Riptide

She said slowly, thinking aloud really, “If Dick McCallum said those things about me, then he must know about the stalker, maybe even who he is and why he picked me to terrorize. Maybe Dick even knows who is trying to kill the governor.”

“Yes, all of that is possible. We’ll see.”

“Do you mean ‘we’ as in you and me?”

“No.”

“Let me call the cops again. I’ll tell them I know about what Dick McCallum told them. I can tell them he’s lying. Won’t they have to question him more thoroughly?”

“No, Becca, it’s too late. I’m really sorry about this.”

“What do you mean, it’s too late? I know I can get ahold of Detective Morales.”

“We’ll have to go another route to find out why Dick McCallum did what he did, and who probably paid him a whole lot of money to do it.”

She became very still. She shook her head. He said very gently, “I’m sorry, Becca, but someone ran Dick McCallum down in front of his apartment building in Albany. He’s dead.”

There wasn’t a single thought in her mind, just numbing horror.

“They think you could be involved. Everyone’s gone nuts. Actually, they were nuts the moment the governor was shot. No one could believe the distance on that shot. Now they’re very serious about finding you and finding out what you know, if you’re involved in any way. I planted information for them to find and got them off on a wrong track, so you’re safe for a while.”

He sat back in his chair and cradled his head against his arms. He gave her a big fat smile. “They’re not going to find you anytime soon, trust me on that.”

11

She could only stare at him. “All right, you’re the greatest. Now, tell mehowyoufooledthem.”

“Thank you. Actually, I had nearly everything in place before Dick McCallum was killed. To be very precise, I did it right after the governor was shot. I had to shut the spigot off before they had the chance to really turn it on.

“They immediately mounted quite a manhunt. FBI offices all over the country are on the lookout for you. They were just begi

“In the Bronx. Under an assumed name. To be honest, I didn’t have time to go through my mother’s stuff. I just piled everything into boxes and hauled the stuff to the Bronx. Now, Adam, where would they come up with the idea that I’d be in North Carolina?”

He smiled sweetly at her. “Fiddling. I enjoy it and I’m good at it.”

“By ‘fiddling’ you mean you scammed them?”

“Right. Sometimes con men use it when they get something over on their marks. Ah, sometimes law enforcement uses it, too.”

She shook her head at him. “I don’t want to know which you are. You’re kidding about this, right? You yourself didn’t feed them that information, did you?”

“No. I got one of their best snitches to feed it to them. That way they wouldn’t have any doubts at all. I even planted some evidence in your apartment in Albany to show that you knew all about North Carolina, that you’d even vacationed on the Outer Banks, your favorite town, Duck. Agents were swarming all over Duck within four hours of the FBI getting the information.”

“I have been to Duck. I’ve stayed at the Sanderling I

“I know, that’s why I selected it.”

“But I don’t think I kept any souvenirs or books or anything like that.”

“Oh yeah, sure you had souvenirs. There were a couple of T-shirts, some shells with ‘Duck’ etched on them, a couple of Duck pens, and a cute little candy dish showing ducks marching. Now the Feebs will scour the Outer Banks all the way down to Ocracoke. Did you hear about the Cape Hatteras lighthouse being moved?”

“Yes. Do you want more coffee?”

“Please. Oh, yes, Becca, give me the name of the storage locker and the assumed name. I’ll get all your stuff out of there and to a safe place.”

She snapped her fingers at him. “You can get things accomplished just like that?”

“I can but try.” He tried to look modest, maybe even humble, but he couldn’t pull it off. “What’s the name you used and what’s the storage locker name?”

“P and F Storage in the Bronx, and the name is Co

“I don’t think I want to know where you got that name.”

He watched her walk to the sink with the empty coffeepot and rinse it out. When she turned to reach for the coffee, her head slanted in a certain way. He blinked. He knew that certain set of the head very well. He’d seen her father do that not six days before. He watched her closely and saw that her movements were economical, graceful. He liked the way she moved. She’d inherited that from her father, too, one of the smoothest, most elegant men Adam had ever known. He clasped his hands behind his head, closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Thomas Matlock clearly in his mind’s eye, and thought back to that meeting between the two of them on June 24.

Washington, D.C.

The Sutter Building

“She still believes you’re dead.”

He nodded. “Of course. Even when Allison knew she was dying, we decided not to tell Becca about me, it was just too dangerous.”

At least, Adam thought, Thomas had been in close contact with his wife since e-mail had come along. They were online every night, until his wife had gone into the hospital. Adam said, “I don’t agree with that, Thomas. You should have contacted her when her mother fell into a coma. She needed you then, and the good Lord knows, she needs you now.”

“You know it’s still too risky. I haven’t known where Krimakov is since right after I shot his wife. I realized soon enough that I would have to kill him to protect my family, but he simply disappeared, with the help of the KGB, no doubt. No, I can’t take the risk that Krimakov could find out about her. He would slit her throat and laugh and then call me and laugh some more. No. I’ve been dead to her for twenty-four years. It stays that way. Allison agreed with me that until I know for certain that Krimakov is dead, I stay dead to my daughter.” Thomas sighed deeply. “It was very hard for both of us, I’ll be honest with you. I think if Allison hadn’t slipped into that drugged coma, she might have told Becca, so that she’d know she wasn’t really alone.”

The pain in his voice made Adam silent for a long time. Then he said, all practical again, “You can’t stay dead to her now and you know it. Or haven’t you been watching CNN?”

“That’s why you’re here. Stop frowning down at me. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit down. I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’ve got a favor to ask.”

Adam Carruthers poured himself some coffee so strong it could bring down a rhino. He stretched out in the chair opposite the huge mahogany desk. A computer, a printer, a fax, and a big leather desk pad sat in their designated spots on top of the desk. No free papers stacked anywhere, no slips or notes, just technology. He knew that on this specific computer, there were no deep, dark secrets, just camouflage. Even he would have a hard time getting through all the safeguards installed to protect any hidden files on the machine, if there had been any, which there weren’t. Thomas Matlock had stayed at the top of his game by being careful and smart.

Adam said, “The governor of New York was shot in the neck two nights ago. The man was lucky to be surrounded by doctors and that he’d promised more big state bucks for cancer research, otherwise they might have let him bleed to death.”