“No problems?”
She grimaced. “A few. I wasn't the most stable kid and I missed Tyngate. At first I gave her a pretty rough time, but we worked things out.”
“Tyngate,” he repeated. “It sounds like an estate.”
She shook her head. “Just a big old house on the river. Nothing fancy.”
His gaze was fixed intently on her face. “But you loved it?”
“Sure. I still miss it sometimes. But Emily's right, we had to move on. It's wrong to cling to the past.”
“Tell me about this Tyngate.”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“I told you, it wasn't much. Comfortable. We had a pier and a boat. I don't know why it meant so much to me.” She looked down at her plate. “You know, I read Katharine Hepburn's autobiography once, and Tyngate was something like the place where she grew up. It was sort of . . . golden. Emily and I had wonderful times when we were kids. We swam and sailed and built a tree house. I always felt safe there. No matter how complicated and weird the outside world became, Tyngate stayed sort of safe . . . and innocent.”
“Innocence is at a premium these days. You should have kept the house.”
She shook her head. “There wasn't much insurance and Emily had enough trouble supporting the two of us. No, she was right.” She hadn't thought of Tyngate for a long time. She felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. “But every kid should be able to grow up at a place like Tyngate. It should be written into the Constitution.”
“Write your congressman. They're always ready to embrace anything that touches kids. It's politically correct. Drink your milk. That's politically correct too.”
She was glad of the change of subject. Memories of Tyngate would always be tied with Emily, and they sharpened the anxiety she was feeling. “I'm drinking it. I told you to stop giving me orders.”
“I wouldn't want to ruin my image by being polite.”
The words were said without a smile, and it took a minute for Bess to realize they were meant to be humorous. “I wouldn't worry about that.”
“But I do. All the time.” He picked up his milk. “It's necessary.” He drank deeply before lowering the glass. “Perception is everything. It's what makes the–– Why are you laughing?”
Without thinking, she took her napkin and wiped his upper lip. “You have a mustache. You remind me of Julie. She always ends up with––” The thought of Julie reminded her of the wrenching reality of Emily's situation. How could she have forgotten it for even a short time?
“Julie is your sister's child? The one who has the friend on the Internet?”
She nodded.
“Is she like Emily?”
“No, she's not like anyone. Emily says she's a little like me, but I think she's an original.”
“You're close to her and Tom Corelli?”
“I love her, and Tom has always been kind to me. I like him very much.” She became aware of the tension that hadn't been there a minute earlier. “Why do you ask?”
“What about anyone else? Who else are you close to?”
“You sound like Esteban. He was giving me the third degree too.”
“Esteban's reasons and my reasons aren't the same.”
“I hope not. He was interested in any next of kin who might bother him if he cut my throat.”
“And I'm interested in keeping you from getting your throat cut. You're divorced, aren't you? Do you still maintain a relationship with your ex?”
“No.” She wrinkled her nose. “We were married only nine months. One big mistake. Emily told me he was a loser, but I didn't believe her.”
“Why not?”
“My hormones got in the way. Matt's a musician. He's gorgeous, sexy, and he could even hold a conversation if it didn't get too deep. He didn't like deep.” She sipped her milk. “And he had no use for fidelity. He was sleeping around two months after we were married.”
“But the marriage lasted nine months.”
She shrugged. “I'm stubborn. I didn't want to admit I'd made another mistake. So I tried to make it work. But there wasn't anything there to build on.”
“Another mistake?” he repeated.
“I'm not perfect like Emily.”
“Tell me about your friends. Is there someone special?”
“No, I travel a lot because of my job. It's hard to maintain friendships when you're always missing anniversaries and birthdays and–– Why?”
“Where do you live?”
“I sublet an apartment in New Orleans.”
“Any neighbors that you're fond of?”
“I like all my neighbors.”
“No one in particular?”
She shook her head.
“Pets?”
“You shouldn't have pets if you're not there to take care of them.”
“So you have no one but Emily and her family?”
She frowned. “I have friends, lots of friends. All over the world.”
“I'm sure you have. Don't be so defensive.”
“Well, you're making me sound like Little Orphan Annie.”
“I'm just trying to determine where you're vulnerable.”
“I'm not vulnerable.” Sudden uneasiness overcame her. “Am I? Julie and Tom?”
“Maybe. Your New Orleans apartment is already under surveillance, but after dinner I want you to give me Corelli's address and phone number. I'll arrange protection for them.”
