“I know.”
Lisa continued processing out loud. “I had focused on the result, rather than the process. Now that I think about it, we are suffering more than they did. The anticipation is torture.”
“Agreed.”
“So the question becomes—”
“Who would want to torture us?”
53
Disturbing Pattern
LISA RETURNED from a long contemplative walk in the woods to find Pierce watching from his back porch as she approached. She’d smelled the cigar from a quarter mile away, but hadn’t known it was his. “I didn’t know you smoked?”
“Only the occasional cigar. But there have been a lot of occasions lately,” he added with a wink. “I like to puff back here on the porch while I reflect and deliberate. Lots of cause for that these days.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’ve got a cigar with your name on it if you’re interested?” He transferred the Dominican to his left hand, but then hoisted a wine bottle in his right. “I’ve also opened an Opus One to breathe, in case you’re feeling less adventurous.”
Lisa’s first impulse was to pass on both. She was feeling healthy after burning off calories hiking by the lake. But then she heard her mouth accepting. “You know, in my whole life, I’ve never once smoked a cigar.”
“Well then it’s definitely time to try.”
He smiled politely, but she knew the same thought had just crossed his mind. This might be her last chance.
She climbed up onto the porch and dropped into a matching teak Adirondack chair. “You really do have a beautiful view.”
“Coming from you, that’s no small compliment.”
“The ocean is also beautiful, but very different. It’s wilder. Uncontained. With oceans, you get the full range of emotions, whereas this,” she gestured, “must always feel serene.”
“It does.”
Pierce pulled a fresh cigar from a tube, clipped the end, and applied a torch. “It’s a Romeo y Julieta. But don’t get any ideas.” He winked as he handed it over.
Pierce was a handsome man. He had that rugged outdoorsman look that paired well with flannel shirts and a scruffy beard. Her thoughts flittered back to her books, and his sheepskin rug. Oh, how far they’d come.
She mimicked his grasp on the cigar, taking it between two fingers. “This is just tobacco leaf, right? Nothing else?”
“Nothing else. Unlike cigarettes, which have filters and paper and chemical additives, these babies are all natural.”
“But they’ll still kill you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
They chuckled.
“Don’t breathe it in,” Pierce cautioned, as she moved the cigar toward her mouth.
Lisa stopped. “What?”
“If the smoke goes into your lungs you’ll cough like crazy. Just pull some into your mouth, like you’re sipping a milkshake you’re not sure you’ll like.”
Who knew? Lisa took a tiny pull.
“Now savor the smoke like you would wine, then exhale it through your mouth. Keep your breathing separate. Do that through your nose.”
Lisa complied. The cigar tasted like it smelled, rich and woody and, of course, smoky. She was glad she’d tried it once, but doubted there would be a second time—no matter how long she lived.
“Hold the cigar aside until you’re ready for another taste,” he advised. “Get a feel for it between your fingers. That’s part of the experience. I’ll pour the wine.”
The cigar had the circumference of her thumb and felt roughly the same, warm and firm but soft when pressure was applied. She could see how some might find it comforting—especially when sitting alone outside. The cigar’s band was regal, if not a bit boring, just red and gold with white words, but the box boasted a classic depiction of the young Romeo at Juliet’s balcony. Filthy though it might be, this was a classic experience, and she resolved to savor it.
They sat in silence for a while, wine glasses in their left hands, cigars in their right. Lisa knew the isolation of this place would drive her crazy in the long run, but at that moment there was no place she would rather be than with an old friend on that peaceful porch.
“While you were walking, I was thinking about the hypothesis I proposed earlier.”
“You and me both. I’m warming to the idea.”
“Funny, I’m having second thoughts.”
“How so?”
“As I recall, Kirsten’s husband had nowhere near her intellectual caliber. His IQ was above average, to be sure, but he didn’t strike me as someone with the mental horsepower of a criminal mastermind.”
Despite her earlier prediction, Lisa found herself taking a second puff. “Well, now I’m completely confused. Who’s the killer then? One of us Immortals, or someone we’ve offended?”
“If you think about it, the assassinations were brilliant. Each different, each unexpected, each without inflicting suffering or leaving a trace. That exercise led me to consider who could be intellectually capable of such feats.”
She swirled her wine while Pierce spoke, then guessed. “David?”
“The CIA.”
She coughed, choking on her Cabernet. Was Pierce crazy? Thank goodness it hadn’t been the cigar between her lips. She raised her stogie. “Do these contain narcotics?”
Pierce just smiled. “Who controls the CIA?”
She thought about it. “Ultimately the White House, I suppose.”
“That’s right. The CIA is run by a political appointee, the CIA director, who reports to another political appointee, the Director of National Intelligence, who reports to the president, who, among other things, is the head of a political party.”
She took another puff of her cigar without thinking. “So?”
“Do you believe, even for a second, that people like those, the players at the peak of such professions, aren’t acutely attuned to threats against their hold on power? That they’re not using the resources at their disposal to stay in place? To fend off potential assaults?” Pierce talked with his hands, threatening to fling ash and slosh wine, but never actually doing either.
“I never really thought about it.”
“Well, seeing as politics is your new profession, it’s time you started.”
“Agreed. But I don’t see what that could have to do with the deaths of Allison and Camilla.” Lisa noted that despite her cigar being half-gone and her glass nearly empty, her nerves remained on edge.
Pierce followed her gaze toward the tip of her cigar. “You liked it more than you expected.”
“Apparently I did. Must be the mountain air.”
“Must be. But I’m limiting you to one.” He grinned and poured more wine. “Suppose Carl Casteel is on retainer to report emerging threats, like an early warning system. I submit that’s not just possible, but likely, given that he’s widely regarded as the country’s top political strategist.”
Lisa started feeling a bit dizzy. She set her cigar on the edge of the big porcelain ashtray, and took a sip of wine. “I’m listening.”
“What if Casteel reported us after hearing our individual plans. He clearly took us seriously. Suppose his assessment transferred up the chain of command, or down it, depending on your perspective. In either case, it could have set dangerous dominoes in motion.”
Lisa thought it through out loud. “You think the CIA uncovered our real identities, from which they divined our halted-aging status, and then set out to eliminate not just us, but all the Immortals?”
Pierce raised his eyebrows, then rested his cigar in the ashtray next to hers. “It’s possible.”