The light turned yellow ahead. Cars streamed through, but Carston was slowing. He knew he was too far back to make it. The car in front of him braked, too. Alex could have pulled up to the line in her lane--the car in front of her had turned right. Instead, she stopped directly beside Carston.
She waved, her face pointed straight toward his profile. The motion was deliberately large, meant to catch his peripheral vision.
Carston glanced over automatically at the movement, his mind clearly far away, worry making a crinkled mess of his forehead. It took him a second to realize what he was seeing. In that instant of shock, before he could smash down the accelerator, pull a gun, or dial a number, she held up the phone in her hand. She had the image zoomed in on the girl's sleeping face.
He locked down his expression as the facts began falling into place.
Quickly, she hopped out of her car and reached for the passenger door of his. She didn't look back to watch Val slide over into the driver's seat, but she heard the door close behind her. Alex waited with her fingers on the BMW's passenger-door handle until she heard the locks click open. She climbed in next to him. The whole wordless exchange had taken less than two seconds. The cars behind them might be curious, but they would probably forget the transfer by the next light.
"Turn left," she told Carston as Val went right and headed east. The Jag disappeared around the corner.
Carston was quick to recover. He put on his blinker and pulled across the left lane, nearly hitting the van headed through the light. Alex took his phone out of the cup holder, powered it down, and shoved it in her pocket.
"What do you want?" he asked. His voice sounded calm, but she could hear the strain in his lack of inflection.
"I need your help."
He took a moment to digest that.
"Turn right at the next corner."
He complied carefully. "Who is your partner?"
"Someone for hire. Not your concern."
"I really believed you were dead this time."
Alex didn't respond.
"What have you done to Livvy?"
"Nothing permanent. Yet."
"She's only three." His voice quavered uncharacteristically.
She turned to give him an incredulous look, which was wasted, as he never glanced away from the road in front of them. "Really? You expect me to care about civilians at this point?"
"She's done nothing to you."
"What did three innocent people in Texas do to you, Carston? Never mind," she said when he opened his mouth to answer. "That was obviously rhetorical."
"What do you want from me?"
"Kevin Beach."
There was another long pause as he rearranged things in his mind.
"You're going to turn left at the next block," she instructed.
"How did you..." He shook his head. "I don't have him. The CIA does."
"I know who has him. And I know Deavers is following your direction in his interrogation," she bluffed. "Your specialist is the one leading the case. I'm sure you know where they're working on him."
He stared stone-faced through the windshield.
"I don't understand what is happening," he muttered.
"Let's talk about what you do understand, then," Alex said in a bleak voice. "Of course you remember a little concoction Barnaby and I created for you called Deadline."
His pasty skin started to mottle, blotches of puce blooming on his cheeks and neck. She held her phone out and his eyes flickered to it automatically. The photo was back to its original size now, and the IV hooked into his granddaughter's arm was conspicuously in the foreground. There was a saline bag, the nutrition bag, and a smaller, dark green bag attached underneath it.
He stared at the photo for one long second, then his eyes were back on the road.
"How long?" he asked through his teeth.
"I was generous. Twelve hours. One hour has passed. This operation shouldn't take more than four, at most. Then Livvy is delivered safely back to her mother, no worse for wear."
"And I'm dead?"
"I'll be honest, the odds aren't good that either of us makes it through unscathed. A lot is riding on your acting abilities, Carston. Lucky for you, we both know how convincing you can be."
"What happens if, through no fault of mine, you die?"
"Bad luck for Livvy. And her mother, for that matter. Things have been set in motion. If you care about your family, you'll do your very, very best to get me out alive."
"You could be bluffing. You were never this cold-blooded."
"Policies change. People change. Shall I share a secret?"
She gave him a moment to respond, but he just stared straight ahead with his jaw locked.
"Kevin Beach wasn't in Texas when Deavers sent the kill squad. I was." She let those two words hang in the air for a moment before she went on. Carston wasn't the only one with acting abilities. "I'm not the person you used to know, Carston. You'd be surprised at the things I'm capable of now. Take the next right."
"I don't know what you hope to accomplish here."
"Let's get down to it," Alex said. "Where is Kevin?"
Carston didn't hesitate. "He's in a facility west of the city. It used to be a CIA interrogation suite, but they haven't used it in years. Officially, it's abandoned."
"The address?"
He listed it from memory without a pause.
"What kind of security?"
He glanced over, his eyes studying her for a second before he responded. "I don't have that information. But knowing Deavers, it's more than is necessary. He'll go overboard. He's terrified of Kevin Beach. That's why he came up with the whole charade with the brother. No risk, that's what he called it." Carston chuckled once. It was a bitter sound, in no way amused.
"Does he know my face?"
Carston's eyes jerked to her in surprise. "You're going in?"
"Will he recognize me?" she demanded. "How much of my file did he see? Did you show him the footage from the Metro?"
Carston pursed his lips. "We agreed from the beginning to keep our... situations separate. It was need-to-know. Years ago, he would have had access to your old recruitment file, your write-ups from a few interrogations. He might still have those, but nothing more current. The only picture in that old file was from your mother's funeral. You were very young, your hair was longer and darker..." He paused, seeming lost in thought. "Deavers isn't a detail guy. I doubt he'd be able to link you to the picture. You don't look that much like nineteen-year-old Juliana Fortis anymore."