“Done. But I don't think we have to worry right away. Tom and Julie are in Canada on a camping trip. They're away the three weeks Emily and I were supposed to be in Mexico.”
“How accessible?”
“Not unless you're a grizzly bear. Tom's a wilderness expert, and when they go camping, it's serious stuff. They always park their car at a ranger station and live off the land.”
“Radio?”
“No, but they take flares in case of emergency.”
“You'd better give me the location of that ranger station so I can put a man there to meet them when they come out.”
“Good idea.” She leaned back in her chair. “Now tell me what we're doing in Atlanta, Kaldak.”
“I told you, I need help from a friend.”
“What kind of help?”
He didn't answer.
“What kind of help?”
He scowled. “You're not going to let it go, are you?”
“Why should I? It's my life. It's Emily's life. You've been very kind to me, but I don't want protection if it means not knowing what's going on. I can't function like that. Everything has to be clear and out in the open. You've not been telling me everything, have you?”
“No,” he said. “I can't tell you everything. Not yet.”
“When?”
“I'm not sure.”
“That's not good enough, Kaldak. I've let you push me and prod me and run the show. From now on, if you want me to cooperate, you cooperate with me.”
He studied her face and then slowly nodded. “Okay. But I don't know everything myself yet. It would be guesswork. Let me go see my friend and we'll talk afterward.”
“I want to go with you.”
“He's in a very sensitive position. I'm going to ask him to break some rules. He may not go along with me if someone else is there.” He picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. “Don't worry, I don't intend to skip out on you. I'll be back tomorrow evening.”
She hadn't been worried about that. “And I'm supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs?”
“Sorry.”
So was she, but it was obvious she wasn't going to get any more concessions from him. “And do you promise me that you'll be honest with me?”
“Would you believe me if I gave you my word?”
“Yes.”
He inclined his head. “I'm honored. I promise you that I'll tell you all about my meeting when I get back tomorrow evening.”
The words still held a note of evasion. “The truth.”
“The truth.” He grimaced. “You're very good at probing. It's no wonder you've won so many awards.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You know a lot about me. Esteban said you weren't able to get much information.”
“I didn't want him to know any more than he had to.” He shrugged. “I've admired your work for some time. I liked the pictures you took of that bandit in Somalia.”
“So did I.” She stood up. “Which reminds me, I have to call John Pindry and tell him I can't complete my article for his magazine.”
He shook his head.
“He has deadlines. It wouldn't be responsible to just leave him hanging.”
“Let it go for a while. We don't want any mention of Tenajo to leak out yet.”
“I wouldn't tell him about––” Oh, well, they wouldn't expect to hear from her yet anyway. “I'll write Emily's address on the phone pad and then I'm going to bed. I'm so tired, I'm about to fall into a coma.”
“I'm surprised you lasted this long.” He began washing the dishes. “You've been through a hell of a lot in the last week. You handled it well.”
She felt a rush of surprise mixed with pleasure. “I guess we do what we have to do.”
“I guess we do.” He added solemnly, “When we're not perfect like sister Emily.”
Was he teasing her? she wondered in astonishment. It was hard to tell. “She is perfect. Well, almost.”
“And you're chopped liver?”
He
was
teasing her. She smiled as she wrote Emily's address and phone number on the pad. “Hell, no. I'm a damn good photographer and a magnificent human being.”
“I notice you put the profession first.”
Her smile faded. “So?”
“Nothing. I just found it interesting.”
He was digging, trying to get at what he deemed the truth. “Back off, Kaldak.”
He nodded. “Okay, sorry. I have an analytical mind too. It's automatic for me to probe.”
Had she been under the microscope all evening? He certainly had asked a lot of questions and not all of them concerning her close associates. For some reason, the idea stung. “Good night.”
“Good night, Bess.”
She started up the stairs. She had almost reached the loft when she looked back at him. Kaldak washing dishes was an incongruous sight. And yet every movement was precise and clean, just like the way he had killed the guard at San Andreas.
He looked up suddenly. “What?”
She searched for something to say. “You do that very well. Did your mother teach you?”
He nodded. “She always told me to clean up after myself. It's smart. A clean deck makes life much smoother.”
Everything has to be smooth.
He had said those words at the hospital.
