Riptide

“Yeah, I guess I understand.” Thomas raised his eyes to Hawley and Cobb. “We’re in deep trouble now.”

Becca moaned and opened her eyes. She lurched up only to have two hands push her back down, and Adam’s voice close to her face saying, “If you try anything again, I’m going to lock you in your room. If you bite me again, I’ll lock you in your closet and feed you moldy bread and water.”

Her hair was hanging in her face, her jaw felt swollen and sore, and she was so mad she wanted to spit. More than that, she was desperate. She was tired of failing. All she’d done since Krimakov had come into her life was fail. She raised her head and looked him squarely in the eye. “That wasn’t fu

“No, I won’t do that. What I want to do is help you if you’ll just let me.”

The three hours were up, she knew it. She had to do something. She had to do something right this minute. But it didn’t matter. It was too late. All of them knew now. She said, trying to control her misery, her deadening fear, “I’ve got to call Tyler. I promised to call him in three hours. If I don’t, I don’t know what he’ll do, probably go to the media. Don’t you understand? Krimakov has Sam. He wants me to come to Riptide, doesn’t want me to tell you or Dad. Tyler is desperate.”

Adam came down on his knees in front of her. “Becca, look at me.”

“I was looking at you. You’re trying to lighten things up. You can’t. You can’t help me. Only I can do something here. I don’t want to look at you. Just because you’re stronger, well, never mind what you are, Sherlock got me first. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to call Tyler. You can’t help.”

“All right.” He rose and offered her his hand. A big hand, she thought, a strong hand, and she wished she could take it and bite it again, then flip him over the back of the sofa.

“You all right, sweetheart?” Thomas said, handing her a cup of tea.

Sweetheart? He’d called her sweetheart and it seemed to have come out naturally, not a fake endearment. It nearly made her cry. No one had ever called her sweetheart before. Her mom had always called her honey, or when she was a little girl she’d been Muffin.

She didn’t let it touch her. She couldn’t, not now at any rate. “I’ve got to call Tyler, tell him that I’m coming right away to Riptide and that none of you are coming with me. Do you understand? Sam dies if anyone comes with me. No, Adam, just shut up. I will not let that little boy die.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Thomas said slowly. “He wants you, that’s true, but he wants me more. Why doesn’t he want both of us to come to Riptide? The package deal he always wanted? What’s he up to now?”

Becca said, “I don’t know. I agree that it doesn’t make any sense at all, but that’s what he wrote in his note to Tyler. He told Tyler how to contact me, and then when I did call, Tyler was to tell me to come to Riptide alone. Not to tell either of you or Sam would die.”

“Note?” Sherlock said. “What note?”

“The kidnapping note,” Becca said. “Krimakov left it on Sam’s bed after he took him. Told him exactly what to do, told him that if I didn’t come, he’d kill Sam, just like Linda Cartwright.”

“It might not even matter now,” Sherlock said, “but if we can get the note, I’ll give it to our handwriting experts. Also, they can compare the handwriting to other documents that you have, Thomas, with Krimakov’s handwriting on them.”

Thomas said, “There are some samples of his handwriting, yes, but what good would it do to analyze it? You’re right, it probably doesn’t even matter now. We’re coming down to the endgame here.” Thomas sighed and streaked his fingers through his hair. “I wish to God I knew what kind of gambit Krimakov was playing.”

Sherlock said, “I do, too, but since we don’t, we have to keep using the tools we’ve got. If he gives us the time, if he continues with his delaying tactics, and more distractions, I can get the two samples of his handwriting compared. Maybe they could tell us how far over the edge he’s gone, or maybe prove that all he’s done is cold manipulation and butchery, and he’s as sane as you and I. Our people are good, trust me. There’s no reason not to do it.”

“I’ve got to talk to Tyler,” Becca said, rising, throwing off the afghan. “Reassure him. Tell him what’s going on here.”

Sherlock said, “At the very least, if there’s still time, the analysis and comparison will let us know what we’re up against. Trust me on this. Get that note from Tyler, Becca.”

“Yes, she will,” Thomas said. “Go make your call, Becca.”

Becca nodded and walked to the phone, pulling the small address book out of her purse as she walked. She looked up Tyler McBride’s number. She dialed.

After three rings, Tyler answered, his voice frantic. “Becca? Is that you?”

“Yes, Tyler.”

“Thank God. Where are you? What are you doing? What’s happening?”

“Okay, Tyler, just listen to me. Here’s the plan. It’s the only way to handle this, so don’t yell at me. We’re all coming up to Riptide, but not together. No, just be quiet and listen. We’re all going to trickle in. He’ll never know there’s anyone else but me in Riptide. I’ll come directly to your house, we’ll speak, he’ll see me, then I’ll go to Jacob Marley’s house. He’ll come for me there. You know it. I know it.” She drew a deep breath. “He has no reason to kill Sam. He’ll have me, so he can keep his word and release him.”

“The others will be hiding in Jacob Marley’s house?”

“No, but they’ll be close by. It will work, Tyler.”

She was aware that all of them were staring at her, but she just shook her head at them. It was the only way to go, and all of them knew it. There’d been no reason to flail about and discuss any number of options into the ground. She had to go and she knew no one would let her go alone. Fine. They had a chance now. “Oh yes, Tyler, I need you to give me Krimakov’s note. Sherlock wants it. Now, just go about your business. Don’t say a word to anyone. We’ll be there in under four hours.”

Slowly, she lowered the phone into its cradle. She looked up. “Sam’s not going to die.”

“No,” Adam said, walking to her, “no, he won’t.” Then he just couldn’t stand it. He pulled her against him and held her there, his hand tight across her back, his other hand fisted in her hair. He felt her heart beating against his chest, hard, fast strokes. He brought her closer. He looked up to see Thomas staring at him, and slowly, he loosened his fingers in her hair, smoothing it down, but he didn’t want to let her go.

Thomas said, “Agent Hawley and Agent Cobb, this kidnapping will stay amongst us. It doesn’t go to anyone else in the FBI. All right?”

“No problem,” said Tellie Hawley. “Hell, we’re in this thing to the end. That bastard butchered four of my people. I want him as much as you do. If Savich and Sherlock aren’t saying anything to the higher-ups, why should we?”

“Let’s get rolling,” Sherlock said once Thomas had given her several papers with Krimakov’s handwriting. “We’ll meet at Reagan in an hour?”

“No,” Thomas said. “We’ll go over to Andrews Air Force Base. I’ll have a plane ready for us.”

They were nearly out the door when Thomas’s private phone rang. He looked undecided, then said, “Hold on. It’s got to be important if it’s on that phone.”

Slowly, because she didn’t really want to, Becca forced herself to pull away from Adam. “I’m all right,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said, and smiled at her. “We’ll get through this.”

They all followed Thomas back to his study, watched him pick up the phone on the edge of the mahogany desk.

“Yes?… Hello, Gaylan.”

It was Gaylan Woodhouse, the CIA director. They all watched Thomas’s face stiffen, then slowly turn pale and set. “Oh no,” he said, his voice bleak. “You’re absolutely certain of all this?”

They watched him lower the phone and stare over at them. He looked shaken, dazed. “This is just too much,” he said. “Just too much.”