“Pretty damned, I’d say.” Nick’s sudden contribution brought heads around in unison to see a face transformed into a mask of dread. “Especially since we know where he’s going next.”
Thorne didn’t see it yet, but Jake did. “Oh, my God.”
“Frankel knows I’m involved,” Nick explained, his voice barely audible as he rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Once I went into the computer, he knew. What he doesn’t know is how much I’ve said, and that seems to be his biggest fear.” His eyes widened as he raised them up to lock onto Jake’s. “My family’s next.”
Consciousness came instantly, without transition. “Where’s Travis?” Carolyn shouted to the room.
Her answer came from very close by. “He’s fine,” Irene said. She was perched on an examination stool, next to the bed, and she looked as tired as anyone Carolyn had ever seen. Her normally fine features were ravaged by deep lines tracking across her forehead and down both sides of her mouth.
“Someone’s going to attack him,” Carolyn announced, oblivious to the hours that had passed.
Irene looked at the floor. “He already did,” she said heavily. “But Travis is fine. Quite a resourceful young man you’ve got there.”
But I don’t have him, Carolyn thought bitterly. You do. She didn’t know whether to rejoice or to scream. She’d told them, and no one would believe her. No one would even listen, not for a minute!
“I’m sorry your warning wasn’t taken seriously,” Irene said.
“Was it the same guy?”
The question drew Irene’s eyes back up to meet Carolyn’s. “Same as the one who came to your cell last night?”
“So you know?”
Irene nodded. “Well, we know now. The coincidence of your suicide and the attack on your boy was too much, so we checked back at the jail. We’ve got a picture from the security camera, so there’s a good chance we’ll be able to identify him. Fact is, he got away.”
You won’t identify anything, Carolyn thought. “At least your capture rate is consistent,” she snarled.
Irene grew visibly more tired as she sat there. “I know you’re upset,” she said measuredly. “God knows you’ve got a right. But you should know that this animal who attacked your son also killed a seven-year-old girl.” Her voice became stronger. “Doctors say he gave her a massive injection of potassium chloride-the same stuff they use in executions. She never had a chance.”
The words hit Carolyn hard. “Why?”
Irene shrugged. The conversation was mother-to-mother now. “Who knows for sure? We think it was because he wanted to direct attention elsewhere while he attacked your boy.”
“But wasn’t there a guard-”
“He was killed,” Irene interrupted. Then added, just to make a point, “Trying to save Travis. And a very good friend of mine was horribly wounded. Their efforts are the reason why your son is still alive.”
“And your vendetta is the reason he was there in the first place.” It was the wrong time and the wrong place to pander for Carolyn’s sympathy.
Irene absorbed the barrage and changed the subject. “Your husband came to see me last night,” she said, drawing a distrustful look. “He told a very interesting story about your innocence and about arms being sold out of a magazine in Newark.”
Carolyn listened with her eyes closed, hoping her face remained impassive-bored, even-as her mind raced to figure what she was talking about. “So where is he now?” she asked.
Irene gave a wry chuckle. “As you say, my capture rate is consistent.”
The sale of weapons out of the magazine was an interesting twist, Carolyn thought-one she hadn’t considered.
“He wanted me to tell you he loves you.”
The words brought Carolyn’s eyes around, searching for the scam. This Rivers lady was good. She almost looked sincere. But Carolyn had played the mind game with her once before, and she wasn’t inclined to do it again. She listened silently as Irene told of Jake’s theories and of her own efforts to verify them.
“Your situation is really very desperate,” Irene concluded. “People are trying to kill you and your family, and the only way we can protect you is to have you in custody. You and Travis are safe now-we’ll see to that-but as long as your husband is out on his own, he’s in very grave danger.”
Finally, Carolyn had to laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. After fourteen peaceful years on the run, the only time my family has been attacked is when we’ve been in your custody. From where I sit, there’s no more dangerous place in the world.”
Carolyn’s face darkened as her eyes burned a hole through her captor. “This sympathy simulation is a nice try, Rivers. And deep down, I’d like to believe you might actually give a shit. But you put it best yesterday. We all have jobs to do. I’ve failed at mine, so here I am. Now it’s all on Jake. He’s my last hope for getting our lives back. I just don’t believe you have as much incentive.”
Irene looked for a moment like she might argue again but then stopped. Interpreting the silence as a victory, Carolyn decided to press. “Now, I’d like to see my son. Please take me to him.”
Irene glanced toward her prisoner again, then looked away. “I only wish I could. The doctor doesn’t want you moved with your neck injury.”
“Then bring Travis to me.”
Irene pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I can’t do that, either. He’s still tied to the respirator and the monitors.”
Carolyn felt the anger flare in her belly, burning off the hazy cobwebs left by the drugs. Threats and furious invectives flooded into her brain, but in the sudden clarity of the moment, she knew such words would be wasted; maybe even harmful. She took a deep, silent breath, and when she spoke, she made sure her tone was the very essence of reason. “He’s my son, Rivers. My only child, and someone is trying to kill him. You have to let me see him.”
Irene regarded her for a long moment, the exhaustion of the preceding days weighing on her like an anvil. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said finally. The words sounded hollow even to herself.
Carolyn was done talking; Irene recognized the signals now. The agent closed her eyes and tried to massage away her booming headache. An odd mix of fear and guilt boiled in her gut, making her wish for the first time that she’d chosen a different career. The Bureau was supposed to be the good guys, dammit. If her suspicions were correct, this poor woman who lay tied helplessly to her bed had endured more hardship than anyone should ever bear.
Over the course of her career with the Bureau, Irene had absorbed a lot of hate from a lot of fugitives, but never before had she felt crippled by it. She wanted to tell Carolyn that she believed her story now; wanted to tell her all about Frankel and to apologize on behalf of the federal government. But that was out of the question. Fact was, they couldn’t prove anything. Yet.
As if on cue, a gentle rap on the door drew her head around. Paul Boersky beckoned her into the hallway and from there, hustled her into an empty room.
“I gather from all this stealth that we guessed right?” Irene opened.
Instinctively, Paul looked over his shoulder. “This is scary as shit, Irene,” he whispered. “Looks like the Donovans nailed it. I talked to a guy in Records-you owe him a hundred bucks, by the way-who dug into Frankel’s files for me. Your rag mag was right. From 1981 to early ’82, our fearless leader ran an investigation out of the Little Rock office into arms sales shenanigans out of Newark. Apparently, there were a few leads that seemed to head back toward the last Army commander of the place-your suicidal buddy, General Albemarle. Seems that the case dried up, though, all of a sudden like.
“Then Albemarle-a freakin’ war hero, from the Second World War through Korea and even a touch of Vietnam-blew his brains out in 1982, just after the EPA discovered this weapons stash. His note said it was the pressure of the investigation.” Paul looked up from his pad and sighed. “It’s just too close, Irene. I think we got him. He blew up the magazine to cover the missing inventory, and the people to deflect the attention.”