“Barbarossa!” he screamed, then another word I struggled to make out-it sounded like “Gerty.” After that, he fell to his knees and screamed for help like any normal person.
I looked to my right. The guards at the gate had heard. Their boots thundered across the deck as they approached. I leaned over the side, reached for the package I’d taped under the pier and ripped it away. I tugged the mooring rope at the stern free.
“Cast off,” I yelled to Gwen. “Now!”
“Shoot the bitch!” Rothmann roared, before she clubbed him to the deck with the haft of the knife.
Shots rang out from the pier. I had the Glock unwrapped by the time the men were ten yards away. I fired at their legs and they crashed down. I leaped off the boat and ran toward them, kicking their weapons into the water and then covering them with my weapon.
“Gwen!” I shouted. “Can you start the engine?” I turned and saw that the Isolde had already drifted several yards away from the pier. I heard a movement and smashed my boot into the face of the gorilla who had fancied his chances. “Start the engine, Gwen!”
But she stayed at the bow, the combat knife at Rothmann’s throat. Looking closer, I saw blood on her chest-a lot of blood. At least one of the rounds fired by the guards had hit her.
I thought about trying to jump on board, but the boat was already too far away.
All I could do was cover Gwen’s escape. After all that had been done to her and her twin brother, and their father, it was the least I could do.
There was a curtain of mist on the reach that led toward the Potomac, so the Isolde was soon hard to make out. I wasn’t sure if I imagined it, or if one of the figures at the bow had gone overboard.
Forty-Four
I let the guys I’d shot look after each other’s leg wounds-they seemed to have had the relevant training-and used one of their cell phones to call the cops. Telling the dispatcher who I was got me put me straight through to Chief of Detectives Rodney Owen. He came down to the marina quickly, several cars in his wake.
“Any news about the boat?” I asked, after the gorillas had been removed.
“We’ve got her. She was drifting in the Potomac, but there was no one alive on board.”
“So they both went over the side. I wonder if either of them is still breathing. The girl looked like she’d been badly hit.”
“Our people are all over the river,” Owen said. “They’ll find them soon enough.” He shook his head. “Marion Gilbert’s body was on the boat, as you said. Who’d have thought our medical examiner was a secret Nazi?”
“Not to mention serial killer. She fought against what had been done to her, but it really screwed her up.”
Chief Owen looked at me. “You realize I’m going to have to take you in for questioning.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. How are Simmons and Pinker?”
“Versace’s still in a coma. It looks like Clem’s going to make it, though. They had a scare a few hours back, but he’s stable now. I spoke to him. Looks like you’re in the clear, but there are a lot of details we have to go through. The FBI’s on your case, as well. You’ll have to talk to them about the occult killings.”
I wasn’t surprised, but I had another priority. “Karen Oaten. Can I see her?”
“I’m sure you can, Mr. Wells, but I don’t know when.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “Why don’t we just take one thing at a time?”
“Okay,” I said. I was too tired to argue.
I followed him onto dry land. I was thinking of Gwen Bonhoff. If she hadn’t turned on Rothmann, I would be the one floating in the Potomac right now. I wondered if she had survived to make it ashore, or if the currents were carrying her body toward the sea.
Later it came to me that one of the reasons I hadn’t written novels featuring cops was the job’s never-ending bureaucracy. The questioning seemed to go on forever, though Chief Owen’s team had finished with me by midday. Then I was taken to the FBI building and grilled by Peter Sebastian and his people. Though Clem and Versace hadn’t exactly talked him up, I thought he was competent enough-thorough rather than nitpicking, but seriously lacking in a sense of humor. At least he wasn’t set against me any longer. Randy Bonhoff had been operated on and was expected to make a full recovery in time-whether he would come round from the coffining would be another story. He was still woozy from the anesthetic and hadn’t been told about his sister’s wounding or her disappearance from the boat. He didn’t know about his father’s death, either. I wouldn’t be volunteering to be the one who passed all that information on.
“All right,” Sebastian said at last, gathering up his notes. “We’ll get back to this tomorrow, but right now there’s somewhere we’ve got to be.”
I thought he meant the canteen, so I didn’t show much enthusiasm.
“Come on, Matt,” he said, giving a rare smile. “The Bureau’s putting on a party for your Karen.”
That was more like it. I’d have preferred to meet her in private, but apparently there were some important people who took priority. I borrowed a clean shirt from one of Sebastian’s team and then followed the FBI man to the elevator. When we got out on the top floor, we had to go through another X-ray machine. It seemed the bosses got a higher level of security, as well as a better view.
The party was already under way when we got there. The room was crowded by men in suits and the occasional woman in the female equivalent. I didn’t see Karen immediately. She was surrounded by people who were shaking her hand and patting her on the back. She looked calm and collected, as if she’d been at a health retreat rather than in captivity. I wondered if she’d been through what I had and how she’d got out. Then she caught sight of me and smiled, which made me feel better. I started to push my way through the mass of bodies toward her, but a blast of feedback from a microphone signaled the beginning of the formal proceedings. I kept on sliding past bodies toward the front as the FBI director started to talk from a podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with the smile of a man who finally had some good news to report, “I won’t keep you long. I’m delighted to welcome Detective Chief Superintendent Karen Oaten back from her ordeal. I’m also delighted to report that, in accordance with official policy, no ransom changed hands.”
There was polite laughter.
“Ms. Oaten is one of the London Metropolitan Police’s most talented officers and we look forward to her completing her work with us.”
This time, there was polite applause. Presumably Gavin Burdett’s death hadn’t come to light yet-Karen wouldn’t have much to do in Washington without him as her target. Then again, maybe Rothmann had been lying. I didn’t think that was too likely. He was the kind of arrogant smart-ass who didn’t bother with blatant untruths.
“Before Ms. Oaten says a few words, I’d like to invite the justice secretary to the microphone.”
I craned forward and made out the short figure of the woman who was in charge of all American law enforcement. As she passed Karen, she took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks. She seemed to be genuinely moved to see Karen. As the politician began to speak, I watched my beautiful girl. She was standing next to the podium, her head at the same level as the justice secretary’s because of her greater height. She had a cardboard file under her arms and she was fiddling with a pen.
I wanted to be in the front row when Karen made her speech, so I nudged past a couple more bodies. Now I could see her clearly. Karen was looking intently at the politician beside her, but she was still playing with the pen. I didn’t recognize it, which struck me as odd because I’d given her an expensive pen for her birthday earlier in the year. I knew for a fact she hadn’t had it with her when she disappeared because I saw it in her belongings afterward. Those must have been returned to her by now. Where did she get this one? It looked unusual and was only the length of a finger. It looked like she was trying to make it longer.
Then everything came together. Whatever Karen had said when she reappeared, I knew from Irma Rothmann that she’d been at the camp in Maine. She was in no condition to scale the wire and she would only have been allowed to leave if the Rothmanns thought her ready…for some kind of action. That meant she had been coffined and was under mind control, and she was about to do something disastrous.
I shouted her name and ran forward, colliding with a Secret Service man with very wide shoulders. I could
