The Fury and the Terror (30 page)

"What is it, Stahlnut?"

"Urgent call, sir."

"I don't care how urgent. When I'm running."

"Says he's your son."

After a few moments the Director broke stride and stood panting in the shade of a hickory tree by a winding brook. In the distance a squad of Bureau recruits was hoorawing through an obstacle course.

"This is Hyde."

"Dad."

"
Geoff
. Wondering when I'd hear from you."

"I know this isn't a secure line."

"Save it, then."

"Can't, sir. I have to tell you. I can't do it. Carry out my assignment. I've already done too much to hurt her. She'll never f-forgive me. Riley's dead. Huh-huh-heart attack. She'll never, in her life, ever. But I have to protect her! Can't let you do this. I'm s-sorry. I love her, sir."

"Are you crying? What's going on? Have you lost your—"

"No, no! I know what I'm doing. I almost lost it, but I understand now. She explained. How there can be t-two of them. I can deal with it. This isn't like when I washed out of the SEALs, Dad! I'm not having a breakdown. I'm in, in, I've got 'plete control of myself, sir."

"Where are you, Geoff?"

"Place called Greenwood Lake. Northern California. People named Hassler own this house. You see, what happened was—"

"Is she there? Is the subj—the Waring girl's with you right now?"

"Well uh yes. But that's the hard part to expl—"

"Geoff. Listen to me, son. Stay right where you are. You need my help, I can tell."

"Complete control. I'm not messed up!"

"Wasn't implying you were. You've been under a lot of strain, I appreciate that. I'm going to help you. Are you listening? Now there's someone else, from Impact Sector—"

"Shit, I know about him! Crazy son of a bitch. He was gonna whack me too." There was a silence. Hyde mopped his brow. Geoff's voice changed. "Wasn't your idea, was it?"

"Geoff, no, of course not!"

Geoff's voice growing colder. "So that wasn't your plan all along? Because, because you hated me for washing out of SEALs?"

"I've never hated—"

"Never loved me either. God damn you! And all I ever wanted, you bastard,
wanted
. How could you do this to me! Put me in this position? Well you'll never find me, I promise. Me or Eden. I'm protectin' her now. You won't get your hands on her. I'm firmly resolved. God is my witness and I will kill you first!"

"Don't say that. You're overwrought. Exhausted, from the sound of your voice. What happened to the covert from Impact?"

"Neutralized. He failed. Like you think
I
failed, but I haven't because Eden is the only one who matters to me anymore. Now this is what I want you to do."

"You want—yes, all right. Talk to me."

"Get a medevac chopper up here, right now. Betts needs medical attention. And Riley, poor Riley! I never wanted anything like this. But I'll make amends. I swear."

"I'm coming out there. Stay where you are. That's not an order. I'm asking as a concerned male parent."

"Fat chance," Geoff said, choking out the words. "I never ... want to see you again."

"Don't you understand? Has she warped your mind? This girl can be extremely dangerous—hello?"

Hyde lowered the phone, looked down, looked up, a face full of storm signals. He pitched the cell phone to the nearest bodyguard.

"Stahlnut. Chopper on the ball field over there, secure communications, I'll be waiting."

"Sir!"

"Then notify TAC at headquarters. I want Mach two transportation to Innisfall, California. On the line and smoking, forty minutes. National Security Directive authorization, X-Ray Niner Six Six Delta Rover. McDurfee, have my valet pack an overnighter. Tell him not to forget my military-issue Glock and two extra thirteen-round mags. Then alert Impact Sector to an incoming Code Red. Raise some dust, son."

GREENWOOD LAKE • MAY 29 • 9:05 A.M. PDT

G
eoff McTyer rubbed his face carefully, as if he were afraid it had begun to soften and was about to assume a strange shape in the sun. "You can take me to Eden, can't you?"

"Not the way
I
got here," the dpg said. They were sitting on the dock.

