“And you're a special job?”
Baker shook his head. “It's not really me they're after.
Harrigan's investigating a man who trained me to live under
an assumed identity. He's trained others too. There's
nothing
illegal about that unless the fictitious identities are used to
defraud. There's no fraud in this case, but there's the matter of aiding and abetting a fugitive. You might be guilty of that
too if you knew that I'm wanted by the police. Of course,
you don't know that because I've never told you.”
Tanner seemed confused. Harrigan had given no sign that
he was interested in arresting Baker. Baker understood.
“Harrigan doesn't care that I'm wanted. All he wants to
know is what the man who trained me is up to. In fact, he's
not really up to much of anything except helping people start
their lives over. Most pay him a fee. As it happens, however,
the government has at least two relocation agencies of its
own. Those people get paranoid when they learn that some
one else has set up shop in competition with them or that
they might be losing a numbered taxpayer here and there. As
for me, I'm not up to much of anything either. All I want
from this day on is to have some kind of life where I'm free and where I'm left alone.”
Tanner nodded her sympathy and her understanding. She
looked accusingly at Harrigan, who slapped his thighs and
returned a look of pained exasperation.
“Is it possible you believe all that pap?” he asked, lean
ing forward in his chair.
”I believe in Jared, yes.” She reddened.
“For Christ's sake, young lady,” Harrigan blustered, “you
have a stiff in your bathtub wearing a phony police suit. You
very possibly have another stiff or two in the park who were
made that way by Clark Kent over here. You know that, and
yet you rush to believe your new boyfriend when he says all that's going on here is a little bureaucratic curiosity?”
“My new boyfr
” Tanner blushed angrily. “Jared
didn't kill that man in there. You did, and you didn't even have to. And you have a wallet full of fake papers, speaking
of phonies. And now you of all people want me to believe
that what Jared says is a lie.”
“My turn,” Harrigan snapped. He could see the anger in
Baker's eyes as well. Get mad, Baker. Get goddamned mad.
“Like he just said about me, it's true as far as it goes. What
he didn't say is that none of these fictitious identities is some
ordinary slob looking for a second chance someplace. And Baker here, if I have to point it out, is the least ordinary of
the bunch.”
“That's enough, Harrigan.” Baker's voice was low and
quiet.
“You think you're protecting her?” Harrigan spun on
him. “She's up to her neck right now. She's been made, Baker. She's been made by me, by Washington, which in
this case is not the same thing, and very likely by Domenic Tortora. Is it possible you don't know that yet? Whoever
paid that cop knew to send him to this room.”
Baker seemed confused by the Washington and Tortora
references, but he recovered quickly. He gestured toward the
bathroom door. “You and your friends can get rid of the body, Harrigan. I'll handle anyone else I have to. But I'm not going to let you involve her.”
Harrigan took a long, slow breath. When he spoke, his
voice was almost gentle. “Baker, how are you going to stop
me?”
”I think you know,” Baker whispered. His right eye
twitched. He could feel the pressure building.
“No, I don't know.” Harrigan raised both eyebrows. “Could you mean that you'll use physical force?”
“Don't do this, Harrigan.”
”I mean,” the smaller man continued, “you might like to
think you can bully a fat old fellow like myself, but the fact
is you don't have the heart for it. You certainly don't have
the skills. I think I might just slap you around a bit for even
suggesting such a thing.”
Baker was horrified. With a shock, he realized what Har
rigan was trying to do. The first tear fell from his right eye, squeezed out by the pounding behind it.
”Ah
,
” Connor Harrigan raised one finger, as if struck by
a revelation. ”I know. It's not going to be you all by your
self, is it, Baker? You're going to bring a friend. You're
going to call out the man who was in the park, aren't you?
The man I myself saw in Dayton. Well now, that's different.
There's a man who might intimidate poor old Connor.”
“What's this?” Tanner Burke asked uneasily.
“Show her, Baker.” Harrigan slapped him.
“Harrigan, don't do this.” Baker rose slowly to his feet,
the fingertips of his right hand pressing against his temple.
the p
ounding had become a stomping. From within the darkness of his brain a foot was slamming against the steel
door that Baker had built there. The upper bolt half-turned
under the impact. The bolt's housing began to bend, and
stress lines showed white upon the metal. Another surge of pain. Now Baker saw dust trickling down from the hinges where they were set in cement. And Baker saw himself. He
saw his own shoulder braced against the door from the out
side, holding it, pressing Abel back.
“Abel, get back, damnit. He's bluffing.”
“Jared? Jared, what's wrong?”
She was going toward him. He could see through a wet
haze that she was reaching for his face and holding it. Her
eyes were wide. Stunned. Afraid. Someone's shouting.
Harrigan. He's yelling something about those two in the
park.
“Jared!” Her voice was almost a scream.
“Stop it, Abel. I can't hear . . . What? What's Harrigan
saying about the park? Names? What names? The two with
knives!
...
I
don't know their names. How would I
know? . . . Abel! Stop! Come on, Baker. Hold on! You're
starting to get lighter. You're drifting
...”
