VanAllen followed the motion, looking relieved that he was no longer staring into the bore. “You didn’t trust me?”
“No.”
“What reason have I given you not to?”
“None. I’d just hate to leave you out.”
“You mistrust everybody.”
“A life-preserving policy.”
VanAllen nervously wet his lips. “You can trust me, Mr. Coburn. I don’t want this fouled up any more than you do. Is Mrs. Gillette all right?”
“Yes, and I want to make damn certain she stays that way.”
“You believe she’s in danger?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Because she has incriminating information on The Bookkeeper?”
On the outside chance that VanAllen had lied about wearing a wireless mike, Coburn wasn’t about to answer that question. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to order the local P.D. to call off the manhunt for me. Like you, I’m an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation in performance of my duty. I can’t have a bunch of trigger-happy yokels on my ass.”
“Crawford isn’t going to shrug off eight murders.”
“Homicide detective?”
“For the sheriff’s office. He’s investigating Fred Hawkins’s murder. He sort of inherited the warehouse murders when Fred—”
“I get the picture,” Coburn said, cutting him off. “Talk this Crawford into granting me a reprieve until I can bring Mrs. Gillette in safely. Then I’ll thoroughly brief him on the warehouse shootings and Fred Hawkins.”
“He won’t go for it.”
“Twist his arm.”
“Maybe if you gave me some exculpatory information that I could pass along—”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Your office leaks like a sieve and so does his.”
VanAllen sighed, looking worried. “It all relates to The Bookkeeper, right?”
“Right.”
“And it’s big?”
“Right again.”
“Can’t you tell me anything?”
“Can. Won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you were supposed to know, Hamilton would have already told you. He would have started by telling you about me.”
The man winced, as though it pained him to hear that. He also must have sensed Coburn’s resolve and decided that trying to bargain was pointless. “Okay, I’ll do my best with Crawford. What are you going to do?”
“Disappear. I’ll bring Mrs. Gillette in, but no one will be given notice. I’ll choose my time and place.”
“I’m not sure that’ll fly.”
“With who?”
“Hamilton. He said to tell you that time is up.”
“Hamilton can go fuck himself. Tell him I said so. Better yet, I’ll tell him myself. I’m still on the trail of something, and I intend to finish the job that he assigned me. If you need to go back to him with something, tell him that. Now, let’s get in the car.”
“What for?”
“We’re gonna make it look like I’m going peaceably.”
“Look like?” VanAllen glanced around, and again, Coburn thought that if he was faking his ignorance, he was good at it. “Look like to who?”
“To the snipers who’ve got me in their crosshairs.”
“Who would want to shoot you?”
Coburn frowned at him. “Come on, VanAllen. You know who. And the only reason they haven’t taken me out already is because they still wouldn’t know where Honor Gillette is. You and I will get in the car and drive away.”
“Then what?”
“At some point between here and your office in Lafayette, I’ll get out. When you arrive, surprise! I’m no longer in the car with you. Whoever balks first is the person you arrest immediately, because that’s the person who had the snipers in place. Got it?”
VanAllen nodded, but Coburn hoped he felt more certainty than his nod demonstrated.
Coburn said, “Let’s go.”
VanAllen turned and walked to the driver’s side of the car and opened the door. The dome light came on, convincing Coburn yet again that the agent had no field experience. But he was glad of the light because it afforded him a check of the backseat. There was no one crouched between the seats.
He opened the passenger-side door and was about to get in when he sensed motion in his peripheral vision. He turned toward the train. A shadow streaked past the gap between two of the freight cars. Coburn dropped to look beneath the train and saw a pair of legs on the other side of it sprinting away. He started crawling in that direction and was almost under the train when a cell phone rang.
Coburn swiveled his head, caught VanAllen as he reached for the ringing telephone attached to his belt.
Coburn looked beneath the train and at the man fleeing from it.
Then to VanAllen, he shouted, “No!”
Honor was winded and her left side was cramping, but she continued to run at full tilt. She hadn’t thought the train tracks were that far from the paint and body shop garage until she began covering the distance. Running in darkness over unfamiliar ground made it even more difficult.
This was an industrial area of town comprised of warehouses, machine shops, and small manufacturing plants, all of which had been deserted for the night. Twice she plunged down blind alleys and had to retrace her steps, which became slower the farther she ran.
Only once did she allow herself a few moments to try and catch her breath. She put her back to a crumbling brick wall that formed one side of an alley. She gulped air. She pressed both hands into her side to try and ease the cramp.
She didn’t linger there for long, however. Rats scuttled nearby. She couldn’t see the dog that snarled at her from behind a cyclone fence at the dark end of the alley, but the sound conjured up menacing images.
She continued on.
Finally she reached the tracks. They were overgrown with weeds, but the steel rails reflected some ambient light and made the going a little easier, although her heart felt on the verge of bursting. Her lungs labored. The cramp in her side was causing her to gasp with pain.
But she ran on because Coburn’s life could very well depend on her reaching him. She didn’t want him to die.
When she finally spotted the old train near the water tower, she would have cried out in relief, had she had enough breath to make a sound. Seeing her goal gave her additional strength, and she pumped her legs even faster.
She made out the automobile parked near the train. She saw the two figures standing in front of the hood. As she watched, they separated. Coburn went around to the passenger side. The driver got in and closed his car door.
A heartbeat later a ball of flame bloomed into the night sky, illuminating everything around it in the red glow of hell.
The concussive blast of the explosion knocked Honor to the ground.
Chapter 36
Doral had the dubious pleasure of informing The Bookkeeper.
“My guy in the FBI office had just enough time to plant the bomb on the car and program in the cell phone number. But it worked exactly like it was supposed to. Bam! They never had a chance.”
The silence on the other end was palpable.
Doral continued. “I witnessed it myself from the top of the water tower. All of us got the hell away from the area immediately. Nobody ever knew we were there.”
Still silence.
Doral cleared his throat. “There is one thing, though.”
The Bookkeeper waited in stony silence.
“It wasn’t Honor who showed up. It was Coburn.” Unsure how The Bookkeeper would receive that piece of news, he hastily added, “Which is better when you think about it. It’ll be easier to track down Honor than it would have been to deal with him.”
“But those weren’t your instructions. That wasn’t my plan for Coburn.”
Doral understood The Bookkeeper’s letdown. Between Coburn and Honor, the undercover agent was naturally the bigger trophy. For personal reasons, Doral would have enjoyed killing him in a manner that was painful and protracted. Instead, the son of a bitch had gotten off light. He’d gotten the instantaneous death planned for Honor and Tom VanAllen.