Cut and Run

“As long as it’s just your toe,” the chief replied, thinking himself clever.

“Why don’t you head back on over to your friends and wait for the morning paper? Might be better for everyone.”

“Better for me,” Larson said.

“You got a card or something?”

Larson did have a card, but it listed St. Louis as his office address. “I’ll write it down for you.”

He stepped around a patrol officer who was serving as crime technician and found a magazine. A corner of the back page had been torn off. Larson studied this a moment, finding it of interest. The i

He scribbled out the main Washington number-Rotem’s number-on a subscription solicitation and handed it to Waters.

“You’ve got business cards right behind your shield,” the chief said, pointing to Larson’s chest.

Larson had forgotten he’d hung his shield out, and of course there were also cards in his ID wallet. He quickly said, “And I’d be happy to give you one if you’re willing to spend the next three days in Tallahassee going through debriefing.”

“I know who you are,” the chief said.

Larson doubted he had a clue, though many cops associated the Marshals Service with witness protection, so it wasn’t impossible. “That makes us even. You’re going to get a phone call some time later tonight, tomorrow morning, and you’re going to want to talk with me. Call this number first, before you make a mistake.”

“I don’t take orders from you guys,” Waters said.

“Then take some advice.” Larson said no more. He walked past the man and left the room, wishing he could have taken Hope’s pants with him. Wondering if they offered him any clues to what had become of her.

Larson hurried out the back of the hotel, stopped in the middle of the practice putting green, and turned to inspect the roof outside Hope’s windows, wondering if he might see her cowering up there, hidden in a shadow. He did not. Plagued by concern, he walked around the street side, leaving the relative quiet of the back to return to the more noisy congregation at the front. Dismayed by the circus atmosphere and not seeing her anywhere, he returned to the rental car.

Only then did it occur to him to check his BlackBerry-silent for the past hour except for his failed outgoing calls-only to realize he’d never turned the ringer back on.

The icons showed he had seven e-mails and two voice messages waiting.

Behind the wheel now, he called his voice mail. Hearing Tomelson’s voice was like stopping time.

Larson, it’s Tommy. Listen, there’s someone nosing around here at the hotel, and I don’t like it. I’m going to relocate the package in a little Halloween costume of her own. Call me.

He deleted the message. An automated woman’s voice said, “Second message…”

Lars… It’s me.

She sounded out of breath, frightened.

Something’s happened. To your friend, I mean. It was horrible. Whatever you do, don’t go to the hotel. I’m in a bar. It’s a restaurant called Temptation. Green and white, across from a bike rental place. I’ll stay here…

Her voice paused. He could feel her checking her watch or a clock.

… an hour at most. After that, I’m not sure. Call me, or come by.

She paused.

Hurry.

“To delete this message, press seven. To save it, press nine. To reply…”

Larson disco

He called her back as he drove around the tiny village looking for the bike rental place or a green and white awning. This time she answered. They were barely into their conversation by the time he caught up to her outside the restaurant.

She climbed inside. Able to let down the front for the first time in hours, she nearly collapsed. “It’s all my fault. I blew it. Miller warned me they could trace me. But I wanted to-”

“Miller?”

“Find somewhere to pull over. We’ve got to talk.”

Larson drove straight to the public beach. Hope told him about her brief co

“His family should have told us about the grandson,” Larson said. “That explains so much.”

“Markowitz, dead?” She mulled this over, Pe

“I looked around. Didn’t see anything. Patted him down, thinking it might be a USB disk I’m looking for. Nothing. So I took the laptop.”

“The list will be on the hard drive.” She had the computer ru

“It may help others.” Larson wondered about a system that placed the i

“If you’re the Romeros,” Larson speculated, “and you’ve hidden this old guy away on a remote island with virtually no access, but therefore no escape route either, what protections do you take to make sure someone like me doesn’t walk away with the list?”

She thought about it. “If I’m the one in charge, I’d want to see daily progress. And I don’t want the only copy of that list in his possession.”

“Exactly.”

Hope suddenly understood. “Follow the e-mail! Markowitz e-mailed the newest part of the decrypted list each morning.”

Her fingers were typing furiously now. The light from the screen washed her face.

“And you’re not going to trust something as important as Laena with a surrogate,” Larson said. “Not when it’s worth tens of millions of dollars. It’s got to be e-mailed directly to you. To the Romeros.”

“Follow the e-mail,” she repeated. Her hands paused above the keyboard. “Shit!”

Larson glanced over at her, then back into the darkness of the beach.

“You said there was a techie there with him.”

“That’s how it looked,” Larson told her. “A young guy. Nerdy. I can’t say for sure.”

“Well, this thing’s clean,” she said, slapping the laptop. “That guy’s job apparently was not only to monitor Markowitz’s progress, but to wipe the files… to reduce the chance of Laena or those e-mails being lifted if someone like you did come along.”

With her finger she drew a line in the condensation on the inside of the car’s glass. An old lighthouse at the end of the parking lot threw a dim beacon out to sea, swiping their faces with each pass. She disappeared from him between the pulses.