***
Holdren and Romax stood outside Alliotto’s as the two NCIX agents drove away.
“I don’t understand how it could have happened. The locator placed her in the restaurant.” Romax tugged on his earlobe.
Holdren stared at him and then shook his head. Why did he always have to explain the basics to Romax? “Think about it. The readout tells you what?”
Romax stared at the instrument’s display. “Distance and bearing.”
“And how accurate is it?”
“I’m not positive. Range, maybe fifty feet, bearing, maybe a couple of degrees.”
“That is a model 4D12.”
“Yes.”
“The 4D12 is accurate to within fifty feet in distance, but for bearing it’s only within five degrees. How far from the restaurant were we when you took the reading?” Holdren asked.
“About where we are now, maybe thirty feet from the door.”
“And the reading was?”
“Directly toward the restaurant, at a range of eighty feet.”
“So, she could have been as much as 130 feet away at up to 5 degrees to either side. That means she could have been behind the restaurant or on either side of it when you checked. By the time we discovered she wasn’t in the restaurant she was out of range.”
“Yeah, I guess it could have happened that way.”
“You guess? Damn you Romax–” The buzz of Holdren’s cell phone interrupted what he wanted to say about Romax’s competence. He took it out and noticed the scrambled signal indicator. The phone automatically went secure when queried by a similar device. He raised it to his ear. “Holdren.”
“This is Kirby; we have a blip on the frequency of your locator.”
“What’s your location?”
“Embarcadero, near the Bay Bridge.”
“What direction is the signal coming from?”
“It’s hard to tell, but it’s somewhere south of here. It appears to be moving, but in the downtown area, it’s almost impossible to get a direct feed. There are just too many reflections.”
“That’s all right, I understand. Contact the other units and sweep the area, sooner or later you’ll have to get a straight shot at it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Holdren closed his cell phone and glowered at Romax. “You heard?”
“Enough.”
“Then get the car. I don’t want her slipping away again.”
***
The Gleaning Cube’s interior was dimly lit, as most late hour bars seem to be. A dozen or so tables were scattered around a room that could easily hold twice as many. A wide bar blocked most of her view of the rear, but she could see more tables back there. The Gleaning Cube was perhaps a third full. Three people sat on bar stools, none of them next to each other. On the nearest barstool sat an older woman who Caitlin had pegged as a street person until a closer look showed that her clothing while old was clean and well maintained. A pair of young couples talked at a nearby table; from their neat hair and expensive attire, Caitlin guessed they belonged to the Lexus.
The bar seemed to have two sets of clientele. The locals who sat either at the bar or away from the door and the young professionals who grouped near the front. Most of them were like the Lexus couples.
Caitlin quickly checked out each of the patrons who were within view of the door. She recognized no one. Trying to appear casual, she went to the bar and motioned to the bartender. He was a younger man, dressed comfortably in loose-fitting jeans and a flannel shirt. A gold stud decorated his left ear, and a bar towel hung over his shoulder.
“Good evening. What’ll you have?”
“I’m looking for a man.”
“Anyone in particular or will I do?”
Caitlin gave him a tired stare. “His name is John Blalock.”
The bartender’s lips pursed, and he appeared to think about it. “The name sounds familiar.”
He turned part way around and looked over the nearer tables.
Caitlin had already looked over those tables, and no one looked anything like John. Yet, when the bartender turned back, he nodded. “He’s expecting you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’ll find him against the back wall.”
Caitlin looked past the bartender and spotted a table where a lone man sat facing her. A weathered hat blocked most of his features.
“Are you sure?”
“Who can ever be sure of anything? I understand that’s a name he goes by.”
Caitlin gave the man another look and then thanked the bartender. She walked around the bar and moved slowly toward the back.
Three feet from the table she stopped.
Something was wrong here. John had been a computer nerd. They’d only met the one time, in the canyon. He’d been big, as big as this man, she remembered him saying something about wrestling in high school. His skin had been smooth and unblemished, and she would have bet that the cabby would have spotted him as a computer nerd immediately. He’d had long hair, tied in a ponytail and wore shorts over those thick thighs. His height and weight looked about the same as she remembered. His hair was the right color, nearly as dark as hers but was cut much shorter and trimmed as neatly as his fingernails. His lightweight trench coat hung open to reveal a simple khaki shirt. His face didn’t fit what she remembered. For the brief time she’d known him, it had always been cheerful, boyishly cheerful. His lips had always hidden a laugh, one that just waited for an excuse to erupt. A mustache hid most of his upper lip now. His face had lost all signs of boyishness and was now weathered, tight, and scarred.
Well, one scar anyway. A deep cicatricial scar ran from the corner of his left eye to somewhere beneath his mustache. It gave his scowling features a menacing look that she couldn’t connect with the man she had known so long ago.
He stood as she reached the table. She met his gaze
