone a moment, then looked over at Decker who was concentrating on navigating the twisty back road to the next Mulliner on the list.
“He’s leaving the hospital,” John said. “Going to The Hague.”
“I know.”
“How long have you known?” Decker glanced at him, then back to the road.
“You sure you want to know?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Since Saturday.” John closed his eyes and pressed back against the headrest.
Saturday! That meant Tom had intended all along to go to the drug summit, whether Katie was safe or not. Tom… Tom of all people. He’d held Katie at her baptism. How could he… ?
John felt as if he’d been spiked to his seat through the heart. Dear God, this hurt. Still keeping his eyes closed he said, “How long before the kidnappers find out?”
“If they’re listening to a radio or watching TV anywhere in the world—immediately. Bethesda Naval is under media siege. The instant he sets foot out the door it’ll be on the satellites.”
“You heard what I told him. What do you think?”
“That it’s going to make a difference? I don’t know, Doc. I wish I did, but I don’t. It all comes down to this Poppy Mulliner, doesn’t it. If she’s been shooting straight, we should be okay. If she’s been feeding us a line… well, we’ve got to hope we get there first.”
7
Snake sat in his Jeep and stared at the cell phone in his hand.
Damn I’m fucking good!
That had been the President of the U-S-of-fucking-A on the phone just now. And he wasn’t sick. Hadn’t been sick at all. He’d been faking. The whole Bethesda Naval Hospital deal had been a smoke screen.
Damn good thing he’d thought of having Salinas get him the numbers and carriers of the cell phones the honchos in the search would be using. Also had him find out the VHF frequency the copters would be using. After that it was a simple matter of buying a couple of cell phones and reprogramming them to ring when the honchos’ phones rang. As a precaution he’d disabled the receivers so no ambient noise from his end would taint the feed.
He’d been catching the calls of a guy named Canney and a guy named Decker all morning. Mostly nothing calls… until this one.
Wow. Wait till Salinas found out. Shit, he’d be bouncing off the walls—and he had the blubber to do it.
Snake had to admit he was pretty pissed too. And embarrassed.
The doc had screwed him—hadn’t given the chloram-whatever and ratted out to the feds—all while he’d thought they’d cut off his kid’s toe! What. kind of a father was that? Man, you couldn’t trust anyone these days.
But the good news was that the feds didn’t have any better idea of the whereabouts of Poppy and the kid than he did—which meant they didn’t have his tape. Snake still had time. His options were still open. If he could reach Poppy first, get the tape, then off her and the kid, he’d be safe. And Salinas would be safe. And the two of them could both live happily every after.
Preferably on different continents.
He kept driving, mostly up and down 539, as he monitored the progress of the search—listening to the feds talk to each other via his hacked cellular phones, and following the reports from the search helicopters on his hand-held transceiver. If Poppy or her car were spotted, Snake would be among the first to know.
He just had to hope he could get there first.
8
Alien Gold rushed into the office, white as a flour tortilla.
“Oh, God! Oh, my God! Where’s the remote? You’ve got to see this! Quick!” Carlos Salinas pointed to an outside corner of his desk and watched as Alien snatched up the TV remote and began frantically jabbing buttons. He almost dropped it twice before the screen came to life.
Carlos half rose from his chair as the picture came into focus… a picture of a very healthy-looking Thomas Winston, closely surrounded by Secret Service men, walking out of Bethesda Naval Hospital to his car.
Stunned, feeling as if someone had slammed the end of a two-by-four into his belly, Carlos could only stare as all the warmth drained from his body.
No! Vellgame Dios! This cannot be!
He checked the words in the lower left corner of the screen—CNN-LIVE—as the reporter’s words filtered faintly through the thickening air around him.
“As I said before, Bernard, this is a complete surprise. The President’s press secretary announced only moments ago that he would be leaving the hospital today, and here he is. The lack of advance warning may be for security reasons. As we all know, the President has received numerous death threats since his announcement a week ago tonight of his intent to decriminalize all drugs. And indeed, there seems to be more than the usual number of Secret Service agents in his personal escort today. I must say he looks hale and fit, and in an obvious attempt to squelch all the recent rumors to the contrary, the medical team here at Bethesda has issued a statement stating unequivocally that President Thomas Winston passed all his medical tests with flying co
lors and is in excellent health. Once again…”
“How did this happen?” Carlos said when he could finally speak.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Gold’s voice was so high now it almost squeaked. “He was never sick! He never took the fucking pills! He’s been playing us for idiots all along! They know about Keane… they’re going to catch MacLaglen next… and then it’s going to be our turn!”
