“Stehekin?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I have a hard time remembering that name.”
“Yes. I have to believe they’re okay. But I’m…”
“Scared?”
She looked over at him and smiled thinly before nodding. “Yeah. Unbelievably.” She sat up and rested her head on her hand. “Robert, I don’t know how this is going to end.”
“Beg your pardon?” he said softly.
“I mean”—she readjusted herself in the seat to sit completely upright—“what I normally investigate, it’s simple. We identify the crooks and go out and find the crooks and catch the crooks and turn them over for prosecution. Everything’s clear. No shades of gray. Well, for the lawyers, of course, but for the FBI it’s really simple. This… this is a trackless jungle of unknown conflicting interests and loyalties.”
“You haven’t lived in the Beltway, have you?”
She shook her head no.
“Well, life in Washington is like this. Nothing but shades of gray. No one sure from day to day who’s on what side, what faction is going to turn around and sabotage someone else’s hard-won issue.”
“You’re talking politics.”
“And this isn’t? Kat, if Carnegie’s only half right, the forces we’re facing may not even be associated with the terrorist group that shot down my flight. They may be doing nothing more than trying to protect the political interests of whatever branch of government, or the Pentagon, they’re representing.”
“With murder and kidnapping and…”
“I know. It’s bizarre. Where does one group end and the other begin, if it’s compound.”
“Robert, are you suggesting that an arm of government is protecting the terrorists that stole government lasers and used them for mass murder?”
“I’m not sure what I’m suggesting, aside from the fact that we represent a threat to the interests of at least a couple of scary organizations.”
“You think this Dr. Maverick can help? I mean, what if it turns out he wasn’t even Walter’s deep throat?”
Robert shook his head. “What choice do we have? Even with Walter’s file, all we’ve got is speculation and hearsay. If we can’t find Maverick, or get hard information from him, I don’t know. Who can we trust in D.C.?”
“Jordan James is the only one I know,” Kat replied.
“That’s enough,” Dallas muttered to herself. “I’m certifiably awake.”
She looked at her watch, which said 6:30 A.M., then slid out from beneath the covers of the lower bunk bed and pulled on an oversized sweater she’d found in the closet — one that fell with sufficient modesty below her hips to be worn alone. Hugging herself against the chill of the room, she moved over the cold pine-plank flooring to the bedroom door and walked to the kitchen.
Freezing-cold air was flowing through the unsealed shutters on the bear-ravaged window, and she stopped for a second to look in that direction, wondering precisely what she’d do if the bear picked that moment to reappear.
Graham had been holding on to the .30-.30 many hours earlier when she went to bed, and she moved quietly now to look in the large easy chair where he’d been. She found the physician asleep at his post, his legs covered with a quilt, the .30-.30 resting across his lap as he snored softly.
Dallas tiptoed back to the kitchen and began assembling the necessary tools for making coffee, making enough small noises to mask the sound of creaking boards on the porch of the cabin.
One loud creak, however, riveted her undivided attention.
Dallas carefully put down the coffeemaker and glanced up at the small light she’d turned on under the Vent-A-Hood. It was still dark outside, and the sudden dousing of a light would be obvious.
Best to leave it on, she decided.
She dropped to the floor and crawled rapidly and silently around the counter and across the throw rug to the big chair.
Another loud, sustained creaking of boards from the porch confirmed that someone, or something, was moving just beyond the wall.
Dallas slid alongside the chair and put a hand over Graham’s mouth as she shook his arm with her other hand. Predictably, he came awake with a wide-eyed start and a muffled yelp. She leaned over him with a finger over her mouth for quiet, and pointed at the door as another set of creaking footsteps moved from left to right. The intruder was moving cautiously but steadily toward the door. Graham checked the .30-.30 and carefully got out of the chair, moving behind it with Dallas.
The door handle rattled suddenly, and whoever was on the other side pulled at it a few times before accepting the fact that it was securely locked.
So it’s not the bear! Dallas almost wished it were.
A beam of light was being played around outside. A flashlight. The reflections of the beam were coming through the cracks in the shutters that had been pulled in place over the window.
Suddenly, the intruder rattled the shutters, and boots crunched on the broken glass outside. The shutter opened abruptly and a bright beam of light stabbed inside the cabin as Graham and Dallas ducked behind the big chair.
The beam was directed toward the kitchen, then to the bear rug in front of the fireplace, stopping at various points to illuminate the backpack, the computer case, and several other items foreign to the cabin.
Graham and Dallas waited, unsure what to do, until the unmistakable sound of a handgun being cocked filled the room. Dallas felt Graham tense and readjust his hands on the stock and barrel of the .30-.30.
The intruder pulled the other shutter open and kicked at the remaining shards of glass with his boot before climbing carefully into the cabin. Dallas saw he was wearing a heavy jacket and a hat with earflaps pulled down. As soon as he was inside, he turned his back to the interior to examine the broken window.
Graham moved silently, with the speed of a striking snake, from the back of the chair, placing the muzzle of the .30-.30 on the back of the man’s neck.
“FREEZE! Don’t move a muscle!” Graham commanded. “Raise your hands in the air, holding that gun by the barrel.”
The man complied. Dallas plucked the revolver from his right hand and the flashlight from his left.
“Whatever you say,” the man mumbled. “Just don’t hurt me.”
“How many more of you are there?”
“Pardon?”
“Anyone else out there?” Graham asked.
The man shook his head as he stood still, facing the window. “No. Just me.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“That’s what I need to ask you,” the man said. “I’m the caretaker for this place. Have been for thirty years.”
Graham looked at Dallas, who was holding up an index finger. “And what’s your name, Sir?”
“Don. Don Donohue.”
Dallas shrugged and nodded. “That’s the right name, Graham.”
“Is it?” Graham asked, looking back over his shoulder at Dallas.
She turned on the ceiling light, and Graham lowered the .30-.30’s barrel and asked Donohue to turn around and show some identification. When they were satisfied, Dallas returned his wallet and motioned him to sit down.
“Didn’t you get Kat Bronsky’s note?” Dallas asked.
Donohue shook his head. “I didn’t get any—Kat’s here?”
“Well, she’s been gone now for a few days, but she said she left a note at the dock for you. We’re her guests here.”
He was shaking his head no and rolling his eyes. “Good grief. I stopped looking for notes at the dock last year when we got in our satellite phone. I guess she didn’t get the word. I’m sure sorry about that. I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“We thought you’d gotten the note, and that you’d see the smoke from the chimney.”
“Naw. The central heater’s on in this cabin all winter, and it kicks out one hell of a plume of steam, so I wouldn’t have noticed. How long are you folks staying?”