Part 5 (1/2)

”Then we catch a plane.”

”Together?”

She was gazing at him hopefully, lips slightly parted. Suddenly, instead of answering, he was kissing her and she was straddling him, pulling her T-s.h.i.+rt over her head. He ran his fingertips gently over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the lightest possible touch, and she smiled and closed her eyes as if to say, you know me, you know me perfectly. Within seconds, they were moving together in a light of their own making. It pa.s.sed beyond understanding, his love and desire for this woman, be- yond cellular memory or anything his science could conceive, and it alarmed him deeply. The effortless way he picked up on her every mood s.h.i.+ft, every subtle alteration in her need, their easy rapture and total unity, all this terrified and electrified him to the core. Midnight came. He waited while she dressed and dried his clothes in the hotel's laundry room, briefly waking the proprietor. Then she led him downstairs to her car. She woke the sleeping guard with the word, ”To ro,” and he jolted awake and opened the gate. Elizabeth drove them to within a mile of the base. For a quarter of an hour they sat in her rented car saying nothing, unable to part. At last he opened the door, got out, and at the instant he turned around she was climbing out from behind the wheel. They kissed again under the canopy of stars, this time for so long he lost all sense of danger. He watched her make a U-turn and drive back in the direction of the Casa del Frances. For the last two hours, neither one had spoken a word. I know her, he thought with a shudder. I know her so well. Everything but her name.

And Beatrice?

At the moment, he couldn't even picture his wife's face without seeing this woman's. It was as though they were the same face. That was the most terrifying thing of all.

Back in her room in the middle of packing, Elizabeth stopped and picked up the phone. If, as it seemed, she was going to vanish for a while, there were people she should call. Annie, of course, and maybe her landlord, and the people at Helvetica. And Rose-Anne, Hans's mother.

It was now one o'clock in the morning, and eight hours later in Zurich. She dialed Zurich information using her calling card and asked for Rose-Anne Brinkman. She was given two numbers, one for an R. Brinkman, one for a Rose-Anne Brinkman. At the first number, a young girl answered in German. When Elizabeth asked if Rose-Anne was there, the girl said she was RoseAnne. Elizabeth apologized, dialed the second number and waited through four rings. ”Yes?”

”Rose-Anne? It's Elizabeth.” Silence.

”Rose-Anne, h.e.l.lo?”

”Elizabeth, where are you, you sound so far away” Lizzy, she thought, don't say anything that isn't necessary. ”Rose-Anne, I've got some shocking news. ”Oh, Lord, should I be sitting down?”

”Yes.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. ”It's about Hans.” ”G.o.d, what now?”

”No, it's good news. Hans is alive.” There was complete silence. ”Rose-Anne, did you hear me? Are you okay?” There was a sharp crack on the line, then utter silence. ”Rose-Anne?” She listened hard. ”h.e.l.lo?” She looked at the phone as if the instrument itself held an explanation for its silence. She pressed the receiver b.u.t.ton, looked for the redial b.u.t.ton. There was none. And no dial tone.

It took her a long moment to realize that the line had gone dead. A serpent of fear coiled into the room. It wrapped around her and stifled her breathing until she became dizzy. She went to the window and looked out, and listened for any' sounds that shouldn't be there. Outside was a cl.u.s.ter of date palms, an oblong of asphalt, and a lead-blue sky with a few cirrus clouds. Somewhere, a twin-engine plane was circling. She rechecked the Street, then crossed the room and opened her closet. She was packed and closing her bag when she heard a tiny creak outside her door. Then a knock.

Then a long pause.

Someone was listening on the other side.

She put her ear to the door, then jumped back, scared silly by a second, sharper knock. She held her breath until her lungs ached. ”Miss Parker? Are you in there? I can see your Iight's on.” Ivor Greeley. She exhaled, tried to sound normal. ”Yes, Ivor, what is it?” ”We gotta talk.”

”Why?”

”Can you open the door?”

She looked around for a heavy object. ”Can't it wait fill morning?” ”You have to leave in the morning. I just thought I should tell you that tonight, since you're up.” She stared at the door, the hotel regulations, the exit diagram, as though they were instructions from G.o.d. Why was Ivor awake at this hour? ”Leave? Why?”