She had removed her sandals and was splashing her feet idly in the water.

"How did you get here?"

"Visualization travel. Easy for me, impossible for youse."

"What?" Geoff said. He bent over, scooped some water in one hand, and dashed it across his face.

"Just poking a little fun at your accent. You don't look good."

"Visual what?"

"It's a doppelganger thing. But you've had enough input already for one day. Sensory overload. Frazzles your dendrites."

"I want to know everything," Geoff said gamely. "You're sayin' I can't handle it? You won't freak me out. I've already been there and back."

"It's just that you keep throwing up. Your eyes are rolling around in your head. Sensory overload. Give yourself a rain check. Lie down in the shade for a while."

"I'll sleep later. Time to go. I'll drive. Tell me where."

"What about Betts?"

"Help is on the way. I don't want to be here when."

"Frankly I'm in no hurry to get back," Eden's doppelganger said. "Why not?"

"What happens if I pull off this jersey and drop my shorts?"

"Oh, Jesus! Don't do that again."

"It was a little cold turkey. For you. Well, one disappearing picture is worth, and so on. Reason why I did it. Anyway, we go back and I resume my inferior status, I mean, I'm purely a doppelganger again. Until and if Eden needs me. Pardon me if I'm enjoying what little freedom I'm allowed, okay? And I have to say I enjoy hanging out with you, Geoff. I think you need me more than you need Eden right now. So there it is."

"I'm responsible. You don't know what could happen to Eden!"

"Eden's a cautious soul, since all of the commotion began. That's why, when Betts didn't sign off her E-mail with the usual 'Cheerio, dear one,' Eden decided I should put in an appearance instead. Get the full skinny and report back to her."

"She'll be waitin', then. Let's move. Hit the road."

"Eden won't be worried. She knows I can't get into trouble on her behalf. Very much trouble. I've proved to her I'm the dependable sort. Any luck, and I'll make corporal this year."

Geoff shuddered and closed his eyes.

"Coming down with something?"

He shuddered again. "I'm in control. Once in a while, talking to ...
you
, it's like a cold slap in the face."

"I resent that. Nothing frigid about me. I have body heat. Go ahead, verify that again. Put your hand on my breast. Or anywhere else you want to, I'm not shy. I can have sex. Eden's asleep now, she wouldn't know. The way it works, there's no direct communication between us when I'm traveling, unless it's an emergency. I'm saying—if I need to be more explicit—while we're doing it my homebody probably would enjoy a lovely wet dream." She smiled, a sunny flattering come-on. "Takes a real man to satisfy two women at once."

"I've never felt less like havin' sex."

"Oh," the dpg said. She looked down, then kicked one foot to scatter her reflection on the water. "I thought men always wanted to have sex."

"I haven't slept. My nerves are shot. Doesn't have a thing to do with you."

"Or what I am?" She kicked water in his direction, frowning.

Geoff shrugged uneasily.

"We need to get out of here. I talked to my old man, dropped the fat in the fire, how long ago?" He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes we've been sittin' here? It's not safe to hang around. Wheels are in motion. Events are turning. Where's Eden?"

"Spoil sport."

"Do you have to do what I tell you?"

"No. You don't get three wishes either. Jeez."

"Then what can I do for you, is there somethin', I mean besides have sex, which I guarantee I cannot manage right now?"

"Well ... no point in talking about it. Humans don't keep their bargains. And you're a lying rat."

"A man can change. What do you mean, 'bargain'? So there is some-thin'."

"Could be." She stood up suddenly, wet legs gleaming in the sunlight, and stretched, her navel popping into view. She reached down and gave his earlobe a playful tweak. "We can discuss it on the way to Moby Bay. By the way, Geoff, what do you want to do with that stale twinkie we have tied up?" She raised her eyes to the deck above them, then looked meaningfully at the compact Glock automatic he'd stuffed inside his belt.

Geoff looked uncertain.

