Arctic Fire (31 page)

“The guy behind the front desk at the motel was telling me that some years they grill out on Memorial Day in their coats and ski hats. On Labor Day too,” he added.

“But I bet he said the summers are really nice.”

Jack looked over at her in surprise. “He did say that, exactly that.”

“All two weeks of them,” she said grimly as she shivered.

She was exaggerating, he knew, but she probably wasn’t that far off. “And I bet with all the lakes and ponds around here, the mosquitoes are terrible.”

“The mosquito’s the state bird, Jack. Didn’t you know that?”

He chuckled softly. She was quick with those funny comments, and she had more jokes ready to go than most Wall Street
traders—which was impressive. She was smart too—really smart, he was coming to find. They’d had a few intense discussions about certain highly charged areas of the world, and she’d actually changed his mind on a few things, which was also impressive. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had changed his mind about an important world issue.

“You sure you know where this box is?” he asked, nodding toward the Bankses’ cabin.

The cabin was built in a small clearing not far from the shore of a large lake. The pine tree cover around the lake was dense, and anyone in the cabin would have had a difficult time seeing them even though they weren’t far away. There were no cars in the small circular driveway in front of the cabin, and Jack didn’t see any footprints in the three inches of snow covering the yard around the house. It didn’t look like they were going to run into anyone when they went inside, but he was still worried.

“Troy’s letter was very specific,” she answered. “It’s in the closet of the downstairs bedroom.”

They’d left the rental car at a gas station out on the main road, then hiked to here along the quarter-mile driveway. They’d stayed inside the tree line the entire time to keep out of sight. It had taken a lot longer to get here than if they’d driven, but there was no way for a vehicle to get in or out other than the driveway. Jack didn’t want to get trapped back here in case someone followed them in, and he wanted to approach the cabin as quietly as possible—in case it was being watched, or someone was inside.

“When did you get that letter from Troy?” he asked.

“Like a month ago, I think.”

“Why would he put the box here?”

“He and Charlie hung out here. They had a pretty intense life, and this was a great place for them to get away to.” She pointed through the trees at the glittering surface of the lake, which still hadn’t frozen because it was too early in the season. “Charlie told me they fished a lot.”

Jack didn’t agree with everything Troy had been involved with, but he could still respect and appreciate most of what his brother had done to protect the nation. And he could certainly understand the need to get away from that intense life every once in a while. This would have been a great place to do it—despite the cold and the mosquitoes.

“He probably figured nobody from Red Cell Seven would ever think of looking here for anything now,” she said. “Charlie’s been gone a year. Why would anybody from RCS come here? I think it was a great place for Troy to hide something.”

Jack glanced over at her. They hadn’t talked about Charlie in a while, and he was glad to see no tears came to her eyes at another mention of his death. “All right, let’s go. But keep your eyes peeled.”

He had a bad feeling about this.

Speed Trap glanced up from his bowl of fish soup when he heard a pair of heavy footsteps trudging down the hallway outside the galley. They’d left Dutch Harbor two hours ago for a cod run on the Bering Sea to get bait for the opilio crab season, which was about to start. The engine hum coming from below was loud as the
Arctic Fire
churned up and down through seven-foot waves. He hadn’t heard the footsteps coming toward him until they were close.

He knew something was wrong when he saw Sage’s expression. “What’s up?” he asked as his uncle sat down across the table.
Grant had stayed behind in the doorway—which was the only way out. “What’s the matter?”

“What happened the night we threw Troy Jensen overboard?” Sage asked directly.

“What do you mean?” Speed Trap asked innocently.

Sage clenched and unclenched his jaw several times. “You know what I mean,” he finally said, doing his best to keep his anger in check. “Did you throw a raft off the back of the ship to that guy?”

“No.”

“He saved your life,” Grant called out from the doorway. “You felt like you owed him. That’s what you told me.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Did you throw him a raft?” Sage demanded again. “Tell me the goddamned truth. It was dark. I wouldn’t have seen it.” He hesitated. “
Did you?
”

“No,” Speed Trap shot back defiantly. He couldn’t tell them the truth. If he did, they’d really take it out on him. If he kept denying it, they couldn’t throw him overboard. Not with a clear conscience, anyway. “I didn’t.”

