Geli had always pegged Skow as a theoretical warrior, and now that bullets were flying, he was looking to her for guidance. 'I pulled my other assets back so nothing would look suspicious. But if I don't get confirmation of success within five minutes, I'm putting in a team to check things out.'
'You have cover?'
'A carpet-service truck.'
'Is there any chance the shot might have been reported to local police?'
'Some. If a patrol car shows up before we've cleared the scene-'
'Use your NSA credentials to quarantine the house,' Skow finished, showing some balls at last. 'Then con¬tact me immediately.'
'I will.'
'I'm out.'
'Wait.'
'What is it?'
Geli was tired of being in the dark. 'Tennant asked me about the pocket watch.'
'What pocket watch?'
Her bullshit detector pegged the meter. 'I checked the storage room this morning. Fielding's personal effects. Everything was there except his pocket watch.'
Skow was silent for a time. Then he spoke almost to himself, 'Fielding must have told him something about it.'
'You want to tell me something about it?'
'That knowledge isn't necessary for you to do your job.'
Anger flashed through her. 'If it's on Tennant's mind, it may be important.'
'It is important. Just not to you. Keep me posted on the situation at the house.'
Skow hung up.
Geli sat in her chair. She hated the mushroom treat¬ment, but that was the nature of intelligence work. Keep them in the dark and feed them bullshit. She understood the value of compartmentalizing knowledge. And for the past two years, she hadn't really needed to know what the scientists were working on. But things had changed.
Since the project's suspension, Peter Godin had been spending a great deal of time away, supposedly visiting his corporate headquarters in California. Geli no longer believed that. Sometimes Godin took Ravi Nara with him, and that made no sense. Nara had nothing to do with Godin Supercomputing, and Godin didn't even like the neurologist.
Now Godin had dropped off the face of the earth. Had Fielding's pocket watch gone with him? How could the watch be so important? When Fielding first came to work at Trinity, an NSA engineer had disassembled the pocket watch to be sure it contained no data-recording device. He'd pronounced the watch clean. It was disas¬sembled again this year, on a day chosen at random. The watch was clean again. So why had it been taken from the storeroom? Geli pictured the watch in her mind. A heavy gold case, scarred from use. There was a chain attached, and a crystal on the end of the chain. But the crystal was transparent. Nothing could be hidden inside that. At least nothing she knew about.
Her direct line to the NSA flashed red. She routed the call to her headset. 'Bauer.'
'Jim Conklin here.' Conklin was her main contact in Crypto City at Fort Meade.
'What is it?'
'We're still running those intercepts on the pay phones around Andrew Fielding's house. All pay phones within three miles, twenty-four hours a day. You never rescinded the order.'
'I never meant to.'
'Well, with all the intercepts we're doing for the antiterror effort, we're running a few days behind on screening for voiceprint matches.'
Geli's heartbeat quickened. 'You have something?'
'Andrew Fielding made a call four days ago from a service-station convenience store. I think you'll want to hear it.'
'Can you send me the audio file?'
'Sure. I'll use Webworld.' Webworld was the NSA's secure intranet, and Geli was one of the few outsiders linked to it. 'You want the spectrograms of the matches?'
'No. I know Fielding's voice.'
'Two minutes.'
Geli clicked off, looked at her watch, then said, 'JPEG, Fielding, Andrew.' A photo of Fielding filled her computer screen. The white-haired Englishman had an angular, handsome face that bloomed red in the cheeks. Fielding had liked his gin. But it was his eyes that got you. Sparkling blue, they held a childish mis¬chief that almost blinded you to the deep intelligence beneath it. As Geli looked into those eyes, she realized how formidable an adversary Fielding was. He might be dead, but he was still controlling events.
An audio file icon popped onto the corner of her screen. The NSA was nothing if not efficient. She was about to open it when her headset beeped an alert code from her team in the carpet-service van.
'What is it?'
'There's a police cruiser coming up the road. Somebody must have reported the shot.'
Geli closed her eyes. She would have to invoke her fed¬eral authority and quarantine Tennant's house. The NSA's presence in Chapel Hill was about to become the knowledge of municipal police.
'I'm on my way.'
'We're gone.'
Geli hit an alarm button on her desk, alerting every member of her security teams, whether inside the build¬ing, on surveillance duty, or sleeping at home. In two minutes a net would close on David Tennant's house from every direction.
CHAPTER 14
I was about to drive out of my subdivision when I real¬ized I was making a mistake. The open highway looked like escape but wasn't. I knew Geli Bauer better than that. Yanking the wheel left, I did a 180 in the middle of Hickory Street, then turned onto Elm.
'Why are you turning around?' Rachel asked from the floor on the passenger side.
'Have you ever hunted rabbit?'
She blinked in confusion. 'Rabbit? I'm from New York.'
A woman on a mountain bike rode by us and waved, a toddler in a baby seat perched on the back fender. In our present circumstances, the image looked surreal.
'When a rabbit runs for its life, it takes a zigzag course at lightning speed. But it always circles back to where it started. It's a good escape strategy. Of course, rabbit hunters know that. That's why they use dogs. The dogs chase the rabbit while the hunter stands there wait¬ing to shoot him when he comes back around.'
Rachel's face showed disgust. 'That's barbaric.'
'It puts food on the table. The point is, the people hunting expect us to run like humans. But we're going to take a lesson from the rabbit.'
'What do we gain by doing that?'
'A car, for one thing. We wouldn't get five miles in this one. Yours, either.'
'Whose car can we get?'
'Just sit tight.'
Elm Street circumnavigated my subdivision. When I came to the east entrance of Oak Street -which paral¬leled Willow -I turned left. As I drove, I watched between the houses to catch a glimpse of the roofs on my street. When I saw my own, I began scanning the lawns ahead. A hundred yards up Oak Street, I saw what I wanted. A blue-and-white FOR SALE sign. The house it advertised had a long, curving driveway with no cars parked in it. Turning into the drive, I pulled quickly off the cement and rolled behind a thick stand of box¬wood
