True Evil

had killer calves, too. Neville wondered if maybe Dr. Traver was married to Rusk's secretary. But she was no more than thirty-and hot-while Dr. Traver was close to sixty and had that ugly mess of a birthmark on his face. Neville sipped his Vault and watched Rusk pick his nose as he jabbered on the phone.

'Maybe Traver's loaded,' he said. 'That must be it.'

Neville waited for the secretary to reappear, confident that he would know everything there was to know about Andy Rusk, his secretary, and the old vet before the week was out. That was the main kick in this work, the feeling of omnipotence. A lot of game designers talked about the same thing, but that was only hackers' fantasy. This job wasn't animated chicks with comic-book bustlines; this was real life, real people. And if you were good, you got to peek into their private lives, their bedrooms, wherever you wanted. If you were really good, sometimes you got to peer inside their heads. That was the kick, man.

CHAPTER 27

Alex stood on the edge of the little concrete apron at the Natchez Airport and watched a Lear 35 make a perfect landing across her field of vision. She was only a couple of miles from the Natchez Trace, where she and Chris had stood on the bridge overlooking the creek. That seemed a week ago already.

As the jet began its taxi toward the spot where she was standing, she took out her official cell phone and tried Chris again. Her private phone had died during the night, while she slept an Ativan-induced slumber in Chris's guest room. To her surprise, Chris answered her call.

'Alex?'

'Yes. I…'

'Are you still at my house?'

'No, I'm at the airport. I'm about to board a jet for Washington.'

'What?'

'They're onto me, Chris. My investigation, everything. They called this morning.'

He was silent for a bit. 'I'm sorry. I may be in some trouble myself.'

'Why?'

'I saw Shane Lansing in the ICU this morning, and I confronted him.'

Alex closed her eyes in disappointment. Dr. Shepard was turning out to be a poor choice for setting a trap. He didn't have the devious personality required. 'What did you say to him?'

'I asked if he was fucking my wife.'

'Oh, God.'

'He tried to take a swing at me, so I took him down.'

'Took him down? Is he hurt?'

'Maybe. But no cops have showed up to arrest me yet.'

'I doubt they will.'

'I hope I didn't screw you up too bad. Your investigation, I mean.'

'Don't worry about it. Just try not to do anything else, okay?' The Lear was steadily approaching. 'I don't have long. I just wanted you to know that you might not see me for a while.'

'How bad could this be? Washington, I mean?'

Her laugh had a touch of hysteria. 'Bad. Remember my screwup at the bank? When I got shot?'

'Yes.'

'I went back into the bank because I thought I was right, but a deputy director ordered the HRT in on top of me.'

'Right, I remember.'

'That's who called me today. His name is Dodson. And the thing is…I turned out to be right that day. The bank robber wasn't a terrorist, he was a disaffected employee. I made a terrible procedural mistake that day, but when the truth came out, my instinct was proved correct. I was right, and Dodson was wrong. And he's never forgiven me for that. He's been after me ever since, and today is payback.'

The approaching jet swallowed almost all sound in the whine of its turbines.

'What?' Alex yelled.

'I said, I put in a call to my friend at Sloan-Kettering!' Chris repeated. 'I'll let you know what he says. Look, somebody up there has to know they need you. Focus on that.'

'I've got to go. Bye.'

Chris's reply, if he made one, was lost in the roar.

Alex hit END, set the phone to SILENT, and slid it into her pocket as the Lear stopped and its side door opened. A stereotypical FBI agent walked down the little stair. Blue suit, dark sunglasses. Even with his jacket cut a little full, she could make out the butt of his weapon beneath the cloth under his left arm.

'Special Agent Alex Morse?' he called.

'I'm Alex Morse.'

As the clean-cut, blond agent drew closer, Alex suspected that he was part of one of the most exclusive agent cliques in the Bureau: the Mormon Mafia.

'Special Agent Gray Williams,' he said. Williams did not offer his hand. 'Are you carrying a weapon, Agent Morse?'

'Yes.' Alex was afraid he would order her to surrender her sidearm.

'Do you have any other bags?'

'Nope.' She bent to lift her soft-sided suitcase.

'Let's get aboard then.'

Williams's tone indicated extreme reluctance to talk to her-a sure sign that she was known to be an official leper. She tossed her suitcase through the hatch, then climbed in after it, bent low, and took a forward-facing seat. She expected Williams to take the seat facing her, but he sat two seats behind her. Alex could hear him talking softly on his cell phone, confirming that she was aboard and soon to be bound for Washington. After gripping the armrests for takeoff, she took out her private phone, plugged it into an outlet beside her seat, and checked her voice mail. A ragged male voice came through the ether.

'Alex, this is Uncle Will.' She clicked the volume down to minimum level using the side button. 'Your mom's the same as she was last night, alive and not quite kicking. You did the right thing getting some rest. I'm calling because I got a report from my guy at the Alluvian Hotel. He couldn't find out which floor Thora Shepard was staying on, but his wife talked to her in the wet area a couple of times. Thora's girlfriend was with her, and everything seemed legit. But around five thirty this morning, my guy's wife happened to look out her window, which overlooks the main courtyard that leads to the back parking lot. She saw a guy carrying a small suitcase out to the lot. He was in a big hurry. It was fast and in poor light, but she thinks it could have been Dr. Lansing. She couldn't be positive. Said she's sixty percent sure. I'm going to check out the possibility that Lansing could be commuting back and forth to get his poontang from Mrs. Shepard. You call me as soon as-'

The line had not gone dead; voice mail had cut Will off before he finished his message. There were no more messages. Alex wondered if a few hours in bed with Thora was worth commuting four hours both ways. Most men she knew would undoubtedly say yes. She saw no point in calling Chris to pass on an inconclusive report, but she was likely to have real evidence soon. If Chris had attacked Dr. Lansing based on suspicion, what would he do if Will provided the kind of graphic evidence that he frequently obtained in his business? Alex had not expected a violent reaction from Chris. Yet he was a Southerner, and in matters of this kind, direct action was the rule among them rather than the exception.

She sat back in her seat. Summoned by the roar of the engines and the shuddering airframe, a hundred memories assailed her. How many times had she been rushed to a jet like this one and ferried to some strange city where a man with a gun held innocent people under his power? Being the person that the Bureau counted on in those situations had engendered its own sense of power within Alex. And she had justified their faith time and time