Revolution No.9

40

Thirty hours later, Monks walked into Queen of the Valley Hospital in Napa to see Gle

Gle

And he had tacitly admitted hacking the computer information on the “Fortune 500” list.

Via Pietowski, Monks had arranged to get a few minutes alone with Gle

Gle

“You getting enough pain meds?” Monks asked.

Gle

“I’ll keep this short, Gle

“Did you know that Freeboot and the maquis were committing the Calamity Jane murders?” Monks said. “That that’s what they were doing with the names and addresses you provided?”

Gle

“No way, man. He told me we were putting together information on enemies of the people. I never dreamed anybody was getting killed.”

Monks kept his face emotionless, but his fear took a sickening jump. Before Gle

Monks steeled himself for the next, almost worse, question. “Were you the one who attacked me and cut off my hair, that night in the camp?”

“That was Shrinkwrap. She wanted to get back at you for pissing her off.” This time, Gle

“Do you think she was in on setting you up?” Monks said, perhaps cruelly.

“I don’t know.” Gle

“All right, I’ll let you rest.” Monks stood. “We’re there for you, your mom and me. You know that, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Gle

In the hospital’s lobby, Monks stopped at a pay-phone kiosk and called Gle

“I just talked to him,” Monks said. “He’s doing fine.”

“Fine?” Gail said shrilly. “He’s going to prison, isn’t he?”

Monks exhaled. “That’s going to depend on a lot of factors.”

Pietowski had assured Monks that if Gle

But if it was proved that Gle

“He should have a lawyer with him every second,” Gail fumed.

“He needs to tell the FBI everything he knows, as fast as he can,” Monks said, trying to stay patient. “If they have to put up with a lawyer interfering, you can bet he’s going to prison. We’re talking killers out there.”

“I think you’re handling this horribly!”

“Why am I not surprised,” Monks said and hung up.

He walked on outside to the parking lot. The afternoon was clear and su

Monk was terrified that Gle

When Monks had left Bodega Bay, after hours of helping paramedics evacuate casualties, the town looked like it had been hit by an earthquake. Storefronts were shattered, shops and private homes savaged and looted by the fleeing mob. Police were still dealing with the tangle of abandoned vehicles. Most of the crowd had gotten away, catching rides in the cars that had managed to get out, or melting into the woods and nearby communities. Police eventually questioned hundreds of stragglers and detained dozens, but, owing to the identical T-shirts and caps, it was almost impossible to figure out who had done what.

It was clear that the riot had been carefully orchestrated. Gle

What happened next seemed to have been a series of double-crosses pla

Only one of the escaping dirt-bikers had been caught-Callus, the limper who had given the RV away. He was being held in isolation on twenty-four-hour suicide watch, refusing to say a word. Freeboot might be wounded or even dead, but his status as a daring Robin Hood figure had jumped explosively.

And his message of the ugly violence hovering close at hand had come through loud and clear.

Monks found his car, the same rental that he had driven to Bodega Bay. His Bronco was highly visible, and he wanted to stay underground just now. Besides the threat of Freeboot and his men still at large, Monks had been propelled into another media furor. This time, he had checked into a Napa motel under a phony ID that he sometimes used for investigation work.

He drove across the north edge of Napa, crossing Highway 29, once a charming little road through the grand old California wineries, now a major traffic artery. The motel was a mile or so south on a frontage road-big, modern, and anonymous, just what he wanted.

When he opened the door to his room, he caught the faint scent of perfume. Then he saw another suitcase on the extra bed, open beside his own.