Part 25 (1/2)
”What did Kanan do for Cobra?” Jo said.
”Kept visitors to Kabul alive. From the moment they touched down at the airport to the moment they were wheels-up again, he was in charge of security. At their hotels, on the road, in meetings with government and NGOs-he isn't anything close to just a corporate babysitter.”
”Why is it worse than you thought?”
”Guy I know who was active, served in the Afghan theater, remembers a run-in with Cobra in Kabul.”
”Between U.S. air force personnel and private security?”
”Over nothing. A traffic jam. Everybody honking at some chaotic downtown intersection. The Cobra people pulled their weapons on the airmen.”
”Kanan did? Your guy saw him?” she said.
”No, but the Cobra people were Kanan's men. Either he was there or they were following his rules of engagement.”
”So Kanan possibly has a temper and poor impulse control.”
”Jo, he's a mercenary. He's a full-on pro. He's armed at the very least with a knife. If he doesn't have guns at home, he knows plenty of people in the Bay Area who can supply him.”
”If he can remember to contact them.”
”If he a.s.sembles a posse, he won't need to. They'll remember for him.”
The traffic light in front of Kanan turned green. His right turn signal was blinking. The street sign swinging from the traffic standard said DOLORES. He put his foot on the gas and turned right. He was in the Mission District in San Francisco. The radio was playing. The sun was fading toward the west. A car coming the other way flashed its lights at him. He turned on his headlights.
What was he doing here?
The street was busy. On the radio a chirpy deejay said, ”Welcome to Friday drive time.”
Kanan reached to turn up the radio, and as he stretched, he saw letters written on his arm. His throat caught.
He blinked and tried to breathe normally. Holy mother of G.o.d. Was he really doing this?
Yes. He was alone, and this was Alec's Navigator. It was Friday, and evening was coming on.
He pulled over. Post-it notes were stuck to the dashboard. Check phone pics. He took out his cell and scrolled through the photos he figured he must have taken. They looked like this neighborhood, but earlier-with the sun high in the sky. A restaurant, Ti Couz.
He looked out the window. The restaurant was right across the street. As he peered through its windows, a waiter in a white ap.r.o.n opened the door, stepped outside, and stood staring at him.
His skin cooled. He could think of no reason for the waiter to do that, unless he'd been driving around the block, or stopping in front of the restaurant, for a while. Maybe all afternoon. Either that, or people were looking for him.
He was running out of time. Panic rilled through him, a feeling that everything was fading, sliding out of his control. On his right arm he saw the words Memory loss.
He needed help.
He thought about it for a moment and punched a search query into the GPS unit. The answer popped up within seconds. Thank G.o.d.
He got a Post-it, wrote Diaz, and stuck it to the dashboard.
Nico Diaz had been in his unit. He was the man who'd introduced him to the people who ran Cobra.
Diaz ran a sporting goods store. Friends of Diaz knew that his inventory extended beyond the basketb.a.l.l.s and fis.h.i.+ng rods on the shelves. He had been a scout sniper in the army. Diaz was a useful friend to have.
The GPS unit pinged. An arrow pointed straight ahead. An address in Potrero Hill popped up. Diaz's store.
Kanan drove toward it. Get Diaz on board-Diaz would be able to hold everything in his head at once. Diaz wouldn't forget what was going on.
Diaz would ride shotgun when he went after Alec.
* 21 *
Jo stood for a second, facing Gabe, tension winding her up like an alarm clock. ”I need to call Amy Tang. She can start digging up the names of Kanan's contacts in the Bay Area.”
”You okay?” he said.
”Hundred percent.”
”That means no.”
They were four feet apart. She thought if she moved, she might spring like a jack-in-the-box and hit the ceiling.
”This case is driving me nuts. I can't put it together. Kanan. The brain injury. What poisoned him? Was it a nanoparticle? Did he steal it from Chira-Sayf? Did it also contaminate Ron Gingrich? And what's going on with his family, and that freaking company?”
Gabe shook his head. ”Let it go. Let your mind work on it at another level. The answers will come to you.”
”I can't. Kanan's got a hit list and a deadline written on his arm. And I'm missing a huge part of the puzzle. Something is tearing Kanan up.”
”Yeah. Greed. And a l.u.s.t for revenge.”
”No. Something deeper.” She ran her hands through her hair.
She got her phone, called Tang, left a message. Pacing in a circle, she called Alec Shepard and got voice mail.
”He's not answering.” She found the television remote control. ”Maybe there's something on the news.”
She turned on the T.V. A cartoon bloomed on the screen, yellow sea creatures with eyes bugging on stalks. She switched channels. Gabe came up behind her. He put his arms around her waist, pulled her back against him, and bent his head to her ear.
”Let it go,” he said.
She leaned her head back against his cheek. He took the remote from her and set it on the coffee table. She held on a second longer, and then, centimeter by centimeter, eased her shoulders down. Eased herself against him, tried to soften.
”I'm not usually like this,” she said.
”Define usually,” he said. ”And this.”