The Next President (42 page)

Fuck that, too.

DeVito sat in his room, sipping a ginger ale. He’d have liked to add a knock of scotch to his glass, but he needed a clear head. He had to sort things out, and fast. Goddamn Cade had turned him inside out, to the point where he couldn’t even trust himself.

He was truly convinced by now that Cade had been the guy in Chicago

who had taken the shot at Orpheus. The idea that Cade could have been a successor assassin, as Orpheus had proposed, complicated things too much.

It was a much cleaner line of reasoning to assume that Cade had made the first attempt, failed, and was back to try again.

The fact that Cade was a marksman with a rifle, and that his army unit had undoubtedly been a cover for something somebody hadn’t wanted to do publicly—gee, maybe Cade killed people—only underlined his conviction.

But he hadn’t known any of that the first time he’d seen Cade; he’d only known the guy should have had a manicure to complete his look.

There had been something just a touch off about him from the start.

Maybe there was a smell that accompanied treachery. God knew, with his beak he should be able to sniff out anything: treachery, deceit, an unpaid college loan. But thinking of Cade’s warning to watch out for someone inside the protection detail, sniffing it for all it was worth, he couldn’t find anything wrong with it. Cade thought one of their own was going to kill Orpheus.

And there was no question whom Cade had in mind. Arnold fucking Roth. If you looked at the videotape of the San Francisco assassination attempt with any kind of critical eye, you knew that Cade was trying to get Roth—right after he’d gotten his buddy Danby. And you took one look at Roth and you knew that he was practically dying to kill Cade.

So how did it all make sense? Why would Cade first try to kill Rawley, then save him, then make sure his security was perfect, and then warn DeVito that there was a threat from Roth?

It didn’t make any sense.

So go back to the man’s history, DeVito told himself. Cade was involved in some kind of spook-shop operation in the army. Then he got out and left all that shit behind. He started a normal—hell, a successful—life. Why in God’s name would he leave a sweet, safe setup like that? Common sense said he would stay right where he was and keep on keepin’ on.

If DeVito had been in Cade’s shoes, you’d have had to … Force him to do anything different.

The lightbulb went on. Somebody was blackmailing Cade… and who’d know enough to have the dirt on him but his old commanding officer, Garvin Townes? Sure, he had to know about something Cade had done in Viet—No, wait, there was the thing with Cade’s kid in Illinois, a murder charge. That had to be—Jesus! Did Townes have two things on Cade: one on him, one on his son? That could be enough to make a man do almost anything.

So, then, the only thing that could change Cade’s mind was… he’d gotten out from under. Yeah! Somehow Cade had outwitted Townes. Got

his kid’s murder charge dropped and slipped out of the corner he was in, too. He wasn’t going to kill Rawley anymore, and so … and so he took out Danby and warned DeVito about Roth because they were the backup team.

Sonofabitch! He’d figured it out.

Some of the details might not be exactly right but the broad outline sure worked. Cade was a bad guy who’d become a good guy. DeVito gut instinct about Cade had been right, and now his brain had connected all the dots.

Or most of them, anyway.

He wondered for a moment why he hadn’t thought earlier about the possibility of Cade’s being blackmailed. Then he realized it was less than twenty four hours ago that he’d made the connection between Cade and Townes.

And only a few days before that he’d learned about Cade’s kid being arrested.

Up till then—on paper—Cade had looked squeaky clean. So why should he have thought of blackmail?

Okay, he hadn’t slipped up, but now what the hell did he do? Because he still couldn’t prove jack shit. Who did he talk to about this? DeVi to couldn’t just go over Roth’s head and tell the director of the Secret Service; he was still a pariah. If he started spouting, everyone would look at him like he was crazy.

Worse, they’d think he was just trying to fuck over the guy who’d gotten his old job.

DeVito laughed quietly to himself. The guy he’d like to talk with right now was Cade. Take him aside, confide in him he’d figured the whole thing out, say no hard feelings, see if the two of them could work something out.

Yeah, sure. Cade would probably shoot him.

Or arrange to have a meteorite hit him.

