Dead Ringer (23 page)

"Okay," he said, looking back at the computer he'd wedged between two boulders. "I see it."

'Take a look at the first page."

Finn punched in the keys to access the information. A head revolved on the screen, then settled into the image of a face boxed by a square and bordered by information. Name, vitals, occupation. Finn squinted at the face. Something about it was familiar.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Borian's first appointment of the week. Tomorrow. Take a look at the address."

Finn skimmed the information. Name: Dennis Copley. May birth date. Occupation: Owner, Copley Farms. Henley, Tennessee. "What does Borian want with Farmer Greenjeans?"

"He's not a farmer, he raises horses. Horses Borian likes to buy. At least he did until his wife died. We're wondering if our friendly temptress has inspired him to another buying spree."

"Could be. Could also be a cover. Is Copley connected to any groups on our radar screen?"

"Haven't found a connection yet."

"Keep digging."

"Already on it. We're also looking into the rest of the names here. So far, nothing's turned up a red flag, but-"

"This guy Copley looks familiar," Finn said, frowning at the face on his screen. "Where's Henley?"

Jack sighed. "I knew you were going to ask that. Hey, Mike-" Jack's voice muted as he yelled to his compatriot-"didn't I tell you he'd ask about Henley?" Back into the phone, he said, "Hold on, Mike's checking."

Finn peered at the screen, hoping the face would jog a memory. In the phone he heard the faint sounds of Jack and Mike conferring in the background. He imagined the two of them holed up in the surveillance van, cans of Cheez Whiz and bags of Fritos strewn around the electronic equipment.

"Looks like it's north of Memphis, some place called Crockett County," Jack said at last.

A warning bell went up. Memphis. Finn stared at the picture again. Why did the guy look so familiar?

He thought back over the last week, his mind flying over images. The dockside bar he'd been in when Roper contacted him about Angelina. The charter to Memphis, meeting Jack at the airport, Beaman's house, the party, meeting Angelina...

The party. Jesus Christ,

The drunk at the party who wanted one more smooch from Angelina.

"He was at the party," Finn said.

"What?'

"The party. Beaman's wake. He was there. Drunk as a skunk by the time I arrived, but he must have known Bea-man, which means he-"

"-knows Angelina," Jack said at the same time. "Shit."

The tension in Finn's neck ratcheted up tenfold. "Look, it's okay. I'll see her tonight and we'll work something out. Maybe she'll go into town for a shopping spree tomorrow. Or better yet, maybe Stephen Ingram needs to make an appearance and take her to another ranch for a few days."

Jack let out a breath. "Okay. Sounds good. Let me know if you need any arrangements on the ranch front."

"What about the book? What's it written in?"

"Belorussian. How and when Borian obtained it we don't know, but it looks like the genuine article."

"No codes?"

"No, it's pretty straightforward. A scientific journal."

"Nuclear? Could Borian be using it as a blueprint for bomb making?"

"It's not nuclear, Finn. It's, well... it's about cryon-ics."

Finn blinked. "Cryonics? You mean... ?"

"Yup. Freeze-drying the dead so you can bring them back to life later."

"Christ." Finn paused, astonished. "That's twisted." Then he started to smile. "That is fuckingly, amazingly, shit-facedly twisted."

Jack laughed. "Yes it is, brother. And I guess Borian won't be needing his little book anymore."

Finn's grin broadened from ear to ear. "Thanks to us. You know, I think Victor Borian owes the TCF a huge debt of gratitude. We brought the dead back for him."

CHAPTER
13

Lunch was a disaster, dinner worse. Angelina picked at the food, moving it around her plate so it looked like she was eating, but Victor wasn't fooled.

"Is something wrong?" he asked with a worried look.

Angelina exchanged a glance across the table with Marian. Had her aunt mentioned she'd caught Angelina sneaking around Victor's secret room? Neither Marian nor Victor had referred to it, leading Angelina to believe her aunt had said nothing. As though the two women had entered into a pact of silence, Angelina returned the favor and kept her promise to say nothing about feeling ill. "I'm fine. Just not very hungry today."

"Nonsense," Victor said. "You hardly ate anything at lunch. Your essence needs fuel. Eat up. Food will do you good."

She forced a forkful of potatoes into her mouth and tried not to gag. "Of course, Victor. I'll try."

He patted her hand. "Good girl."

"Perhaps Angelina should rest tonight," Marian said.

"I think you exhausted her yesterday." She threw Angelina a sympathetic look.

"Oh, no. I have something exciting planned for tonight," Victor said with a smooth smile. "That's why you must eat up, my dear. Build up your strength."

"Not more hiking?" The last thing she needed was more fresh air.

"After your midnight stroll the other night, I thought you might like to see Eden's Gate the way it should be seen. From the back of a horse." He leaned over, dropping his voice to a low, intimate rumble, and clasped her hand in his own as though they were alone. "I'm taking you riding tonight."

Angelina's stomach tightened. Oh, God, not tonight. Not with her head killing her and her stomach a mess. Tonight, she had to see Finn.

"I don't think I'm up for a ride tonight."

"Really, Victor, she's awfully pale," Marian interrupted, "and besides, I have some correspondence to go over with you."

Thank you, auntie.
But Victor continued as if Marian hadn't spoken. "It will be wonderful. Fresh mountain air is Nature's own medicine."

"But your work..." Angelina said.

