The Blonde (29 page)

Kowalski also had a box of plastic-wrapped weapons buried
near his old rental house. Right on the beach. Unless someone had dug it up since then.

Most importandy, Kowalski knew a good cheap Mexican dentist who might be able to put his remaining tooth back in his mouth.

He wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.

They crossed the border at dusk. There were no problems, especially since they’d traded the car with the cracked windshield in for a less conspicuous vehicle. It was another beige Ford Taurus. Vanessa said she’d just gotten the hang of it, and it would worry her to change it up.

Just over the border she announced she was famished. Kowalski told her they’d be sitting down to real Mexican food in under thirty minutes, but she asked him for a dollar anyway and bought a bag of fried bread from a kid on the street. She regretted the purchase after taking a bite. She dumped the rest in a compartment between the driver and passenger seats.

Roads in Mexico were much more challenging than 1-5 south. Painted lanes? Yeah. Sure. And then there were the potholes the size of kiddie swimming pools.

“Fooking hell,” she said. “This is worse than L.A.”

And it had been a while for Kowalski, so he was a little confused as to which road would take them down to Rosarito. Had they moved the roads since then?

Maybe it was his concussion. Or being paralyzed.

The darkness didn’t help, either.

After a while it seemed like they were seeing the same gas stations and shuttered buildings and nonsensical road signs. Kowalski wanted to close his eyes. That wasn’t going to happen. Not for a while, anyway.

Until he finally saw the sign for Fox Studios Baja.

James Cameron had built this massive tank down here for
Titanic
, and since then a bunch of movies involving large bodies of
water had been shot here, too. Kowalski had been gone before they built the thing, but he visited enough times to know he was close.

“We’re here,” he said.

“Thank Christ,” she said. “I’m starving.”

“First we have to go to the beach.”

“What?”

“You were the one complaining about my lack of
fooking
guns.”

The little cluster of houses was still there. Only now there was a guard at top of the road leading down to the beach. Vanessa flirted with him best she could while Kowalski crept down to his old house, which was occupied, of course. He made his way to the spot on his hands and knees, and was grateful that nobody had decided to install a cement patio over the spot. The box was three feet down. The tops of his fingers were raw by the time they brushed against the dark green metal. There was no sound in the house. Just the sound of his own breathing and the waves crashing on the shore.

He thought about taking the whole box, but that might be tough to check in to a hotel. So he grabbed a few essentials.

A 9mm Luger.

A 9mm Beretta Brigadier, for Vanessa.

Boxes of ammo for both.

And finally, an M-79 40mm grenade launcher, along with some high-explosive rounds and shotguns rounds (20 ought buck). For those close-call getaways.

He stuffed the guns in his pants, ammo in his pockets, then re-buried the box, slung the M-79 over his shoulder, and crab-walked out of there.

Vanessa left the road guard incredibly confused yet undeniably aroused.

“There’s a hotel and restaurant up the road,” Kowalski said. “Maybe ten minutes.”

“You said something similar when we crossed the border.”

Kowalski reached into his pants, pulled out the Beretta, handed it to her.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Wow,” she said.

“Just drive.”

Ten minutes north was the Rosarito Baja Resort and Cocktail Lounge, with emphasis on the last part. The place made a halfhearted attempt at being touristy, but mostly attracted tourists who didn’t give a shit about that kind of stuff. Tourists who wanted to eat cheap Mexican food and drink themselves stupid.

Kowalski left the M-79 in the trunk, but took the Luger. He told Vanessa to put the Beretta in her bag. He carried the laptop and USB with him, in the little carry bag he’d stolen along with the computer. He carried in his tooth, too.

They were ready for dinner.

The restaurant was mildly crowded. It was the late dinner, early drinking set. Outside the windows, and across an empty pool, Kowalski could see a giant patio covered by a tent. Beneath it, there was a large crowd of people square-dancing. Yeah, that’s what it was. A crowd of Asian tourists, square-dancing. That, or his concussion was getting worse.

Their chicken enchiladas and empanadas and nachos and salsa and bottles of cold Dos Equis had just about arrived when the stranger sat down at the table with them.