”I think you know why.

”I'm sorry, but I don't.”

”Because, Miss Parker, your credit card's no good.” She regrouped. It was a simple misunderstanding of some kind and Greeley didn't sound threatening at all. A little put out, but entirely businesslike. She undid the chain and pulled open the door. He stood there sad-eyed, shrugging. ”Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you. But you're gonna have to leave first thing tomorrow. You can spend the rest of tonight here, of course.” ”Listen, I've got another card, let me get it for you.” ”No, that won't do any good either.”

She stopped halfway to her purse. ”Why not?” ”Because,” he said sternly, ”when I called Visa they said the card was stolen and that probably any other card you gave me would be, too. Really, I don't have time for these kinds of shenanigans in my hotel. That's why I got out of Boston in the first place.” He turned on his heel and walked back down the hall. In the garden beyond, a parrot began to shriek. Elizabeth closed her door, then reopened it. ”Ivor?” she called. His head reappeared, eyes narrowing. ”Did you turn off my phone, too?” He looked bewildered. ”No. Your phone? No, I wouldn't even know how to do that.” He started off again.

”One other thing, if you wouldn't mind telling me?” He swung around with a look of impatience. ”The person at Visa who told you that? Did you happen to get her name?” ”Now why would I do that? Anyway, it was a man, very polite. Said maybe you were just a runaway wife and I shouldn't be too hard on you.” He turned and disappeared for good. Elizabeth shut the door and relocked it. No way that had been Visa, she realized with a sinking feeling. She paid her bill in full every month. Hans had warned that they would trace her here, but now that they had, now what? Without a credit card she wouldn't have enough money to rent a kayak, let alone a boat that could make it to Puerto Rico. She sat down on the bed and thought hard. Call Annie, have her wire money. But could she get it here in time? Or would it get to her at all? She picked up the phone. Still dead.

Get out, she thought. Get off this G.o.dd.a.m.n Vieques as fast as you can.

No. Not without Hans.

But what if he's not coming? He had hinted as much and had lied to her so many times in the past.” He had kept an entire ident.i.ty hidden, so how could she trust him now? The look in his eyes, when she had mentioned the photos of the body, So strange, almost startled.” And why hadn't he asked more questions about his mother? And the way he had told her he was married, as though it would be news to her, as if they had never once talked about Yvette.” Had the CIA messed with his head, selectively erasing his memories? And who was this person on the base to whom he was so loyal? Obviously, I don't want to know, she thought.” Otherwise I would have asked.” He loved her, that was all she cared about.” Of that, crazily, she hadn't the slightest doubt.” But the question was, did that make her an even bigger fool? His love had drawn her into danger, and now she Was even less certain about him.” What she really knew was that she didn't want to spend another second in this hotel room. It was totally unprotected, accessible from the street by a st.u.r.dy trellis, She was being evicted, she couldn't talk to anyone, and her phone had probably been bugged. Go! She grabbed the car keys.” Somewhere public, that's where she had to go.” Maybe to an all-night bar or to any place where there were other people. She would have to hold on until morning and, one way or the other, get the boat Hans had asked her to rent and make their rendezvous. How? She didn't have a clue.”

13.

Approaching the front gate of the base on foot, Peter was an immediate target of suspicion. The guard, a jug-eared kid with a Texas accent, unslung his M-16 and asked Peter to stop right where he was and present identification. Peter handed over his wallet, still waterlogged, which didn't help matters. The guard clicked his weapon off safety onto fire, then read the driver's license. ”This yours?”

”Yes, I'm Peter Jance. I work on the base. Is there a problem?” ”Yeah, there's a problem. You look pretty young for someone born in 1924, that's the problem.” Jesus, Peter thought, they never even bothered to give me false identification papers. Where there's stupidity there's hope. ”That's a misprint,” he fumbled. ”I was born in 1964. I've just never had the time to have it corrected.” ”And this photo is you?”

”Yes,” said Peter, toughing it out.

