F Paul Wilson - Novel 04 (40 page)

“Yeah. And he’s got a
right to be.” Bob turned to Harris. “Anything on the trace?”

Harris said. “A cell phone.
Used an Absecon tower, which means she’s inland from here.” He
shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t have time to get closer than that.”

“Heading for those Pine
Barrens, I bet,” Canney said.

“If we only knew what she was
driving, we—” He snapped his fingers.

“Vanduyne’s ex! She
must have seen Poppy Mulliner. Maybe she saw her car too.”

“Good thought,” Bob
said. “But let me ask you something. I’m a little bothered by this
‘Mac’ guy showing up here. How the hell did he know Vanduyne or
Poppy or Katie was going to be in Atlantic City?”

Canney shrugged. “We know he
wasn’t tapping Vanduyne’s phone—our equipment would have
registered someone else on the line. Probably followed him here. Just like his
ex.”

“Yeah? That’s possible,
but somehow it doesn’t sit right. I get this picture of Vanduyne being
tailed by our mystery man as well as by his ex, and then your man tailing the
ex… half the people on Ninety-five North are following Vanduyne to
Atlantic City. I don’t know, Gerry…”

“Let me check with Trevor. He
was on the road. We’ll see what he says. But that has to be it. What else
can it be? Only four people on our end knew what was going on.”

“Three,” Bob said.
“Jim Lewis is in the U.K. I never got around to telling him about
Atlantic City.”

“There you go. Three of us.
You didn’t talk, I didn’t talk, and Dan Keane sure as hell
didn’t. Vanduyne was followed.”

“I guess you’re
right.” He rose. “Okay. Time to face Dr. Vanduyne.”

“Good luck.” Canney
glanced at his watch. “I’m going to take everyone off the boards
and get them looking for Mamie Vanduyne. She may be the break we’ve been
looking for.”

“I hope so. We need
one.”

John didn’t have to look
through the peephole in his hotel room door to know who’d knocked. As he
reached for the handle he made a promise to himself that he’d keep his
rage in check. Yes, he was furious, but he was a grown man, a rational human
being—a physician, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t do anything violent.

But when he yanked the door open
and saw Decker standing there, confirming all his suspicions, he snapped. He
heard a small cry—his own voice as he’d never heard it—and
suddenly his right hand was balled into a fist and swinging at Decker’s face.

The Secret Service agent jerked his
head to the side and John hit only air. When Decker grabbed his right wrist,
John swung at him with his left. Decker caught that too.

“I know you’re hurting.
Doc,” he said levelly as John glared at him. “But you’re out
of your league.”

John knew he was right. He
wasn’t a fighter. He couldn’t recall ever hurting another creature
in his entire life. He dropped his gaze, pulled back, and Decker released him.

Feeling utterly
miserable—impotent, useless, helpless— he turned and stumbled back
into the room. He had an urge to grab a lamp and smash it through the big
picture window with its wide-angle view of the Atlantic. At least he’d
have an effect on something, even if it was only a pane of glass.

“She’s taken
Katie,” he said, trying desperately to keep his voice from
breaking—not in front of Decker; please. God, he couldn’t crack up
in front of this man.

“And it’s your
fault.” He heard the door click closed before Decker spoke.

“Not fair. We’ve kept
this tightly confined. We—”

John whirled and jabbed a finger at
him. “You tapped my phones! You knew all my plans, every move I was going
to make. And so did the bastard who kidnapped Katie. He was here, dammit! Right
here in town, waiting to get my Katie. You’ve got a leak. Decker!
You’ve got a mole!”

Decker didn’t flinch.
“Did our mole tell your ex-wife too?”

The question jolted John. Decker
had a point. How had Mamie found out?

“You were supposed to be
watching her.”

“We were,” Decker said.
“We watched her follow you on your trip to the Maryland House. We cut her
out of that so she couldn’t mess up the transfer.”

“She followed me?”
He’d had no idea…

“And she followed you to A.C.
An accident on the interstate prevented us from diverting her. So who’s
to say this Snake couldn’t have done the same thing?”

John stared out the window at the
surf. He was right, dammit.

“Dear God. How many people
have been watching me?”