But she had spoiled his careful plans and a man had died. He had been angry with her, angry that he had been forced to kill. “Go to bed,” he ordered. “I'll be gone when you wake up. There are eggs and bacon for breakfast. Don't leave the room. Don't open the door for anyone. Do you understand? Not for anyone.”
“Okay, I heard you the first time. When will you be back?”
“As soon as I have what I need.”
She turned and started up the stairs.
“Bess.”
She looked back at him.
“There's no way you're chopped liver.”
“I can't do this, Kaldak,” Ed Katz said. “I work with a team. Someone would know.”
“Give them the day off.”
“Why can't you go through regular channels?”
“There would be reports and reports on the reports. I don't want any leaks.”
“You could do this yourself.”
“I don't have the facilities.”
Katz bit his lower lip. “I don't like this. It's too scary.”
“You like it. You're practically salivating to get started.”
“So I'm curious.”
“You owe me.”
“Shit.” Katz ran a hand through his long, dark hair. “Why don't you take my firstborn child instead?”
“You don't have any kids.”
“Well, it's not that Marta and I haven't tried. We're trying a new hormone therapy that may work. When do you need this?”
“By tonight.”
“Impossible.”
“Do as much as you can. I need something, anything.”
Katz scowled. “Then get out of here so I can get started.”
“I'll wait.”
“Nothing like a little pressure.”
Kaldak smiled. “Exactly.”
Eight
What the hell was he going to tell Bess?
Kaldak's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
He'd thought it would be bad but not this bad. He'd had no idea Esteban was so close. He should lie to her. The Company would say she had no real need to know, and he was good at lies. They came easily these days.
He didn't want to lie to her. He was sick to his soul of lies.
And he liked Bess Grady. She was such a complicated combination of fragility and strength, uncertainty and boldness. He liked her guts and her honesty and even the stubbornness that was causing him so much trouble.
And he had made her a promise.
To hell with “need to know.” He would tell her what he could. It probably didn't matter anyway.
Not now.
“Well?” Bess said as soon as Kaldak walked into the room. “You took long enough.”
“I did some driving around. I wanted to make sure I wasn't followed.” He headed for the kitchen. “Do you want coffee?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I want you to talk to me.”
“Well, I need it.” He measured coffee and water into the machine and turned it on. “Why do they always have these two-cup jobs in hotel rooms?”
“Where did you go today, Kaldak?”
“I called Ed Katz with the CDC and had him meet me at the center.”
“And?”
“I brought him the money I took from the poor box at the church to analyze.”
After everything that had happened, she had forgotten about the money.
“When Esteban sent his men into Tenajo for the cleanup, we had orders to go through the town and collect any twenty-peso bills we found. They were put in specially insulated bags and later burned. We evidently missed the poor box then. Esteban will be most upset.”
“Pesos?”
“Counterfeit pesos printed with a very special ink. According to Ed, a genetically mutated anthrax bacteria was added to the lilac ink.”
“Anthrax,” she whispered. “My God.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Just what I learned while I studied medicine for a couple of years. Most people get it from handling infected material like leather or animal furs.”
“It usually occurs as cutaneous, intestinal, or pulmonary infection. The kind released in Tenajo was pulmonary. It affects the lungs and pleura and the mutation causes it to kill within six hours of contact. But it didn't act on everyone in the same way. From the condition of the corpses, it was clear some died within minutes, while others took hours.”
The little boy in the store looked struck down, as if by lightning. “But everyone died.”
“Yes, but the time difference bothered Esteban. I think that's why he's delayed going forward. But he's close, too close.”
“There's serum for anthrax. It usually works very well.”
“Not for this mutated version.”
“No cure?”
“Working twenty-four hours a day for the next eight months might produce one. We're not going to be given that luxury.”
“And Esteban used money to kill all those people,” she whispered.
“Can you think of a better way? Who's going to refuse money? Tenajo was a poor little village. When Esteban's men drove into town and distributed the pesos to everyone, they probably thought they'd died and gone to heaven.”
“And then they did die.” It was hard for her to comprehend such calculated malice. It was like those twisted people who laced Halloween candy with poison and gave it to children. “How could Esteban's men pass out the money without harming themselves?”
“They put the money in specially sealed see-through plastic envelopes. It took almost as long to develop those envelopes as it did to mutate the anthrax.”
Like the envelopes he'd taken out of the poor box. “Was your metal briefcase specially sealed too?”
