I'm a corpse, he thought. A walking corpse.
No, not walking. Staggering. He needed all his discipline and strength to place one foot in front of the other and keep moving. The duct-taped wound in his shoulder kept aching. The skin on his hands, face, and scalp smarted from having been too close to the flames. Nonetheless, he mustered every residue of energy he could, straining to walk straighter and with more control.
Pretend you're at boot camp, he thought, attempting a joke. Or better-and this wasn't a joke-pretend it's your first day of Delta Force training. As he recalled Delta's isolated compound at Fort Bragg, a powerful flood of nostalgia seized him. Make your instructors proud, he thought, and walked more firmly.
The sirens approached on Cavanaugh's right. Keeping a distance from them, using them to determine his direction, Cavanaugh continued working through the dark forest. I'm going to need help, he thought. I look like a war atrocity. The instant I show myself, somebody's going to scream and call the police. Who's going to help me?
He thought of the man who'd initially been part of the extraction team, Eddie, the gum-chewing, pun-making-"These pieces'll soon be in pieces in a sewer"-driver who'd taken the black car away. Wary of a possible location transmitter, he'd intended to abandon it far from the airport. Cavanaugh had worked with him several times. As soon as Eddie learned what had happened, he would drop everything and come to get Cavanaugh as quickly as possible.
But something about that plan didn't feel right. Suppose Prescott and/or the men in the helicopters had an informant in Protective Services. Suppose they knew that Eddie had been an initial member of the team. To assure themselves that Cavanaugh and everybody else had been killed, they'd maintain surveillance on Eddie. A phone call that summoned Eddie to a town near the destroyed bunker would be an obvious indication that not everyone on the protection team had died.
Can't take the chance, Cavanaugh thought. Need to be invisible.
Then who in God's name am I going to ask?
No matter how he calculated it, he always came back to the same answer: the one person in the world he didn't want to contact and the only one he could.
PART THREE. Threat Identification
1
"Warwick Hotel." The male receptionist's voice sounded sleepy.
"Room five oh four, please." In the darkness, Cavanaugh used his cell phone, keeping his voice low. He was hunkered behind rocks and trees a quarter mile past the lights of the town he'd spent the previous four hours working toward and then passing. He'd waited to get this far before calling, because there was always the risk that the area around the fire was being monitored by a cell-phone scanner (a military version could operate from miles away) in an effort to learn if there'd been any survivors. But near a town, someone using a cell phone, even at this hour, wouldn't seem unusual. Moreover, by now, emergency personnel would be making numerous cell-phone calls, which meant that a scanner could isolate a particular conversation only if it was calibrated to identify key words, such as dead, attack, Global Protective Services, or Cavanaugh's name. He intended to be as vague as possible.
"You'll have to speak louder, sir. I can barely hear you."
"Room five oh four."
"It's awfully late. Are you absolutely certain you wish to disturb-"
"My wife's expecting my call."
The receptionist exhaled wearily. "I'll put you through."
Pressing the phone against his right ear, Cavanaugh listened to the repeated buzz on the other end.
"Uh… hello?" Jamie's voice was thick with sleep.
"It's me." Cavanaugh sank lower among the trees. The phone felt cold in his hand.
"Hello? I can't-"
"It's me." The phrase was their signal that Jamie could trust what he said, that no one was forcing him to make the call. He'd taught her never to use names over the phone. He hoped that she remembered.
"Same here." That completed the signal. "Why are you?… What time is it?"
That she'd absorbed what he'd taught her made him relax a little. "Late."
"My God, it's almost four."
He imagined Jamie brushing back her dark hair and squinting toward the numbers on the digital bedside clock. He wanted to tell her immediately what he needed, but the conversation had to sound normal in case someone was eavesdropping. "Yeah, I know, but you've got an early flight, and I wanted to make sure I reached you before you checked out and left for the airport. I couldn't sleep until we patched up the argument we had."
"Argument?"
Cavanaugh imagined her frowning. "Saturday afternoon at the hotel's bar. I'm sorry you got pissed when I decided to go back to work. You're right. We should spend more time together." He imagined her frowning even harder. "Remember you said you had more money than I did and you wanted to take care of me? How'd you like to spend some of that money and take care of me now?"
Jamie paused a moment, evidently trying to figure out where the conversation was going. "Love to."
"Good. This morning, check out of the hotel the same as you'd planned. But instead of flying home alone, why don't you go by car? With me. We'll see some country and enjoy ourselves."
"Sounds perfect." Jamie continued to hide her confusion. "Where am I going to get the car? Rent it?"
"Go over to the West Side and buy it. We're due for a new one anyhow. I never liked the way the old one handled."
"Me, neither. It's about time we replaced it. What kind should we get?"
"A Ford Taurus is nice. Nothing too flashy. How do you feel about dark blue or dark green?"
"My favorite colors." Jamie still sounded husky from having been wakened. It made him wish that he could hold her now.
"Get the high-end model." That one had a two-hundred-horsepower engine, Cavanaugh knew, fifty more than in the standard models. The extra horses wouldn't win any Grand Prix speed records, unlike the serious racing engines that Global Protective Services put in its Tauruses. But they definitely added pep, and anyway, given the millions of Tauruses on the road, anonymity was now more important to him than massive strength.
"Since we're going to be traveling for a while, I could use more clothes," he continued. His suitcase had been in the trunk of the Taurus that had exploded at the warehouse. "Slacks, a sport coat, shoes. Jeans, a pullover, a pair of Rockports. You remember my sizes?"
"How could I forget?"
"Nothing gaudy."
"God forbid. Anything else?"
"Underwear."
"I love it when you talk sexy."
"Socks. Toothbrush. Razor. A first-aid kit. You never know what might happen on the road."
"Can't be too careful."
"You have no idea," Cavanaugh said. "Bring some sandwiches. And water. Plenty of bottled water."
The phone was silent for a moment while Jamie tried to understand the significance of that. "It'll take a while."
"I figured. That's why you'll need an early start."
"Where should I meet you?"