"Do I get a vote?" the dpg asked. "I say kill him. You'll be doing him a favor. Another hour and his makeup will melt in the sun. Then you won't be able to tell if you're looking at his face or his ass."

Geoff went up the ladder with Eden's dpg following.

The assassin was hog-tied and silenced, his baroque evil undiminished in bonds of gray tape. The Rona Harvester wig was askew. The hatred in his eyes, when he looked at Geoff, was as indestructible as brimstone.

Geoff drew the gun. Stood there, not aiming. The assassin smirked and yawned, then closed his curly lashed eyes. The eyelids shimmered prettily. Geoff grimaced and put the Glock away. Turned to find the dpg looking at him with faint disapproval. Geoff trembled.

"His own people will take care of him. Let's go."

"Why didn't you shoot him?" the dpg asked as they left the boat dock.

"We are reduced to monsters not by our aims, but by our appetites," Geoff said. "I read that somewhere. Let's say I don't want to acquire the appetite."

She smiled. Eden's smile, a dimpled girl of quiet humors.

"You may not be such a loser after all. I'll put that in my report."

Geoff and Eden's dpg took a few minutes to look in on Betts. They made her as comfortable as they could, gave her water and a prescription painkiller Geoff found in her purse. Betts's face was swollen. She gripped the doppelganger's hand, muttered but didn't talk. She seemed not to know where she was.

On the way down the porch steps to Geoff's Taurus they heard a helicopter.

WESTBOUND: ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE/INNISFALL • MAY 29 • 1905 HOURS ZULU

A
n F-16B with two 150-gallon drop tanks for extended range flew FBI Director Robert Hyde to California. At thirty-nine thousand feet over western Kansas, two miles above a storm building in front of the Rockies, Hyde was on a secure sat channel with Special Agent in Charge Dolph Hackett of the FBI field office in Sacramento.

"What did you find at the lake?"

"The covert from Impact Sector," Hackett replied.

"Status?"

"He's on the way here now by helicopter."

"What has he had to say?"

"Word is he seems a bit off-base. Disoriented. When we asked about the girl he, uh, had a fit of giggles. I'm told. Says he'll talk only to someone from Impact Sector."

"Chill the covert until the IS team arrives to debrief him. The foster parents?"

"We found her in a battered condition. She was choppered to the medical center in Innisfall. Her husband was deceased, apparently from natural causes, although that remains to be determined."

"Location of Runaway?"

"He's taking back roads, traveling south by southwest. Don't know how much longer we can track him because of LoJack's limited range. We have two stealth helos en route from Travis with FLIR and photo recon capability. But Runaway is traveling through some heavily wooded country, which makes surveillance more difficult."

"I don't want to hear difficult. I'll personally alert Shepherd at NSA. We need a dedicated satellite. I don't want to hear that we've lost Runaway."

"No, sir. We won't lose him."

"And I want a confirm on the girl."

"ETA for the helos is less than ten minutes. We'll know then if she's with Runaway."

"Good job, Hackett. I had the greatest respect for your father. You're a credit to him."

"Thank you, sir."

MOBY BAY • MAY 29

B
y noon on Sunday Eden was caught up on sleep. When she got out of bed her upper back was sore and felt bruised in three places across the shoulders, as if she had been jabbed sharply with the rounded end of a broomstick.

She had yogurt in the kitchen with Chauncey, who cautioned her not to eat much more. Her father was hosting a Memorial weekend barbecue and everyone who lived in Moby Bay was coming. Wick McLain was one of several local painters who shared a gallery on Main Street. He was an affable man with a narrow face, distinguished by a cascading mustache and prickly stubble. He was already at work on the patio fussing over his three-thousand-dollar stainless-steel propane-fired grill, only a little smaller than a restaurant's range. A couple of neighbors were setting tables on the lawn that sloped fifty yards to the bluff overlooking the blue Pacific.