Tanner was shaking him, pressing him backward toward
a chair.
“Tanner, don't. That'll make him mad.”
Her hand was cool against the back of his neck. It slowed
the drifting. But then he saw Harrigan's face appear near hers, and Abel lunged again.
Harrigan's face was afraid for the first time. He must
have seen it. Harrigan looks like he wants to run, but he's staying there. Come back, Baker, he's saying. And he's still
asking about those names.
“Charley? What's he talking
about? Abel, shut up. Let him answer.”
Hold on, Harrigan
yells. I'm going to help you, lad. Hold him back. Tanner's
face doesn't know why he's yelling that. Arm stings. Harri
gan did something to my arm. It stings. Tanner knows it stings. She's looking at the place where my arm hurts and
trying to pull out a little silver thing that Harrigan put
there ... and Harrigan's pushing her away.
Baker felt the drift stopping. He was just floating now.
Sinking. He could feel his body losing buoyancy. Easing
downward into an almost liquid warmth. And she watched him, calling him as he floated, but her voice was getting far
ther and farther away. She's crying. And now there's just her
voice, and now even that's gone. There's nothing. Just the
long blue tunnel. Swirling slowly, going down. Slow and
easy. Oh, Tanner! Liz! You saw it.
Baker fainted.
On the street below, Tom Dugan had left the blue Oldsmo
bile
and was standing in the shadow of a small service alley
near the Essex House. It was full daylight, although the
streets and sidewalks remained nearly empty. Except for one
white van. It had already passed twice, too slowly. If it
passed again, he wanted room to move.
Ten minutes went by and he could see it. Only its front
end was visible as it waited out a Sixth Avenue light before
turning east again in his direction. He thought he heard a car
door slam up there. His service pistol was already in his
hand.
The light changed and the blinking van continued its turn.
midtown office supplies,
it read. It approached the
Oldsmobile slowly, but this time it did not pass. Dugan
crouched. Abruptly, a rear door swung open, and Dugan
heard two feet slap against the damp pavement. A parked
truck blocked his vision. Dugan waited.
“Boom!” A voice came from the van.
Dugan steadied his weapon.
”I surrender,” came the voice. A white handkerchief
waved above the door.
“Who's that?” Dugan called. “That you, Biaggi?”
Smiling, hands raised, Michael Biaggi stepped away
from the van and showed himself over the parked truck's hood. “What do you think this is,
Gunsmokel
Come on, we
got relieved.”
Dugan hesitated. “Why have you been cruising in that
thing?”
“Dropping off our relief, dummy. Let's go. Harrigan's al
r
eady down at the Federal Building. Leave your keys in the
Olds.”
Tom Dugan was still unsure. There was always some
thing funny about Biaggi. He wasn't sure Connor Harrigan
liked him that much either. “What the hell's going on?” he asked. “And who relieves Connor Harrigan's people?”
“Right at the top. Come on. Mr. Harrigan wants to see the
look on your face when you hear about our new job.”
Dugan held back for another beat before he holstered his
Colt. “The keys are in it,” he said and stepped quickly
toward the open van. Biaggi followed and closed the double doors behind them.
There was only one seat inside in addition to the two in
front. Biaggi's topcoat sat on the rearmost. Dugan passed it
by.
“Who's driving?” Dugan asked.
“Say hello to Ed Burleson. He's Special Operations.”
Dugan climbed into the front passenger seat and strapped
himself in. He turned to extend a hand to the man next to
him. “Special Operations?” he asked. “No offense, but I
didn't think Connor Harrigan ever worked with .. .”
The man's grip was crushing. Dugan's brain lingered on
that message, not wanting to accept the next. Something thin
and almost invisible had winked down across his face and
kissed against his collarbone before it slid against his throat and tightened. He felt his tongue leap forward and then his eyes. He argued with his brain. This could not happen. That
was Mike Biaggi back there. Even Biaggi wouldn't. . .
Tom Dugan was the third to die. An hour earlier, Warren
Bagnold had convulsed once more and then was still.
The tunnel was slowing. Stopping. The blue spirals faded
into gray shadow and there was nothing again. Not even
memory. There, he floated for a while and he was happy.
The place was warm and dark and no thoughts came to him.
But the peace didn't last. Soon, too soon, he was rising
again. He did not want to come back. But then he saw that
her face was there waiting. And it was different. Not fright
ened now. Curious, and caring, and growing bigger as he
drew close. She was saying something. ”... eerie.” It sounds
like “eerie.”
”... hear me? Jared? Can you hear me?”
”... eer .. . me. Liz ... Yes .. ” He pushed through all
but the last wisps of fog like a diver breaking the surface. One hand went to his arm. There was a soreness. A small lump below his shoulder. Both arms felt so very heavy.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice thick and distant.
Harrigan moved into focus, the yellow tranquilizer dart
rolling between his outstretched fingers. “You were right on
the edge, lad. It seemed wisest that you rest for a while.”
“How long
...
Did I do anything?”