He nodded. “But I wasn't too worried. Esteban wasn't afraid to let the public health team into Tenajo. He'd tried to pick up every peso, but there's no way he would have chanced one of those officials dying of anthrax. The bacteria had to have a built-in dissipation factor. I think its life must have been at least twelve hours, because Esteban was sure you and your sister had been infected.”
“Rico died.”
“The circumstances may have been different. He may have come in direct contact with the pesos at some point.”
“The root . . .” she said numbly. “The priest kept saying ‘the root' before he died. I thought he was referring to poison. He was talking about the money.”
“The root of all evil? Possibly.”
“What does Esteban want that would make him do this?”
“I'm not sure what the crazy bastard wants.” The coffee was done and he poured a cup.
“You have to know. You worked for him.”
“He wants to use it as a blackmail tool, so money is an obvious answer. And power. But I think there's more.” He sipped his coffee. “He's a wild card.”
“He's like some cartoon monster.”
“Don't even think it,” he said soberly. “He's very intelligent, or he wouldn't have been able to establish his network. Esteban's lab developed the anthrax and Habin was handling the counterfeit branch of the operation. Habin thinks he's in control, but I wouldn't bet on it.”
“What about this Habin?”
“He's an international terrorist stationed in Libya. He's doing it for politics. He's been trying to pressure the United States for the past year to influence Israel to release Palestinian prisoners.”
Shock jolted through her. “The United States.”
“I told you that Tenajo was just a test.”
“You didn't tell me that the United States would be the target.”
“I think you suspected it.”
Maybe she had, but she hadn't wanted to admit it to herself. “You're sure?”
“Eighteen months ago a set of twenty-dollar plates disappeared from the Denver Treasury.”
“But I've heard our currency is impossible to reproduce.”
“They could come close enough and the setup would be just like Tenajo. Who's going to check if money falls from heaven?”
“What city?”
He shook his head. “I don't even know if it's been decided.”
“We have to warn someone.”
“Who do you want to call? The president? If he contacts Mexico, he's going to be assured Tenajo was decimated by cholera. The CDC will confirm it.”
“But you have the contaminated money.”
“That's another drawback. Even if the president accepts the fact that there's danger, he can't make a public announcement. To make the public suspicious of our currency would send the economy crashing. Can you imagine what would happen to the stock market?” His hands tightened on the cup. “That would please Habin. It would accomplish his purpose without the bother of unleashing the anthrax.”
“So you're going to chance letting more people die?” she asked in disbelief.
“I didn't say that. We just have to know more before we send out any warnings.”
“And how are we going to find out any more? You can't go back to Esteban.”
“I could if I brought him your head.”
She stepped back.
“I was joking,” he said roughly.
She glared at him. “How am I supposed to know? Would it hurt to smile?”
“Maybe.”
“What about your CIA friends? Doesn't one of them have access to someone in the White House who could help?”
“Paul Ramsey. He's deputy director of the CIA and went to school with the president. I called him from Johns Hopkins and told him what I suspected.”
“Is he going to do something?”
“Not yet. I told him that I needed more time. I didn't get an argument. He doesn't want to have to tell the president how little we can do. He said to contact him if I needed him.”
“We do need him.”
“I've every intention of calling him to tell him Ed confirmed the anthrax.”
“And to do something official about it.”
He stared at her impassively. “Have a cup of coffee.”
“I don't want your damn coffee.” She wanted to strangle him. She drew a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “Call this Ramsey and tell him to call the White House. I won't carry around this kind of responsibility.”
“Then ignore it. I'll carry it.” He finished his coffee in two swallows. “I've done it for a long time. A few more days won't hurt.”
“Then I'll call someone.”
“You will not,” he said with clear precision. “Not even if I have to tie and gag you. I've seen too many operations bungled by bureaucrats through leaks or sheer stupidity.”
“You won't use force on me.”
“You weren't too sure a moment ago.”
“You won't do it.”
“You're right, I won't. So you have me defenseless.”
She looked at him, startled. “Like a tiger. I doubt if you've ever been defenseless in your life.”
“Not if I could help it.” He added simply, “I can't help it. This means too much. Tenajo wasn't a complete success, but it was close. We're running out of time. I have to do anything I can to keep from triggering this thing, and I need you to help me.”
“You mean you need my silence.”
“That's a big help. I may ask you for more help later.”
“It's wrong.”
