Dark Zone

her copies of all his bank accounts, that he has more squirreled away.”

“Not love, though?”

“No.”

“You think she’s your enemy.” McGovem did not phrase it as a question. “Is there something I should know? No personal reason for a grudge?”

“Not in the least.” Rubens sensed that she didn’t believe him, but it was the truth; he had no grudge against Rebecca — except for the fact that she had broken her poor father’s heart.

That was personal, perhaps. But that wasn’t what the lawyer meant.

“OK,” said McGovern. “Fair enough. I just want to make sure we know precisely where we’re coming from.”

She dropped into her standard lawyer speech, telling him again that she was representing him, not the NSA and not the General. The court would have to appoint a lawyer to represent his interests. “It almost certainly will be one of three people,” added McGovern. “They’re all very good.”

“Yes. You said.”

McGovern picked up her box and fished out another cough drop. “Rebecca’s counsel has insinuated that they might ask for a jury. That’s very unusual, and I expect that it’s part of a plan to pressure you. Because your agency is against publicity, they think you’ll be pressured to stand back.”

“They think the agency is running the show,” said Rubens. “Are they going to tell the judge that?”

“Oh, they already have. Indirectly, maybe, but you don’t have to read too deeply to pick that up.”

“Will the judge believe them?”

“I don’t know. I suspect that may be one of the reasons he’s interested in meeting everyone tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” said Rubens. “Already? You said not until next week. Don’t they have to file their papers?”

“First of all, the papers have been filed. Second of all, this isn’t a hearing. It’s very informal. The judge is Jack Croner. Do you know him?”

Rubens shook his head.

“He’s good. You’ll like him. Very easygoing, very informal — a non-judge judge, if there is such a thing.”

“That’s good?”

“In this kind of case, a lot of times it is, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am telling you. His office called a little while ago. I would expect a hearing perhaps the next day, or the day after that. These proceedings move very rapidly, unless there’s a reason to slow things down.”

“And you said it was all right to meet tomorrow?”

“I said I would get back to him. But I am inclined to agree if it’s all right with you. You have to remember, Mr. Rubens, that the schedule is not going to be one hundred percent in our hands.”

Actually, it wasn’t in their hands at all.

“What’s going to happen?” Rubens asked.

“I suspect that the judge will subtly suggest that everyone ought to shake hands and come up with a good solution without starting a food fight,” said McGovern. “And then he’ll look around the room and go from there.”

“There won’t be an agreement. Then what happens?”

“He’ll appoint a lawyer and order an examination.”

“Quickly?”

“Probably. Croner likes to move ahead. He might even decide by the end of the week. Unless the General’s lawyer moves for a jury. That’s very unusual, and I doubt it would be done under these circumstances. But it’s not my call. Now, if the suit happens to be withdrawn or there seems to be a meeting of the minds—”

“That’s not going to happen.”

McGovern got up. “Remember, I represent you, not the General,” she said.

“He wanted me appointed guardian.”

“He specified custodian. We’re claiming that it’s reasonable to assume he would have extended the responsibilities. It’s possible the General’s attorney may not agree. And we know Rebecca already doesn’t. I have to get going, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, well, so do I. Thank you,” said Rubens. He waited while she pushed some files into a briefcase.

“Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease,” McGovern said as they walked to the door.

“Yes,” said Rubens. “But I’ve been speaking to the doctors. There’s a great deal of work being done. It’s always possible that there’ll be a cure.”

“Are you hoping for a cure?”

“Hoping? Yes.” He held the door open for her. “Do I expect one? No.”

21

The smell of strong coffee woke Dean early the next morning, but when he went downstairs he found no one around. He followed his nose to a room toward the back of the large house. A silver pot filled with fresh, hot coffee sat on a round wooden table in the middle of the room; he took one of the cups next to it and fixed himself a cup.

The room was fitted out like a library, with upholstered chairs scattered in front of a wall of shelves. He began to browse, starting with the leather-covered tomes in the shelves nearest the coffee, moving through Thackeray and Dickens to George Eliot and D. H. Lawrence. After the novels he came to a history section, where leather-bound classics gave way to newer hardcovers. The books were not grouped in any particular order; Wmston Churchill’s history of the Second World War sat next to Gibbon’s Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. Next to them was Suddenly We Didn’t Want to Die, an account of the U.S. Marines during World War I.

Dean picked it out of the bookcase. The first pages caught his attention — especially the picture that showed a Marine as a young man after the war. He was still a kid but squinted toward the camera with some deep knowledge in his eyes. The book was written simply, but every word jumped off the page at Dean, pure truth and emotion.

When Tommy Karr found him nearly an hour later he was forty-something pages deep, riveted by the account of a burial detail and the horrors of burying bodies several days after the battle.

“Looking to score points with the hosts?” Karr asked, pouring himself a cup of what was by now cold coffee.

“Reading about U.S. Marines,” said Dean.

“U.S. Marines?” Karr bent down and took a look at the book. “Hey, my great-grandfather was there.”

“He was a Marine?”

“Belleau Wood, right?”

“You had a great-grandfather in the Marines?”

“Gee, Charlie, why do you say it like that?”

“Just asking.”

“Fifth Marines, Fourth Brigade.” Karr smiled, then chugged the coffee and poured himself another cup.

“I thought you were Swedish.”

“Or something. Half. Decent coffee,” added Karr. “Probably better when it was hot, right?”

“When are they coming to interview us?” Dean asked.

“They’re not. They gave up,” said Karr cheerfully. “The coffee is their way of telling us to sod off.”

Karr put his finger to his lips, then held it up and twirled it around. “Back to London for us.”

“How?”

“Chris left us a pair of bikes. Come on. You can take the book, as long as there are no bugs in it. Mail it back when you’re done. I doubt they’ll miss it.”

Karr wasn’t kidding about the bicycles, but they were meant to be ridden only as far as the train station,