Distant Memory (14 page)

“That’s great, teach. Thanks for the lecture. But what’s it got to do with my mission?”

“
Our
mission,” Massey corrected. “Once again, you’re missing the point. The hawk has the advantage because he knows how to read the signs. Once he knows that, he can fly over large areas, find the distinctive blue glow, and know that lunch is nearby. He still has to catch the mouse, but at least he knows where to look. That’s what we’re doing right now, McCullers. We’ve used technology to look for our prey, but we still have to catch it.”

“You get me close, Jeeves, and I’ll do the rest.”

“I’m not your chauffeur or your butler, but at least you understand the division of work. My job is to make sure you do your job. You’re being paid a great deal of money for this.”

“This has gone beyond money. Someone ran me off the road, put me in the hospital, and destroyed my truck.”

“Not to mention, prevented you from doing your job.”

“Yeah, that too,” McCullers conceded. “But it’s more than business now; it’s also personal. I have a score to settle with both of them.”

“That’s what I’m getting at,” Massey said. “The hawk does not kill out of some need for vengeance. It kills for food. You need to kill because
that’s what you’ve been hired to do. Not for revenge, and not to prove anything except that you can do what you say you can do. If you make revenge your motive, you may make mistakes, take too long, or be too emotional. That can’t be allowed.”

“Don’t worry about anything,” McCullers said coldly. “I’ll do my job, and I’ll do it just right. The killing will take place, and it won’t be traced back to your boss. But no one—not you, not Moyer, not anyone—is going to keep me from enjoying it.”

Massey frowned. He had the distinct feeling that he was flying with a bomb on board—a bomb named McCullers.

The traffic was thicker now, and Nick had fallen into silent concentration. Lisa gazed out the side window at the green hills that were separated from the azure ocean by the wide asphalt strip of U.S. Highway 101. The diesel engine droned on, its subtle vibration throbbing through the cab. Sleep threatened to take hold of Lisa, to pull her into its inky blackness, and although sleep would be good for her recuperation, she refused to give in. The past was just as elusive as it had been when she first awakened in the strange motel room that morning. She had no new memories, but her mind was clearing.

The amnesia was odd in several ways. As a test, Lisa had run the day backward in her mind. She could easily recall their lunch in Fillmore and her strange attraction to and excursion into the old, dilapidated church. The events at the McDonald’s in Mojave were clear and crisp, as were her sensations in the motel room. Her current memory seemed to be unaffected by the events that had led to her amnesia. She found comfort in that. While she could not summon her name, her occupation, the images of her parents, or the events of her childhood, she was, at least, not getting worse.

Questions swirled in her mind. Why had she reacted the way she
did when Nick picked up the cell phone? Her actions had been fueled by an unknown fear. Even more troubling had been the words that had poured from her mouth, dire warnings about “them” and “their” ability to track a cell phone. Could such a thing be true? Yes. She knew that. What she didn’t know was how she knew it. Who was the collective “they” she instinctively feared?

A nearly overpowering urge to look behind her, to study the side mirrors of the truck to see if they were being followed, made her wonder if she had other problems than amnesia—such as paranoia. Could she be schizophrenic, seeing and fearing what was not there? Were there really pursuers? Or was she having some psychotic event, some fire of delusion fanned and fueled by demons unknown to her? Out of the fog of her thoughts came an unbidden quotation: “Even paranoids can have enemies.” She said the words aloud. To her surprise, she remembered the source: Henry Kissinger.

“What?” Nick said.

Lisa turned to face him. “Huh?”

“You said something about paranoids.”

“Oh,” she said, realizing that she had uttered her thoughts aloud. “I was just thinking about a quote I read. ‘Even paranoids can have enemies.’ Henry Kissinger said that.”

“You remember Henry Kissinger but can’t remember your name?” Nick said, shaking his head. “That must be frustrating.”

“It is.”

“Well, I’ve got a quote too: ‘I envy paranoids; they actually feel - people are paying attention to them.’ ”

Despite her gray mood, Lisa chuckled. “You made that up, didn’t you?”

“No, I’m not that clever. I think a writer said that. Susan Sontag or something like that.”

“I was thinking about the phone. I feel like I should apologize again. That was an irrational act.”

A broad smile spread across Nick’s face. “Everyone should be entitled to a little irrationality now and then. Otherwise, how would we know when we were being rational?”

“I suppose,” Lisa replied. “Is it much farther?”

“My place?” Nick shook his head. “We’re almost there. I imagine you’re ready to get out and move around some.”

“Yes. I’m getting stiffer.”

“When we get to the house, you can take some ibuprofen and lie down. That will help some. It will be more comfortable than sitting in a bouncing truck and gazing out the window.”

“Nick,” she began. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Back at the McDonald’s in Mojave, when we were having breakfast, you told me you had to make a call and then you said you knew where a pay phone was. Remember?”

