CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ALLE ENTERED ST. STEPHEN’S AND IMMEDIATELY SPOTTED ZACHARIAH standing a couple of hundred feet away, at the far end of the nave.
She walked toward him.
He was dressed impeccably, as always, standing tall and straight, not a hint of concern on his bearded face. He stood in the center of the transept. She came to within a few feet and stopped.
“Are you all right?” he immediately asked.
“Why did you want me dead?”
“Is that what they told you?
“Your man took me off into the woods with orders to kill me.”
He shook his head. “Alle, he was not working for me. He worked for Brian Jamison. That man disappeared yesterday from my estate. He was Jamison’s spy.”
She knew that to be true, but wondered how he knew.
“I am here,” Zachariah said, “because of your father. He did not keep his end of the deal in Florida and insisted we meet. Jamison’s employer contacted me yesterday and told me they had you. They wanted to get to me through you. So they took you, and lied about me.”
“Who does Brian work for?”
“A man named Bene Rowe, whom I should have never dealt with, if only for the reason that he placed you in jeopardy.”
“Where’s Rocha?”
“I know you are upset about the video. I am dealing with Rocha on that. It will not go unpunished. But it did cause your father to act.”
Which was true.
“I tried to tell you several times that there are people who will want to stop our quest. Bene Rowe and Jamison are two of those. They are interfering in what we were doing—”
“I saw what happened in Florida when you went after my father.”
“You saw?”
“A camera was there.”
“There was no choice. I had to confront him. But when he asked for a meeting
“Where is he?” she asked.
“Right here.”
She turned, as did Zachariah.
Her father stood a few feet away.
———
TOM STUDIED HIS DAUGHTER. HER DARK HAIR HUNG LONGER than a few years ago, but was still wavy. Her swarthy skin and compact frame came from him, as did her blunt nose, high cheeks, and rounded jaw. The brown eyes were her mother’s. Like him, she wore no eyeglasses or other jewelry. She was dressed in jeans, a pullover shirt, and flat-soled boots. Watching her, he instantly thought of Michele. Truly her mother’s daughter.
“Mr. Sagan,” Simon said. “Here she is, as promised. Now, can I have what is mine?”
He faced Alle. “You all right?”
She nodded but offered nothing more. What bothered him was the fact that she and Simon had arrived separately and spoken calmly, as if they were familiar with each other.
“Mr. Sagan,” Simon said. “I want what you have.”
“And what are you going to do if I don’t give it to you?”
“Your daughter is here, as I promised. Can not our business be concluded?”
Something wasn’t right. Alle displayed none of the emotion he would have expected from someone who’d been tied to a bed and molested by strangers. He searched her eyes, looking for anything that might explain his misgivings, but she offered nothing.
“Give him what he wants,” she finally said to him.
“Your grandfather would not want me to do that.”
“How would you know?”
“I read what he left in his grave.”
He saw she was curious, but he did not elaborate. Instead, he removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Simon. “This is it. A note to me.”
As Simon read he watched Alle, who clearly seemed uncomfortable.
“This is all?” Simon asked.
