Jaffe had never been asked to fulfill such a request. “I guess…”
“Al, this is for everyone’s safety. Please. Immediately. I’m trusting you.”
“What about Rich?”
“No. Only you.”
McCauley’s real reason for not including Rich Tamburro was his growing suspicion about Anna Chohany. Why did she go into the cave that night?
McCauley didn’t share his reason for keeping it from Tamburro, but he’d have to explain it somehow. That would require more thought.
“Okay. What should I do?” Jaffe asked.
“First, tell everyone we’ll be back in a day. We’re working on travel plans now. But they have to stay clear of the new site.”
“Got it.”
“Finish cataloguing what everyone’s working on. Trent’s a speedster at that. Move him into even higher gear. Then box up and get ready to break camp.”
“We’re leaving?”
“We may have to.”
“They’ll want to know why.”
“Potential gas in the caves.”
“Really, Dr. McCauley?”
McCauley ignored the question.
“The next thing — listen carefully — look up a man named Jasper Maskelyne. You’ll easily find him on the Internet. I want you to check out an operation he executed during World War II.” McCauley explained more. “Okay?”
“Can do,” Jaffe said with true excitement.
“Any concerns about going solo?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Now pass the word to pack up. And good luck.”
Jaffe pulled everyone together under the home base tent.
“Doc called. He’s driving down to LA from Bakersfield. They met Greene and based on what he learned, we have to stay clear of the cave.”
“Why?” Lobel asked.
“Well, apparently there’s an issue with gas. Or the possibility there could be.”
“Gas?” asked Cohen.
“Something to do with similar facilities. Yes, we may have stumbled across a sophisticated monitoring station through a separate entrance.”
“That shuts down electronics?” Cohen continued.
“Doc said sophisticated. We need to read it as a warning.”
“This is fucked,” Carlos complained.
Leslie Cohen added, “If there’s an issue with gas, I’m outta here.”
“We all might be going?”
“What?” Trent asked.
“Dr. McCauley will fill us in tomorrow. For now, let’s do what he said.”
The team broke up. Al Jaffe went to McCauley’s tent for privacy. There he googled the British officer named Maskelyne.
McCauley made another strategic call on the way to LA.
“Hi, Rich. How’s Anna doing?”
“Okay. Disappointed and a little depressed that she’s not out with us.”
“I’m sure. Give her my best. I know it’s not easy.”
“Hey, neither is searching for one hundred million year old bones no one else has discovered,” he joked. “What’s up?”
“Rich, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t consider it terribly important.”
“What?
“Be careful what you tell Anna from here on out.”
“Why?” He raised his voice, immediately sensitive to criticism.
“Because…” McCauley stopped short, concerned how best to frame his misgivings, considering Tamburro’s romantic relationship with Chohany. “It’s hard to explain. I’ll do better when we get back.”
“You can’t just drop that bomb and leave it like that. Why?”
McCauley gave an answer with as much conviction as possible. “We’ve been advised to keep this under wraps for now.”
“I get that,” Tamburro said, “but Anna just wants to know.”
“Of course. But there are two other reasons.” The first was a lie. “We don’t want to worry her and there’s the chance, probably unintentionally, she told someone what we blundered into.”
“Impossible.”
“I said probably unintentionally, Rich. And I have no reason to think otherwise, but remember, she was the one who went into the tunnel on her own. You have to wonder why, too.”
Tamburro considered the point. “And the second reason?”
“Well, there was a problem.” McCauley told Tamburro about the attack on Greene.
The young man was appalled and defensive. “And you think Anna…?”
“I never said that.”
“Bullshit. You implied. That’s enough.”
“Look, Rich, I’m sure you’re right. But we’re feeling a little edgy right now and I’m thinking about everyone’s welfare. Including Anna’s.”
They hung up. In spite of his indignation, Tamburro began to wonder why Anna had struck out on her own.
Katrina Alpert called the television producer Greene mentioned. The conversation didn’t go far. It was short and frustrating.
“Felt like the third degree from the receptionist.”
“Do you think you’ll get a call back?” McCauley asked.
“Doubtful.”
Alpert was correct. The message went unanswered through check-in at The Sportsman’s Lodge in Studio City and dinner at The Daily Grill on Ventura Boulevard.
They returned to the legendary San Fernando Valley hotel, worn out, yet more alert and aware of their surroundings. McCauley worked out how they should survey the environment and signal each other if they saw anything out of the ordinary. Now everything and everyone was suspect: The man sitting alone in the lobby with a newspaper. Was he reading or watching them? The woman on her cell in the corner. Was she reporting to someone on their whereabouts? The security guard who seemed to take an active interest in them. Had some cash turned him into an informer?
“Keep talking and walking,” McCauley said.
“Take my hand,” she added.
That wasn’t hard at all. It eased the anxiety they both felt. Two minutes later, they were still hand in hand as they exited the elevator. They continued to walk to Katrina’s room, next to and adjoining Quinn’s.
This is where it became awkward. He released her hand.
“Well, here we are.”
“Yes. Here we are.”
They sounded like bumbling high school students on a first date. Thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence didn’t improve the situation.
Finally, McCauley said, “I think we should call it a night.”
“Right. It’s been a long day. I’ve got a few emails to send if I can even keep my eyes open.”
“Same here.”
“Well, good night,” he said.
“Good night.”
“Will you be okay?”
“Sure. You?” Katrina asked in return.
“Yup. But make sure you double lock.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll leave my door unlocked though, just in case.”
“Just in case.”
Forty-one
Felicia Dunbar had summoned Kavanaugh to her outer office, another breach of protocol that infuriated him like everything she did. “Mr. Kavanaugh, you have an appointment at Brown’s in an hour.”
“No I don’t,” he shot back to the contemptible assistant he’d inherited.
“It’s the regular date that Mr. Gruber always kept and you’re…”
“Ms. Dunbar, apparently I need to remind you that Mr. Gruber is no longer with us, you may put his calendar away. I’ll keep my own.”
She straightened up in her office chair, which served to eliminate all the folds in her expensive gray jacket. Kavanaugh really had no idea who she was, where she came from, whether she was single or married, or how she lived. All he knew was what he saw in her body language, which he despised.