Fatal Harbor (15 page)

“Just doing my job,” he said. “Like you used to do, back at the Pentagon.”

“No comparison.”

“Oh, really? So tell me, Lewis, when you were in the bowels of the Pentagon, doing your research tasks for the higher-ups, isn’t it the truth that some of the work you did was used in targeting? Mmm? Helping those with the fingers on the triggers send a Tomahawk cruise missile to some tents in a desert, or helping certain troops go into Bolivia or Colombia to take out a village or two? How many innocents perished because of your job?”

“Still no comparison,” I said, feeling my voice rise. “I was working under the direction of lawfully selected personnel, under the direction of a legally elected government.”

Another laugh. “Perhaps I can say the very same thing.”

“Oh? Is it confession time?”

“Not hardly,” Curt said. “If I was one to blab, it would sort of kill my employment opportunities.”

“Funny you mentioned kill. That’s been on my mind for a while.”

“Oh, Lewis, please. Stop talking nonsense. Your time has passed, and I thank you for your service. It’s my time now. There are huge forces at play out there, moving around, settling scores and preparing for the next half-century. You were a pawn once, and now I’m in the same place. Doing what I can, making money, just muddling through.”

“Sounds like you have a real self-esteem issue, Curt. Leave me out of it.”

“I would love to leave you out of everything. So why not do me the favor of stopping your activities, then, and we’ll both be on our separate ways? What you’re doing is stirring up attention and notice, in lots of different circles, and that has to stop.”

“You forgot to add one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The ‘or else.’ It’s part of the rules. You issue a request, you tell me to fulfill the request, ‘or else.’ So what’s the ‘or else’?”

“The ‘or else’ is that you won’t like the end results. Like a certain missing BU professor. Or those bodies at Falconer. Or a vegetable at the Exonia Hospital.”

My heart wasn’t racing along, it was moving glacier-slow, one heavy
lump-lump
at a time. “Then why the warning? Why not just take care of me and remove me from the board?”

There was quiet for a bit of time, such that I thought he had hung up. He spoke again, and his voice had a sense of concern in it. “Trust me, I’ve been under a lot of pressure from my employer . . . supervisor . . . whatever the hell you want to call them, to do just that. But you know what, Lewis? I like you. I like you bunches. When we had that conversation back in Falconer during the demonstrations, at that disgusting campground, you came in full of piss and vinegar and attitude. Before you, I had a few other news media interviews and by God, they came in with their kneepads, ready to kiss my ass or do even more. They were convinced that I was working for the poor huddled sheep out there, that I was on the cutting edge of some societal revolution. Those loons missed the 1960s and the Pentagon Papers and Watergate, and by God, here I was, to make them feel oh, so very special.”

“How did you not laugh, knowing what you knew?”

A chuckle. “Yeah, that was something. They would have croaked if they knew who I was and who was paying me. But you came along, not ready to kiss anything, and you didn’t take any of my carefully pre-planned bullshit. Nope, hell, you even lectured me on the background of
Führerprinzip
, of a strong leader who is infallible. God, I almost reached over and kissed you for that. The first real intelligent conversation I’d had in months. You know how hard it is to show enthusiasm when some pimply longhair who isn’t old enough to drink wants to lecture you on how algae will solve our energy problems?”

“Poor you. Almost makes me feel sorry, except for the woman and the men you killed, and what you did to my friend.”

“Can’t you just put that aside, Lewis? Show some respect? From one pawn to another? Please?”

“Tell you what,” I said, my heart rate now kicking up several notches. “I like you, Curt. You have a way with words. You know how to flatter, plead, and make me feel so special. Let’s get together, real soon, and swap war stories. What do you think?”

A cold voice. “You’re mocking me.”

“Like I said, Curt, I’m sensing a terrible self-esteem problem from you.”

“I gave you a chance. So here’s the deal. Agree to stop right now or I’ll finish my job, hurt you bad. Got it? Do you agree?”

“Take this for what it means,” I said: “Not on your life.”

And I hung up on him.

I got the shakes for a few minutes and then heard my train being called, and I hustled down to the platform and just made it, settling into a comfortable seat that had a nice view of northern Boston as we headed out. But my mind wasn’t on the view.