”I heard of bad driver's license pictures, but not this bad.” The guard handed it back. ”Why don't you go back to town, dude? You ain't funny.” ”I'm Dr. Peter Jance. Check your personnel directory.” The guard yanked on a large red earlobe and gave him a look of mounting impatience. ”Stay there.” He went to the guard shack, made a call, listened, and hung up, returning looking downright p.i.s.sed off. ”No one by that name listed. You'd do well to get moving.” He adjusted his weapon so that it pointed in the general direction of Peter and leaned against the doorway. ”All right.” said Peter. ”It's a cla.s.sified project, so I'm probably not listed. Call Dr. Frederick Wolfe.” ”Yeah, right.”

”Beatrice Jance. She's my wi...mother.”

”I ain't calling n.o.body. And you need to get out of my face unless you want to be in a whole world of trouble. Sir.” ”Call Colonel Henderson, then. He'd be delighted to see me, I'm sure. At the mention of Henderson's name, the guard blinked for the first time. ”Colonel Henderson knows me, Peter a.s.sured him. The kid picked up the phone again. He dialed someone-an aide, Peter prayed, not Henderson himself. After talking for a moment, and then listening intently for a few more, the guard slammed down the phone, turned and trained his weapon on Peter. ”Get down on the ground spread-eagle, you sorry motherf.u.c.ker! Now!” The kid was jumping out of his skin and Peter did as he was told, lying abjectly on the asphalt while the guard fidgeted and made sounds with his weapon that Peter didn't want to think about. Finally a vehicle roared up and several men approached swiftly. He was just about to look up when two pairs of hands picked him up bodily-tonight's guard and the guard he had encountered the night before. They opened the door to the Humvee and shoved him inside. He hit the floor hard. Someone new jumped in beside him, holding a gun to his face and telling him to hold still if he f.u.c.king knew what was good for him. The vehicle fired up and hung a sharp U-turn, roaring back onto the base. At the entrance to the restricted wing, the driver stopped and the other guard threw open the door, instructing Peter to go wait in his room until further notice. Peter watched as the new guard-a small, quick Italian with a New York air-waved his 9-millimeter at Peters suite of rooms. Peter took out his keycard, tried not to shake as he swept the card through the magnetic slot, and entered through the side door. Walking down the hail, he felt like a bug under a poised heel. If ever there was a doubt that all his charisma and privilege could be taken away in an instant, it was gone now. There was everything in the way he had just been treated that spoke of his own physical disposability. He could almost hear the orders that must have been given, something to the effect that if Jance gives you any problems, waste the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. His suite was dark and deserted, with no sign of Beatrice or her belongings-just bare beige walls, two forlorn botanical prints in the bedroom and the well-worn Motel 6 furniture. Even the Erlenmeyer flask, Beatrice's one personal touch, was gone, its spray of dried chrysanthemums scattered on the floor like so much refuse. ”Beatrice?” he called into the dark.

No answer. He was alone. Free and abandoned at the same time. With rising panic, he yanked open drawers, gathering loose cash, traveler's checks, his pa.s.sport and as much clothing as he could cram into an old duffel bag. Then he looked at the door. They had told him to go to his room and wait. They'd not said he couldn't go elsewhere, but they sure as h.e.l.l hadn't included that in his options. In fact, there were no options. Go to your room. Wait.

f.u.c.k them. He needed to get out of there. And before he did, he desperately needed to see Beatrice. To make amends, to say goodbye, to plead for her forgiveness. He thought that perhaps all he could do, really. was to say that he had become, or was becoming, someone or something other than what he had been. It was a possibility they all should have thought of, each of them. Only now there was no more time for thinking. Based on the sorry reality of what they had created, now there was time only for action. He had to be with this woman, this nameless magnet of life force and longing that was drawing him with an attraction he could never have resisted, even if he wanted to. And he didn't want to.

He went back to the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him. The hallway lights, tissue-sized moths banging soundlessly off their globes, shone yellow and dim all the way to where the breezeway branched off. Strange moth shadows chased over the asphalt-block walls. How was he going to find his wife? He had no way of knowing if Beatrice was in her lab, or in her new room, wherever that might be. Maybe she was in some dark cabal with Wolfe and Henderson. He would have to find somebody who knew where she was. Maybe Rosemarie Wiener or Cap Chu or Flannagan? One of them must know her whereabouts. Reaching the entrance door, he peered outside. Immediately he jerked back. Just outside, two guards had been positioned, armed and equipped with walkie-talkies. He was imprisoned, he realized, and his jailers were armed to the teeth and p.i.s.sed off at him. Had he been stupid to come back?

