When he shot me a furtive mirror glance at the next light, I gave the engine a rev. The cackle was glorious.
His expression was miserable.
He didn’t look again for quite some time.
As Pacific became Neilson Way, he launched into an animated phone conversation. I hoped it was a 911 call. Getting the police involved was one way to resolve this. With the impostor instigating, I could then insist on a police escort back to the apartment complex where the fraud could be documented.
I knew that tactic would be much less likely to work if I made the call. The impostor could say I was a nut job and refuse to go anywhere. No doubt the police in these privileged ZIP codes would favor a resident in his new luxury import over an outsider on a rented bike. Nonetheless, I resolved to place that call if we reached the 100-mile mark.
But that was still a long way off.
Neilson turned into Palisades Beach and then into the Pacific Coast Highway. The impostor returned to eyeballing me in the mirror, although ever less frequently as the city gave way to the meandering cliffside coastline for which California was famous. He also seemed to be talking on occasion, although whether cursing to himself or into the hands-free phone, I couldn’t tell.
As the traffic thinned, the impostor became emboldened and began playing with me. Accelerating and braking for random distances and at odd intervals, testing both the limits of the i8 and my ability to handle the rental bike. Through it all, I stuck behind the BMW’s bumper as if attached by a string. Did this guy really think he could outmaneuver a motorcycle? Or was he just burning off nervous energy with a bit of gorilla posturing?
As if in answer to my musings, the i8 turned off PCH and headed up a two-lane road that didn’t look like it had been resurfaced since the Eisenhower administration. We added altitude quickly as the snaking asphalt repeatedly lost and regained its view of the shimmering Pacific. Within a minute, we were well off the beaten path.
My CIA instincts flashed a warning.
Suppose my assumption was wrong. What if this was more than the grab of a rent-controlled apartment? That would explain why Lars wasn’t answering his phone. What if I was being led to a house in the hills with trigger-happy security guards or hicks with shotguns? Furthermore, just because the impostor had initially been frightened didn’t mean he couldn’t grow a pair, stop the car, and step out shooting. Up here, the only witnesses would be the birds. The same birds that would then pick my corpse clean to the bone.
I began working defensive scenarios in my mind.
The impostor floored the gas as we took the next tight turn, going from south of 40 mph to north of 80 mph in the span of a second. I kept pace, resolving not to allow him to slip out of sight and into a firing position.
I remained so focused on the i8’s rear bumper that I never saw the black SUV accelerating from its hiding spot on the shoulder of the road. It wasn’t until I was flying over the guardrail two hundred feet above the canyon floor that the tactic registered and everything clicked. The hands-free calls. The winding routes. The erratic driving. The impostor had summoned assistance to orchestrate an ambush.
12
Close Call
BY THE TIME David reached Lisa’s estate, his grip on the BMW’s leather-wrapped wheel had almost returned to normal. He wasn’t entirely certain that his nervous system ever would. He knew he’d never forget the image of the menacing motorcyclist and his monstrous Harley careening off the road and plunging into the canyon. Why did it have to be a motorcycle? Cars were so much more anonymous.
David checked his watch and did the math. He could have looked at the dashboard clock, but he wanted to see if his hand would shake. One hundred and fifty minutes had passed since he’d U-turned toward San Clemente while Tory Lago waved from his Range Rover. Those two-and-a-half hours had passed in a blur.
David parked his blue BMW between Allison’s white Mercedes and Ries’s red Ferrari.
Ries opened his door as David’s sneakers scrunched onto the crushed stone. “What’s with the hair and outfit?”
David had forgotten about his hair extensions. Funny, since they’d bothered him so much at first. He unclipped and tossed them back into his car while answering his brother researcher. “My doppelgänger leads a very different lifestyle. I was just impersonating him and haven’t had the opportunity to change. Or shave,” he added, rubbing the stylish stubble that these days passed for a beard.
“You look flustered, my friend.”
“It’s been one hell of a morning.”
“Love to hear about it later, but we better get inside. Lisa is anxious to get started. I just came out to get my old phone for the exchange.”
David felt his pants pocket, confirming that he had his. The Immortals had begun using anonymous VoIP burner phones to communicate once the replacement process started. As a further security measure, they had agreed to swap them out for fresh ones at every meeting. “What’s there to be anxious about? We have plenty of time.”
“Funny. You know as well as I do that with Lisa it’s an indelible personality trait.”
“One can always hope.”
As David grabbed his medical bag, Ries said. “Hey, there’s no tissue sampling this time, right? We agreed to stop after twenty years of negatives.”
“For the tough guy, you’re quite the wuss. Yeah, I remember. Just the treatments plus a blood test. But don’t expect a lollipop.”
David dropped his bag in the den, where he’d later administer their semiannual Eos injections; then he headed straight for the grand room.
“Are you all right, David?” Aria asked as he entered.
He turned toward his financial beneficiary, embarrassed by the attention. She looked the same as always, meaning she probably hadn’t been through the replacement process. Allison, by contrast, had a totally new look. She came across as much more glamorous, with a complete makeover, blonde hair extensions, and breast implants.
“I’m fine. Apologies. I had a rough morning. Sorry I’m late.”
Felix handed him a pinot noir in one of those crystal wine glasses that could substitute for a fishbowl and put a reassuring palm on his shoulder. Felix also retained his original look—which was prematurely gray. An ironic twist for an Immortal. He’d likely be dyeing it once his replacement came through.
“Thank you, my friend.”
As David gave his glass a swirl, Lisa said, “We should get started.”
Lisa had the second-most radical change in the room. She had traded her dark hair for a much shorter auburn style and had exchanged her designer wardrobe for one straight from a 1980s Brooks Brothers catalogue. Someone had mentioned that Lisa had replaced a separating Army officer. Despite her commanding personality, David found that an odd choice.
“Given the late start, we’ll push new business until after Tory’s presentation. Before that, Felix wanted a few words. If you’ll all kindly follow me to the theater.”
* * *
Felix stood silently beside the big screen while everyone selected a seat. “Since this will be our first group discussion with Tory, I wanted to spend a second on operational security and answer any sensitive questions you might have.
“First the security. Tory knows nothing about us, and we should make every effort to keep it that way, both through concealment and by sowing confusion. For example, you’ll notice that I occasionally let a slight Russian accent slip into my speech. You might consider using that tactic as well if you have to talk.”
“But he’s about to see us!” Camilla interjected. “Should we be disguising ourselves?”