He was going to finish the job.

He was going to hurt me bad.

Pretty easy to figure out what he meant.

I got my cell phone out, tried Kara Miles.

Went straight to voicemail.

No time to waste on leaving a message, hoping she’d pick it up.

“Sir?”

I called the Exonia Hospital switchboard, asked to be connected to the ICU.

A burst of static, and then nothing.

Lost cell coverage.

“Sir?”

Went back to the phone, my fingers feeling as thick as sausages, pressing down the keys.

Still no service.

“Sir!”

I looked up. A sharp-faced woman was staring at me from an opposite seat, wearing a khaki jacket, khaki slacks, sensible black flat shoes, and a multi-hued terrycloth bag at her feet.

“Yes?”

She pointed to a sign. “This is a no-cell-phone car! Can’t you read?”

“I can read,” I said. “This is an emergency.”

She turned, sniffed loudly. “That’s what they all say.”

So many responses tumbling through my mind, no time to choose one.

Focus.

Dialed the number to the Exonia Hospital again, and this time it rang through to the switchboard. I asked for the ICU and, after a few seconds that seemed to last a few hours, the phone was picked up.

“ICU, Eva speaking.”

“Eva, this is an emergency. My name is Lewis Cole, I’m from Tyler, and I need to speak to Kara Miles, right away. She’s the partner of Diane Woods, a patient there.”

Eva, God bless her, didn’t waste my time, didn’t ask me questions, didn’t demand to know more.

“I’ll put you on hold. I’ll get her.”

There was soft music that seemed better suited for a slow-moving elevator, and then there was a satisfying click and Kara’s voice: “Lewis, what’s going on?”

“Kara, listen to me, and please don’t waste time, all right?”

“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re succeeding.”

“Good. I just got a phone call from Curt Chesak, the—”

“The guy who tried to kill Diane? What did he want? Where is he? Did you call the cops?”

“Kara, shut up.”

“Lewis—”

“Kara, somebody is coming to kill Diane. In a very few minutes, if not sooner. Is there a Tyler cop there, guarding Diane’s room?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know him?”

“What?”

“I said do you know him, do you recognize him, have you ever seen him before today.”

No answer. Had I been cut off?

A slow response. “No . . . he said he was new to the department. Said he hoped Diane would get better . . . said it was a shame what had happened to her.”

“Kara, when we’re done, I want you to call Captain Kate Nickerson and get her to send some cops over from the Exonia police, and then have her send a couple more off-duty cops from Tyler. Then have Eva, the ICU nurse, have her get hospital security up to Diane’s room. I don’t want that rookie within ten feet of her, all right?”

Even with the lousy cell phone connection, I could tell she was weeping. “Okay . . . okay, I get it. How do you know someone’s coming to kill Diane?”

“Because Curt Chesak told me so, that’s why.”

I hung up, sat back in my seat, wondered why the train was moving so damn slow.

The sharp-faced woman across the way with the sensible shoes frowned at me again.

“That seemed to be one very long emergency,” she pointed out with a cutting tone in her voice.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking locally, acting globally.”

Puzzled, she said, “What?”

“Exactly,” I said.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A
s we passed through Newburyport with our next stop Exonia, I cursed myself for being as stupid as those recommending back in 1960 that we nuke the Russkies and get it over with, and I fumbled around in my luggage. I took out the special cell phone that Lawrence Thomas had given me, a day and several hundred miles earlier. I pressed the
SEND
button and waited.

It was picked up on the second ring. “Thomas.”

“Lawrence, this is Lewis Cole.”

“Yes?”

Even with the provenance of the phone, I still wanted to be careful. “Recall that person we were talking about? The one with the mutual interest?”

“Of course.”

“He talked to me some time ago.”

His voice was sharp. “In person?”

“No. Via cell phone.”

“Did you get anything actionable?” His voice was still sharp.

I had to flash back to my previous career, wasting precious seconds. Actionable intelligence: a piece of information that could be used to break a code, identify a covert site, or locate a suspect.

“No,” I said. “But you need to tell me something.”