She dressed like a tourist: white hoodie with stripes running down the arms, Corona over the right breast, jeans. Hair up with a clip.

Strangely enough, she was a redhead.

S
he gave you some Proximity tech,” Kowalski said. “Which is how you were able to track our movements so precisely.”

“Precise
is
the word.” He fished around in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small plastic unit with an LCD display.

He showed it to Kowalski. The display had a map of North America. There was a pulsating dot in the northeast corner of Pennsylvania. And another around San Diego.

“And see, I thought she came right for us.”

“She had the blonde’s DNA, from the lab back in Dublin. We gave her yours.” He looked down at the device. “Funny how Vanessa’s still registers, even though she’s dead.”

“Yeah. Funny. So how did she find you?”

“She didn’t,” the interrogator said. “She tried to make contact with your, um, ex-girlfriend after she’d been removed from her post. We intercepted the message. We made contact. We brought her in. She told us what we needed to know.”

“And then you just let her come after us?”

“Well, not exactly. She kind of fucked us over on that. We wanted you alive. She went out there to punish you.”

“Right.”

“Which brings us to the point of our meeting, Michael. We need to know where she is now. And you were the last person to see her, according to the hotel staff—right before your little blonde friend went on her second killing spree.”

“Listen—”

“Hang on now. Don’t just blurt it all out. Think it over. Because the moment you tell us, and we verify, you’re a dead man.”

“Look, she’s—”

“Shhh now. Shhhhh. Don’t you want a little more life? Or the chance that we’ll keep you alive until you tell us?” He played with the small knife in his hands.

Kowalski smiled. “You forgot what I told you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re the one who’s going to die. Every fucking last one you.”

Y
ou killed my brother,” the stranger said, then reached over and helped herself to a sip of Kowalski’s beer.

Which was the only thing he’d planned on eating. His teeth were too messed up to chew a steak or even a taco, and he hated burritos. So it was pretty much beer—and later, when he found the right guy, some painkillers—on the menu. He’d ordered food so Vanessa wouldn’t feel self-conscious.

“That’s my beer,” Kowalski said. “Who was your brother?”

“You knew him as Matthew Silver,” she said. “He was lusting after this one for a while. He used to e-mail me about her.” She turned to glare at Vanessa. “My brother made you sound like a real prude. Couldn’t you have done the world a favor, spotted him a handjob?”

“Your brother was a whiny little bitch,” Vanessa said.

“Look at us. We could be sisters.”

“Died like one, too.”

“Ladies, ladies,” Kowalski said, pretending to play peacemaker, but actually reaching down into his trouser pocket for the Luger. He wrapped his hand around the grip.

The strange redhead, meanwhile put a black purse on the table and opened it.

Here we go
.

Kowalski was ready to shoot her through his pants, if need be. A messy gut shot, but it would stop her.

But the stranger wasn’t going for a weapon. Rather, a small plastic box with an LCD screen. There was a digital map of North America on it. And right at the top of Baja California, approximately right where they’d sat down to a hot Mexican meal and two cold beers, were two pulsing dots.

“I helped my brother create Proximity,” she said. “It’s something we’d joked about at Georgia Tech. It got real a year ago. I was his silent partner.”

“Got a name, little sister?” Kowalski asked. This might be her. The financial link they’d been searching for.

She smiled. “Let’s see. We’ve got a Silver. And it was Kelly White, wasn’t it? So call me Ms. Black.”

“I am
not
going to call you Ms. Black. That’s ridiculous.”

“Lucia, then.”

Kowalski scanned his memory.
Lucia, Lucia, Lucia
… Was the name anywhere in those Excel files? Not that it mattered, really. They would subdue this one, make her talk. She would tell them everything they needed to know. He was rusty, but he still had some moves. He knew how to make it hurt.

“After I heard what happened,” Lucia said, “I flew to my brother’s lab. There was enough to piece together the story. As well as a tracking device.”

She showed them the little plastic box again.

“How can we help you, Lucia?” Kowalski asked.

“I wanted to meet you in Los Angeles, but you were busy. I didn’t know they’d try to send someone to kill you so quickly.”

“We’re here now. What do you want?”

