The Final Kill Page 8

  “A modest estimate,” Lessing said. “One needs only to think of Chernobyl.”

  “We must have defensive bioweapons,” Ben said. “Why can’t we use them to counteract this attack?”

  “For one thing,” Lessing said, “since we don’t know for certain what kinds of chemicals will be used, we don’t know what we would need to combat them. And even if we did, imagine if the White House was hit. The closest research labs we could turn to for help are at the Aberdeen Proving Ground and Fort Detrick. Presumably, they would both be decimated as soon as the toxins reached them through the air. There could be no one left there to implement defensive weapons—no one at all.”

  “Christ,” one of the agents muttered.

  “What about antidotes, then?” Ben asked.

  “Unfortunately, there are so many new and more virulent strains being found, it’s a race to keep up. And due to budget cuts—” he swore under his breath “—well, I won’t get into that.”

  “Are there other agencies helping?” Ben asked. “The CIA?”

  “We’ve had no luck finding Pat Devlin, either,” Kris Kelley said. “We’ve been working on this since the chatter first began, three months ago.”

  He looked at her curiously. “You’re CIA?”

  “You must have heard we have to work hand in glove with other agencies now,” she said with a shrug and a slight hint of irony. “I was sent here to share.”

  “How about sharing this, then?” Ben said. “It’s not exactly a secret that there are labs in the U.S. still researching offensive bioweapons, despite the ban against that kind of research in 1969. So how come we can’t use whatever they’ve come up with to fight this attack?”

  Kris looked surprised at his knowledge. But she nodded and stood again. “It’s true that there are, shall we say…rumors…that such banned research is still going on. Trying to prove it is something else.”

  “But surely,” Ben said, “armed with this information of an impending attack, you can go to the top—to the president, if necessary—and get all the help you need to prevent it.”

  “Because we’re CIA?” Kris’s smile was grim. “Who at the top is going to admit, even to us, that they know anything about covert labs in our country producing banned biowarfare weapons?”

  “And even if they were to admit it,” Lessing said, “how could we possibly use such weapons? They would have the same effect of obliterating half the world, if not more. Do we really want that? It would be Hiroshima a thousand times over.”

  He shook his head. “No. Our only move is to find Pat Devlin. Without the kind of Armageddon bomb he’s building for them, The Candlelights would have to scrap this attack.”

  He shrugged and looked tired. “At least for now. As far as the future is concerned? Well, we must assume there are younger, newer, perhaps even smarter Pat Devlins coming up in the world…and that our enemies will eventually find them.”

  8

  A heavy silence fell in the Carmel police station conference room as some of the agents stared into space or sipped from their water glasses. One had his chin on tented fingers, eyes closed and lips moving silently. Another shook his head back and forth slowly, as if to displace the scene his imagination had conjured up with something better…standing on a dock on a summer day with a fishing rod, perhaps.

  “Okay,” Lessing said crisply, corralling their thoughts. “Everyone please get on with the assignments we talked about earlier. Chief Schaeffer? May I see you in your office, please?”

  “Of course.” Ben led the way, and noted that Kris Kelley was coming, too.

  When they were all sitting, Ben behind his desk and the two agents in visitors’ chairs, Lessing said, “We need to talk about your friend, Abby Northrup, and her connection with Alicia Gerard.”

  “What about it?” Ben said.

  “Well, as you’ve just heard, we need to catch up to Alicia Gerard, and quickly. We may not have found her at the Prayer House earlier, but I think we all know that she was there. She may have left before we got there, but she was there.”

  “I don’t see why you think—”

  “Abby Northrup knows more than she was willing to tell us,” Kris Kelley interposed.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Ben answered. “But get to the point. What do you want to do?”

  “Bring her in, question her officially,” Lessing said.

  Ben shook his head. “Won’t do any good. Her guard’ll be up and she won’t tell us a thing.”