“Maybe. But Esteban is too volatile. I can't risk him doing something crazy. Do you know what anthrax can do?” His lips twisted. “In 1942 the British set off an experimental anthrax bomb on an isolated island off the coast of Scotland. A day after the explosion the sheep began to die. Gruinard is still uninhabitable today.”
She shuddered. “And that's supposed to convince me to keep quiet? Besides, you said the mutated strain has a life of only a few hours.”
“What if Esteban decides to use the unmutated organisms?”
“Stop it. You're scaring me.”
“You're not as scared as I am. I've seen it. I know what it is.”
“Where did you––”
“Help me.”
She gazed at him with frustration. She had learned how clever he could be and how fully capable he was of manipulating her feelings. But he meant every word he said, and the sheer force of his honesty was overwhelming. “Damn you.”
“I need you.”
She whirled away from him and moved across the room.
“I'm doing the right thing.” His words followed her. “Believe me, Bess.”
Just because he thought he was doing what was right didn't mean it was.
But what if it was? She'd had a taste of Esteban's venom. What if a leak triggered him to act? The mutated strain was hideous enough, but the unmutated bacteria was worse. Kaldak's story about Gruinard had shaken her.
Kaldak said, “You don't know what Esteban is capable––”
“Shut up, you've made your point. You're just like Emily. I'll make my own decision, dammit.”
Kaldak fell silent.
The decision was already made, she realized. She turned to face him. “I'll wait . . . for a while.” She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “Until we get Emily away from Esteban. After that, I don't know. But I won't be some ventriloquist's dummy who speaks when you tell her to. Don't you dare close me out again. I want to know what you know. If I'm going to be responsible for some doomsday weapon going off, it's not going to be because I'm being kept in the dark.”
He nodded slowly. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” She came toward him. “Give me a cup of that blasted coffee. I need it now.”
She glared at Kaldak as he moved around the kitchenette, tidying after supper. She was an idiot. If she had a brain in her head, she would call the FBI or CIA or . . . someone.
But she could see Kaldak's point about bureaucracy interfering. She had seen too many snafus in Somalia to believe in even the best-intentioned organizations.
“You're burning a hole in me,” Kaldak said mildly. “Would you mind stopping your glaring?”
“Yes, I would. I enjoy glaring at you.”
“Whatever makes you happy.” He neatly hung up the dish towel.
“Tell me, is all this domesticity a ploy to disarm me? The contrast is just a little too blatant.”
“Oh, you think I'm trying to distract you from this gargoyle mug of mine?” He shook his head. “I know it doesn't work. The face always stays with you.” He turned off the kitchen light and came around the bar. “So I live with it and sometimes use it.”
“I suppose in your profession it could come in handy.”
“My, my, you are trying to hurt me, aren't you?”
“Does honesty hurt? You do kill people. I saw you.”
“Yeah, I kill people.”
This was ridiculous. For some stupid reason, she was feeling guilty about accusing him of something she knew very well was the truth.
But truth wasn't always kind.
And, dammit, he was what he was.
Still, since when did she start looking at things in black and white? Kaldak was a very complicated man, and she had found that complicated people were usually capable of doing both evil and good.
“Well, have you made up your mind?” Kaldak's gaze was fixed on her face.
“About what?”
“Weren't you struggling against giving me the benefit of the doubt?” He suddenly smiled. “I think you've lost. You're too soft, you know. Life must be hard for you.”
“Life's hard for everyone.” But it was harder when you ran across someone who seemed able to read your thoughts.
“It's your face. It shows everything.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I know. You'd be surprised what a detriment it's been to my career.”
“Oh, I know about faces. Nothing surprises me.”
No bitterness colored his voice, which surprised her. What had it been like growing up with that intimidating face?
Perhaps he hadn't grown up with it. Maybe as a child he had looked entirely normal. His blue eyes were perfectly fine and––
“What are you thinking?”
“That you have nice eyes,” she blurted out, not thinking.
He blinked, disconcerted. “Oh.” He quickly glanced away. “We've located a safe house for you in North Carolina. I'll drive you there tomorrow afternoon.”
“Why not tomorrow morning?”
“We have to go to the CDC. I asked Ed to have the reports ready for me on the mutant strain. I may need documentation.”
“Have you contacted Yael Nablett today?”
“I tried this morning before I left. I couldn't reach him.”
She frowned. “Shouldn't we have heard . . . something?”