Hospital, recovering from internal injuries and under close guard. I pray he disguises himself and tries to get in.”
“I have no doubt he’ll want to. I just hope he doesn’t smell a trap. He’s smart, Thomas, you know that. He might have figured we’d do exactly what we have, in fact, done.”
“I’m worried about the people at the hospital who are playing us,” Becca said. “He’s-” She paused a moment, trying to find the right words. “He’s not normal. There’s something very scary about him.”
“Don’t be worried about the agents,” Adam said. “They’re professionals to their toes. They’re trained, and their collective experience probably exceeds the age of the world. They know what they’re doing. They’ll be ready for him to make a move. Another smart thing done-the FBI has installed security cameras to record everyone who goes in and out of that room. They’ve scheduled doctors and nurses to go in there at given hours. Our guys will stay alert. Our undercover agent who’s playing you, Becca, Ms. Marlane, won’t take any chances if he does show up. She’s got a 9mm Sig Sauer under her pillow.”
Thomas said, “Then there’ll be that black government car pulling up and a guy who looks remarkably like me getting out and going into the hospital.”
Adam said, “Yep. Twice a day. I hope Krimakov does try to get in. Wouldn’t that be something if it all ended there, in the hospital, in New York? That would be a hell of a thing.”
Becca said, “He managed to down Chuck with no one the wiser. So far he hasn’t failed at anything he’s tried.”
“She’s right, Adam,” Thomas said. “Like I said, Vasili is smart; he improvises well. If there aren’t any leaks, it’s possible he’ll sniff out the trap. But even if he’s fooled into thinking she’s there, perhaps believing that I’m there with her, under guard, for just twenty-four hours, it’ll give us time to try to come up with some sort of strategy.”
Adam nodded and said, “If he doesn’t go down in New York, then he’ll go down here.” He sighed. “Strategy is all well and good, Thomas, but I can’t think of anything at the moment that isn’t already being done.”
Thomas said, “I keep wondering if the agents playing our parts should be told that it’s a former KGB agent who might come there. Maybe it would make them sharper.”
“No, knowing that a killer is coming is all they need,” Adam said. “Besides, they’ll know who they’re dealing with quick enough. I believe that Krimakov will make a move real soon now. Maybe he’ll even make a mistake.” Adam looked at Becca, whose hands were fisted in her lap. She was too pale and he didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do about it.
She said, more to herself than to either of them, “If they don’t get him, then how do you come up with a strategy to catch a shadow?”
Thirty minutes later, their driver pulled up in front of a white two-story colonial house, set back from the street on a gently sloping grass-covered yard, right in the middle of Bricker Road in the heart of Chevy Chase. It looked like many of its neighbors in this upper-middle-class neighborhood, lots of surrounding land, lots of oak and elm trees, and beautifully landscaped lawns.
“Your house, sir. No one followed us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Simms. You took excellent evasive action.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thomas turned to Becca, who was staring out the car window. He took her hand. “I’ve lived here for many years. Adam probably told you no one knows about this house. It’s a closely guarded secret to protect me. Given Krimakov’s actions, he hasn’t discovered this house. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe here.” Thomas looked over at the oak tree just to the side of the house. He and Allison had planted it sixteen years before. It was now twenty feet taller than the house, its branches full and laden with green leaves.
“It’s lovely,” Becca said. “I hope it does all end in New York. I don’t ever want him to find out where you live. I don’t want him to hurt this house.”
“No, I would prefer that he didn’t, either,” Thomas said. He gently took her hand to help her out of the car.
“Mom and I always lived in an apartment or condo,” she said, walking beside her father up the redbrick steps to the wide front porch. “She never wanted a house. I know there was enough money, but she’d always just shake her head.”
“When your mother and I were able to meet, she usually came here. This was her house, Becca. You’ll see her touch everywhere, and I’m sure you’ll recognize it as hers.”