As Sage rose from the chair across the crumb-strewn table, he pulled a pistol from his coat pocket and pointed it at Speed Trap. “Get up,” he ordered. “We’re going out on deck.”

“What the—”

“Grant,” Sage called over his shoulder, “get your brother moving.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack watched as Karen removed a stack of neatly folded towels from the bottom shelf of the cedar closet and placed them on the
floor. Then she reached for the back of the shelf and picked up a black box the size of a thick hardcover book.

“Bingo,” she whispered excitedly. “This must be it.”

As Jack took a step toward her there was a loud banging on the front door. He froze as it quickly grew louder.

“Open up!” someone yelled. “Open up
now
!”

Jack hustled to the bedroom window and pulled the curtain back slightly. He couldn’t see the front door from here, but he could see a police cruiser parked in the driveway. “We’ve gotta get out of here, Karen.” They couldn’t afford the time it would undoubtedly take to straighten this situation out with the cop. “Let’s go!”

Carlson checked the number on his personal cell phone. It was Rex Stein calling. This wasn’t the phone Stein was supposed to use in case of emergencies.

“Hello.”

“Hi, it’s me.”

“I know who it is. What’s going on?”

“I have that information you wanted.”

Carlson nodded. Good for Stein. He’d followed up quickly on the request. “OK.”

“Is it all right if I use names on this phone?”

Carlson nodded again. Good for Stein for asking that. He was showing respect for the man, Red Cell Seven, and the situation. Too bad it wasn’t going to make a damn bit of difference as far as David Dorn’s life went. He and Maddux were meeting later today to make final preparations for the assassination.

“It’s all right to use names,” Carlson said.

“OK, well, the person who called the president to ask about Troy Jensen was Troy’s father, Bill.”

Carlson was glad he hadn’t been with Stein when he’d gotten this answer. He would have given away his surprise and disappointment with the shocked expression that had flashed across his face. The way he had with the same troubled expression the other day in the Oval Office.

“Are you sure?” Carlson asked calmly.

“Absolutely. One of the operators checked the incoming calls for me, and we traced the number to Bill Jensen. The call came in right before you and he met the other day.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“And one of my direct reports confirmed that it was Bill Jensen who asked about Troy. President Dorn mentioned it to him.”

Carlson wanted to ask another question, but Stein would quickly pick up on the obvious and might try to turn this situation to his advantage. That was politics and that was Washington, and while Stein was way out of his league in the intel world, he was a master at making hay in the marbled halls of downtown Washington.

“Did Mr. Jensen speak to the president?” Even in the silence coming from the other end of the phone, Carlson could hear Stein sensing an opportunity. “Do you know?”

“Yes, he did.”

Carlson hated being in such a weak position. Thank God he rarely was. “Did you ask President Dorn about the specifics of their conversation?”

“I haven’t had a chance to. I’ll do that as soon as I can.”

Bullshit. They’d probably spoken at length about the call. “That’s all right,” Carlson said quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Troy is one of yours?” Stein wanted to know. “Is that right?”

“I hope you were being sincere during our visit yesterday,” Carlson said, ignoring the question with another question and a stern warning tone.

“Uh, yes, I was. Of course I was.”

“Good.” That quickly he’d turned the tables back on Stein. “I’d hate to think otherwise.” He paused for a moment. “Goodbye, Rex.”

Carlson stared into space as he closed the cell phone and ended the call. He knew that Bill Jensen and President Dorn spoke at least once a month about the economy because, after all, Bill ran the biggest bank in the country and he was a great resource for the president to have on that subject. But Bill always alerted his old friend and RCS partner Roger Carlson that he was calling Dorn. He hadn’t this time, though. This time Bill had violated their pact.

Carlson’s eyes narrowed. Could Bill Jensen be putting his family in front of the country?