Carlos slumped back into his chair. No… this could not be happening. How could everything go so wrong? It was a perfect plan. How could it turn out so miserably?
Gold turned away from the TV and leaned over the desk. “We’ve got to get out of here, Carlos!” Gold had been saying that for days. Finally, Carlos had to agree. The United States was no longer a good place to be.
But where could he go? Home?
A cold sick feeling engulfed Carlos like a truckload of wet sand as he realized that the silent scene here a few moments ago no doubt had been mirrored in another office… in Cali, Colombia. He was certain that Emilio Rojas had watched the smiling, waving President Winston with the same open-mouthed shock as Carlos. The major difference would be the other emotion tingeing the shock. Here it was dismay. In Colombia, it would be anger.
No, Colombia might be more dangerous than the U.S. Really, he had money enough to live anywhere. All he had to do was spin a globe and pick a spot.
Why not Spain? Yes, the Motherland. He would return to the land of his ancestors.
He nodded. Spain… strangely enough, he found something deeply satisfying in that course, as if he were closing a circle, finishing a multi-generational voyage.
He glanced at his nervous, sweaty money manager. A liability or an asset? After a few heartbeats he decided that Alien Gold was still useful. Carlos would need help in moving his money between the Swiss and Cayman banks where he kept most of it.
“Pack your things,” he told Gold. “But only the necessities.”
Gold rolled his head heavenward. “Thank God!”
“And send me Llosa,” Carlos said. “We have some loose ends to tie up before we leave.”
9
“Are you my cousin?” Poppy looked up at the Appleton standing before her—towering was more like it. She and Katie had been standing outside Lester’s section of the house when the guy came up and like started staring.
He could have been in his late teens or as old as thirty and had to be six-six, three hundred pounds. He rocked back and forth on his bare feet, hands behind his back. Thin, frizzy brown hair grew close to his scalp; he wore bib overalls over a flannel shirt, and she could smell him from here. But his face put her off even more. With his big, long head, wide-set brown eyes, and long, stretchedout nose, he reminded her of a horse… a fat horse, with half its teeth missing.
“Yes, I guess I am,” Poppy said, forcing the words out. “I’m your cousin Poppy.”
He laughed, and damn if it didn’t sound like a bray. “And I’m your cousin Levon.” He turned his attention to Katie. “And who’s this cousin?”
Katie had been clinging to Poppy’s thigh, and now she was pressing so hard against it she seemed to be trying to melt into it.
“This is Katie and she’s not kin. She’s just a very good friend. I’m keeping her for her daddy.”
“That’s nice,” Levon said, still staring. “You both sure are pretty.” Don’t get any ideas. Poppy thought. Her impression of the sexual practices of the Appletons was that they weren’t like too picky. She didn’t want to know any more.
Suddenly Levon’s hands came out from behind him and he was thrusting something toward Katie.
“Here,” he said. “This is for you.” Katie whimpered and cringed deeper into Poppy’s thigh. It took Poppy a few seconds to figure out what Levon was offering. It was made of ragged, filthy cloth and seemed to be stuffed with something. In some bizarre way it looked vaguely human.
“It’s my doll,” Levon said. “I had it ever since I was little. I brought it so Katie could play with it.”
“Thank you, Levon,” Poppy said, touched. “That’s real… sweet.” She looked up and saw him smiling, pushing the doll toward Katie. He really wanted her to have it, but Poppy knew there was no way Katie was going to touch it. And no way they could turn it down. Steeling herself. Poppy reached out and took the doll with her fingertips.
“Katie’s a little scared right now with all these… new faces around.” Jesus, she’d almost said strange.
“Why don’t she come down and play with the kids. We—”
A sudden whirring noise interrupted him. An engine of some sort, with a low-pitched rhythmic beat, coming closer, filling the air with noise.
And then she saw it: a helicopter.
Levon started running about, shouting for Lester who came limping around a corner, moving as fast as his bent spine would let him.
“Guns!” he shouted. “It’s the ATF come for the stills! Everybody get your guns!” Poppy looked about, and saw Appletons running everywhere, ducking into the house and reappearing with rifles and pistols.