  “Aiding and abetting a terrorist—” Lessing began.

  “Even if she did help Alicia Gerard,” Ben said evenly, “nothing you’ve said proves that Alicia herself is a terrorist.”

  “We don’t know for certain, though, do we?”

  “I know Abby,” Ben said. “She would never help someone accused of murder, let alone of terrorism.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, what’s your problem?” Kris said, clearly exasperated. “Aside from the fact that you’re sleeping with her.”

  “Kris,” Lessing said warningly.

  She shot him a cold glance. “I just meant that if he’s going to work with us, he needs to keep an open mind.”

  “My mind is wide open,” Ben said angrily, “and whether or not I’m sleeping with Abby Northrup has nothing to do with this case.”

  “Then what is the problem?” Lessing asked. “Are you saying you’ve changed your mind about cooperating with us?”

  Ben sighed. “No. But it’s complicated. When I met Abby a few years ago, she was going through a bad time. Her husband—” He broke off. “Never mind that. Abby swore never to divulge anything about the women and children that come to her for help, and I’m sure that includes Alicia Gerard. For Abby, it’s a vow as sacred as any those nuns take. In fact, sometimes I think…”

  “You think what?”

  He sighed again and rubbed his face wearily. “I don’t know.”

  Lessing looked at Kris. “I’d like you to see what Gerry Gerard’s up to these days. You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

  Kris hesitated a moment. “Yes. Once.”

  “Seems like that was before you were CIA. You did some bodyguard work, right?”

  “For a year or so,” Kris said. “I only worked for Gerard once. I doubt he’d remember me.”

  “Still, you must have done a workup on him—his habits, personality, local haunts, friends, all that.”

  “I did, but I don’t have access to it anymore. I worked for a private company then. My files are their property now.”

  “A & S Investigations, if I remember from your profile,” Lessing said. “I’m sure once they know your position now, they’ll hand over anything you need.”

  “But—”

  “Let me know if you have any problems,” Lessing said, ending the conversation. He yawned and glanced at his watch. “Hard to believe, but it’s nearly eight in the morning, and none of us had dinner last night. I think we should break and go eat.”

  “You and the others go,” Kris said, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll stay here in case anything comes in. I’ll call you on your cell if I get any news.”

  “Okay. Can we bring you something?”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  Lessing went back into the meeting room. When he was gone, Kris put her head in her hands and groaned. “I’m so hungry I could eat my foot.”

  “Why didn’t you let him bring you something?” Ben asked.

  She scowled. “Have you ever had a meal with a bunch of FBI agents? They can talk for hours about the case they’re on, and anything they brought me would be cold and revolting by the time they got back.”

  Ben smiled. “Well, there are some frozen breakfasts in our dining room. Ham-and-cheese pockets, and there should be fresh coffee in there by now.”

  “Sounds fantastic.” Kris stood, then hesitated. “Are you coming?”

  “Sure,” Ben said, though the last thing he thought he should do was spend any more time with this woman.

>   After a quick meal and several cups of coffee, the tension between Ben and Kris had abated somewhat. She sat across from him at the utilitarian metal table. “You guys call this a dining room?” she said, looking around at the small, simple quarters.

  “Anything that’s got food and coffee rates as a dining room for a cop,” he countered. “By the way, what was all that about Gerard? It sounded like the last thing you wanted was to be assigned to him.”

  “Gerry Gerard’s an asshole,” she said. “Plain and simple.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard about him,” Ben said. “If you believe the media, he’s a saint—and he’s about to be crowned president of the greatest country on earth.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not campaigning yet, is he? You know what happens during campaigns.”

  “You mean all the dirty little secrets come out?”

  “And the next thing you hear is that they’ve decided not to run because they want to spend more time with their families.” Kris’s laugh was short.

  “Wow. Is this bitterness all personal, or do you think he could be involved in this upcoming attack?”