When Decker hesitated, John turned
and looked at him. His brow was furrowed, his expression troubled… as if
he’d just thought of something. Whatever it was, it passed.

“Your house is under
surveillance right now,” Decker said. “Just in case somebody
targets your mother.” John dropped onto the edge of the bed, staring up
at Decker. The horror of what he’d just said… Nana?

“My God! I never even
imagined…”

“But we did. And truth is.
Doc, you should have told us about those calls.”

“Why?” John said, his
anger flaring again. “You don’t care about Katie. I know what your
primary objective is and it’s not getting Katie back. Is it?”

For the first time, Decker’s
eyes broke contact. And John felt a tiny surge of triumph.

Gotcha, you son of a bitch.

“I want to get her back,
believe me. But no, you’re right. My primary directive is to safeguard
the President and bring in the people behind this plot. But don’t ever
say I don’t care about your daughter. That isn’t true.”

John stared at Decker. Somehow, for
some reason, he believed him.

The phone rang. John leapt to it.
Could it be? Had Poppy had a change of heart?

But no… a male voice, asking
for Decker. John handed it to him and went back to the window. Behind him he
heard Decker say, “Tell you what. Come up here and tell me. Yeah,
he’s here, but I see no reason why he shouldn’t know.”

John turned as he hung up.
“Shouldn’t know what?”

“New information on Poppy and
Snake. We’ll both find out at the same time.” John realized Decker
was making a gesture.

“Thanks,” he said
softly. “I appreciate that.” While they were waiting for the caller
to ride up from the lobby. Decker filled him in on what they knew about Poppy
Mulliner and their theory about the violence at the Falls Church house.

A blond-haired man who looked like
he’d just come off the beach arrived and was introduced as Supervising
Special Agent Gerry Canney of the FBI. He seemed hesitant about speaking in
front of John, but finally relented at Decker’s insistence.

“Okay,” he said,
looking at John. “We got this call from the A.C. Medical Center emergency
room about some woman saying she was beaten up in a parking garage and her
daughter kidnapped. We checked it out and guess who it was?”

“Mamie,” John said.

“Right. Says she found her
daughter wandering around alone in a souvenir shop.” John remembered a
big souvenir shop north of the pay phone where he’d spent the better part
of the afternoon.

“Not the one—?”

Canney nodded. “Yeah. Peanut
World. About fifty yards from where you were standing.”

“Aw, no.” He felt sick.
Katie had been so close.

“She said she was taking
Katie to her car when this twenty-something woman with spiked hair starts
beating on her. Broke her nose, knocked her out.”

John closed his eyes. Yes! How many
times had he wanted to do that? Give Mamie a taste of what she’d done to
Katie. But he’d never raised a hand to her. Kept telling himself she was
sick, couldn’t help herself.

Thank you once again, Poppy
Mulliner…

“The fallout from all of this
is we have a good description of Poppy—a lot different from her
three-year-old mug shot, believe me—and the changes she made in
Katie.”

“Changes?”

Canney explained about
Katie’s new look: boy’s clothes, short reddish hair.

“But here’s the best
part. We canvassed the parking garage and the area around it and came up with
somebody who saw a woman and a child fitting Poppy and Katie’s new
descriptions climbing into a red panel truck. She noticed them because they
were in an otherwise restricted church parking lot.”

Decker smacked a fist into his
palm. “Great! You put the description out?”

“Just before I came here.
Jersey State cops have it, all the local munis. Every major road is being
covered. But I’m willing to bet they won’t come up with a damn
thing.”

“Why not?” John said.

“Because she’s not on a
major road. I’ll bet next year’s salary she’s heading into
the pines. Home… to Sooy’s Boot.”

Decker was on his feet. “All
right, then. Let’s go.”

John rose too. “I’m
going with you.”

“No way,” Canney said.

“Damn right, no way,”
John said. “No way you’re leaving me behind. If this Sooy’s
Boot is where Katie is, then that’s where I belong. You don’t take
me along, I’ll go on my own.”

“Look,” Canney said.
“I’ve got a little girl too. I understand. But we can’t let
you jeopardize a federal investigation.”

But John was concentrating on Decker.
“You owe me, Bob.”

Decker hesitated, then nodded to
Canney. “We’ll bring him along.”