“Proceed.”

“When you gave me this cell phone, you talked about being able to track and trace a call. Can you track where Curt Chesak was when he made that call?”

“Do you have his incoming number?”

“No. It was blocked.”

“I don’t think so.”

I pressed on. “You don’t think? Does that mean there’s a possibility? Is there some way you can trace a phone call that came in to my cell phone, even without knowing the source number?”

A slight hissing of static. The woman across the aisle was giving me a look, like she was wishing me to choke on a free-range cheeseburger or something.

Lawrence said, with hesitation, “I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t been retired that long, but so much can change so quickly when it comes to technology.”

“Can you find out?”

“I damn well will. I’ll call you as quick as I can. Where are you now?”

“About ten minutes away from Exonia, New Hampshire.”

“What’s up there?”

“Someone I’m trying to save.”

“Then get off the phone and go do it, Lewis.”

Good advice. I hung up.

At Exonia I didn’t have a lucky arrival. My friendly taxi driver Maggie was nowhere to be seen. I fumbled through my receipts and such and found her business card, but the phone rang and rang with no answer. My aislemate who had a longing for cell-phone-free train cars strode by me and got into a Prius. I wasn’t about to ask her for a ride, because I didn’t want to be hectored for the next several minutes or, worse, be made to apologize for what I had done.

At the far end of the parking lot, I saw a woman approach her parked Volvo, and then looked away. Wasn’t about to work, not with night approaching. I went over to the diner and inside, where two young men were working at a small island counter. Magazine racks stretched off to the right, and there was a small grocery aisle to the left, and seating for the diner was behind the two young men, both bearded, wearing T-shirts commemorating musicians I had never heard of.

“Excuse me, guys,” I said. “I need a ride to the hospital.”

One head snapped up. “You sick or something?”

“No, I just need to get there.”

The guy on the right said, “Exonia cab can pick you up. Payphone’s out back.”

“No one’s answering the phone.”

The other guy laughed. “Bet Eric’s on duty right now, and he’s sleeping something off. Poor bastard’s working three jobs, trying to keep his house.”

From my wallet, I took out a ten-dollar bill. “The hospital’s only a couple of miles away. Any chance one of you can give me a ride?”

They were quiet at seeing the ten-dollar bill, and I put another down on top of it. “Twenty bucks. Less than ten minutes. What do you say?”

The one on the right slipped the money away. “Sounds like you’ve got an emergency.”

I said, “You know it.”

The guy’s name was Peter, a decent sort who drove a Toyota pickup truck and who blasted through a changing traffic light near the hospital so I wouldn’t have to wait. He drove right up to the entrance and surprised me by offering his hand, which I shook. “Hate going to the hospital,” Peter said. “Either you’re dying, or they’re doing their best to kill you.”

I got out of the truck. “And I’m trying to make sure they don’t do both.”

A quick stride through the lobby, and then an elevator took me to the ICU floor. I could hear a jumble of voices as I went through the wide double doors. There was a gaggle of men and women clustered around the nurses’ station. I saw two uniformed security officers, a cop from Exonia, another cop from Tyler, and a few others in civilian clothes. Lots of raised voices. I spotted a very tired-looking Kara Miles, and she saw me. I put a finger to my lips and motioned her over. She nodded in understanding and went past the crowd and into the family room we had used before.

I went in, closed the door, gave her a quick hug. We sat down across from each other. “How are things? What’s going on?”

“You were right,” she said. “That cop wasn’t a cop.”

“Diane?”

“He never got into her room.”

My chest felt a lot lighter. “Tell me more.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how he knew that I was suspicious of him. After I made those phone calls when I got off with you, I went out and tried chatting with him, just to pass the time until the other cops arrived. But . . . he noticed. Somehow he noticed. He just smiled, got up, said he had to get a cup of coffee. Then he left. The Exonia police showed up about two minutes later, followed by some additional Tyler cops.”

“What did you tell them? Did you tell them you got a call from me?”

She rubbed her hands together. “No. No, I didn’t want to bring you into it. So I just told them I felt uncomfortable about the officer keeping watch on Diane’s room, and they didn’t ask many questions.”