“Not a chance,” Kidder lies.
“Okay, I think we’re done,” Gatling says, pausing to finish his juice.
“Done? Really?”
“Take a shower, Bob. Feel free to use the facilities. And for God’s sake, peel off that filthy cap. It makes you look demented.”
Kidder appears to find the insults amusing, and makes no move to leave. He keeps hitting the trigger on the lock-pick gun. It makes a screechy little noise that has him smiling. “Since you’re so calm and everything, I’m assuming you haven’t heard the latest news.”
Gatling is thinking that he has a gun in his desk drawer, fully loaded of course-what’s the use of a gun if it isn’t loaded? — and he could take care of the problem right this very minute. Except for the mess. No, better to wait, find his moment. “What news?” he says, not really interested in anything Kidder has to say.
“Randall Shane is in the wind.”
“I knew that five minutes after it happened,” Gatling says dismissively. “A physically and mentally damaged man wanders away from custody. So?”
“He’s coming for the kid, Cap.”
“Not a problem. He won’t know where to start.”
Kidder seems to be amused by his nonchalance. “You had him on the premises. You think he can’t find his way back?”
Gatling shakes his head. “He’s not a homing pigeon. Shane had no idea where he was being detained, believe me. And any connection he or Naomi Nantz have made to this organization is strictly theoretical. She came right here to my home and made demands, can you believe the nerve? But she was bluffing. She hasn’t got anything tangible, just a suspicion, and we’re going to keep it that way.”
“Are we? That’s nice.”
“Fancy a trip to Sichuan?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Too bad. Because that’s your final assignment. You’ll handle the drop-off, and when you get back you and I are going to have a discussion about your severance package. It will be generous. You can retire and make crush videos, or whatever it is you do for fun.”
“That your idea of a kiss-off?” Kidder smiles, clicking his front teeth together.
“I think we’ve outgrown each other, Bob.”
“Crush videos? If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to hurt my feelings.”
“I wasn’t aware you had any.”
“Oh,” Kidder says. “That hurt.”
He’s thinking that between here and China, accidents can happen. He intends to make sure the brat never has a chance to identify him. Gatling may not want a dead child on his conscience, but Kidder doesn’t suffer from that particular weakness. Murder can be fun, if you give it half a chance.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Maybe there are people who can sleep soundly after having a gun put to their head. I’m not one of them, and if the previous sentence is ungrammatical, blame it on edgy insomnia.
So at four-thirty in the morning, having showered more than once to get the stink of creep off me, I’m wide- awake and brushing my teeth when I hear the
“Ah,” says Naomi. “You’re up. Good. Dress quickly and meet us in command.”
“Us” turns out to be Naomi and Jack. It’s clear that our senior investigator hasn’t been to bed at all and is eager to get on with whatever mission he’s been assigned. His “tell” isn’t subtle-he keeps glancing at his wristwatch.
Boss lady, attired in one of her full-length silk kimonos, looks similarly determined. “Less than fifteen minutes ago Randall Shane made contact with Jack, using a throwaway phone. We have to assume the call was picked up by one of the national security agencies, because all calls are run through their filters. So that’s a given. Whether or not the raw data has been tagged or identified is unknown, but we have to assume that Mr. Gatling and his associates have access to the data banks, or can tag certain calls and callers. No doubt we are on his list. Shane spoke in a code familiar to Jack, but the mere fact that he made contact indicates an assumption that we intend to provide assistance, so there isn’t much time.”
“Time for what?” I ask.
“Providing assistance, of course. We need your help. Are you willing to risk the legal exposure?”
Without hesitation I say, “Yes. Count me in.”
Naomi nods, satisfied. “You’ll accompany Jack to the rendezvous point and remain there, reporting to me as events unfold. I can then take whatever actions I deem necessary.”
“We’re going to help Shane get Joey, right?”
“That’s the plan. You are to remain with the vehicle or nearby, is that understood? Keep your cell off unless you have to use it. It’s a virtual certainty they’ll be attempting to trace our movements.”
“The FBI or Gatling’s people?”
“Probably both.”
“You really think the FBI is assisting in a kidnapping?”
“No, absolutely not. But their security has been compromised. Anything they learn about this case is being passed on to GSG. Monica Bevins said as much, suggesting we’re on our own, and we must take her at her word. Now go, and Godspeed.”
As we hurry down the hallway it’s obvious Jack isn’t really cool with having me along, but orders are orders.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“Nothing personal. I’m just not sure it makes sense to expose you to felony charges if the thing goes sideways.”
“You’re concerned for my well-being?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“That’s sweet. So what kind of code did Shane use?”
“Not a code, exactly. Verbal shorthand. We used to use it on open frequencies, in case bad guys had a scanner. You’d be surprised how many do. The call was very brief and to the point. ‘Mind your p’s and q’s.’”
“That’s it?”
“Emphasis on p’s. That would be Pease International Tradeport. He’ll be expecting us within the hour.”
On the way down to the garage Jack opens a gun safe, hands me a Smith amp; Wesson Airweight that’s identical to the weapon Naomi was wielding for last night’s festivities. Also a box of.38 ammo that feels heavier than the gun itself.
“Fine for me, but what about you?”
He snorts. “I’m already carrying, and that’s for Shane. ‘Q’ is code for a throw down. He was letting me know he needed a weapon.”
We get into his Lincoln Town Car and strap up. Jack’s a pest about seat belts. Before he turns the key he gives me one last out. “By picking up that gun you’re already in the act of aiding and abetting an escaped prisoner. It would be a whole lot safer to stay here and assist Naomi.”
“It wasn’t safer last night.”
“Good point,” he concedes. He thumbs a button on the visor and the garage door lifts.
Standing there, blocking our view, is a big beefy guy in a Massachusetts State Trooper uniform.
“Ah, shit,” says Jack. “You’ve got the gun. Get it to Shane. No delay. No time to clear it with Naomi, understood? I’ll make sure she knows what’s going down. You just make sure that-”
