“That’s quite a thing to say, isn’t it? Especially coming from a man who doesn’t believe in God.”
“It doesn’t surprise me, Reverend. We live in a world that worships evil.”
“That we do, son. Now: Can I count on you?”
“Yes, sir, Reverend, you bet you can.”
“Here’s something important: I need this information in two days, so I can use it on Friday’s
“Since you’ve Webcast it, I never miss it.”
“This Friday, I’ve got a physicist on the show, someone with a Christian perspective, to talk more about the Isabella project. I’ve just
“Absolutely, yes, you got it, Reverend.”
Spates replaced the phone in its cradle and gazed pensively out the window. Everything was falling into place. The power of God knew no bounds.
20
ON HIS RETURN FROM BREAKFAST, FORD was about to enter his casita when Wardlaw stepped from the side of the house and blocked his entry.
Ford had been expecting something like this.
“Mind if we chat?” Wardlaw said, his voice sham-friendly. He worked a piece of gum with his jaw, the muscles above his ears bulging rhythmically.
Ford waited. This wasn’t the moment for a showdown, but if Wardlaw wanted it, he would get it.
“I don’t know what your game is, Ford, or who you really are. I’m assuming you’re operating in some kind of semiofficial capacity. I sensed it from the day you arrived.”
Ford waited.
Wardlaw stepped so close, Ford could smell his aftershave. “My job is to protect Isabella—even from you. I’m guessing you’re here undercover because some bureaucrat back in Washington needs to cover his ass. That doesn’t offer you much in the way of protection, does it?”
Ford remained silent. Let the man vent.
“I’m not going to mention your little escapade last night to anyone. Course, you’ll report it to your handlers. If it gets brought up, you know what my defense will be. You were an intruder and my rules of engagement are shoot to kill. Oh, and if you think the broken windowpane and screen are going to get Greer in a lather, they’ve been fixed. None of this goes beyond the two of us.”
Ford was impressed. Wardlaw had actually thought things through. He was glad that the SIO was no fool. He had always found it easier to go up against an intelligent adversary. Stupid people were unpredictable. He said, “Are you finished with your little speech?”
The carotid artery pounded in Wardlaw’s thick neck. “Watch your back, cop.” He stepped aside, just barely, to allow Ford to pass.
Ford took a step forward and then paused. He was so close to Wardlaw, he could have kneed the SIO in the groin. He looked at the man, inches from his face, and said pleasantly, “You know what’s funny? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
The shadow of a doubt flickered across Wardlaw’s face as Ford moved on.
He went in the house and slammed the door. So Wardlaw wasn’t absolutely certain that Ford had been the man he’d chased. That uncertainty would slow him down, make him cautious. Ford’s cover had been compromised, but it wasn’t blown.
When he was sure Wardlaw had left, he threw himself on the sofa, annoyed and frustrated. He’d been on the mesa almost four days, but he knew scarcely more than he had back in Lockwood’s office.
He wondered why he had ever thought this would be an easy assignment.
The time had come for him to take the next step, the step he had hoped to avoid ever since Lockwood showed him Kate’s dossier.
AN HOUR LATER, FORD FOUND KATE in the stables feeding and watering the horses. He stood in the doorway, following her with his eyes as she filled buckets with oats, broke open a bale of alfalfa, and tossed a flake or two into each stall. He watched the way she moved, her body slender and supple, performing the banal tasks with sureness and grace, despite her obvious exhaustion. It felt like twelve years ago, watching her sleep under that table.
Rock music, turned down low, filtered from inside the barn.
She tossed the last flake and then turned, seeing him for the first time.
“Going for another ride?” she asked, her voice subdued.
He stepped into the cool shade. “How are you, Kate?”
She put her gloved hands on her hips. “Not so good.”
“I’m very sorry about Peter.”
“Yeah.”
“Can I give you a hand?”
“All done.”
The music played on softly in the background. He recognized it now.
“Blondie?”
“I often play music while working with the horses. They like it.”
“Do you remember—?” he began.
She cut him off. “Yes.”
They faced each other silently. At MIT, she used to start the day at the LEES lab, the electronics lab, by blasting “Atomic” out across Killian Court. When he got there, she was usually dancing around the room, earphones on and coffee mug in hand, making a spectacle of herself. She had enjoyed spectacles—like the time she’d poured a pint of gasoline into Murphy Memorial Fountain and lit it on fire. He felt a sudden pang at the memories, the time gone. How full of naive hopefulness she had been, how sure that life was always going to be a laff-riot. Life eventually clobbered everyone—her especially.
He shook off the memories and focused on the mission. With Kate, the most direct way was always the best. She hated people who beat around the bush. Ford swallowed. Would he ever forgive himself for what he was about to do?
Point-blank he asked the question: “Okay, what are you all hiding?”
She looked at him steadily. No feigned surprise, no protest, no pretense of ignorance.
“None of your business.”
“It is my business. I’m part of the team.”
“Then ask Gregory.”
“I know you’ll be straight with me. Hazelius—I don’t know what to make of him.”
Her face softened. “Trust me, Wyman, you don’t want to know.”
“I do want to know. I
“What makes you think we’re keeping secrets?”
“Ever since I arrived, I’ve had the feeling you’re hiding something. Volkonsky alluded to it. So did you. Something’s seriously wrong with Isabella, isn’t it?”
Kate shook her head. “God, Wyman, you never change—always that damnable curiosity.” She looked down at her shirt, plucked a piece of straw from her shoulder, frowned.
Another long silence. Then she focused her intelligent brown eyes on him and he saw she had reached a decision. “Yes. Something’s wrong with Isabella. But it’s not what you might think. It’s uninteresting. Stupid. It has nothing to do with you or your work here. I don’t want you to know because . . . well, it could get you into trouble.”
Ford said nothing. He waited.
Kate issued a short, bitter laugh. “All right. You asked for it. But don’t expect some big revelation.”
He felt a hideous flush of guilt. He shoved the emotion down—he would deal with it later.
“You’ll understand, when you hear this, why we’ve been keeping it secret.” She looked at him steadily.
