Part 33 (1/2)

Kanan stared at his arms, then the desk, and understood. ”Sorry.”

Diaz looked up at him. ”You can keep saying h.e.l.lo. And I'll keep you informed of our progress.”

Kanan checked his watch. It was seven forty-five P.M.

”Friday night,” Diaz said.

Kanan ran a hand over his face. He felt grubby and needed a shave. ”Everything I can remember, I see extremely clearly.”

He recalled, with neon intensity, getting the text message saying that his family had been taken hostage. It had started with him sitting on the sunny terrace at the Four Seasons in Amman, drinking thick Arabic coffee from a silver cup, planning to catch his flight home with his trophies-the beautiful Damascus saber and daggers destined for the wall of Alec's office.

Instead, he got a call from Chira-Sayf corporate, alerting him that the materials tech, Chuck Lesniak, had disappeared. So he headed to South Africa to find him.

And when he landed, the text message arrived.

Got them. With photos of Seth and Misty bound and gagged and tied to a chair in a bare garage under a glaring electric bulb.

Get Slick or they die.

More messages had followed. Don't tell the cops. Don't tell Chira-Sayf. Don't contact Shepard. Then they'd sent operational information about tracking Lesniak, who had stolen a sample of Slick from the Jo'burg lab and, instead of turning it over to these people and taking his 10 percent commission, had tried to cut his own deal with a higher bidder. Lesniak, the selfish, stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h, had wanted to grab the whole prize. But Lesniak didn't hit the jackpot, because these people figured out they'd been double-crossed. And they figured that the only person who could recover Slick for them was Ian Kanan.

And they knew that the only way Ian Kanan would ever turn Slick over to them was if they threatened to kill his family if he didn't.

He remembered the jet boat and the roaring sound of Victoria Falls. He remembered tightening down the lid of the flask and jamming it in his jeans pocket before he shoved the throttles hard forward and fought the current to safety.

And here he was, in San Francisco, without the flask, gearing up for a hunt. He looked at his arm.

Sat.u.r.day they die. He closed his eyes so that Diaz wouldn't see him fighting his own desperation.

”Getting Slick from Alec is my fallback plan,” he said, shaking his head. ”I'm betraying him, but I see no other way to save Misty and Seth.”

Diaz put a hand on his shoulder. ”I know.”

Meaning, You already told me.

Kanan knew why the kidnappers had insisted that he not contact his brother: because Alec would stop him. Alec knew how dangerous Slick was. He would worry about national security. If Alec found out what Kanan was doing, he might not help him, but go to the CIA or FBI instead.

And Kanan knew why somebody had written Find Alec on his left arm-because Alec was cagy. The kidnappers had to know that he himself was the only one who could track down his brother. He had designed all of Alec's security precautions. He was the only one who knew how to get through them.

And the kidnappers had to know that Alec would never suspect his own brother-he would let Ian get close enough to put him in a helpless position.

Jesus, what a betrayal.

Diaz looked at the weapons laid out on the desk. ”Sarge, I'm with you here, no questions asked, you know that.”

Kanan's smile felt wry. ”So go on and ask your questions.”

”You sure Slick is gone-you didn't bring it back?”

”No, I'm not.”

He turned to the messy collection of notes and photos on the desk. ”If I did bring it back, the clues to where it is would be in this stuff.”

Diaz picked up a laminated photo I.D. ”This Johanna Beckett, she's a doctor.”

Kanan shook his head. ”No idea.”

Unexpectedly, the room seemed to sway. He put a hand on the desk.

”Boss, you all right?” Diaz said. ”When's the last time you ate?”

”I have no idea.” He steadied himself. ”Actually, I'm ravenous.”

”Sit tight. There's a Wendy's around the corner. I'll grab us some grub.” Diaz put on a black jacket. He wrote a note and stuck it to the back door of the store before unlocking it. Cold mist blew in from the alley outside. ”You go through that pile of notes. Maybe we can get the stuff without going after your brother. I'll be back.”

Diaz shut the door. Kanan locked it, sat down at the desk, and pressed his fingertips to his eyes. He was d.a.m.ned exhausted.

He opened his eyes. Held still. What was he doing in the stockroom of a sporting goods store?

Shepard's Mercedes curved along the road through Golden Gate Park. Jo gripped the door, hoping Shepard could see well enough to keep from running into another car. Her head was pounding. Her ribs and leg were pounding. The enormous park, eaten by the fog, was a void of white mist.

Golden Gate Park stretched three miles across San Francisco, nearly half the width of the city. In daytime, the rises were green, fields emerald, lakes blue and ruffled by the breeze and by ducks paddling. Monterey pines and stands of eucalyptus turned the center of the city into a forested reserve. The road was wide, and during the day, parked cars usually lined the curbs. Tonight, n.o.body was around.

”j.a.panese Tea Garden's going to be closed, and I'm not crazy about meeting your colleague in the dead dark. How about a warm, well-lighted public place, with plenty of people around? The de Young Museum's open on Friday nights.”

Shepard shook his head. ”I'm not putting in a public appearance. The people who want Slick will go to any lengths to get it.” He glanced at her. ”You're safe with me. But I need to be sure n.o.body can get to me by tracking you. Do you have a pager? BlackBerry? Any communications device? If so, turn it off and remove the battery.”

”I'm clean,” she said.

Out of the fog, trees grasped for clear air. Flower beds full of pink hydrangeas flowed past, dusty gray in the darkness.

He lifted his foot from the accelerator. ”This is it.”

In the distance, rising like arthritic hands, were the sculpted trees outside the tea garden. Shepard pulled to the curb on the left side of the road and parked against traffic. Killing the engine, he put down his window a few inches so he could hear approaching motors. He was scared and smart. The quiet poured in along with the damp chill of the fog.

”Alec, we don't have much time. How can we get hold of Ian? Is there someplace your brother would go? Do you know his friends? His old army buddies? Can you contact him?”

”I've tried. I called him at home, I e-mailed him. No luck. And his phone isn't answering-if I know him, he's set it not to transmit.”

”Does he have any hangouts? A bar? A gym, a church, a storage company where he keeps weapons?”

Shepard shook his head. ”I'm sorry. I really don't know. He runs. He camps and fishes. He spends weekends tinkering on his SUV, or doing things with Seth and Misty.”

Jo tucked her arms against her chest to keep warm. ”How is Slick transported? What form is it in?”

”It's grown-baked, however you want to understand it-as single-walled carbon nanotubes, at high temperature. But it's put in an oilbased solution, so when it's dispersed, it can be sprayed, fired from a bazooka-we had all kinds of ideas.”

”What does it look like?” she said.