Canney’s eye went wide.
“What? We can’t—”

“We can discuss it later.
Right now we’ve got some traveling to do.” He turned to John.
“Pack up and we’ll—”

“To hell with packing.
Nothing here I can’t do without. Let’s go.” The grief, the
rage, the frustration of the past few hours had vanished. Suddenly John felt
alive again.

Hang on, Katie. I’m on my
way.

Poppy drove past the house three
times before she had the nerve to stop.

“Is this where you grew
up?” Katie said.

“No. This is my Uncle
Luke’s house. He’s my father’s brother. They were like real
close.” So close, she thought, that he probably won’t even speak to
me.

She sat and stared at the mailbox:
#528—LUKE MULLINER. Dad’s name was Mark, and he’d had five
brothers: Matthew, Luke, John, Peter, and Paul. Yeah, Grandma Mulliner had been
like real heavy into the Bible. All the Mulliner boys had been close, but Dad
had always found Uncle Luke the most simpatico. He saw the most of Luke, and so
naturally, Luke was the uncle she’d known the best. And loved the best.

She knew Luke had been royally
pissed that she went and got knocked up and had to quit the basketball
team—not for himself, but for what it had done to Dad’s
dream’s of her going to college. And if he’d been so mad about
that, would he ever like forgive her for running away and leaving Daddy alone?
And for not showing up at his funeral?

I didn’t know he died! But
that probably wouldn’t cut it. All the Mulliners tended to carry grudges
to their grave. And Uncle Luke’s temper was like legendary.

She checked out the yard. The grass
looked kind of weedy and scraggly, and would need cutting soon. An old Ford
pickup sat in the driveway. Beyond it stood the tiny two-bedroom ranch Uncle
Luke had called home for longer than Poppy had been alive. As far as she was
concerned, it had been here like forever, nestled amid the close-packed scrub
pines. And in all these years, no other homes had joined it. Uncle Luke’s
was still the only house along this whole stretch of potholed and crumbling asphalt.

Even in the fading light she could
see how the place needed some paint. So did the flaking propane tank peeking
around the right rear corner.

She noticed how the toolshed in the
backyard leaned to the left. And that made her kind of sad. Looked like Uncle
Luke wasn’t keeping things up the way he used to. Not that he was too
old. He couldn’t be fifty yet.

Maybe he was just lonely. His wife.
Aunt Mary, had died not long after Mom, and his one son. Poppy’s cousin
Luke Jr.—“Little Luke,” who surely wasn’t little anymore—was
probably married and living on his own. So who was around for him to keep the
place neat for?

A light came on in the front room.

“He’s home,” she
said aloud. She didn’t see how she could put this off much longer.
“Come on, honey bunch. Let’s see if Uncle Luke will take us
in.” She lifted Katie in her arms and carried her up to the front door.
She put her down on the stoop, took her hand, and reached out to knock…
and hesitated.

She sent up a little prayer. If
he’s gonna say no, please just let him say no. Don’t let him start
yelling and screaming. Katie’s seen too much trouble already today. And I
feel I’m about to break into like a million or two pieces.

She knocked. She waited but no one
answered. As she was about to try again, the door swept open.

He was big, like her Dad had been,
but older, heavier, grayer, with lots of new lines visible through the white
three-day stubble on his cheeks.

But his heavy red-and black plaid
shirt and green work pants were the same as they’d always been, and his
blue eyes were as sharp as ever.

An ache started deep in her chest.
Jesus, he reminded her of Dad.

He stared at her and said,
“What do you want?”

“Uncle Luke? It’s me.
Poppy.” His expression never changed. “Poppy who?” The ache
grew as she wondered. Is this how he’s gonna play it? Like I don’t exist.

“Your… your niece.
Poppy Mulliner. Mark’s little girl.”

He squinted at her. “You
ain’t little. And you don’t look like no Poppy I ever knew.”

The ache deepened. Don’t do
this to me. Uncle Luke. I got no place else to go.

“It’s me, Uncle Luke.
I… I like need a place to stay.”

He didn’t seem to hear her.
“The Poppy I knew ran off and left her father alone. She as much as
killed him. Then she didn’t even bother to show up for his funeral.”