“Better get back inside,” Lester said as he hobbled up to her. “This could be serious.” Poppy backed up under an overhang but didn’t go inside.
She was pretty sure that wasn’t an ATF copter; most likely it was looking for her instead of bootleg stills. She didn’t want to tell Lester that, but she couldn’t let all the Appletons get into federal-level hot water for her.
“Don’t shoot,” she told him. “You’ll only get in trouble.”
Lester stood staring at the copter which hadn’t come overhead yet. It remained hovering at the base of the rise.
“We’re not lookin‘ for trouble,” he said, “but we’ll surely provide it if someone starts it.”
“No. You don’t understand—” The helicopter suddenly turned and roared off.
“Lucky for them,” Lester said, spitting. “Damn lucky for them.”
Yeah, but unlucky for me, I’ll bet.
10
“Look!” Vanduyne said, pointing ahead through the windshield. “Tire tracks. And they look fresh.”
Bob Decker hid his relief. Finally a sign of intelligent life. They’d turned off 563 about twenty-five miles ago.
Somewhere along the way the pavement had disappeared but they’d kept going on the hard-packed sand. But going where? Not only had they not seen another human being for the past 25 miles, they hadn’t seen a trace of civilization. Not even litter. Except for the ruts they were following, this was exactly how the area must have looked before Columbus.
The sense of isolation was more than oppressive; Bob found it downright unsettling. He’d been beginning to suspect they were hopelessly lost, but now these tire tracks suggested that civilization might not be too far away.
“Wait a minute!” Vanduyne said. “Stop.”
Bob angled around the branches of a fallen tree that jutted onto the road, hit the brakes, and brought the big Roadmaster to a halt.
“What’s up?”
“That fallen tree,” Vanduyne said. “This is the second time we’ve passed it. These are our tire tracks. We’ve just come full circle.” He slumped back. “This is hopeless! We’re no closer to finding Katie now than we were this morning, and now…” He slammed his fist against the door.
Bob Decker kept his eyes on the narrow sandy path ahead and had to admit Vanduyne was right. They were very lost. They’d been taking forks this way and that, thinking the road eventually would loop them back around toward Sooy’s Boot. But all they’d done was loop back on themselves.
How much was the poor bastard supposed to take before he detonated? Vanduyne’s best and oldest friend had let him down when he needed him most—Bob perfectly understood that Razor had no choice, but he was sure that wasn’t how Vanduyne saw it—and his daughter was still missing. Plus the two of them had been cooped up together in this sedan all day. And now they were lost.
Very lost.
Bob hid his own unease and frustration and tried to sound u
pbeat when he replied.
“Not true. We’ve covered a lot of ground, spoken to a lot of Mulliners—”
“But the afternoon’s half gone and we still haven’t got a clue to her whereabouts.”
“We know where she’s not. We—”
“You said we’d find her today. Bob. Be honest: Do you still believe that?”
Truthfully, the chances were dwindling with each passing hour. But that didn’t mean it still couldn’t happen.
“We’ve still got lots of light left.” How was that for a nonanswer?
“I’m not so sure of that,” Vanduyne said, craning his neck and pointing past Decker. “See those clouds? They’re thunderheads. We’ve got a storm coming. And it looks like a big one.” Bob glanced left at the massing clouds that had indeed taken control of most of the western sky. They’d started out white and billowy but turned dark and ominous after swallowing the sun.
Yeah. A storm would be a problem.
“I’ll call Canney and see how he’s doing,” Decker said. The FBI man had split off to cover another area with a fellow FBI agent. “Maybe he’s onto—”
Suddenly a staticky squawk filled the car. “SSD, do you read? SSD, this is Search One.”
Bob grabbed the transceiver. “Got you Search One. What’ve you got?”
“We’ve got a vehicle similar to the object vehicle in sight below.” Since this was an open channel, and God knew who else was listening, “object vehicle” was the code they’d chosen for a red panel truck.
“Parked or on the move?”
“It’s stationary. Parked in a small clearing with four or five other vehicles… downhill from a very strange looking house.”
“Great. Where are you?”
“Over deep woods about five klicks southeast of Sooy’s Boot. At thirty-eight degrees, forty-six minutes north, seventy-four degrees, thirty-three minutes west, to be exact.”
Bob glanced at Vanduyne who’d been acting as navigator all day. “That any help?”
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