“Do you still love him?”
“I don’t know,” Tish replied haltingly. “The time Valery and I had together was the most precious in my life, but it was so long ago. Is that shallow of me?”
“That’s not for me to decide,” he dodged the question adroitly. He took the bar stool next to her and held her slim hands in his.
“I was in love once.” Mercer spoke slowly, deliberately. “I was twenty-five years old, taking summer classes at a mining school in England. She was four years older than me, a police psychologist just getting her start in the London constabulary. We spent every moment together that we could. I would commute a hundred miles to see her in the city, and she took the maximum number of sick days she could without being kicked off the force.
“One weekend toward the end of the summer, she was seeing me off at Paddington Station. We had just talked about marriage for the first time.” Mercer’s voice was barely a whisper, but the force of his words carried to the far corners of the room. “My train was just pulling out from the station. Suddenly there was gunfire. A man had burst into the station and opened up with a machine pistol. I watched from the window of the accelerating train as he emptied the clip, then dropped the weapon and pulled a revolver. By then the police had begun to swarm into the station. The gunman grabbed a woman and used her as a shield, the revolver screwed into her ear. It was a standoff.
“Then the woman, my possible fiancee, started talking to the gunman, trying to calm him down, get him to surrender. It was her job. Later they found that the man, an IRA terrorist, had taken so much heroin that he probably never heard a word she said. She spoke for only a few seconds before the gunman simply pulled the trigger and then turned the gun on himself.
“I saw their bodies fall across each other just as my car pulled out of the station. I was too numb to try to get off the train. I just sat there as we sped north. I never returned to London. I didn’t even go to her funeral.…” Mercer’s voice trailed off.
“What was her name?”
“Tory Wilks,” Mercer replied evenly. “You’re the first person who’s ever heard that story. I finished my classes in England and came home as if nothing ever happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mercer looked at her squarely. “We never had a chance to start a life together. I told you about Tory and what I lost because you at least deserve a chance. You once loved Valery Borodin and lost him because of circumstances out of your control.” Mercer’s voice firmed. “I’m going to make sure you have a fair shot at making it work.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple.” Mercer smiled warmly, the wrenching emotions of a few moments earlier safely tucked back where they belonged. Again he was his normal sardonic self. “I’m going to help him escape.”
“How? You don’t know where he is.”
“Don’t I, though?” Mercer raised a mocking eyebrow. “I happen to know down to the inch where he is at this very moment.”
“Where?” Excitement raised Tish’s voice an octave.
“All in good time,” Mercer replied vaguely. “I’ve got some things to figure out first. Why don’t you take that nap you wanted?”
Tish saw that she could get nothing further out of him, so she went to the couch. She looked over at Mercer and saw he was already scratching away at a note pad with a fountain pen. She tucked the
Ten minutes later, Tish sat up suddenly. “Mercer?”
He looked up from the pad. His normally dark complexion was drained and his wide set eyes were narrowed by exhaustion.
“I was thinking — Valery took a risk to have me rescued from the
Mercer stared at her for a moment, his weary mind grinding away at her question. He tore the top sheet of paper from the pad, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the plastic trash can behind the bar. “Back to the drawing board.”
Several hours later, as the sun ambered the room with its dying rays, Mercer finally put down his pen, drank the last sip of his second pot of coffee and stood for a stretch. He had written twelve pages of notes and made eighteen phone calls. Tish was still asleep on the couch.
Mercer knuckled the kinks out of his lower back and squeezed his eyes tight, trying to clear his sleep-deprived brain. The caffeine he had drunk left him feeling weak and with a pounding headache. He pulled Dick Henna’s card from his wallet and dialed his office number. Henna himself answered the phone.
“Mr. Henna, it’s Philip Mercer.”
“Do you have anything new?” Mercer liked the squat director for his bluntness.
“I need to get to Hawaii,” Mercer stated flatly.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Two hours ago all communications from the islands stopped, no telephones, radio, or television. All aircraft that could be routed to other destinations were turned back. Our reports from Pearl Harbor say the mob has started taking potshots at soldiers. I’ve gotten unconfirmed reports from ham radio operators that Honolulu is under martial law by authority of Mayor Takamora and that National Guard troops are shooting any white face they see.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Mercer breathed. “The fucking lunatic has started it.”
“It appears so. There’s no way to get you out there even if I wanted to.”
“Listen, I have some theories that, if true, can clear this up in twenty-four hours, but I have to get to Hawaii.” Mercer wouldn’t allow his horror at Henna’s news to dissuade him.
“Dr. Mercer-”
“I prefer Mister, or just plain Mercer.”
“Really, most Ph.Ds I know flaunt their titles.”
“I only use mine when I’m trying to get dinner reservations.”
Henna chuckled. “I can respect that. Anyway, the President has authorized a covert action against Ohnishi in light of his involvement with this coup.”
“Jesus.” Mercer was shocked. “That’s a stupid mistake. Ohnishi’s just a pawn in this whole thing. Taking him out won’t accomplish anything.”
“You know something we don’t?” Henna asked tiredly.
“Yes, I do, but it’s going to cost you at least a ticket to that amphibious assault ship stationed near Hawaii.”
“That’s extortion.”
“Extortion is such a genteel word, Mr. Henna. I prefer blackmail. What if I said I can hand over the mastermind of the entire operation?”
“I’m listening.”
“I won’t talk until you guarantee transport to that ship.”
“Christ.” Mercer could almost see Henna throw his hands up in exasperation. “All right, I’ll get you out there. Now, what have you got?”
For the next twenty minutes Mercer spoke without pause and Henna listened. Hard.
“You got proof for any of this?” Henna asked when Mercer finished.
“Not one single shred. But it all fits together.”
“I said it before, Mercer, if you ever want another job, the bureau would love to have you.”
“Do you think the American Civil Liberties Union would stand to have an FBI agent making accusations like I just made? Shit, they’d skin us both alive.”
Henna chuckled again. “You’re right. I’ve got a meeting with the President in an hour. I’ll take your proposal to him. The only way I can get you out there is as an observer, nothing more.”
“That’ll be fine,” lied Mercer smoothly. “I really can’t ask for more. Call me back when you’re finished with the President.”
A minute after hanging up the phone, Mercer was between the sheets of his bed. Despite his battered body’s