DeVito went to his minibar and grabbed one of those airline-sized bottles of scotch. He’d sip his drink. See if he couldn’t think of something brilliant to do.

Jenny Crenshaw was back in the Hollywood Hills. It was night, but the kind of night they had in the movies, where you can still see everything clearly even though it should be pitch black. What Jenny saw was J. D. Cade, and not just one of him. He was everywhere.

Behind every rock, tree, and bush, there was J. D. And every time she saw him he was holding another kind of weapon: a handgun, a rifle, a rocket launcher, a crossbow.

All the weapons were pointed at the stage of the Hollywood Bowl. The only illumination on the stage was a tightly focused spotlight. From the audience in the amphitheater below, Jenny heard applause begin and

people start to cheer. She knew Del was walking onto the stage, moving toward the spotlight. As he did, the crosshairs of a telescopic sight appeared on the circle of the spotlight. But Jenny knew that you would have to be above the stage to see it. The people below had no idea of what was about to happen.

Their roar of approval grew louder as Del neared the spot where he would die.

Riven with panic, Jenny looked around to find J. D. and beg him not to do it. A moment ago she had seen him everywhere, but now she couldn’t see him at all. Still, she knew he hadn’t left; the threat was more imminent than ever.

She felt something descending upon her. She looked up, and there was J. D. hovering in the air, kept aloft by black wings. Horns she’d never before noticed protruded from his head. He had cloven hooves instead of feet. He looked at her and there was fire in his eyes. All along he’d been the devil in disguise.

Turning his attention to the stage, the winged demon raised a sniper’s rifle just as Del’s leading foot broke into the cylinder of light. Jenny tried to yell for help, but her voice was gone. She looked around frantically for someone to stop the monster. Where was the Secret Service? Where were the cops?

Why wouldn’t somebody do something to prevent this tragedy?

Then she saw DeVito standing on the pavement ofMulholland Drive, but he was shaking his head. He held up his hands and Jenny saw they were heavily tied. Jenny looked back at the stage. Del’s leg had entered the light, and an arm and shoulder were following. He was in the light now, oblivious to the fact that he was approaching his death.

The demon spared Jenny one last glance and then turned his fiery eye to the rifle’s telescopic sight. Del Rawley stood directly in the crosshairs. The crowd cheered wildly.

Desperate for some way to save Del, Jenny looked around and saw a mask lying on the ground. It was the face of J. D. Cade, the one the demon had wanted the world to see, the guise it no longer needed. She grabbed it. It crumpled and compressed in her hands, forming a ball with a thousand razor-sharp points that tore her flesh. She hurled it with all her strength. It hit the demon and he shattered like glass, but she was too late. The creature had gotten off a shot.

She tried to turn and see if Del was… but something terribly strong seized her.

Jenny woke up to find a Secret Service agent shaking her shoulder.

“Ms.

Crenshaw,” the man said, “wake up. You were having one hell of a dream.”

Jenny looked around, just starting to get her bearings. A second agent

stood in the background. The one with his hand still on her shoulder regarded her with concern.

“You okay now? You were screaming so loudly we thought someone was being killed. And when we heard the crash we had to come in.” He nodded at a wall mirror that had been shattered.

“Looks like you did that with a water glass. Must’ve been one hairy nightmare.”

“It was,” Jenny replied weakly.

“Should I call for the hotel doctor?” the agent asked.

Jenny shook her head.

“I’ll be all right.”

“Okay. Be careful of the broken glass, then, until we can get someone to clean it up.”

Jenny nodded again, and the Secret Service agents left.

The dream was still so vivid in her mind it made her shiver. How could she have imagined J. D. that way? He’d been the one who was so helpful last night. He’d been the one who got DeVito to think of all the possible ways that… How had he been able to think of so many ways Del could be attacked on that stage?

J. D. had told DeVito it was just common sense, but it was almost as if he was revealing an expertise in the matter. Maybe without even being aware of it. Then with her consciousness brightening and the horrible dream receding, she remembered that there was no question that J. D. had been trying to protect Del, not hurt him. J. D. had saved Del’s life.

