Blind (8 page)

“All right,” she said to the darkness. “You can stop trying to scare me. Won't work. Wish it would, but it won't.” Only she did feel something, a weird tingling at the center of her chest. Was this a last little touch from her uncle's amazing Technicolor psycho serum, or was being creeped out a different emotion from fear?

A few steps later she came up a slight rise and saw the Cloisters ahead. The Hudson River shone through the trees behind the building, its surface rippled with moonlight. The building itself seemed like something that had been lifted right out of medieval Europe and dropped on New York. An alien visitor sneaking in on the city from another time. Another world. In the moonlight the building was all strange angles and dark pools of shadow. Roman columns. Gothic arches.
Bas-relief statues too dim to make out in the faint light.

Gaia walked slowly, looking for her unknown partner in this midnight blind date. There was no sign of anyone waiting outside the building, so Gaia made a slow circle until she found a way through a covered arcade to the interior. The incredible unbroken quiet continued as she passed through a row of smooth pillars, across a pitch black walkway, and past more pillars into a moonlit central plaza.

Waiting for her in the center of the open space was a tall, solid figure in a trench coat. There was a fedora hat on the stranger's head and shadows across his face.

Her father? Gaia took a half step forward. No, the shape was wrong. Tall, but not quite tall enough. Too thick. Not Loki, either. “All right,” she said to the stranger. “I'm here. What do you want?”

The figure raised his head, and moonlight fell across the features of a wide, weathered face. “Gaia?”

Gaia blinked and stared in surprise. “George?”

A moment later, before any part of her brain that had anything to do with thinking could even start to kick in, she was hugging him. Life in the Niven household had been unpleasant, to be sure, but compared to what had come after, those days in the brownstone now seemed like a fairy tale. At least then she'd had Sam. And Mary. And Ed…

When she realized that she was still hugging the retired agent, Gaia stepped back. “Um, yeah. Sorry,” she said. “I didn't expect it to be you. I figured more, somebody looking to put new holes in my head.”

George smiled at her, his big teeth visible even in the poor light. “It's all okay,” he said. “I don't mind.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Gaia. “Did you send the note?”

“Yes,” George said with a nod.

“And the first note?”

“I've been worried about you,” he said. “I wish you had never gone off on your own.”

Gaia was suddenly very glad it was dark. That way George couldn't see how badly she was blushing. “I thought, you know, after Ella…”

George turned away from her, his face once again hidden by shadows. “I don't understand all the actions of my wife. I guess I never will.”

“She ended up saving me,” said Gaia.

“Yes, that's the important thing. The thing I have to remember.” He continued to look off into the darkness, his expression unreadable. “Everything else Ella did, well, it's over now. But she did save you.”

“She did.” Gaia took a step to the side, hoping to get a better look at his face. “Why did you send me the note?”

“I wanted to meet you.”

“Not this note. The first one. The note that told me how to find the apartment.”

“Ah.” Finally George turned back to her, though his face was still hard to see clearly in the pale moonlight. “I had hoped your father would be there to meet you, but soon after I sent the note, I learned he had abandoned the apartment. Still, I thought that if you went there, you might find some evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” asked Gaia.

George didn't reply for a moment, though Gaia could hear him pull in and release a long breath. “Gaia, I think your father is being betrayed.”

“By my uncle?” asked Gaia. “I already know about—”

“Not your uncle.” George took a step toward her. His long coat left a trail in the dew-soaked grass. “The conflict between your father and uncle is an old one. Who can even say which one of them is right?”

I can,
thought Gaia.
The one that shot my mother? Not right

George shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “There's someone else. Someone that's become very close to him.” He paused for a second. “Did you get into the apartment?”

“Yeah,” said Gaia. She thought about the climb up the outside of the building. Even without fear, it now seemed to her more than a little crazy. It also seemed like something that George definitely did not need to know about. “It took some work, but I got in.”

“What did you find?”

Gaia shrugged. “Nothing. Someone had been there before me. Did some serious redecorating. That classic slice-open-the-couches-and-tear-up-the-books style.”

“Damn,” George said under his breath. “Then there's no proof.”

“Proof of what?” Gaia blinked and tried to stare through the darkness. “Who's after my father this time?”

Instead of answering, the retired agent only stood, head down and hands in pockets, his shoulders drooping. “Gaia,” he said in a tired tone. “Why don't you come back and stay with me?”

The offer was tempting. Almost too perfect. Natasha had just done the shape-up-or-ship-out routine. Gala's other living arrangements seemed to be limited to cardboard boxes. Plus staying with George would mean not having to share space with Tatiana. Not having to watch as Tatiana methodically reeled Ed in. Not watching Ed get torn away from her like everyone else she had ever cared about. All good points.

“Who's after my father?” she asked.

George sighed. His skin seemed to sag on his face. “It's a shame he doesn't tell you these things himself.” George shook his head, his fedora bobbing in the moonlight. “I've never understood why he treats you the way he does.”

“Look, sometimes I don't understand him, either, but that's not really the point right now.” Gaia was anxious for George to get on with it. “Can you just tell me who's after him now?”

The agent took another deep breath. “I don't know.”

“What?” Gaia felt a spark of anger. “But you just said that—”

George pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up in front of Gaia. “I know there's a traitor. Information on your father is leaking from somewhere. His secrets are starting to be known in the intelligence channels. I think that someone close to your father is actually a spy for Loki.”

“What secrets?”

“Those are things you need to discuss with him.” He dropped his arms to his sides. “Please, Gaia, for your own safety. Come back where I can keep an eye on you.”

Gaia considered it for a second. But she couldn't bear the thought of going back to that house. Too many ghosts. Besides, knowing as little as she did about the situation, she couldn't be sure it was the right decision. “Not now,” she said. “Not until you tell me more about what's going on.”

