Josh finished with his suturing and left an intern to dress the wound and issue a sling to the young man, before discharging him, and Josh dealt with two more patients before his break. He was sitting in the coffee room with a hot cup when it hit him: Orchid Beach. He and Holly had had dinner with the woman and a man, and he couldn’t remember either of their names.
When his break was over he went back to the treatment room and found the woman’s chart. Her name was Jessica Smith, with a La Jolla address, but he knew the name wasn’t right. She remained on his mind for the rest of the afternoon, and it was driving him crazy. Then, during his dinner hour, he decided to put an end to it. He went to a pay phone and called Holly’s direct line at the Agency.
“Holly Barker,” she said.
The sound of her voice got to him; he hadn’t been expecting that. “Hi, it’s Josh,” he said, finally.
“Well, hello there,” she said. “How are things in San Diego?”
“Going better than I could have expected at this stage,” he replied. “How about you?”
“Oh, you know how the work goes-win some, lose some. Lose more than I would like.”
“Has Lance got the director’s job yet?”
“Not yet,” she said, but said no more.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that on an Agency line.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“Reason I called is, I saw a woman in my trauma unit today who came in complaining of abdominal pain. Turned out all she needed was an enema.”
“Hey, you get all the exciting cases, don’t you?”
He laughed. “She wasn’t my patient, but I thought I recognized her. It drove me crazy all day, and finally I placed her.”
“Josh, you didn’t call to tell me about an old flame, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. In fact, if anything, she’s your old flame, in a way. You remember that couple we had dinner with at a little beach house? The guy was a great cook, and for some reason I can’t even remember his face, but I remembered hers, so I checked her chart for her name, and it wasn’t the right one.”
“Wasn’t the right one?”
“No, it wasn’t her real name, but I can’t remember it. Surely you remember her-the two left town suddenly.”
Holly took in a sharp breath. “Lauren Cade!”
“Yes, that’s it! And what was his name?”
“I don’t remember,” Holly said, “but it was a false name anyway.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And I can’t explain it to you, Josh, you know the drill. What name was Lauren Cade using?”
“Jessica Smith. You want her address?”
“Yes, please.”
Josh dictated it to her from memory. “It’s near the beach in La Jolla. I know the area.”
“Thank you very much, Josh. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m late for a meeting.”
“Nice talking with you,” he said.
“Same here.”
Josh hung up and went back to work, relieved of the necessity of remembering the woman’s name, but now he had Holly’s voice in his head.
HOLLY LOOKED IN HER computer for Todd Bacon’s satphone number and rang it. The ringing was interrupted by a loud beep.
“It’s the office,” Holly said. “Stand by to write. We have a Lauren Cade sighting in San Diego. Here’s an address in La Jolla.” She recited what Josh had given her, then hung up.
Ten minutes later her phone rang. “Holly Barker.”
“It’s Bacon. How recent is this information?”
“Early this afternoon, local time. She turned up at a trauma center complaining of abdominal pain and was given an enema and discharged.”
“Thanks for that image,” Todd said.
“You’re welcome.”
“You have no way of knowing if the address is good?” he asked.
“That’s why you’re out there, bub,” she said. “Get back to me when you know the answer to that question, and when you do, have a plan.” She hung up.
13
Teddy Fay woke suddenly. Something-a noise, maybe-had startled him. He tried replaying whatever he had been dreaming and realized it was a gunshot that had wakened him, one that he had fired at some shadowy figure in his dream.
Teddy lay back in bed and slowed his breathing. Something was still wrong. His girlfriend, Lauren Cade, stirred beside him. “You awake?”
“Yes,” he said, “something woke me.”
“What-noise? Doorbell?”
“Something else. It’s happened before. I’ve learned not to ignore it.” Teddy had been a fugitive for years now, and he had remained free because he listened to this sixth sense. It was as if someone had unexpectedly tapped him on the shoulder and said clearly, “It’s time to go.”
Teddy got out of bed, took the Colt Government .380, which was a miniature of the .45 Model 1911, and slowly began to walk the perimeter of the little beach house in La Jolla, a San Diego suburb. He and Lauren had left Santa Fe after a CIA officer had tracked them down there. They had been safe and happy in La Jolla for more than a year, but they had to run.
He went, barefoot and silent, from room to room without turning on any lights. There was half a moon that night, and as he looked out every window in its turn, he could spot no one. He went back to the bedroom, where Lauren was sitting up in bed. “It’s time to go,” he said.
“Teddy, are you sure? Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, I’m not sure. The only way to be sure is if someone sticks a pistol in my ear and cuffs me. And I don’t know anything you don’t, except that I do. I just do.”
“All right,” she said.
“Are you with me, sweetie?” he asked. “You can always bail out, if you’re tired of this.”
“I’m with you,” she said. “I’m not tired of you.”
“All right,” Teddy said, looking at the luminous hands on his watch. “We have to be out of here in one hour-say, three o‘clock. That’s an hour and five minutes. Start with what you absolutely cannot bear to leave behind, then widen your circle to include the less essential but important. We’re not going to turn on any lights. We’re going to load the car with the garage door closed and head out.”
Lauren started dressing.
Teddy started with his computer equipment-a MacBook Air-and his printer, and two magic boxes he had built himself and was thinking about marketing. He could forge any document, break into any database, with those. He always kept the original packaging for important things, and he located the boxes and manuals in the dark. Next came his tool kits and weapons-a silenced sniper rifle in a briefcase that he had designed and made for the CIA during the twenty-odd years he had served in the Agency’s Technical Services department. They didn’t know that he had made a duplicate rifle for himself.
He went to the sixty-inch safe, opened it, and took out the handguns and the cash. He already had cases ready for everything. He loaded all these things and put them into the SUV, then he climbed on top of the vehicle and unscrewed the bulb that normally came on when the garage door opened.
He went back to the bedroom and began throwing clothes into a suitcase. “How are you coming?” he asked.
“Pretty well,” she replied, packing a bag. “I’ll be ready by three.”
“Sooner, if you can,” he said, handing her a pair of latex gloves and pulling some on himself. “I’m going to start wiping down the house.”
He started with the bedroom, then went to the bath and kitchen, then to the rest of the house, spraying things with alcohol-and-water window cleaner and wiping with a clean dishcloth. When he finished, Lauren’s things were in the SUV, and she was ready. They got into the car.
“Ready?” he asked, handing her a SIG Sauer P239. “There’s one in the chamber.”
“Ready,” she said.
He switched off the auto-on interior lights. He touched the remote control, and the garage door rose silently. He had aligned and greased it carefully for such a moment. “Let’s give it a push,” he said.