snapped pictures in Dover, stolen the military data. Delivered the goods to Khan. But probably not here, not in his safe spot. She’d probably handed him the stolen data and photos on a CD, in a park, in a theater, in a cafe. But maybe she follows Khan here after they part ways. Then… what? Khan loads the data she stole on the computer to send to Jargo. He leaves. She breaks into the house, finds the laptop. She must have software to bypass the passwords – a necessity if she routinely stole information.
If she did it – it could be done. He could steal the same files.
He tried the laptop once more. Entered BAST. Nothing.
OHIO, because of the orphanage. No.
GOINSVILLE. Refused.
He found Khan’s car keys on the kitchen counter, put the laptop and the money in the car’s trunk. He went back inside and put Khan’s PDA, gun, and phone into his jacket pocket. He wanted to sleep, and he wanted to believe that Khan’s hiding place could be his hiding place. But it wasn’t safe to stay here.
Fort Lauderdale. His mother’s mention of Florida to Gabriel. It was his best bet.
He got into the borrowed Jaguar. Realized he had never driven a car designed for the left side of the road and, for the first time in days, really laughed. This would be an adventure.
Nerves on edge, Evan drove into the darkness. A cold rain began to fall. He had to concentrate entirely on retraining his driving reflexes. He headed slowly, like a rookie driver, back toward London and found a decent hotel in Lewisham. He treated himself to a real meal of steak and fries in a small pub, drank down a pint of ale, watched a couple and their grown son laugh over lagers. He paid and went back to the hotel, lay down on the bed.
He turned Thomas Khan’s cell phone back on and it chimed that there was a message. He didn’t know Khan’s voice-mail password. But he found a call log, listing a recently missed number.
He opened Khan’s PDA and activated the Voice Memo application. Then he dialed the number on the new call log.
He could not negotiate if they all thought he was dead.
It was answered on the first ring. ‘Yes?’ He knew the voice, his soft psychotic purr. Dezz.
‘Let me speak to Jargo.’ Evan held the PDA close enough to record every word.
‘No one here by that name.’
‘Shut up, Dezz. Let me talk to Jargo. Now.’
Three beats of silence. ‘Put ourselves back together, have we?’
‘Tell your father I have all of Mr. Khan’s files relating to the Deeps. All of them. I’d like to negotiate a trade for my father.’
‘How’s Carrie? Blown to bits? I’m sorry I wasn’t in London to help you pick up the pieces.’ He stifled a giggle.
‘You say another word to me, freak, and I e-mail the client list to the CIA, to the FBI, to Scotland Yard. You’re not calling the shots. I am.’
Silence for a long moment, and Dezz said with icy politeness, ‘Hold, please.’
He imagined Dezz and Jargo, seeing Khan’s number on a cell phone screen, knowing now about the explosion and weighing if Evan was telling the truth.
‘Yes? Evan? You’re well?’ Jargo. Sounding concerned.
‘I’m fine. I have a proposal for you.’
‘Your father is worried sick about you. Where are you?’
‘Deep in the rabbit hole. And I have Thomas Khan’s laptop. From his hiding place in Bromley. With all his files.’
A long pause. ‘Congratulations. I for one find spreadsheets boring.’
‘Give me back my father, and I’ll give you your laptop, and then we’re walking away from each other.’
‘But files can be duplicated. I don’t know that I can trust you.’
‘You have no room to question my integrity, Mr. Jargo. None. I know about Goinsville, I know about Alexander Bast, I know he set up the original Deep network.’ All bluff; he wasn’t sure how any of this fit together, but he had to pretend that he knew. ‘I have Khan’s laptop and I’m giving it to you. Not to the police. Not to the press. All I want is my dad. You either take the deal or you don’t. I can tear the Deeps apart in five minutes with what I’ve got.’
‘May I speak to Mr. Khan?’ Jargo asked.
‘No, you may not.’
‘Is he alive?’
‘No.’
‘Well. Did you kill him or did the CIA?’
‘I’m not playing twenty questions with you. Do we have a deal or do I go to the CIA?’
‘Evan. I understand you’re upset. But I didn’t want Khan dead. I didn’t want you dead.’ A pause. ‘If you’ve got Internet access, I’d like to show you a tape. To prove my point.’
‘A tape.’
‘Khan had a digital camera in his business. Did a constant feed to a remote server. We take a lot of precautions in our line of work, you understand. I just accessed the server. I can prove to you it was a known CIA operative who set off the blast. His name was Marcus Pettigrew. I suspect the CIA saw a way to get rid of you and Khan all at once, nice and neat.’
Evan remembered seeing a set of small cameras mounted in the corners near the bookstore’s ceiling. He said what he thought Jargo would expect him to say, ‘So what? So I can’t trust the CIA. It doesn’t mean that I can trust you.’
‘Watch the tape,’ Jargo said, ‘before you make up your mind.’
‘Hold on.’ Staying on the phone, Evan walked down the stairs from his room to the hotel’s business center. It was empty. He fired up a gleaming new PC, set up a new e-mail account at Yahoo! under an invented name, and gave Jargo the new e-mail account’s address. After a minute the attached film clip appeared in the in-box. Evan clicked it. Saw himself, from above and to the left, come in and talk to Khan. Khan and then Evan went offscreen, and here came Pettigrew. Flipping the CLOSED sign. Murdering two people. Leaning down to touch his briefcase. Then nothing.
‘I’m not really into eviscerating my own network,’ Jargo said. ‘The CIA would be, however.’
‘You could have doctored that tape.’
‘Evan. Please. First Gabriel, now Pettigrew. Your friend Bricklayer sent you right into that death trap. Kill two birds with one stone, you and Khan. I’m not your enemy, Evan. Far from it. You’ve fallen in with the wrong crowd, to put it mildly, and I’ve been trying to save your ass.’
Bricklayer… he knows Bedford’s code name. He hated the oily concern that failed to hide the arrogance in Jargo’s voice.
‘That tape doesn’t lie. Now who do you believe?’ Jargo asked.
‘I want to talk to my dad.’ Evan put a calculated quaver of doubt in his voice.
‘That’s an excellent idea, Evan.’
Silence. And then his father’s voice: ‘Evan?’ He sounded tired, weak. Beaten.
Alive. His father was truly alive. ‘Dad. Oh, Jesus, Dad, are you okay?’
‘Yes. I’m all right. I love you, Evan.’
‘I love you, too.’
‘Evan… I’m sorry. Your mother. You. I never meant for you to get dragged into this mess. It was always my worst nightmare.’ Mitchell’s voice sounded near tears. ‘You don’t understand the whole story.’
He knew Jargo was listening. Pretend you believe him. It’s the only way Jargo will give you Dad. But not too fast, or Jargo won’t buy it. He had to play his own father. He tried hard to keep his voice steady. ‘No, Dad, I sure as hell don’t understand.’
‘What counts is that I can keep you safe, Evan. I need you to trust Jargo.’
‘Dad, even if Jargo didn’t kill Mom, he kidnapped you. How can I trust this guy?’
‘Evan. Listen carefully to me. Your mother went to the CIA, and the CIA killed her. I don’t know why she did it, but she did, thinking they would hide her, hide you. But they killed her,’ his voice broke, then steadied, ‘and now they’ve used you to try to draw me and Jargo out.’
‘Dad…’
