Now he whispered. “So take your get-out-of-jail card and split town. That bomb was for me.” He paused, took a breath and continued, “Because of you. You’re onto something. I don’t want to know any more unless we’re live on the radio and I’m surrounded by big fucking bodyguards. Now get.”
“What about you?” Alpert asked compassionately.
“I’ve got plans. Hell, I’ll go on the air tonight talking about it from some remote location.”
“Without…” McCauley didn’t have to finish the question.
“Without mentioning you. There are enough conspiracies to hang this on.”
“But all your archives?” Quinn asked.
“Copies. I’ve got copies of everything. Plus my website is in the cloud.” Greene laughed. “When the insurance settles, I suspect I’ll have some cash for the first time in years. That’ll undoubtedly make me the subject of somebody else’s conspiracy theory which, of course, will lead to more appearances. All of it, great publicity. I’ll just have to roll out a new book to take advantage of it. Maybe I’ll dedicate it to you.”
“No thanks. But you’re not concerned they’ll come back?” Alpert was seriously concerned.
“Naw. I’ll start deflecting it with a report of some black op. And that much is true.”
“What if the insurance doesn’t pony up?” McCauley asked.
“That’s the best of it. Just let them try. I’ve got some disturbing documents on their business practices after Hurricane Cassandra that they’re not going to want to see on the news. They’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. All I’ll need to mention is New England.”
McCauley and Alpert both laughed. They hugged their newest and oddest best friend and settled up with the Kern County Sheriffs, neither of whom smiled.
Thirty-nine
The hour drive and the alone time provided the opportunity for Quinn and Katrina to talk about their lives and the twists and turns that got them to Interstate 5 heading south to Los Angles.
“Two siblings,” McCauley answered when asked about his family. “An older sister and a younger brother. Both followed our parent’s careers. Like my dad, Zach’s a school principal, now at Moeller High in Cincinnati. Sasha is a city councillor in Scranton, like my mother was years ago.”
“Are they married?”
“Yup. I’m the holdout.”
“Why?” Katrina asked unashamedly. What the fuck, she thought. A few hours ago we were running for our lives.
“I suppose I’ve been waiting for the right one to knock on my door.”
Katrina smiled inwardly. A reference? An inference?
“And your history?” he asked.
“Not so fast. I want to hear more about you.”
“Alright, why not?” he replied. “I had a shot at a career as a ball player.”
“That’s a career?”
“Baseball? Absolutely! Especially if you make it to the majors.”
“You were that good?”
“Well, that’s something I didn’t really put to a full test. But if I had and been successful, I’d probably be retired by now and running a car dealership. ‘Come on down to Quinn’s and check out the fins!’” He laughed. “But, looking down the line early on, it wasn’t what I wanted. So I went for my PhD in a related field.”
“Paleontology is related to baseball?”
“No, but teamwork is.”
She was seeing the real Quinn McCauley and liking him. Maybe more than she would admit.
“But enough of you,” she said avoiding the possibility of addressing her own feelings. “Want to hear my story?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you choose which is right.”
“What?” McCauley responded.
“A game. See if you can correctly determine who I am and where I came from.”
“I’ll try.”
“Okay, here we go.”
“Give me a second.” She stopped to think or to bluff. He didn’t know which.
“A. I was born in North London, the daughter of a sometimes fill-in sessions guitar player for the Kinks. You know the rock band.”
McCauley did.
“Of course, I came along well after their ’60s hits. My father actually had a real affinity for engineering. He gave up the dream of going further in music — I guess, kind of like you with baseball — he went to college and founded one of the first computer companies in England. Dad made a ton of money, met my mother at his company, and she started rolling out babies. Four of us. My three brothers and me. I’m number three. That’s usually the one that’s trouble. We grew up in Cambridge and I’ve never left. That’s choice A.”
“Okay, not sure, though congratulations for knowing one of your country’s greatest R&B crossover bands. What’s B?”
“B is sadder and still difficult for me talk about. My mum was married to a British soldier who was killed defending the Falklands against Argentina. She struggled for years, got remarried to a local insurance agent, but I always felt her heart was with her first husband, not my dad. It caused problems through the years and they finally divorced six years ago.”
“Sisters or brothers?”
“Oh, yes. My identical twin sister Nicole. She’s older by four minutes.”
“Another you. I can’t imagine.”
Katrina hit him in the arm. “Shut up and listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“My mother’s proudest moment was seeing us both graduate from university with PhDs Nicole’s is in molecular biology. And mine, well, you know. Nicky’s married with a second child on the way.”
Katrina gave McCauley a confident smile. “What do you think?”
“Plausible, uplifting at the end. Do you have a C?”
“Of course. You’ll love C. My father is a member of Parliament. The House of Commons. He used his influence to get me into Cambridge and ultimately secure an appointment. My mother was a food columnist for News of the World in London until Murdoch shut it down after the wire taping scandal. Now she’s got a food blog and a regular spot on the BBC. We can watch her on the channel website.”
“Siblings?”
“One. Younger. Jake. He’s a fashion photographer.”
“Married?” Quinn asked.
“No, but he gets laid a lot.”
McCauley laughed while keeping his eye on the road. “I bet.”
“So, Dr. McCauley. Which is it? A, B, or C?”
After debating the possibilities, judging her delivery, and considering the finer points of history, McCauley chose correctly.
Forty
Half way to Los Angeles, Katrina fell asleep. It had been a long, life-threatening, exhausting day. He was sufficiently worried for their well-being as well as the students under his care. They all faced danger. He didn’t know from whom, but the why was becoming increasingly evident.
About an hour out of LA, just beyond the section on the I-5 known as The Grapevine, a memory triggered. Years ago he’d seen a History Channel documentary about a British World War II officer with a unique talent. Maybe. Just maybe.
He decided to call Al Jaffe and talk through a plan.
“Holy, shit!” was all Jaffe could muster when McCauley explained.
“Now listen carefully, Al. I need your help, just yours. No one else. Nothing illegal to worry about, but it’s vitally important you don’t tell anyone. Are you up for it?”