“Yes,” Nick said with uncertainty.

“If you had a cell phone in the truck, why would you use a pay phone?”

Nick was silent; his smile evaporated. Then he said, “Because the phone was in the truck, and I wanted to give you a few more minutes to finish your breakfast. If I said I was headed to the truck, you might have felt the need to hurry.”

“But I wasn’t really eating breakfast. My mouth was too sore. Still is.”

“I know, but it’s not a big deal. I was just trying to be courteous, like my mother taught me.” The smile returned. “Besides, I have a calling card. I often make calls from pay phones when my cell phone isn’t handy.”

“Oh,” Lisa said. Something was gnawing at the back of her mind.

“Look,” Nick said suddenly. “You see that sign that says
CARPIN-TERIA
?”

“Yes.”

“The next exit is ours. Ten minutes on surface streets, then it’s home, sweet home.”

Lisa felt awkward. “Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up?”

“Don’t mind at all. It will be my pleasure … unless you start tearing up my phones.” Nick laughed.

Lisa joined him … for a moment.

Moyer studied the image on his office computer screen. He had ordered that the direct, real-time image from the MC2-SDS satellite be channeled to his monitor. The image was clear and amazing to him, even though it was his company, under his direction, that had created, launched, and maintained the satellite. The technology was light-years ahead of the old surveillance platforms. He could clearly see the truck, bogged down in traffic, traveling in the far right lane of the highway. As he watched, a new image came on the screen—a helicopter. Moyer felt like a Greek god looking down on his puny subjects. Even aircraft were not hidden from his near-omniscient view. What he didn’t know was if that particular helicopter was the one with his men.

His phone rang. A good portent, he decided, as he spoke the command, “Answer.” It was Massey. Moyer listened for a few moments. “No, stay in the area, but don’t be obvious about it. I think we can track him from here. Once we have a position, do a flyover and then set down at the nearest airport. I’ll have a car waiting for you.” He hung up, leaned back in his thickly padded leather chair, and watched as the white truck pulled from the freeway to an off-ramp.

“It’s just a matter of time now, dear,” he said to the image on the screen. “Just a matter of time.”

“We got a break,” Tanner said, pulling a chair up next to Hobbs.

“So soon?” Hobbs was astonished.

“Hey, you’re dealing with the CHP here. You work with the best, you get the best.”

“Pride in one’s work is a noble thing,” Hobbs said dryly. “What have you got?”

“Two things. Our truck may have been seen in Fillmore by a motor unit. It was parked near a fast-food place. The officer hadn’t received the APB yet. When he returned it was gone.”

“And second?”

“One of our air units spotted a white truck with no logos on U.S. 101.”

“So our duo travels south on the 14 until the 126, crosses east from there until they reach the 101. Which way was it going on the 101?”

“North, toward Santa Barbara.” Tanner leaned back in the chair with a self-satisfied look. “We’ve dispatched another helicopter to the area and assigned a few ground units.”

“What happened to the other air unit?”

“Low on fuel. He had to pull off. He should pick up again after he refuels.”

“So there’s a limit to our luck. I have to hand it to you, Tanner. You guys are the best.”

“Is that what you’ll tell all your sheriff buddies?”

“No, I’ll deny it at every turn, of course.” Both men laughed. Hobbs rose from his seat. “I’m going to see if I can’t get another helicopter ride, not that I like it. I want to be on the scene when the truck is located.”

“Mind if I go along?”

“You’ll have to clear that with your superiors,” Hobbs said, “but it’s fine with me. A little interagency cooperation can be a good thing.”

“I’ve already cleared it,” Tanner replied. “There’s more to this case than there appears. I can feel it.”

Hobbs nodded. Tanner was right. He could feel it too, and it was a cold, unsettling feeling.

T
his is your home?” Lisa said with surprise. She was staring out the window at a wide, expensive-looking two-story house. The home was nestled between the lushly landscaped front yard and the ocean behind. Nick had directed the large truck off the freeway and down several side streets until they were on a frontage road that ran parallel to the shore. More than a dozen other houses were on the street, forming a tiny, tidy seashore community. Each large home was set in a well-manicured yard. The single row of houses looked like a picture of a Maine fishing community lifted from a chamber of commerce brochure. Except these houses were much larger than the quaint cottages of the East Coast. “The trucking business must pay great.”

“My parents bought it, remember?”

“I remember that you told me your father was an officer in the marines. He bought this house with what he made in the service?”

“That and his work after retirement. My dad made some money in the stock market. He had a knack for recognizing emerging companies. He started small, then kept at it. When he retired twenty-two years later, he had built up a little nest egg and bought this place.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Lisa said. “And right on the beach too.”

“It’s a private beach,” Nick explained. “There are fifteen houses in the association. The beach is limited to the members of the association.”