He left her at the table, and found a waiter, out of her sight. He shook the man’s hand, transferred the folded bills from his palm to the waiter’s, and made his request.
He got back to the table. Marissa was sitting down, sipping at her iced tea.
The orchestra wound down another waltz.
“You’re right,” she said. “I saw a waiter go up and talk to the band leader a minute ago. You figure we’re about to hear something from the big band swing era?”
He shrugged.
The conductor raised his baton. One of the cello players set his instrument down and stood. He was maybe thirty, with red hair and pale skin.
The violins cranked up. It took the crowd a few seconds to realize they weren’t getting another waltz.
The cellist started singing “Big Car Blues,” a pretty fair imitation of Lightnin’ Hopkins’s version of it, too. Never would have guessed he had it in him, to look at him.
When he started going on about that big black Cadillac with white-sidewall tires, some of the attendees laughed.
Marissa just grinned real big and shook her head. “Oh, Tommy. What am I going to do with you?” But she was tapping her foot to the music — as were at least a few others.
As the song wound down, Thorn looked up and saw Beatrice Theiron working her way through the crowd in their direction. She was seventy, but with enough knife-work and makeup that she looked to be in her late fifties. She caught his gaze and smiled.
Marissa looked to see what Thorn was staring at.
“Show time,” he said.
Beatrice Theiron spoke to Cox as an equal — her family’s wealth, counted in the billions, came from munitions, and ran back to before the Revolutionary War. American money didn’t get much older. The Theirons had been so rich for so long they didn’t even think about it as anything but a force of nature, like the sun or the rain.
“Samuel, this is Tom Thorn, the young man about whom I spoke earlier. Tom, Samuel Cox.”
“Ah, Tom, so nice to finally meet you.”
He turned his full attention upon Thorn like a spotlight as they shook hands. A firm grip, enough to show he was a man, not enough to be a challenge.
Her duty done, Beatrice said, “Pardon me, if you would, I just saw Madame LeDoux, and I
She flitted away, spry for a woman well past retirement age.
Thorn watched her for a moment, then said, “Mr. Cox. This is Marissa Lowe.”
“Please, call me Sam.” Cox took Marissa’s hand, flashed his high-wattage smile at her. “My deep pleasure, Ms. Lowe.”
Marissa gave him a half smile and nod.
Cox released her hand and looked around. A waiter appeared as if by magic, bearing a tray with champagne flutes, still cold enough that the glasses were frosted. Cox took two stems, gave one each to Thorn and Marissa, took a third for himself. The waiter vanished.
“Nice trick,” Marissa said, nodding at the glass.
He smiled at her. “One of the small perks.”
He raised his glass slightly, and offered a toast: “To success,” he said.
They clinked glasses. “Success,” Thorn and Marissa echoed.
They sipped the wine. Thorn didn’t think this was the same vintage everybody else was drinking — it was crisper, cleaner, with a hint of apple. Private stock? Probably.
“So, you are the Commander of Net Force,” Cox said.
“Afraid so.”
“Must be interesting, working for the government, after being in the private sector. It is just amazing what they can do with computers these days. I have no head for such things myself. Never quite trust them to give me what I need.”
“It is a challenge at times.”
“And you, Ms. Lowe, you are a federal employee, as well?”
“I am.”
Cox grinned, and it was a sly look. “But not with Net Force. Let me guess: I’d say… the CIA?”
Her smile didn’t falter a bit. “A good guess, Mr. Cox.”
And Thorn thought,
“Please, Sam. We’re past the formal stage, wouldn’t you say? I feel as if I have known you two for a long time. Almost as if we have been doing business with one another.”
It wasn’t so much the words, but the look that attended them that struck Thorn. The comment about the CIA, coupled with a glint in the eyes and just a hint of a grin.
No question in Thorn’s mind that the man knew he was being stalked, and exactly who it was on his tail.
Not that it would be hard to guess — after Natadze had snuck out of the estate, it would have been easy enough to put two and two together. Somebody stops his limo at the gate, and a couple days later, here is Thomas Thorn, Commander of Net Force, asking for an introduction?
No, it wouldn’t take a bright bulb to illuminate that one, and Cox was certainly not dim. Thorn had known that going in. He was here to size up his opponent, see his moves, and it didn’t matter if the man knew who he was and why he’d come.
Cox glanced at his watch. It was a plain-looking instrument, nothing the least bit ostentatious, but Thorn knew it was one of those handmade Swiss things that cost as much as a new Mercedes. Probably sat in a motorized box at home that would rotate every now and then to keep it wound when Cox wasn’t wearing it.
“Oh, my, look at the time. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I have to run — we have another of these things on tonight’s schedule. Noblesse oblige and all that. A great pleasure to finally meet you both. I wish you good fortune in your endeavors, Tom and Marissa. And a parting piece of wisdom I learned from my track coach when I was in high school: Some days you get the bear and some days, the bear gets you.” He gave them a slow, military bow, and left.
After he was gone, Marissa looked up at Thorn and said, “He’s playing with us, Tommy.”
He nodded. “Yeah. That last bit about the bear pretty much nailed it shut. He was
“I guess that much money and power buys a lot of confidence,” she said.
“Even Achilles had his heel,” he said.
“And if he’d worn a metal boot, he would have been invulnerable,” she said.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Why, yours, Tommy. Your left side, as I make it.” She batted her eyelids at him theatrically.
He grinned, despite his irritation at Cox. The die was cast. The man knew who they were, knew they were after him, and had the gall to stand there and spar with them about it.
We’ll see who gets whom, Mr. Bear.
33
In the back of the limo on the way home from the charity dinner, Cox fixed himself a drink, bourbon over ice. He was not pleased. As soon as the Theiron woman had approached him, asking to introduce Thomas Thorn and his
