you off at your father’s place and then I’m going to the FBI to turn myself in. I’ll be safe there. I’ll tell them everything. They can play hero and stop these bastards.”
“No, Matt. If you go to the FBI, the CIA or even the D.C. police, you’ll be dead within hours. Think about it. How do you think these guys operate so freely inside the United States? They’ve bought somebody high up is my guess. I wouldn’t trust anybody in an official capacity at this moment. And if they get to you they’ll find out about me one way or another. And I’m not ready to depart this planet yet. I don’t have my required two and a half kids, a dog and a cat.”
“But I can’t embroil you in all of this.”
“I’m already in it. I know too much and I’ve seen too much. We live or die together. And my vote is we live.” Nicole smiled. “So you just drive like a normal commuter into Washington and we’ll go see my father. Besides, you and he will probably get along famously.”
Two hours later, Matt parked the Firebird on a side street in Georgetown, a trendy suburb of Washington. Matt locked the leather valise in the trunk. Now what? Nicole stopped at a phone booth in front of a small restaurant. She dialed the number quickly.
“He’s expecting us,” she said emerging from the booth. After a short walk she abruptly cut through someone’s backyard and into an alley. They reached a rotting wooden fence with the gate open. Nicole headed for the back porch of a dilapidated brick row house. She opened the screen door and reached under the sisal mat for the key. Matt was about to ask her father’s name.
“He’s got a bug on him.” A rough voice sounded as if it was coming from inside a closet. “Tell him to lie down and remove his clothes.”
“I’ve got ears, I can hear you,” Matt called out. Who is this guy?
“I don’t give a shit about you. It’s my daughter I’m concerned about. Now lie down on the kitchen floor and remove your clothes. I’ve got a scanner here picking up an implanted homing signal. We need to locate it and get it out of your body quickly, before they pinpoint our location. I just hope it’s not in some messy place, like the last guy.”
“What happened to him?” Matt said apprehensively, whipping off his shirt, shoes, pants and underwear.
“He exploded. Took me a week to get the stench of body parts off my skin.” The closet door opened and out stepped an elderly man with shock white hair, olive skin and a prominent nose. He carried what looked like a miniature Geiger counter. Nicole stood at the far end of the kitchen. Her father proceeded to sweep the machine slowly and expertly over Matt’s naked body.
“For Christ’s sake, hurry up, this tile floor is freezing. I’m shriveling up,” Matt cried.
“Well, if that’s shriveled, then I am definitely impressed,” Nicole grinned.
“Shut up, Nicole. You’re just like your mother,” her father said, “nothing but sex on the brain. I found it. Raise your left arm-Dr. Richards, isn’t it? Do you have a scar under your armpit?”
Matt shook his head.
“I hate to tell you, but someone gave you one recently. My guess is they planted an XT3400 homing device just under the skin. Has a range of twenty-five miles and lasts for three months. You’re life isn’t exceptionally important to these people, it seems to me, otherwise they would have used the longer-lasting model.” He smiled. “Now, get your pants on. If the nurse would oblige me, I need to extricate this little package and send it on its way. Do you want a shot of a mild anesthetic or a large belt of whiskey?”
“Neither. Just watch out for the brachial artery,” Matt pulled on his underwear and pants. “Who normally uses this type of bug?”
“They’re not easy to get hold of. Used quite a lot by the CIA, MI6, and some of the more sophisticated foreign intelligence agencies.”
A quarter of an hour later Matt had a line of expertly sewn sutures in his armpit. Nicole handed him a pocket mirror. “You should have been a surgeon,” he said.
The old man was placing the small metal broadcasting unit into a brightly colored Federal Express pack. “Nicole, I’ll be back in about half an hour. There’s a FedEx collection center not too far away. With any luck, our little package will arrive in Rio Grande, Tierra del Fuego early tomorrow morning. Whoever’s monitoring this little homing device will go nuts tracking it.” He waved and let the screen door slam shut.
“What’s his name?” Matt asked Nicole as he put on his shirt. Nicole set a large pot of hot tea on the table.
“His legal name is Elijah Tajikian. His father was an Armenian diplomat in Paris. His mother was French. He’s an only child. I don’t know much about my father’s life, other than his mother brought him to the States when he was just an infant. It seems that his father disappeared under strange circumstances in the mid 1930s and they never saw him again. My dad married a French Canadian from Quebec and I was born in 1960. By that time he was working for the CIA and rarely home, and when he was he couldn’t talk about his work. After he and my mother split up, I hardly saw him. But he would always send me postcards and parcels from exotic locations. He’s still somewhat of a stranger to me, but he’s good at the spook stuff and he’s the only man I even remotely trust.”
“And your last name, Delacluse?”
“My mother’s maiden name. I grew up under her roof so I took her name.”
Matt finished dressing and looked around the kitchen. The faded linoleum floors and chipped Formica counters described the existence of a man for whom home life had never been a high priority.
“What are you thinking, Matt?”
He stared at her. “Your reporter instinct buzzing?”
“You were far away for a few seconds. What’s up?”
“Oh, just wondering if I’ll wind up like your father. Alone.” If I live that long.
“Have some hot tea, Dr. Richards.” Nicole smiled, pouring the fragrant Earl Grey into a mug.
“Tea would be great,” he said somewhat embarrassed that she had seen him totally naked. Even after all those years as a physician seeing countless people naked he never really got used to other people seeing him without clothes. “And I wouldn’t mind a hot bath. I feel as if I’ve got a year’s worth of grime all over me.”
“Drink your tea. I’ll go upstairs and run the tub. First floor, second door on the left when you’re ready.”
As Matt savored a mug of Earl Grey he went over in his mind what had happened since he woke up in a private hospital with someone else’s face. Whoever they are they’ve got a lot to lose – or a lot to gain.
Unfortunately, wherever he went he was leaving dead people. He said a silent prayer for the student killed by a sniper. He also mourned beautiful, vivacious Kelly Stevens, killed in the automobile accident. Both Harry Ears and Scarface were dead, toast actually. He smiled at the fact that there was still some justice left.
Who’s chasing me? And why? His thoughts turned to Senator Stevens trying to avenge the death of his daughter. He sipped from the mug. Or it could be the CIA. After all, it had to take some pretty well-placed people to establish a connection, even as far fetched as it was, between himself, his friends from Beirut in the 1960s and a cell of terrorists operating in the United States.
“Bath’s ready.” Nicole called.
He trudged up the stairs, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. A door with a brass knob stood half open.
“Aren’t you going to take a bath? The water’s nice and hot.” Nicole’s voice came from deep inside the room.
He pushed through the door into a small guest room then saw another door beyond, steam pouring out. After slipping off his shoes and socks and unbuttoning his shirt, Matt headed for the bath. Just inside he stopped.
“There’s a water shortage in D.C. and the mayor is encouraging everyone to conserve. The official slogan is ‘Share a bath with a friend’ so let’s not let this nice hot water go to waste, shall we?” Nicole snuggled down inside the tub, a thick carpet of glistening bubbles covering her body. “And hurry up, my feet need a good scrubbing.”
She was gentle as she touched him, her fingertips tracing the contoured scar next to his hairline. “It doesn’t really show.”
“I can feel it every time I move. You can’t imagine. It’s like an alien has grafted itself onto me. And into my soul. Sometimes I just want to tear it off.”
Nicole kissed him on the forehead. “One day, when all this is over, you’ll feel more comfortable.”
“I want my old face back. It was wrinkled and dissipated by booze, but it was mine. Now I’m even a stranger to myself.” He shrugged. “Want to make love to an international assassin?”
“No. I want to make love to you.”