No, he told himself, without his pa.s.sport there was no way to disappear. And to disappear was the only course open to him now. Even if he had never encountered the woman on the beach, he had by means of his protean work completed his weapons design without completing any escape plan, rendering himself superfluous. And by openly questioning what they were up to, he had actually pushed himself into the dangerous cla.s.sification of major irritant. His wife couldn't stand to be in the same apartment with him. His old friend and compet.i.tor, Frederick Wolfe, would now probably just as soon see him dead. Henderson would forget him in a day and be glad the bottom line was more secure. And beyond Wolfe and Henderson? Above them was just a dark presence, a Kafkaesque world of shadowy agencies and faceless powers to whom he was only a p.a.w.n. He had a glimpse, then, of the whole apparatus of power, vast and multidimensional, ranging from the violence of the quarkriddled atoms to the parry and thrust of nations, empires and DNA. In this maelstrom, he was nothing. And in this there was no way to escape oblivion if that's what they wanted. His entire chain of genetic material, fragile but vital and stretching back to the beginnings of the species, now hinged on the brink of utter and irrevocable extinction, and he was powerless to fight it. He stood in that cold wind for a long, dark moment. f.u.c.k it. Death was the ultimate emperor without clothes. If they blasted him to atoms today. his atoms would merge with those of other poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, roaches, lost species, burned rain forests and the endless compost heap of pa.s.sing humanity and rea.s.semble in a millennium or two into the stuff of stars and brave new worlds somewhere else. There was no death. f.u.c.k it all.

He had to find Beatrice now, but could he? He had no idea. Worse, he felt the notion rising that if he could not see her, he didn't want to leave. Should he just fling himself out the door and scream her name? He had a notion of Brando in Streetcar and realized how ridiculous that was. But then what? At that supreme moment of doubt and pain, two male voices rang out from the end of the hallway. A swath of light swept across the wall, and a lean, disheveled figure emerged from a door. Alex Davies. Hunched and cursing. Expecting Wolfe to come barging out after his grandson, Peter prudently backed toward his room, turning the k.n.o.b behind him and tossing in the old duffel bag. But the door at the end of the hall slammed shut and Wolfe didn't appear. There was only Alex, charging down the corridor in a blue rage. When he saw Peter, half in, half out of his room, Alex stopped dead, then approached at a slower pace. ”Motherf.u.c.kers,” he muttered, turning one way and then the other, as if some pointed rejoinder had just occurred to him, making him want to go back and restart the battle with his grandfather. But he didn't have the stomach for that. He sagged against the wall and ran his hands through his hair, looking near tears. ”He's out of his f.u.c.king mind,” he said to Peter, as though Peter had been privy to every word. ”Alex, do you know where Beatrice is?”

The kid looked at him strangely, then laughed shakily and shook his head. ”Man, I don't know. She's gottta be p.i.s.sed at you, though.” ”But you have no idea where she is?”

”Not a clue. Grandpa put her up someplace, I don't know where. You want me to give her a message if I see her?” ”Yes. Tell her that I apologize, that I'm sorry for everything. Tell her I'll be in touch.” ”Why, where are you going? Peter?” Alex peeled himself off the wall and stepped closer. ”Hey, don't be stupid, if you're thinking of being as stupid as I think you are. These guys aren't just playing with you, you understand that, don't you?” ”Yes, I do understand.”