“Not here. Some place quiet.”

Some place quiet was an empty banquet room down a tiled hallway that featured a giant oil painting of a bull that had been stabbed with three lances. Kowalski kicked out the door stop. With a pneumatic hiss, the door closed behind him.

Kowalski gave Vanessa a look, and they both pulled their guns on Lucia.

He had no idea if Vanessa even knew how to use a gun. But the intimidation factor had to be a bonus.

They both aimed for her head.

“I’m unarmed,” Lucia said.

“Of course you are,” Kowalski said.

Lucia quickly pressed a series of buttons her little plastic box. “Mr. Kowalski, you’re going to want to back up right about now.” Lucia moved closer to Vanessa.

“Hey,” Vanessa said. “Stop.”

Something beeped.

“Or what? You’ll shoot? You won’t shoot me. Because if you do, you’ll have no way of reversing what I’ve just done to you.”

“What did you do?” Kowalski asked.

She turned and raised her eyebrows. “Mr. Kowalski, really, back up. At least ten feet.”

And now maybe it was the concussion, or the sip of beer he’d had, or a delayed reaction the paralyzing needle prick from the gorgeous pain freak in San Diego … but Kowalski’s head really started to throb badly. Worse with every beat of his pulse. Like there was something expanding in his brain, trying to push his eyes out of their sockets from within.

“Fuck,” he said. He meant to step backward, but ended up tripping forward.

It got WORSE.

Holy fucking GOD.

Is this what they all went through, right before the Mary Kates ate their brains?

“Back, Mr. Kowalski. That’s the other direction. Quickly now.”

“
What did you do to me!?
” Vanessa screamed.

He was finally able to scoot backward, out of range. The pain seemed to diminish slightly. But he still wanted to throw up.

“I’ve reprogrammed your nanites. You’re now a killer for real now, Vanessa Reardon. Anyone comes within ten feet of you, you’ll trigger the Proximity in their bloodstream. You’ll make their brains explode.”

“You …”

Vanessa reached out, trying to touch Lucia’s shoulder.

“Me?” asked Lucia. “Honey, I’m immune. I shut down the nanites in my blood before I flew out here. Injected myself with a nanite that eats Proximity. I could drink your blood right now and be perfectly fine.”

Great, Kowalski thought. Like brother, like sister.

“Unfortunately for you,” she continued, “most of the continent has been infected by now. Including, I’d guess, all of the people in this hotel.”

Vanessa shuddered, dropped her Beretta. Kowalski doubted she even realized it. If it was possible for a human being to fold up inside herself and disappear, Vanessa was doing it now.

“You’re a killer, Vanessa. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kowalski picked up his Luger and aimed it at Lucia’s chest.

Of course, there was no way he could pull the trigger.

T
hat’s just sick,” the interrogator said, then exhaled a short burst of air. “Wow.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“I mean, Jesus. I’m a guy who makes his living carving out people’s assholes with a knife. But even that strikes me as going too far. Even for revenge.”

The interrogator played with his knife a little more, then seemed to have a bit of a revelation.

“Oh … I get it now. She didn’t really mean to kill those seventeen people, did she? They were collateral damage.”

“You could say that.”

“Man, that is wicked
cold
. I have got to meet this Lucia chick.”

“You’d make a nice couple. Anyway, can I finish? I really have to take a leak, and we’re almost at the end.”

The interrogator put his little knife on the table then spread his hands. “By all means.”

Kowalski leaned forward to finish his story.

“By the time I stood up, Vanessa was gone. She ran out of the room. So did Lucia, cackling the whole way. My head was a wreck. It took a lot of effort to stand up. I made it out to the parking lot, but the car was already gone. Vanessa took it. I didn’t have much to
go on. She didn’t know the roads down there. She could have gone anywhere.

“I hotwired a car and went looking anyway. My vision was shot, and it was night. But I kept driving.

“A couple of hours later I saw a body by the side of the road. It was an old woman. I pulled the car over and got out. It looked like her head had been run over with a truck tire. But I knew that wasn’t what happened. I’d seen that kind of gushing head wound before. Vanessa had been here. She’d killed that woman because she got too close.