She hoped he was right. "It's more than my life on the line," she reminded him.
"I'm aware. And... that much is a bet I'd take. But I don't know what you think you're going to do when you get inside."
"We, Carston, we. And, probably, we go down in a hail of bullets."
"And Livvy pays? That's not acceptable," he growled.
"Then give me more to work with."
He took a deep breath, and she glanced over at him. He looked exhausted.
"How about this," she suggested. She was going on intuition. She'd listened to Carston's aggravation with that one particular him in the phone calls, and she thought she could guess who it was. After all, it was Deavers's plan that had failed so spectacularly, over and over. "Would it be accurate to characterize you as unhappy with Deavers's management of this joint operation?"
He grunted.
"Have you and Deavers disagreed on how to proceed?"
"You could say that."
"Does he think that you trust him to handle the interrogation of Kevin Beach?"
"No, at this point, I would say he does not believe that I trust him to zip up his own fly correctly."
"Tell me about your interrogation specialist."
Carston made a sour face. "Not mine. He's Deavers's lackey, and he's an imbecile. I told Deavers that someone like Beach was going to die before he talked to an ordinary interrogator. You can rest easy, if that's your concern. They won't break him. Beach has
n't said anything about you, except that he killed you. I don't think they even followed up on that. To be fair, I believed it, too."
She was surprised. "So you never replaced me?"
Carston shook his head. "I've tried. I wasn't lying about that in the beginning--you remember? 'True talent is a limited commodity.'" He quoted himself and sighed. "Deavers has had a stranglehold on the department for a long time now, ever since I 'lost a dangerous asset.' The CIA has blocked my recruitment process and shut down all but the lab. The things we're producing now could be created by any halfway decent pharmacist." He shook his head. "They act as if they aren't the reason why you're dangerous in the first place."
"You still pretend you weren't part of that decision?"
"If I had been, I'm being punished for it now." Carston stared morosely through the windshield.
"Would Deavers be shocked to learn that you were developing talent on the side?"
Carston was always quick. He pursed his lips and nodded as he talked it through. "For about half a second, then he'll just be angry. He's one hundred percent on board with the current program, but he knows my doubts have been increasing. No, he won't be that surprised."
"You don't like how Pace gets things done? He seems like a pragmatic person, I thought you'd get along."
"So you did put it together. I thought you might. But I'll bet you never would have if Pace hadn't overreacted in the first place. Machiavellianism doesn't bother me--stupidity does. Mistakes happen, but Pace has a penchant for compounding one error with a second that's worse. And then a third. He's put us all in this mess."
"What are you saying, Carston? That we're on the same side? Everybody makes mistakes, like you said, but you shouldn't rely on my gullibility again."
"I don't expect you to believe me, but it is what it is. I have nothing to gain from the current agenda. If Pace succeeds, Deavers's star will rise. He'll end up director of the CIA. My life's work is already being dismantled. We're more on the same side than you know."
"If it makes you happy to say so. It doesn't change the plan."
"We go in together," he mused. "You're my secret protegee. I insist that you take over for Deavers's butcher. It can work, up to that point. I don't know what you think happens then."
She tried to hide her flinch when Carston said the word butcher. So much depended on how much was left of Kevin.
"We'll see," she said, working to keep her voice smooth.
"No, don't tell me. That's smart. Just as long as you have a plan."
She didn't answer. Her plan wasn't strong enough.
"Just out of curiosity," she asked, trying to distract Carston from her reaction. "When did Dominic Haugen die?"
"Two weeks after the lab in Jammu was destroyed."
She nodded. Then it was as she'd suspected. Barnaby had seen something and begun his preparations.
"I have an idea," Carston volunteered.
"This should be good."
"How do you feel about faking some injuries? A sling, maybe? We had a situation in Turkey nine days ago, got some good information from a quick-thinking corporal. Exactly the kind of person I would have been interested in recruiting, but the situation went dark. The corporal didn't survive the hostile force's rescue attempt. But maybe the information was actually acquired by my secret side project, who did make it out alive."
She stared at him.
He held a hand up, as if in surrender. "Okay, we don't have to do it my way. It was just an idea. Deavers knows the story; it would make my bringing you in feel anchored, less spur of the moment."
"I think I can manage some injuries," Alex said dryly.
*
THEY'D GONE OVER the story a few times before they reached the rendezvous point, and he'd described the interrogation room in detail. It wasn't a pretty picture, and she felt their chances for survival getting more bleak.
Carston pulled into the lot attached to the small municipal park and stopped the Bimmer next to the only other car in the lot, as directed. It gave Alex a start, even though she was expecting it, to see the big blond man waiting on the park bench.
This was the first test, and if Daniel didn't pass, she was pulling the plug. Carston had surely seen the photos of Daniel on the news, no matter how separate he and Deavers had kept their operations. She watched Carston from the corner of her eye, assessing his reaction. His face was a blank.
"Who's this?" he asked.