  “Oh, I doubt he’d be in on it. It wouldn’t benefit him to destroy half the country. Look, what do you say we talk about you for a while?”

  Ben sighed. “Okay, but I warn you, it won’t be all that interesting.”

  “I don’t know about that. You like your job here?”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. Not as much to do as in the city.”

  “You worked in San Francisco before this, right?”

  “So you’ve done your homework,” he said with a flicker of irritation. “What about it?”

  “Well, you seem overqualified to be a police chief in a small town like this.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you flattering me, or is that a criticism?”

  “Neither. Just making a statement that should be obvious to anyone who’s met you.”

  “Right.” He stared tiredly at the cold dregs in his coffee cup. Funny how weary he’d been lately. Other than the moments he spent with Abby, his life seemed dull and gray. Boring. He felt as if he could sleep a whole week and not even wake up for food.

  “You were talking before,” Kris said, “about Abby Northrup taking a vow to help abused women and children. Did you mean that? A vow?”

  “I talk too much,” he said.

  “No, really. I’d just like to know more about her. There’s no hidden agenda.”

  He thought a moment then said, “I don’t suppose Abby ever thought of it as taking a vow. But in her heart?” He smiled. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe in her heart Abby’s as much of a nun as the sisters are.”

  Kris hooted. “That must make for tons of fun in bed.”

  Ben flushed. “That’s not what I meant,” he snapped. “Besides, I shouldn’t have told you what I did. In fact, I don’t want to talk to you about Abby at all. So drop it.”

  Kris studied him, her light blue eyes barely visible under blond bangs that kept falling over her face. Ben watched as she pushed them back, and wondered if she was flirting with him. A lot of women toyed with their hair as a sign of flirtation, he’d noticed. And a lot of the time it worked. Even he couldn’t help the tiny little squiggle he felt in his belly.

  “Okay,” Kris said. “We won’t talk about your lady love. But I’m sure as hell going to talk to her. And she’d better have answers.”

  “I said it before and I’m saying it now, Kris. That’s not the way to handle Abby. It’s all wrong.”

  “So, what would you suggest?” she asked, arching a brow. “How would you handle her?”

  Ben thought for a moment. “I’ll go out there and talk to her. She’ll be curious. She’ll want to know what’s going on, what we’re doing and why we want Alicia Gerard.”

  “And you can’t tell her a thing, remember? Lessing as much as swore you to secrecy, so you can’t tell her the truth—not a word of what you’ve learned here. What’s left to say?”

  “I’ll decide that when the time comes,” Ben said firmly. “And by the way, I don’t have to answer to you. Don’t forget that.”

  Kris opened her mouth for a sharp retort, but seemed to think better of it. “Cooperation, Chief Schaeffer,” she said softly. “That’s what it’s all about these days. You think I like being here? I’ve got a seven-year-old son at home, and I’ve hardly seen him in three months. Ever since the 9/11 hearings, you know, they throw us out here to do any number of things we never had to do before. Holding the hand of a small-town cop is just one more humiliation.”

  Ben stared, his face burning with anger at the insult. “If the FBI and the CIA hadn’t let Alicia Gerard’s parents slip through their net in the first place, this is one small-town cop who could be living a much more peaceful life right now. So thanks a lot for bringing trouble to my town. My small town,” he amended.

  Instead of responding, Kris looked at her watch. “Nine o’clock. I’m expecting—”

  Her cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, she answered it informally. “Hi. How’s it going? You did? McGuire, you’re a champ! What time? Okay, I’ll be there.”

  Hanging up, she turned to Ben. “There’s something I have to do.”

  “No problem. I’ll go out to the Prayer House,” he said, sweeping the crumbs from his breakfast into his hand, then dumping them into a trash bin.

  “No, wait,” Kris said. “I may need some help with this. Can you stay? We can go out to the Prayer House together. Later.”

  He hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. If this woman was going to be doing anything in his town, he’d better know what it was.

