Part 14 (1/2)

”We're learning about ancient Egypt in history. Did you know King Tut was buried without his brain?” she said.

”That's the way they did it back then.”

”Gross. But cool. I'm hungry.” She twirled like a ballerina and disappeared into the kitchen.

Gabe lowered his voice. ”She catches the school bus at eight. I have to get rolling.”

Jo swiped her hair back from her face. ”Never mind. It'll take me longer than that to stop thinking about Catholic school uniforms.”

He raised his hands. ”No. Don't put that image in my head-I do not picture you in a parochial uniform.”

”But I remember wearing one, and now all I can hear is Sister Dominica leading the girls' choir in 'Holy Virgin, by G.o.d's Decree.'” She brushed a fingertip across his lips. ”I gotta go.”

”About Kanan-I have a call in to an air force buddy. He knows the people who should know.”

”Great. You know how to find me.”

”It's my job, girl.”

Still smiling, she turned toward the door. In the kitchen, the local news came on.

”...have not released the names of the victims, but witnesses confirm that fire and rescue units were called to the home of Jared Ely, CEO of the computer gaming company Elyctrica, and that Ely may be one of the three people killed in this bizarre accident.”

Jo had her hand on the door. She stopped.

”Accident investigators declined to comment on how the swimming pool came to be electrified, but there is speculation that wiring from repair work may inadvertently have been live.”

Jo dug in her satchel for her phone. By the time she found it, it was ringing.

Lieutenant Amy Tang turned, phone to her ear, and surveyed the terrace outside Jared Ely's home. It overlooked the bay from a hillside near the Presidio. The house was fabulous and cool and the tiny swimming pool, which had probably added a hundred grand to the price of the place, was now empty of bodies.

”Beckett?” she said. ”You know how I wasn't officially involved in your memory man's case? I am now.”

Jo stepped outside so Sophie wouldn't hear. ”Jared Ely's dead?”

”Along with two of his guests. Somehow, last night's c.o.c.ktail hour turned into an electrocution.”

”What happened?”

”From what I can sift out of the panic and confusion, apparently one of his employees flipped a switch he shouldn't have. An uns.h.i.+elded cable went live and turned the swimming pool into a deep fryer. I presume the name Ron Gingrich will ring a bell.”

Jo seemed to have tunnel vision. Her fingers felt cold. ”Is this a courtesy call?”

”No. You need to talk to Gingrich and find out why he seems to have no memory of the event.”

Traffic on Lincoln Boulevard rushed past Ian Kanan, anonymous, fast, sunlight winking off car winds.h.i.+elds. He walked uphill in the bike lane. Below him, surf pounded the sand on China Beach. He had a piece of paper in his hand.

Car, it said.

An urban forest of Monterey pines and peeling eucalyptus trees towered along the eastern flank of the road. This corner of San Francisco was a boondocks of green shadow and damp chill. The Presidio had once been a plum posting in the U.S. Army. The decommissioned base was now part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. It was a ghost place, beautiful and empty. Get away from the road, cross a deep gully or two, and the sounds of traffic faded; the land filled with the smell of pine needles and deep gra.s.s and dirt.

The Presidio was a fourteen-hundred-acre wilderness on the shoulder of a big city. And it was pocked with abandoned buildings, such as the crumbling barracks where he had spent the night.

He knew he'd slept in the barracks because he had a photo of the building on his phone. He didn't remember it. Now he was walking toward a neighborhood of multimillion-dollar homes atop a cliff in the distance. He was on a hunt. The rules were simple. Get a vehicle. Get weapons. Find Alec. Then the others.

On his left forearm, where his cuff was rolled up, the end of the message was visible. Written with the black ink of a Sharpie, the words seemed to shout at him.

They die.

The day was cold. The wind was scattering the mist, but the morning sunlight did nothing to warm him. He felt as if he had been sliced open with the knife known as fear, and grief, and finality.

He was tired and needed a shower. He ran a hand over his face. And a shave. He felt as though he'd spent a week in the back row of a jumbo jet. He felt lost. But above all, he felt empty.

He wanted to see his family but couldn't unless he got this thing done. He couldn't go home. They were watching his house. He wanted his life back, but that wasn't going to happen. Too much had gone wrong.

Everything had been stolen, including his recent memories. He remembered Africa. He remembered the river, remembered the flask. He saw the scabby gouges on his forearm and remembered the bald panic on Chuck Lesniak's face.

He remembered nothing since.

But he knew the job was blown. He was out here in the cold, on his own, empty-handed. He had not delivered the stuff. He'd been screwed six ways from Sunday, starting when Lesniak decided to cut, run, and sell the stuff to a higher bidder. Now, to finish the job, Kanan had to go to his fallback plan.

At the thought of confronting Alec, dread filled him like wet sand.

Kanan forced the thought away and tried to focus. He was aware that when he let his mind wander, things simply... faded. And when he tried to remember what he'd been thinking of, he lost touch with what he was supposed to be doing. He couldn't form new memories; he could barely keep track of where he was. He couldn't let himself get distracted. He had to focus on the goal.

But without volition, he seemed to hear Misty laughing. He saw her sweep through the living room, jerk a thumb over her shoulder, and tell Seth, ”Put down your ax and do your homework, sport.”

Seth had looked at her with surprise. ”Mom, where'd you learn to call a guitar an ax?”

Misty nodded like a head banger and gave him the heavy-metal devil horns.

Seth put his hands to his forehead and moaned, ”I have no mother.”

Kanan had laughed out loud. The things kids didn't know about their parents.

Now he fought not to cry.

He looked up. To his surprise, he was hiking through the Presidio along Lincoln Boulevard, heading for the expensive homes above China Beach. He was holding a piece of paper in his right hand.

Car, it said.