him.
“The military has a way of clamming up,” Bickerstaff pointed out. “Secret weapons and all that.”
“I don’t know,” Paula said. “Could be promising.”
Horn was only half a block from home. “I have to hang up. Let me know if you come across anything else that might mean something.” The
“I’d just as soon stay off roofs for a while,” Bickerstaff said, catching Horn’s meaning. “I might catch vertigo, like in that movie.”
“You’ve been dizzy since I’ve known you, Roy,” Paula told him.
“Stay on it,” Horn said. “We’ll meet later and discuss.”
He replaced the phone in his pocket and started up the steps to the brownstone’s door.
A male voice made him pause and turn. “Thomas Horn?”
Horn looked down at the man from his vantage point two steps higher. He was average height but with a compact, muscular build that somehow made him appear smaller. His gray suit was well tailored, blue tie neatly knotted at the collar of his white shirt. He had precisely cut and parted dark brown hair. The bland, innocuous features of a man whom you wouldn’t mind dating your sister. Harmless looking, with his balanced stance and amiable smile.
“Thomas Horn?” he asked again.
“I’m Luke Altman. Can we talk?”
“What would be the subject of our conversation?”
“Mountain climbing.”
Horn decided not to invite Altman in. He stepped down off the concrete steps and faced him on the sidewalk. Altman was surprisingly tall and broad, when you got up close to him. “Are you with an agency, Mr. Altman?”
“Yes. A government agency.”
The friendly smile. “Or something like it. We were curious about your inquiry concerning Special Forces mountain-terrain groups.”
“One particular group.”
“Yes. That’s what made us curious.”
“Why I want a list of members should be no secret,” Horn said, suspecting he was talking to a man who assumed secrets everywhere. “I think the serial killer the news media are calling the Night Spider might be, or once was, a member of a secret and elite mountain-terrain fighting force.”
“Why would such a force be secret?”
“To do the kind of dangerous, undercover wet work no country can afford another country to know about.”
Altman shook his head.
“Only the people who send them on missions could make them act dishonorably. They’d be soldiers, defined by their orders.”
“Wouldn’t they also be assassins?”
“At times, I suppose. Very efficient ones. And skilled climbers. It’s possible that among these almost exclusively honorable men is one who lost his way-one who learned too well how to stalk and kill, and came to like it. It happens. I’ve seen it with cops.”
“So have I, with soldiers. I served in the marines, and there’s no finer outfit than the corps. But still, experience can shape the man.”
“If I’m to stop this killer, Mr. Altman, I need to see the roster of that elite unit. Past and present members.”
“That would be a difficult thing to supply even if there were such a unit.”
“You’re telling me there isn’t?”
Again Altman’s car-salesman smile. “I’m defined by my orders, too, Captain Horn. And they are to inform you that there is no such unit. Oh, we know about the rumors, and that’s exactly what they are-rumors.”
“The CIA actually sent you here to tell me that?”
“I didn’t mention the CIA.”
“You’re telling me you’re not a spook?”
“Spook? Oh, you mean a spy. A secret agent. That’s a quaint term.”
“It’s a quaint business.”
“If only that were true, especially these days. But, no, I’m not a spook. I can see where it might be fun, though. Maybe in the next life I can be a romantic figure like that. But back to your question: Yes, my superiors did send me to tell you that. Also to show you the light so you’d stop assuming this secret elite fighting unit exists.”
“I guess if I knew for sure,” Horn said, “it would no longer be a secret unit.”
“That would follow,” Altman said. “But it doesn’t exist, so there’s no list of names for you to possess. Therefore, we’d like it if you forgot this particular avenue of your investigation.”
“My superiors. The ones who sent me here. If I were the sort of agent you assume, I would assure you that if there were anything amiss in this imaginary unit, my department would deal with the problem and maintain secrecy. With that assurance, you could eliminate an unnecessary phase of your investigation.”
“What if I persisted?”
Altman shrugged. “Then you’d waste your time.”
Horn studied him, knowing Altman, behind his smile, was studying him right back. He changed his mind about inviting Altman in. The more he could keep him talking, the more he might learn.
Pulling his key ring from his pocket, Horn turned and took the steps to the stoop and the brownstone’s front door. “Why don’t you come inside, Mr. Altman?” he asked over his shoulder, as he keyed the lock.
But when he turned around, Altman was gone. Here and then gone.
Horn couldn’t help smiling as he opened the door and went inside.
So like a spook.
15
He had to walk fast to keep up with her, this long-legged, boldly striding woman who’d tripped a tendril of his web, who’d sent a subtle tremor of interest and intrigue across the void between them.
He’d seen her across the street. That was all it took, really, a glimpse, a connection.
He always knew when he found the one. She would suddenly become the only woman before him even if she happened to be part of a crowd. Deep in the sacred cruel center of his being there would be a stirring, then an irresistible tugging at his mind and heart toward his core. Ancient voices and instincts would take over. Predators’ instincts. His mind, his desire, his every fiber, would focus sharply on his prey.
He was never wrong about these women. It was almost as if they emanated signals. Toward the end, when he was very near them, through all the odors of their fluids and fears, he could smell their need.
Theirs had been a holy covenant from the beginning, from every beginning, and finally they understood that and surrendered to death. He always could see by their eyes that they understood.
At first they weren’t trapped-constricted and helpless- and his. That took time, delicate spinning, and careful preparation. He would learn more about them, including where they lived and whether it met his expectations. That wasn’t much of a problem, as most single and attractive women in New York lived in apartments, and usually on high floors for their so-called security. He traded on his victims’ false sense of security. It lulled them like a drug until they realized in their silent terror that it had failed.
