“But scientists don't have to put everything on a computer,” Randi said. “They could do it by hand, too.”
Jon shook his head. “Not today. Computers have become a research tool in themselves. For projections, for simulated reactions, for statistical analysis… everything would take years otherwise. No, there have to be real records on a computer somewhere.”
“I'm convinced,” Peter agreed, “but where, eh?”
“We need Marty.” It was Smith's turn to swear. His navy blue eyes were dark with frustration.
Randi said reasonably, “We can try other ways. Let's drive to Blanchard, break in, and search their files on site. If there's anyone around, we'll `convince' them to talk nicely with us, too.”
“Great,” Jon began, “I'm sure we haven't broken every law yet. There must be some we've missed.”
Suddenly there was frantic knocking on the RV door. The vehicle shuddered with it.
“Must be getting old.” Peter snapped up his H&K MP5. “Missed hearing anyone approach.”
Instantly Randi and Jon became a blur of movement as they pulled out their weapons.
“Jon!” The voice outside was thin, familiar, and commanding. “Jon! Open the darn door. It's me.”
“Marty!” Smith jumped to the entryway and cracked open the door.
For the moment, Marty's round, chubby body was athletic. He pushed the door back, leaped inside, and grabbed Jon by both arms. “Jon! At last.” He hugged him and stepped quickly back, embarrassed. “I was beginning to think I'd never see you again. Where in heaven's name have you been? Are you uninjured? Bill rescued me, so I decided it was safe to bring him to you. Is that okay?”
“Trap,” Peter barked. He swung the MP5 around so it pointed at Griffin, who had stepped quietly inside.
The ex-FBI man stood alone with his back against the closed door in his windbreaker and trousers, his arms hanging loosely from his broad shoulders. His hands were empty, but his stocky body was rigid and alert. His long brown hair was greasy, as if he had not washed it in days, and his brown eyes had an empty look that chilled Jon.
Randi instantly backed Peter with her Uzi.
“No!” Smith yelled, stepping in front of Griffin. “Hold it, both of you. Marty's right. This is Bill Griffin. Put down the guns.” He swung around to face Griffin. “You alone?”
“We're alone,” Marty assured them. “Bill says he has to warn you, Jon. You're in bigger danger than ever.”
“What danger?”
Randi and Peter, still watchful, had slowly lowered their weapons.
The moment their weapons were down, Bill Griffin dipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a 9mm Glock.
“Her.” Griffin pointed the deadly instrument at Randi's heart, his hollow eyes focused on her. “She's CIA. Sent by General Nelson Caspar to assassinate you, Jon.”
“What?” Randi's pale brows arched in outrage. Her blond head whipsawed from Griffin to Smith. “That's a lie!” Then she glared at Griffin. “How dare you? You're working for them, but you come in here and accuse me?”
Jon held up his hand. “Why would the exec of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs want me killed?”
“Because he's working for the same people I am.”
“Tremont and Blanchard Pharmaceuticals?”
Bill nodded. “It's what I was warning you about back in Rock Creek park.”
Jon stared at him. “But you didn't warn anyone else.” His highplaned face radiated rage. “So they killed Sophia.”
“That's the world we live in,” Griffin said bitterly. “There are no good guys. No one believes in right and wrong anymore. It's get what you can for yourself. So now I'm going to get mine. I'm owed that much.”
Jon looked away, forcing himself to remain composed. Sophia was dead. He couldn't bring her back. He would always carry the pain, but maybe he could learn to live with it better. He made his voice quiet. “No one's owed anything, Bill. And you're wrong about Randi. She couldn't have been sent to kill me. Impossible, considering the circumstances of how we met. In fact, she saved my life.” He shot her a smile and was surprised to see her Ice Queen face soften. “She wants to stop what Tremont is doing as much as I. Who told you Caspar sent her to kill me?”
As Bill Griffin listened to Jon, he had a strange feeling. Almost as if he had missed some important piece in the puzzle of life. He was not sure exactly what it was, only that for a few lucid moments he recognized the loss and that he had never been able to find the directions that would lead him back to what was gone. So now as he studied Jon, saw him shudder for control as he was reminded again of Sophia's death, he felt loneliness and regret. Perhaps he had been too hasty in taking care of himself. Maybe he should have warned Sophia. He could have warned others, too ?
And then he stopped himself. How far could he go? Certainly he was not prepared to save the world. But maybe this one last time he could do something for Jon to make up for what had happened to his fiancee.
So he told him, “Victor Tremont is behind everything. His numberone gun is Nadal al-Hassan. They?” But as he said the names, a warning bell rang loudly inside his head. He thought about Tremont's lodge and how empty ? and safe ? it had been when he had broken in to find Marty. How conveniently they had escaped.
How easily he had passed the sentries.
His gaze moved quickly to Marty. “Did Tremont or any of the others give you something to carry?” he growled. “Think! Any buttons, coins, pens, maybe a comb?”
Jon turned on Griffin. “You're thinking ??”
Bill ordered Marty, “Search your pockets. Maybe they slipped you something without your even knowing it. It could've been any of them. Maybe Maddux?”
At first Marty had not realized what they were asking, and then it became clear. “You're worried they bugged me!” Instantly he turned his pockets inside-out onto the coffee table in the living room. “I don't remember anything, but I was unconscious after the pockmarked man hit me.”
His plump hands, which were so naturally agile on a keyboard and clumsy almost everywhere else, worked with speed. The former FBI agent watched with an itching urgency that made him want to rip every piece of clothing off Marty so he could make certain he was clean.
Instead, he ordered, “Take off your belt, Marty. Quick.”
Jon added, “Your shoes, too.”
As Marty stripped off his belt and threw it at Jon to examine, fury rose in a red tide from Bill Griffin's throat to his neutral face. “They told me a lie they knew I'd have to try to warn you about, Jon. Then they let me break Marty out, so he'd take me to you because they didn't learn anything from him. Two birds with one stone. They must've suspected me since Rock Creek park. I should've?”
The sharp bark of a dog carried from outside the RV. A single bark and no more.
Bill froze. His face went slack. 'They're outside. Al-Hassan and his men.
“How do you know?” Randi slid along the wall to the, corner of a front window with its glass still intact. She peered carefully around.
“The dog,” Jon realized. “The Doberman you had in the park.”
Bill nodded. “Samson. He's trained for attack, scouting, sentry duty, you name it.”
“I see them,” Randi whispered. “Looks like four. They're hiding among the row of RVs in front of us. One's a tall Arab.”
“Al-Hassan,” Bill said. His voice was deathly quiet.
Peter made a clucking sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He murmured, “Here's how they got to us.” He held up a tiny tracking transmitter he had taken from the hollowed-out heel of Marty's shoe. “Darling little bug, isn't it?” He shook his head with disgust, flung the device out the back window, and snapped up his submachine gun.
Randi was still on watch at the window. “I don't see any police or military.”
“What does it matter?” Bill said harshly. “I led them here, and they've got you. Stupid. I was stupid!”
“Hardly,” the Englishman said calmly. “It's going to take a lot more bloody work than they've put out to get us.” He reached for the light fixture on the wall over the kitchen table, pressed a button on its side, and there was a popping sound as four vinyl squares, indistinguishable from the others covering the floor, lifted up in the middle of