  9

  The Monterey airport was less than fifteen minutes from Carmel, and traffic was light. Alicia Gerard glanced at her watch and saw that it was barely eleven o’clock. She had plenty of time. Stepping out of the cab in front of the airport entrance, she strolled inside as if she hadn’t a care in the world. It wasn’t the first time she’d worn the black wig and dark red lipstick, and she was finally becoming used to it. In fact, she almost enjoyed it. In this disguise she could pretend to be anything. Anyone.

  For the first few minutes she simply walked around the waiting area, seemingly looking at the boards with arrival and departure times. In reality, she was looking for someone—or several someones—unknown to her, but special.

  After a while, she went into the women’s restroom and stood at a sink, blotting her face with a damp paper towel and combing her hair.

  A woman’s voice issued from one of the cubicles, quietly reprimanding children who were in there with her. Two children, Alicia thought. I can see their feet. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. No problem, then. There almost never was.

  When the woman came out, each hand was holding on to a small child. One, a girl, looked to be about six. The other, a boy, was probably closer to seven.

  Walking over to the sink, she said, “Billy, wash your hands. You, too, Lizzy. Here, let me get the soap for you.”

  She stole a glance at herself in the mirror but only shook her disheveled hair off her forehead and sighed as she dried the little girl’s hands with a towel.

  Alicia met the young woman’s eyes in the mirror and smiled. “It’s so hard to travel with little ones,” she said sympathetically.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Billy! Get back here!”

  Quick as a flash, the little boy began turning on water faucets along the row of sinks.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Billy, stop that! Stop it right now!”

  She went after him, pulling the little girl along by the hand. When she caught up with Billy, she said in an angry undertone, “Do you want to be spanked? Do you?”

  The boy grinned and looked as if he didn’t much care. “You’re not the boss of me,” he said rebelliously.

  How many times did I hear that from Jancy? Alicia asked herself, half smiling.

  “Stay right here,” his mother said. “Don’t mo
ve an inch. I mean it! And hang on to your little sister.”

  When it looked as if he might actually mind her, she started at the first sink, turning off the faucets.

  “Let me do that for you,” Alicia said.

  “Thanks, but—”

  “You’ve got your hands full,” Alicia insisted as she began to move down the line of sinks. “It won’t take me a moment.”

  The woman sighed, smiled and took Billy’s hand in a firm grip again. “Okay. Thanks. He’s not always like this. Honest.”

  “He’s probably excited about flying,” Alicia said. “My kids were always a handful in airports. You get used to it after a while.”

  “Oh, they’re not mine,” the woman said. “I’m their aunt. And I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it! How many kids do you have?”

  “Five,” Alicia lied. “At last count, anyway.”

  She laughed and the woman did, too.

  “I’m Jennifer Barber,” the woman said. “And I’d shake your hand, but I’d have to let go of this human cyclone.”

  “God, no, don’t do that!” Alicia said.

  Both women laughed again.

  “I’m sure glad we ran into each other,” Jennifer said. “It’s like…fate or something, you showing up just now.” Suddenly, her eyes welled with tears.

  “Oh, please, don’t cry,” Alicia said kindly. “Billy’s not so bad. You should have seen my Kenny at that age.”

  “It’s not that,” the young woman said. “It’s my dad. He died yesterday, and I’m flying up to San Francisco for the funeral. My mom and sister completely fell apart, and I’ve had to take care of everything, including the kids. I’ve been so strung out, I guess I haven’t been handling things very well. So I really appreciate you helping me out.”

  “It’s nothing, really,” Alicia said. “And I’m so sorry about your father.”

  She genuinely was sorry—sorry for this poor woman on the way to bury her father, and with all these burdens to bear.

  But to be honest, Alicia was relieved, as well, knowing this could only help her own cause. Jennifer Barber needed a friend—and the minute she’d seen the woman, that was precisely what Alicia had counted on.