He ran a finger down the side of her face. "Everyone needs a night off. And I feel like celebrating. Marian is quite capable of working on her own."

He spoke as if she weren't sitting right across the table from him, and Marian watched, her pale, pinched face expressionless. Angelina felt helpless, trapped between them.

Then Marian offered Victor a tight smile, which he didn't see. "Of course I can work alone. I... I appreciate your trust."

"Good." At last, he turned to Marian, but only for a moment. 'Then I'll see you in the morning." He helped Angelina from her seat. "We'll have dessert in the meadow. Change into your riding clothes, my dear, and I'll meet you at the stables in half an hour."

Slowly she trudged up to her room, forcing herself to concentrate. If she hurried, she could get down to the stables before Victor and check them out.

Despite how rocky she felt, she managed to change in ten minutes. Another five and she reached the stables. A man was already there, saddling the horses, and she took a moment to introduce herself.

"Do you mind if I look around?"

"Help yourself."

She walked around, trying not to let the musky animal smell roil her stomach further. Most of the stalls were empty or contained bales of hay, and before snooping, she looked over her shoulder at the stableman. He was talking softly to the horses, paying no attention to her. She prodded the bales, shoved the heavy stacks back and forth, but ended up with nothing to show for it but more throbbing in her head and straw all over her. She sighed, dusted herself off, and continued exploring. Tack and grooming instruments hung from hooks on the walls but nothing out of the ordinary hung with them. She scuffed at the floor and scanned the wall for loose boards or secret compartments. Nothing.
Not much in the James Bond department, are you?

She checked her watch. Five more minutes until Victor showed up. She strolled past an empty stall to the south corner of the stables and her gaze snagged on a small knothole embedded in the outer wall. She doubled back and carefully ran her fingers over it. Her breath sped up.

She'd felt a latch.

"Find something?" Victor's voice boomed in her ear. She jumped and her fingers pulled the knothole accidentally. With a screech, a desktop dropped into view revealing several compartments behind it.

Victor laughed and put his hands on her shoulders. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I'll bet.
She'd almost chucked up the little food she'd managed to get down.

He came around to stand beside her and gazed at the compact desk. "Clever, isn't it?" He pressed a hidden switch and a light came on. The desktop was empty and so were the compartments. "My wife loved this place. This is where she did the stable books." His gaze lingered a moment on the desk, then he pushed it back into the wall. "Since Carol... since my wife passed away I'm afraid I've left the stables to deteriorate, but in the last few days I've felt rejuvenated. I'm going to revive them in her memory. In fact, you'll be the first to see my newest purchase. He arrives tomorrow. A stallion."

She tried to look enthusiastic. "How exciting."

"I've got a quiet little mare for you, though. Come, let's see if the horses are ready."

"I'll be right there. I want to take another look at this cute little desk."

She tensed, waiting for him to object, but he didn't, which led her to believe nothing sinister was hidden there. But just in case, she released the desk once more, and when Victor strolled over to the stableman she examined it thoroughly. Made with cunning craftsmanship, the whole thing mounted snugly and invisibly into the wall. She ran a hand down the fittings and over the smooth desktop, imagining the thousands of times her mother had done the same. Disappointment rippled through her. Honest as a preacher, the desk held no hiding places, no secrets, not even a small memento of her mother Angelina might have taken with her. Sighing, she closed it up just as the stableman came past leading two horses outside.

"Let's go, my dear." Victor put an arm around her shoulder and led her into the yard.

The stableman loaded a blanket and a hamper on the back of Victor's gelding and helped her mount the mare. Nervous and edgy, Angelina set off behind Victor, all her plans thwarted. Unless the plutonium was embedded inside a bale of hay, the stables were clear. That left the guest house and the staff quarters to search, a massive job for one person. Not to mention the locked room, which she couldn't even open without Finn's help.

Her head throbbed as she thought about it all. She looked over at Victor; somehow she had to move closer, break down his defenses, get him to confide in her. But the idea made her want to shrink back instead.

The horse seemed to sense her tension; she pulled at the bit and tried to shake off the reins. Above them, a suffocating blanket of sky hovered inky black and salted with stars. An enormous moon, white-hot as an interrogation lamp, glared down at Angelina accusingly, as though she'd already failed.

Victor led them the long way around the lake, a trail that would have been beautiful under normal circumstances, but right now made her feel frustrated and impotent. She had to get to Finn and he seemed farther off than ever.

They rode for nearly an hour, the horses familiar with the way and plodding on with little guidance. At last, Victor veered off to the east where a flat expanse sat atop a small rise shadowed by dark, looming trees. He reined in, then helped her down, his hands firm on her waist, his breath fast and excited.

The night smelled alive with possibility, earth and trees budding and ripe. Whether those possibilities boded good or evil, she couldn't guess. But an uneasy thread wound around her heart. She knew she should stay close, let Victor pet her, touch her, but she glided to the center of the plain, putting space between them. Facing west, she peered into the darkness where somewhere the three heads of Devil's Teeth butted into the sky. Finn was out there, waiting.

To her left, Victor spread out the blanket. He looked up at the night, fussed with the angle, and finally placed it a few feet from a small tree. He covered a corner with the wicker hamper, positioning it just so, as if the whole setup were a ritual of some kind.

A shudder passed through her. It
was
a ritual. He'd been here before, done this before.