George shook his head. “I've told you all I can for now. Anything more would only be increasing your danger.”

Anger and frustration flared again. “Well, I can't move in with you until I have more information.”

“It's your decision, but I'm only looking out for your best interests,” said George. He stood up straighter, and suddenly Gaia could see the agent in the grayhaired, overweight man. “Gaia, I have more than thirty years' experience with the intelligence business. Have a little faith that I know what I'm talking about.”

Gaia nodded, but she still wasn't big on the ignorance-is-bliss theory. She wanted to know the answers, not be protected from them. “When will you tell me what's really going on?”

George rubbed at his chin. “When I learn more, I'll tell you. I'll be in touch.”

“Good,” said Gaia.

Unexpectedly George held out his hand. “Gaia, we need each other now,” he said. “We need to work together to stop whoever it is that's after your father.” With that, he let go of her hand. Then he turned and walked away into the moonlight.

THREE HOURS OF STANDING AROUND had made Tom stiff, tired, and bored. He'd been staking out The Rip, a tiny, windowless
bar that sat off at one end of town along a strip of bluff too high and stony to make for a good hotel spot. The building was low and made from unpainted concrete blocks. There was only a door in the front, a door in the back, a hand-painted sign, and lots of gray concrete. It was the kind of place where locals went for serious drinking and where not-so-locals went for serious business. Every now and then some tourists would drop by, looking for a little island color. But they never tried it twice.

Early in the evening the place had been almost deserted, but as the night got longer, the crowd got bigger. The tiny parking lot filled up with a strange mix of rusted-out Chevrolets and brand-new Mercedes. More customers arrived on foot or on bicycles that they left leaning against the concrete walls. Tom could well imagine the kinds of deals that were being made inside the small building. There would be smugglers working out routes to bring goods past customs or to ferry people around immigration. Drug dealers would be making arrangements to handle cocaine from Central America. There might even be some modernday pirates working out targets among the fancy yachts that were anchored offshore. None of that business concerned Tom. Not tonight.

Tonight was earmarked for finding the so-called Noel. But Tom was beginning to think that the guy with the speargun had sent him to the wrong place.
He was ready to go back to his small hotel on the south end of the island and wait out another tedious day without getting a step closer to Loki.

Could coming to the Caymans have been a mistake? It had seemed so important at the time. Loki was doing something here, something that required a lot of his funds and a large number of his operatives to be moved to this tropical oasis. Coming down to investigate had seemed essential. But after spending days chasing shadows around the islands, Tom wished he had stayed in New York. If he had stayed, at least he would be close to Gaia. And to Natasha. Tom gave a quick, silent prayer that the two of them were getting along. If Gaia would only give Natasha half a chance, he was sure that they would get along great. On the other hand, his daughter had reason not to rely on random acts of kindness.

Headlights appeared on the narrow strip of blacktop that separated The Rip from the more modern buildings of Red Bay. Tom held himself tight against a palm tree as the lights moved past his hiding place and on to the parking lot. The car was a little Mazda Miata. Black, shiny, and new.

Out of the tiny car stepped a woman so tall that Tom had to wonder how she ever fit inside. She was at least six-foot-two. Broad shouldered. Short-cropped hair dyed a screaming orange-red, and she wore a sleeveless blouse so sheer that even the moonlight
shone straight through. She gave herself a quick onceover in the side-view mirror of her car, then headed into The Rip with a long, purposeful stride.

Tom waited in the trees a few minutes longer. The quarter moon was standing well above the waves, turning the ocean black and silver. A breeze began to send the palm trees swaying and drove away the warmth of the day.

He had a very bad feeling about this. Tom reached into his pocket and touched the cool metal weight of the small .32-caliber revolver. He knew that this woman was part of Loki's organization, and she was his only lead to what Loki was doing down here in the islands. Just getting her name had taken him the better part of a week. There was no choice except to go after her. But Tom had no illusions. Whatever happened inside this little bar, it wasn't going to go down clean and it wasn't going to be easy.

Broken seashells crunched under his feet along the path to the entrance. There was no door really, only a door-sized hole with nothing at all to stop anyone from moving in and out. A small sign taped to the concrete indicated the bar had rated an
A
from the department of health. Tom wondered for a moment how large a bribe it had taken to earn that
A.

Inside, the windowless room was almost completely dark. There were a few lights behind the bar itself, enough that the bartender could tell whiskey
from rum. Some of the men turned to look as Tom stepped in between the clusters of small tables. Most didn't bother.

It took a few seconds for Tom's eyes to adjust to the room well enough to let him navigate between the irregular rows of tables and past the knots of standing men. He did one quick sweep of the place, stopped near the back wall, and turned around. The woman wasn't there. Another look around the room showed that there was another open door to the outside at the back and a third door on the left. Unlike the empty frames leading out, this last door was made of wood and was solidly closed. Unless the woman had walked straight through the front of the bar and right out the back—which was entirely possible—she had to be behind the door.

Tom walked across the room and reached for the doorknob. Before he could touch it, there was a soft click from behind his head. He turned and saw a barrel-chested man in a yellowed T-shirt. In the man's hand was a gun so small, it almost looked like a toy.

“Hey, my friend,” the man said. “You don't have any business in there.”

“I'm here to see a woman named Noel.”

“Everybody loves our Noel. Right now she's busy, and I don't think… I don't…” The gun came down a couple of inches. “Hey, don't I know you?”

Tom turned slightly so he could get a better look at the man. The guy was short, but he was wide across the shoulders and thick in the arms. A tough guy. A guy that was used to pushing people around and getting his own way. Only there was a look of fear on this tough guy's face. Tom took a guess about what was making the man afraid and decided to go with it.