Auschmann nodded. “You really think it’s the Secretary?”
“Back where I come from, son, they say a bull carries his brains in his balls so it’s pretty easy to tell what he’s got for smarts. Same way with Van Dam. It all fits. Locke got himself fingered ’fore he even left Washington, way I figure it. And Van Dam was the only one in the department besides me and Charney who knew about the deployment.”
“That’s not a lot to go on.”
“It got me started thinking, though, and when Charney’s file got tampered with, I got downright pissed. Only somebody with control of a lot of strings coulda pulled that one. It was done too clean and all evidence of the tampering was knocked off the computer. That takes high-level clearance, Louie, the highest. It had to be Van Dam.”
“Then you took a hell of a chance laying everything out for him.”
“’Cause he’s part of somethin’ much bigger, and if I’m gonna trap the rest of the maggots, I gotta have bait. This whole mess has been too clean from the beginning. Charney gets himself killed and Locke takes off all over Europe leaving bodies everywhere without getting himself caught or killed. He couldn’t have gotten that far unless somebody wanted him to.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m hoping the Secretary will tell us … one way or another.”
“What do you make of MI-6’s report on picking up Locke?” Auschmann wondered.
“Shit stains don’t wash out too easy, Louie, and that’s what their story’s got all over it. They had Locke and lost him. That somebody is tryin’ awful hard to see he ain’t caught.” Roy started tapping a pen against his desk blotter. “They yanked his son and the boy’s probably good as buried now, and I got me a feeling lots more people are gonna be joining him unless we get some answers real soon.”
Auschmann thought briefly. “Van Dam won’t talk.”
“Yeah. So I already got the President to approve a detailed investigation into his movements in the last few months. Way I see it, he musta made a few stops on the sly at wherever this mess is centered.”
“Those things take time.”
“We’re movin’ extra fast. We’ve also got a tap on his private line and a couple men watching every move he makes hoping he leads us to the rest of the maggots.”
The phone rang. Roy picked it up.
“It’s Kennally, Cal,” the head of the CIA said over the private line. “You’ll be hearing from the President soon enough, but I figured I’d let you know first under the circumstances. You just became Secretary of State. David Van Dam’s dead.”
Roy wasn’t surprised at all. “Shot himself, did he, Major Pete?”
“Not unless he held the trigger long enough to empty a dozen bullets into his gut. Somebody just assassinated him.”
“Chris, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Nikki’s voice lifted Locke from his trance. He eased the still-unconscious Greg away from him and his eyes fell on the blood-caked bandage enclosing his left hand.
“Whatever happens, I’m not leaving the boy,” he said. “Not again.”
Her voice way strangely calm. “He needs medical attention and a safe refuge. We can’t provide either.”
“I’m not leaving him,” Locke persisted.
“There’s a doctor in the Devon countryside. I’ve used him before. He’s reliable … and trustworthy.”
Locke started working the ropes free. “Fine. Let’s go visit him. But I’m staying with Greg the whole time.”
“Then you’ll be taking the very real risk of leading the Committee back to him. I can’t protect you forever.”
“Just another few days is all I ask, long enough to get us back to the States.”
“You can’t run from them, Chris. It’s too late.”
Locke swung toward her. “Wait a minute, you’re part of the damned Committee. Or are you?”
“Yes. And no. Everything’s changed. There’s a splinter faction led by the man who kidnapped your son and tortured you. He’s out of control. We’re trying to stop him, but it’s got to be done our way.”
“Great. Be sure to send me a postcard and let me know how things turn out.”
“His only chance to stay alive is if we win, Chris. Yours too. We need you.”
“Why?”
“I … can’t explain now. Just trust me. We’ll take the boy to the doctor in Devon. He’ll be safe there.”
Chris felt himself wavering. “I want guards around him, lots of them.”
Nikki shook her head. “No. The more men we alert, the greater the chances that your son will be found. The doctor will handle everything. He’s well versed in these matters. You’ve just got to trust me,” she repeated.
“You still haven’t explained why.”
“Everything will be clear in the morning.”
“In the morning?”
She nodded. “We’re going to Austria.”
The doctor’s house was nestled comfortably in the countryside of Devon, totally isolated from civilization. The doctor was an old man with a wizened face and flowing white hair. Greg hadn’t regained consciousness when they arrived, nor did he during the old man’s initial examination. He was a survivor of a German concentration camp, and he understood pain and the people who brought it. He would protect the boy with his life, he promised staunchly, and with the lives of his sons: a pair of brawny youths turned hard and strong by years of living off the land. Both handled guns quite well. Greg would be safe there and could remain as long as necessary.
Chris left detailed instructions on what to do with the boy if he failed to return. The doctor said not to worry, he would handle everything, though he said he could tell by Locke’s eyes that he would return. Nothing was going to stop him, the old man claimed, he could tell from experience.
Chris and Nikki’s next stop was a country inn ten miles up the road. They were both exhausted and in need of food. They registered as a married couple, and a large tip to the sleepy clerk who doubled as a cook gained them four sandwiches, which they gobbled gratefully. Nikki grasped Locke’s arm tightly on the way to their room, resting her head tenderly against his shoulder. The facade ended as soon as they were inside.
“We can’t take any chances,” she explained. “We’re sitting ducks here if anyone makes us. We’ve got to play the part of the married couple to the fullest. I know how the men after us work. We might be watched anywhere, anytime.” She looked toward the room’s single bed. “That means we sleep together.”
“At last, the light at the end of the tunnel….”
“That’s as far as it will go,” she snapped.
“Just joking, young lady. Christ, you’re young enough to be my daughter. And this may surprise you but, that luscious body of yours aside, sex is the last thing on my mind right now.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she apologized softly. “You just don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand, Nikki?”
She looked away, saying nothing.
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“I’m not talking about names. I want to know who you are. Your accent’s clearly American but I’ve got a feeling you’re not exactly a citizen.” When Nikki made no response, Locke continued. “Those Kukhri knives you’re so adept with, you know how the Gurkhas used them in World War II, don’t you? They were great warriors, almost mystical, I’ve heard. They used to sneak into German camps at night, right into a tent where two soldiers slept. They’d cut off the head of one — just one — so the other would wake up in the morning to see his buddy’s head looking at him from his chest. Played hell with German morale, not to mention their sleeping habits. Anyway, no matter what steps the Nazis took, the Gurkhas still made their mark. You know when I knew the Falklands War was over? When it was announced the British were sending a boatload of Gurkhas into the battle.” Locke hesitated. “I guess I’m telling you this because you’re like a Gurkha, aren’t you? Cold and deadly. Nothing can stop you, or change you. I’m right, aren’t I?”