The nightmare had turned everything inside out. Were all of DeVito suspicions poisoning her subconscious? Mindful of the broken glass, Jenny tiptoed to the bathroom. It was not yet five o’clock but she had a million things to do today, and number one on her list was to see J. D. Cade.

If only to make sure he hadn’t grown any horns.

Blair McCray and Deena Nokes had spent all of the previous afternoon in a futile search for the frog-faced man Deena had seen at the restaurant. Then they’d stayed up until the wee hours sharing their respective memories of Ivar. It was the most meaningful memorial service that had been held in honor of the departed biker.

Just about sunset last night, their reminiscences had been interrupted by a deep grunt at the trailer door. Gorbachev had arrived and announced it was time for his dessert. Deena insisted upon having the animal forage in the woods for his own meals, but she provided sweets for him at least once a day.

She went to her tiny fridge and pulled out a half-gallon tub of ice cream.

Deena took the ice cream out to the bear, pulled the lid off, and set

the container down at the foot of the stairs to the trailer. Blair watched from the doorway. Deena looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

“Don’t worry about Gorby. He knows you’re a friend of mine now.”

Blair inclined his head.

“Does he really live in that old cabin over there?”

“He pretty much bunks there through the winter. Gets out of the rain there, too. When the weather’s nice, he moves around a lot.”

“Does he really heed you?”

“About fifty-fifty,” Deena told him.

“Same as any other male, I guess. Let’s see how he’s feeling today. Gorby.” The bear looked up at Deena, his muzzle pink with strawberry ice cream. Deena whispered, her voice filled with feigned menace, “The Cossacks are coming.”

Immediately the bear’s head whipped around. His eyes scanned the woods and he went into a defensive posture and growled. Deena looked at Blair and arched her eyebrows questioningly. The lawman nodded, impressed.

“Moscow is saved!” Deena told Gorbachev.

The bear relaxed and turned back to Deena with an expectant look.

“I don’t know what half this shit means,” she told Blair, “but that’s the way the old Russian who raised Gorby trained him.” Then she added, “In the cabinet next to the fridge there’s some candy. Fetch Gorby a peanut butter cup, would you? He loves them damn things.”

Blair got the candy and at Deena’s urging unwrapped it and tossed it at Gorbachev. The bear plucked it out of the air with his mouth. Blair would have sworn with his hand on a Bible that Gorbachev grinned as he masticated the treat. Then he lumbered off, content with the boost in his blood sugar, heading for the trees.

“You just made a friend for life,” Deena told Blair. She picked up the ice cream container and the two of them went back inside.

They talked for hours, always keeping an ear out for the sound of someone approaching the trailer. In the morning they’d go out looking for Froggy again.

That sense of purpose was what wakened both of them almost at the same time after only three hours of sleep. Deena pushed herself up on an elbow on the unopened sleeper sofa where she’d spent the night, and Blair sat up in his sleeping bag on the floor. Each of them regarded the other somewhat sheepishly in the first light of day, remembering how much of their pasts they’d revealed to someone who was all but a stranger.

Blair gestured to Deena that she should use the bathroom first, and she was just about to close the door when, looking out the window, Blair murmured, “Jesus Christ!”

“What is it?” Deena asked, alarmed.

She hurried over to the window. What she saw made her draw a sharp breath. Someone had been outside the trailer last night. Had been very close by, and with all their chattering, they hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t known at all that someone had come and tied Evan Cade to a tree.

Ben Cade was moving about the kitchen of his home in the town of Anna as the day began. He was the one who made breakfast in his family. He had just cracked four eggs into a bowl to scramble and butter was melting in the frying pan when the phone rang. He said hello and heard J. D.‘s voice on the line.

“Ben, I need a favor,” J. D. told him.

“Anything at all, J. D. Just name it.”

“I’ve been told Evan’s been kidnapped.”

“Dear God Almighty’! You coming home again?”

“As soon as I can. But I need you to see if you can find him.”

“J. D.” we’ve got to go to the police with something like this.” Ben was worried when his cousin didn’t respond immediately, and even more disturbed when he eventually did.

“Ben, if Evan has been kidnapped, the people who have him will kill him if they see any cops. I need you not only to find Evan, I need you to do whatever it takes to free him.”