“If she’s here,” Vanduyne said.
“Oh, she’s here,” Canney said. “We would have caught her if she tried running north or south. She knows these woods, and she knows she can hide here. But not for long.”
“So get some sleep,” Bob told Vanduyne. “We’re up and moving at the crack of dawn.”
Vanduyne hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, then shrugged and headed for his room.
“Finally,” Canney said. “And I thought my little Martha was tough to get to bed.”
“Let’s get back in the car,” Bob said. “I heard from Jim Lewis.”
Canney’s expression brightened. “He got to the remailer?”
Bob nodded but didn’t speak until they were safely cocooned in the car.
“I don’t know how he did it and I didn’t ask, but I suspect he had somebody sneak in and copy the database from the remailer’s server. Whatever, they found a ‘Snake’ account with an IDT return address. IDT was very cooperative. Turns out ‘Snake’ is the handle of an ‘Eric Garter’ who pays for his Internet services with his Visa card. The Visa bills go to a mail drop. The house address in the Visa computer is a fake. ‘Eric Garter’ doesn’t exist.”
“ ‘Garter?’” Canney said. “As in ‘Snake?’ Shit.” He rubbed his face. “My news isn’t so good either. I had a long talk with Trevor. He says the only one who trailed Vanduyne to Atlantic City was his ex.”
“He’s got to be wrong.”
“That’s what I said, but he told me there were times when he and Vanduyne and the ex were the only cars on the road. No way anybody else followed. He was pretty adamant about that. And Trevor’s damn good.”
A worm wriggled through Bob’s gut. “You know what you’re saying.”
“Yeah. Someone’s rotten.”
“But only three of us knew.”
“All right. Let’s look at that. Let me ask you a question: Is the Secret Service going to be hurt by decriminalization?”
“Hell, no. We’ll probably have to beef up to provide extra security.”
“Right. And as far as the Bureau is concerned, drugs are mostly a sideline. So our appropriations won’t be much affected.”
“Stop,” Bob said. “I know where you’re going and—?”
“Who in federal law enforcement gets hurt the most, Bob?”
“You’re talking about Dan Keane—”
“All right, I’ll answer my own questions: DEA gets gutted by decriminalization.”
Bob felt his anger rising. This was groundless, unfair.
“I’ve known Dan for a dozen years. Nobody hates the drug trade more. Nobody has fought harder against the traffickers.”
“Right. And maybe he hates them so much that he doesn’t want to stop fighting them.” The simple logic of the conclusion struck Bob dumb for a moment. But logic wasn’t always the truth. He’d spoken to Dan not thirty minutes ago. It was unthinkable…
“It just can’t be. I won’t buy it.”
“All right,” Canney said. “You know the guy. I’ll go with your judgment.”
“There’s another explanation,” Bob said. “We just haven’t thought of it yet.” Another explanation… had to be… But what? Who?
20
“I’ve looked all over town and can’t find her,” Snake told Salinas.
He’d used the phone in his motel’s parking lot for the call. Not the best section of A.C., but his appearance attracted less attention here.
“That is because she is not in town,” Salinas said. “She has fled into the big woods in the center of the state.” Snake winced as another stab of pain shot through his head and eye. The pills had eased the agony since this afternoon, but these stabs were still frequent enough and severe enough to keep him on edge.
Poppy pain… all because of that bitch. What the hell was the matter with her? The damn kid belonged to someone else, yet she’d attacked him like a mother lion protecting one of her own cubs… hadn’t even sounded human, screeching like that.
Crazy bitch.
“ ‘Big’ woods? This is Jersey. There’s nothing big here.”
“The others who are looking for her disagree. They are launching a wide search for her tomorrow. And they expect to find her and the package. Tomorrow.” Salinas left the words hanging, and the emphasis was not lost on Snake.
Tomorrow…
Snake closed his good eye and tried to organize his thoughts. If they found Poppy, they’d find the tape.
Maybe she hadn’t had the tape with her this afternoon, but after the big scene he’d made about it, he was willing to bet the rest of his life that she’d gone back and got it and listened to it, and knew what a bargaining chip she had.
The tape would land him in a federal prison and force Salinas to close up shop and leave the country. Salinas would be gone, but he wouldn’t forget. No matter what the prison, no matter what the security, Salinas would see to it that somebody got to him.
And even if Poppy had lost the tape, she could still finger him as the guy who set up the kidnapping. And then, as the only guy who could link Salinas to the plot, how long would he last?
Either way, betting the rest of his life didn’t seem a particularly heavy risk. So tomorrow it was do or die—literally.
But he was Snake. He could do it.
And not just to save his skin. Poppy had hurt him twice now—twice. Both times she’d taken him by surprise. No third time. No messing around with threats. He’d pop her as soon as he saw her and search her body and the truck. And if he didn’t find the tape, then so be it. But no games this time: Poppy was dead.
“I think you’d better come in,” Salinas said. “We need to make contingency plans should this tape be found.” Snake knew what that meant. Fat chance.
“I’ve still got tomorrow. Plenty of time.”
“You are one man. They are many, with helicopters. You cannot hope—”
“If I can get a little goddamn support, I can get to her first, dammit!” He wanted to scream at Salinas. Didn’t he know who he was dealing with?
This is Snake talking here. I can turn the tables on the feds and stupid greaseballs like you any day. I can take this big-ass search and turn it to my advantage.
“What sort of support do you need?”
“Mostly information. You’ve got a pipeline. Here’s what I need.” Snake began reeling off his list.
21
“That was you?” Katie said, pointing to the photo in the scrapbook.
Poppy sat on the sofa in Uncle Luke’s front room and stared at her seventeen-year-old self, dressed in her old number 23 basketball uniform, hair pulled back into a ponytail that trailed halfway down her back, long legs bare, knobby knees bent, poised at the foul line to make a free throw.
Only ten years ago… yet it totally seemed like some one else, like a photo from another century.
She looked at that fresh face, those clear eyes that had a whole different future planned out… no idea at all what the next ten years would hold.
“Yeah, that was me.” The other me.
She glanced at her Uncle Luke. “I can’t believe you like saved all this stuff.”
“What else was I going to do? After your father died, I couldn’t just throw it out. And besides…” He turned his head away.
“Besides what?”
“He asked me to keep your scrapbooks and trophies. He said he… he knew you’d come back some day.” Poppy closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She didn’t want to cry again.