Perhaps, he thought, that was why Cameron was alive, and Freddy and Morgan were dead. Neither could have ever presented the challenge Cameron would always be.
He was so absorbed in these thoughts, he nearly missed all the action on television. He knew in advance how most of it would play out, of course.
Of all the fugitives, only Wesley Macon Sloan had been harder to track down than Gabe Taggert. Not long after Sloan had made the FBI list, Everett had contacted Desmond Wrait. Law enforcement officials had already been in touch with him, of course, but although they knew that Wrait would be obliged to encourage his client to surrender, they really couldn’t ask much more of Sloan’s attorney.
Unlike Everett, they couldn’t offer large sums of money, placed in an offshore account, available to Wrait if he would do nothing more than follow a few simple instructions. Instructions that would not in any way leave Wrait vulnerable to charges of any kind-which would, in all probability, enhance his public image. All this, in addition to relieving him of a client who might not treat his lawyer any better than he had treated his wife.
Really, Everett thought, inflation might have upped the price from forty pieces of silver, but there was no shortage of Judases.
Everett was not a fan of the media, but he enjoyed watching the events unfolding now. Security was at its highest near Pine and Third in Long Beach, where the FBI and most of the media expected Wrait to appear. A few sharper reporters kept an eye on Wrait’s offices. But only one television crew-for Channel Three, the station he was watching now-were nearer Long Beach Boulevard and Broadway. Diana Ontora had received a call from Wrait’s secretary, tipping her off to the fact that the first glance anyone might get of the fugitive would be in an alley near that corner, where Sloan would be smuggled out of a nearby building and into a waiting car.
“This is Diana Ontora of Channel Three, bringing you exclusive coverage of Wesley Macon Sloan’s surrender to federal agents…”
• • •
Above the alley, several windows were open on the higher floors of the building just opposite the one Desmond Wrait was leaving now. Wrait talked for a moment with Ontora, then motioned to his client to come out.
Sloan, the most ordinary-looking of men, glanced up nervously at those open windows.
Cameron sighted Wesley Macon Sloan’s left eye through the rifle’s scope and fired.
Now, he thought, your appearance is remarkable.
The Ontora woman was screaming. Cameron quickly fired a couple of shots over the heads of the lawyer and the reporter. That got them to stop looking up. He picked up the shell casings, concealed the weapon under the floorboards, and left. The purchase of the building had been well worth it, he thought. Perhaps someone might someday trace its ownership through several corporations to Everett and Cameron, but he doubted it would lead anyone to suspect him as the sniper.
By the time police and the FBI descended on the place, Cameron was calmly on his way back to Malibu.
If Everett had harmed those children, he thought, he just might give him a remarkable appearance, too.
46
Malibu, California
Thursday, May 22, 4:50 P.M.
Gabriel Taggert drank a cup of good, strong coffee while he watched the news at low volume. His sister slept in her room upstairs. Although the drive to Blue Jay and back had been tiring, she was exhausted, he thought, more by worry than anything. She worried about Spooky, this kid Kit was raising. She worried about Moriarty. She worried about Kit.
But Gabe also knew she worried most about her ne’er-do-well brother.
Guilt had come with his sobriety. He hated to think of all the concern he had caused her over the years. Being around her, seeing that concern on her face, had only heightened his shame.
He stood and walked over to a shelf that had a picture of Spooky on it. She was cute, Gabe thought, but he wondered why she dressed as a boy and cut her hair so short. And what was up with that name?
He was distracted from these thoughts when he realized that on the television, the newscasters were talking about the surrender of Wesley Macon Sloan.
Perhaps he should turn himself in, just as Kit had been urging him to do. If it could be managed, it would certainly defeat Everett.
Then he saw Sloan, standing one moment, looking up at the sky, the next minute collapsing as a series of shots rang out.
Over his own sickening fear came the sound of the reporter’s screams. The camera moved unsteadily, capturing oddly angled images of brick walls and pavement for a few seconds as the camera operator tried to move to safety. The reporter was saying, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” over and over.
Gabriel heard a rattling sound and looked down at the cup and saucer in his hands. Trembling, he had sloshed coffee over the rim of the cup. He set the cup and saucer on a nearby table and pressed his palms to his eyes. He felt as though he could not get air into his lungs. He turned off the television and went outside, by the pool.
As he calmed a little, he began to wonder if he should leave the house and find a new hiding place.
But what was the use of hiding? Everett would be sure to come directly after Meghan then. And what would become of Kit and the kid?
He thought about the files Kit had left for him. Law enforcement couldn’t help him, he decided. They were always one step behind Everett.
Someone in the FBI must have tipped off Everett about Sloan. The problem, he decided, was that Everett was forcing everyone to play his game, his way. He had been the same way in high school. Kit had been the one to change all that.
Gabe decided that if he surrendered, what happened to Sloan would undoubtedly happen to him. The detective Kit wanted to approach would have to let the FBI know Gabe was giving himself up, and Everett’s buddy in the FBI would immediately be telling Cameron where to set up for a clear shot at Gabe’s head.
He needed a way to draw Everett out into the open without endangering Meghan or Kit. He needed to be somewhere that would cause Everett to play the game Gabe’s way. He needed surprise on his side.
He looked down into the canyon and glimpsed a tall gray structure.
The bell tower at Sedgewick.
He began to make a plan. Did he have the courage, he wondered, to carry it out?
He wrote a long note to Meghan, just in case things didn’t work out as he hoped they would, and then crept into her room. He looked down at her as she slept and resisted a sudden, strong temptation to wake her and tell her how afraid he was.
He left the note propped up on the dresser and tiptoed out.
One of Moriarty’s staff stopped him once. The guard politely apologized, and said that Mr. Logan had asked him to keep Gabe safe, and that meant keeping him here. Gabe said he understood perfectly and went back inside. After a few minutes, he went into the wing of the house occupied by the guards and borrowed some clothing. A little big, but the camouflage fabric would be helpful.
He was still afraid but found it felt surprisingly good to be doing something, to be acting on his own behalf.
If Moriarty had not been gone, if the guard had not been reduced by men looking for the child, he might not have made it outside the grounds. Even then, anyone else might have had difficulty slipping past the guard that remained. But as a teenager Gabe had spent more time here than he did at home.
Twenty minutes after taking the clothing, he was on his way down the winding canyon, wondering, as he recalled many a morning when he had overslept during high school, if he would still be able to find the shortcut into the grounds of Sedgewick.
47
Malibu, California
Thursday, May 22, 5:04 P.M.
“Don’t move,” a voice whispered.
Chase felt confused. Some moments passed before he realized he was lying on a bare wooden floor, his wrists and ankles bound. His muscles felt stiff, and he was scraped and bruised. Gradually, he remembered the accident on the road, although the details of that were unclear to him.