"Your new aide."
"Is that necessary?"
"Cut the engine."
Daniel got up and walked quickly toward them. Alex watched Carston for any change in expression as Daniel approached.
"I can't watch you every second, Carston," she said sweetly. "Pop the trunk."
She and Carston waited in silence as Daniel moved the gear from the back of the sedan into the BMW's cargo space. When he was done, he stood beside Carston's door, waiting.
"Get out," Alex said.
Slowly, always keeping his hands in view, Carston opened the door and stepped out. As Alex got out, she saw the way he was eyeing Daniel. She tried to appraise Daniel impartially. He was a large man and looked able to handle himself, even with the glasses and the extra paunch. It made sense under these circumstances that Carston would be cautious and probably frightened, though he hid it well.
As instructed, Daniel said nothing. He met Alex's eyes only briefly and kept his expression neutral. His jaw jutted out just a bit, the way it had when he'd intimidated the drunk boys in Oklahoma City. It made him look dangerous, but also slightly more like Kevin. Had Carston seen photos of Kevin?
Daniel stopped beside the driver's door, his arms loose at his sides, ready.
"Hands on the roof," Alex ordered Carston. "Don't move until I get back."
Carston assumed the position of a suspect braced against a police car. He kept his head down, but Alex could tell he was examining what he could see of Daniel in the window's reflection. There was no sign of recognition, but Alex couldn't be sure if Carston was hiding his response. Alex was distracted by the way the parking-lot lights glinted off their bald heads in the same spots.
"This is Mr. Thomas," she told Carston. "If you try to give me away, or escape, or hurt me, you'll be dead in approximately two and a half seconds."
A bead of sweat was forming at Carston's temple. If he was faking that, she was truly impressed.
"I'm not going to do anything to endanger Livvy," he snapped.
"Good. I'll be right back. I'm going to go give myself some injuries."
Daniel's bright blue eyes flickered to her when she said the word injuries; he forced them back to Carston.
All her things were neatly stowed in the cargo hold of the BMW. She unzipped the first-aid duffel bag and rummaged around quickly till she found what she needed, then cut off a short section of gauze and tape. She grabbed her handbag and turned away, leaving the trunk open. The public restroom was just on the other side of the little playground. She walked quickly to the ladies' room and turned on the lights.
There was no counter, and nothing had been cleaned in days, maybe weeks, so she kept the bag on her shoulder. She used the gritty powdered soap to scrub off Val's lovely makeup job. It was better this way. The makeup was out of character, and the patch of fake skin would have been a red flag to anyone who looked closely. Her bruises and bandages would draw attention, obviously, but they would also make her less recognizable. People would be less likely to examine the face underneath.
She was happy to see the remnants of her black eyes, the yellow shape of the lingering bruise on her cheek. The glue job on her jaw was too amateur, but a normal person would keep it bandaged regardless.
There were no towels, just a broken air dryer. She used her T-shirt to dry her face, then taped the gauze to her jaw and ear, taking the extra seconds to do the job right, so it looked like a doctor had done it. Her black T-shirt and thick leggings worked--comfortable clothes were part of the job, and the lab coat in the trunk would give
her the professional appearance she wanted.
As she walked back to the car in the encroaching darkness, she could hear Carston trying to engage Daniel, but Daniel was staring down at the man with his lips tightly closed.
Alex retrieved the lab coat from the trunk and put it on, then ran her palms down the front of it to smooth out the folds. When she was satisfied, she shut the trunk and opened the back door.
"At ease, Lowell," she told Carston. He straightened up warily. "You'll ride with me in the back. Mr. Thomas will drive."
"Taciturn fellow," Carston commented as he ducked in through the open door.
"He's not here to entertain you; he's here to keep you in line."
Alex shut the door behind him, then walked around the car to climb in the other side. Carston stared at her.
"Your face... that's very realistic work, Jules. Subtle. It doesn't look like you're wearing any makeup at all now."
"I've developed many new skills, and the name is Dr. Jordan Reid. Please direct Mr. Thomas to our destination. When we're five minutes out, you get your phone back."
Her eyes met Daniel's in the mirror. He gave one tiny shake of his head. Carston hadn't said anything to make Daniel think he'd been recognized during the time they were alone.
Daniel started the engine. Carston gave him the address and a short set of directions. Daniel nodded once.
Carston turned to Alex and asked, "I assume someone is with Livvy now?"
"Assumptions are never a safe bet, you know that."
"If I do my best, Jules, if I do everything I can..." Carston began. His voice was suddenly raw. "Please. Please let Livvy go. Make the call, whatever you have to do. Even if... even if you're not getting out. I know you have every reason to hurt me, but, please, not the baby." He was only whispering by the end. She rather thought he was speaking from the heart, as much as he had one.
"I can't do anything for her if I don't make it out. I'm sorry, Carston, I wish I could have done things differently, but I didn't have the time or the resources."
He clenched his hands in his lap and stared at them. "You better know what you're doing."
She didn't answer. He probably could guess what that meant.
"If we go down," he said, his voice stronger, "at least take that bastard Deavers with us. Can you do that?"
The Chemist Page 45