His voice was low, so filled with pain, with regret, that Adam turned away to focus on the rosebushes that were blooming wildly beside the brick stairs up to the front porch. He saw two agents in a car half a block down the street. He wondered if Thomas would tell his daughter that this house might look like just a home-sweet-home, but the security in and around the place was state-of-the-art.
“It’ll be dark in about three hours,” Adam said, looking up from his watch. “Let’s make our phone calls, talk to the guys in New York, get the status on everything, make sure they stay alert. I have this gut feeling that Krimakov is going to try to get into NYU Hospital soon. Now we can tell them exactly who they’re up against. As you said, Thomas, there are always leaks. Detective Gordon, for example. I can see her telling everyone in sight. If he doesn’t act in the next twenty-four hours, then he won’t, because he’ll know it’s a trap.”
Adam looked down at Becca, who was staring intently at the house. He knew she was trying to visualize her mother there, perhaps standing next to her father, smiling at him, laughing. Only she wasn’t there, had never been a part of the two of them. He said, “Get rid of that ridiculous hair dye, will you, Becca?”
Thomas turned at his words. “That’s right. Your hair is very blond, just like your mother’s.”
“Mom’s was more blond than mine,” she said. “But all right, Adam, but I’ll have to go to the store. Who wants to go with me?”
“Me and about three other guys,” Adam said. The look on her face had changed, lightened, and he was pleased.
At seven o’clock that evening, Savich and Sherlock, Tommy the Pipe, and Hatch arrived at Thomas’s house for pizza and strategy, pizza first. Adam doubted there would be much helpful strategy, but it was good to have everyone together. Who knew what ideas might pop out after hot, cheese-dripping pizza?
Savich was carrying a baby draped over his right shoulder. The kid was wearing only diapers and a little white T-shirt. Adam looked at Savich, checked out the baby’s feet, and said, “You’re this little guy’s father?”
“Don’t act so surprised, Adam.” He lightly rubbed his hand over his son’s back. “Hey, Sean, you still awake enough to punch this guy in his pretty face?”
The baby sucked his fingers furiously and poked out his butt, making Savich grin.
“He’s nearly down for the count,” Sherlock said, lightly touching the baby’s head, covered with his father’s black hair. “He sucks his fingers when he doesn’t want to be disturbed and he knows you’re talking about him.”
“What do you think, Adam? Six-ounce free weights for my boy?”
Adam stared at the big man holding his kid who was madly sucking his fingers, then threw his head back and laughed. “This is not good. Jesus, I can nearly see him lifting three envelopes in each hand.” And he laughed and laughed. “Maybe he can even handle a stamp on each envelope.”
There were ten pizzas spread around Thomas Matlock’s living room an hour later. Hatch was hovering over the large pepperoni pizza, his shaved head glittering beneath a halogen floor lamp, talking even as he stuffed a big bite into his mouth. “Yipes, this sucker’s really hot. Oh boy, delicious. But hot, real hot.”
“I hope you burned your tongue,” Adam said as he pulled the hot cheese free of a slice of pizza from another box that was closer to him than to anyone else, and reverently lifted it up. “Serves you right for being a pig. God, I love artichokes and olives.”
“Nah, my tongue isn’t burned. It’s just a bit of a sting,” Hatch said, and pulled up another piece. After he took another big bite, he said, “Now, just to make sure everyone’s on the same page. All federal agencies are up to date on Krimakov. The New York Bureau guys are going over the car the guy dumped you out of, Becca, with every high- tech scan, every piece of sophisticated equipment they have. Haven’t found anything yet. I was really hoping they would find something, but this guy Krimakov is careful, real anal, one of the techs said. He didn’t leave anything helpful. Rollo and Dave, who just left Riptide yesterday, sent the FBI all the fingerprints we got in Linda Cartwright’s house, all the fibers we bagged. No word yet. The woman he killed in Ithaca, and stole her car-they’ve combed the hills for witnesses but came up empty. All that boils down to nada, nothing, zippo.” And then he cursed in some language Becca didn’t recognize. She lifted her eyebrow at him. Hatch said, flushing a bit, “That was just a bit of