Alex took that in, realizing from the look of devastation and surrender in Peter's face that he indeed did understand. ”Wow. So what are you gonna do?” he asked. ”Watch my a.s.s,” said Peter, a phrase he had heard over and over on the base. He knew he had already said far too much. Inching back toward his door, he began to make goodbye gestures. Alex Davies glanced over his shoulder, then approached Peter and socked him lightly on the arm. ”I'm with you, man,” he said conspiratorially. Then, with a cautionary arch of his brows, he raced off down the corridor. The instant the kid was out of sight, Peter ducked back into his room, grabbed the duffel bag and went out onto the balcony, moving quietly as a cat. Looking down, he saw the sentry, still on guard, and on a cell phone talking to someone who sounded like a girlfriend. Luck, thought Peter. b.a.s.t.a.r.d's breaking regulations and giving me a break all at once. In one smooth move, he vaulted over the railing-feeling in that split second of falling utter release and commitment. And then he slammed into the kid and took him to the ground. The kid didn't have time to yell before Peter had him up against the wall, nailing him with a left hook and a right cross that drove his head back into the stucco, dropping him like a sack of lead shot. He looked at the guy's weapons. In his heart a blind fury was growing, fed by lack of information, a tsunami of guilt and the overwhelming sense that his life would never be peaceful again. This was beyond life or death. This all had to do, he realized with a blinding insight, with the survival of this woman who had loved him so completely that his entire being had been altered. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to protect and defend her and make a place for themselves outside the madness his life had become. So be it. Removing the guard's service pistol, he then unloaded the rifle and threw the clip of ammunition into the trees. Then he turned and ran. Beyond the breezeway he veered past the core labs through a field of waisthigh gra.s.s toward the motor pool. The Humvee that had brought him from the gate was in its berth; the keys were in it. It was the simplest of matters to slip inside. He did not have so much as a second thought, nor any thought at all when he came to the front gate doing nearly sixty and saw that the guard had already been alerted. The muzzle flashes registered no more than heat lightning on a distant horizon; he felt no fear whatsoever. He slammed the accelerator to the floorboard and crashed through the gate, sending the guard diving for his life. Peter was vaguely impressed by his driving skills. After the BMW episode he hadn't cared much for speed, but now his right foot had a mind of its own, and even his hands seemed to know what to do. Without a moment's hesitation he put the Humvee into an effortless J-turn that snapped it ninety degrees onto the two-lane blacktop and out of sight before another base vehicle could follow. He followed the road over the hill, then slowed and cut stealthily into the bush, taking care to leave no signs of egress. Then he struck off cross-country, sometimes on farm roads, sometimes on cattle lanes, once even following a stream, as he had seen Hopalong Ca.s.sidy do once in a film he had loved as a kid. He smiled grimly. This was fun, really it was. Perfect for the job, the Humvee flew over the varied terrain with all the competency its engineers had designed and the taxpayers had paid for. Something to be said for the military after all, thought Peter bitterly. Even better, this would save him from traveling on five miles of twisting highway and keep him away from roadblocks. The bay. All he could concentrate on was reaching the bay.

Elizabeth had decided to drive into town and get lost among the tourists. But when she arrived at her Honda, she found it up on the hoist of an Island Towing truck. The driver, a native with long hair and lots of att.i.tude, looked up with a don't-f.u.c.k-up-my-day look. ”What the h.e.l.l you doing?” she demanded. He didn't bother to take the cigarette out of his mouth, or to stop lifting the Honda. ”Confiscating this car. ”At three in the morning?”

”Best time to find it home.”

”But that's my car.

”I think it's Hertz's car.”

He locked off the hoist and walked back to his truck's cab, pursued by Elizabeth. ”But they have my American Express imprint!” ”Card's no good,” the driver said. ”No credit, no car.” He slammed the truck's door and fired up the engine. Elizabeth raced back to her car and squinted through the windows to see if she had left anything inside. The tourist map and the rental agreement were jammed between the front seats, but before she could open the door the truck was gone, taking her Honda with it. ”f.u.c.ker!” Her shout was lost in the night, and with the truck's unm.u.f.fled roar, she knew the driver hadn't even heard her. Not that he would give a rat's a.s.s, she thought. She stood for a moment, furious and wondering what the h.e.l.l to do next. Then another kind of thought came to her: the coquis were silent. Looking around her, she realized it was completely dark and utterly quiet. She was alone and so very small against the stars. She walked back through the gate. For some reason it was open. As usual, the ex-matador was tipped back in his folding chair, and the thought came foolishly to her that she ought to report him. Maybe that would put Greeley enough on the defensive that she could enlist his aid in renting another car. But she didn't have the heart. She called to the old man. ”Toro! Toro!”

He didn't stir.