While the case had already been interesting, Frenchie had made it something personal. The next time he saw the Frenchman, things would be different.
CHAPTER 15
John pulled onto highway one for the drive back up the coast. He appreciated the usually uncomfortable weight of the handgun. It felt as comforting as a baby’s pacifier. He hadn’t felt the need to carry it in months, and he’d forgotten how safe you feel with a fully loaded Colt ten millimeter strapped to your side.
Regardless of how good the Colt felt, his gut had grown cold.
Caitlin had disappeared without a note. The Frenchman had found the hotel and had known she would be there. Had she done something to tip him off? She could have placed a call, either to someone whose phone was tapped by the Frenchman or she could have logged into the Web and left evidence that an efficient Web rider could trace. But if she had, why had she then left without so much as a note?
Someone else could have traced her signal and gotten to the hotel before the Frenchman. They could have removed her and left no evidence of a struggle, but who? The Japanese? The killer? The Feds? And who was the Frenchman aligned with?
The only other possibility was just as disturbing. Caitlin could have ignored his instructions and left on her own. He had thought she’d be able to handle instructions, but having no contact with her for over twelve years made her temperament a trait he couldn’t really judge. However, if she were being honest with him, then she would have left a note.
What was her motive?
Could she have set him up?
He didn’t want to think about the possibility, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone had taken advantage of his trust.
Caitlin was different. Wasn’t she?
He still had feelings for her, but they were illogical and made no sense, especially now that she had disappeared on him. He didn’t need to be in love with her or anyone else. He didn’t need to trust. What he needed was...
He didn’t know what he needed unless it was to find Caitlin and the Frenchman. At that moment, the order didn’t matter. But on the chance that someone had taken her, he had to concentrate on finding her first.
He turned off onto Del Mar and headed across the peninsula toward Palo Alto. It was a faster route than highway one. The road wound past new homes where a decade earlier a Christmas tree farm had provided color and coolness to the landscape. Development continued to spoil what had once been a nice place to live. Not that he had been here then. He’d only moved to the Bay Area about five years ago, but he’d heard it was once nice. He came here for the work, not for the unspoiled beauty of the area.
It was nearly four when he pulled up to an apartment he maintained in one of the less desirable areas of San Francisco. He circled the block once, looking for anything out of place. Nothing attracted his attention. He left his car in one of the unmarked spaces behind the building and took the stairs to the third floor. The hallway was empty; at this time of day, most people were either still at work or sleeping if they worked the night shifts. He held his keys in his left hand and kept the right free for action.
His lock appeared to be a simple deadbolt, but he’d replaced it without asking the landlord for permission. No one, including the landlord, had any business in John’s place. John slipped the key home, twisted it to the left, held it for a full second to disconnect the alarm, and then turned it to the right to unlock the bolt. Anyone picking the lock would usually miss something that simple.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Shatter resistant glass covered the curtainless windows; to his left lay his computer with its associated hardware, books, and software. Next to the computer was the storage vault holding his weapons and a few other high-priced items. A small sofa and entertainment center occupied the middle of the room. The right side of the apartment held a small kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
The computer ran constantly but went into the catnap mode whenever he left the apartment. John walked over to it and tapped the mouse button. The monitor awoke to show his security program.
“Alarm status?” he asked.
“All secure.”
“Full security,” John ordered.
His apartment’s security had three levels, low, normal, and full. He rarely used low. Normal provided for entry control and automatically summoned the police in case of an attempted break-in or the fire department in case the fire alarm activated.
Full didn’t call the police. It electrified a series of metal strips bordering the windows and the keyhole on the door with a charge similar to the stunner that had taken him down.
In addition, it booby trapped the computer so that if someone did get in, the computer and certain other quasi-legal things stored there would be melted down with the generous use of thermite. Of course, the system would summon the fire department simultaneously to prevent the fire from spreading, and no one would gain access to anything he wouldn’t want them to have.
“Messages?” he asked.
“Two e-mails.”
No voice mail and the e-mail could wait.
He stripped down, tossed his clothing in the hamper, and took a shower. He still didn’t feel clean from the effects of the stunner. Normal stunners have a preset time they discharge, usually less than a second does. The Frenchman’s stunner was either
