Santa Fe Edge (28 page)

Teddy left the house and walked back to his car.

DOLLY CAME TO FIRST. She didn’t understand immediately what had happened to her, but she put a hand to the back of her neck and found it sore. That son of a bitch! Why had he done that? She grabbed a butcher knife and walked back to the bedroom, staggering a little. Todd lay crumpled at the foot of the bed. “What the hell?” Dolly said aloud.

Todd stirred a little, and she turned him over and pinched his cheeks. “Wake up!” she yelled at him.

Todd’s eyelids fluttered, and he focused on her face. “What?” he said.

“Somebody’s been here,” she said. “What’s going on?”

Todd struggled up onto one elbow and felt the back of his head, which was damp. He looked at his hand and found blood on it, then got to his feet and sat down heavily on the bed. “Get me some ice in a towel,” he said.

She went to the kitchen and returned, and he held the ice pack to the back of his head.

“Did you see anyone?” he asked.

Dolly sat down beside him. “No. I was getting some ice out of the fridge for a drink, and the next thing I knew I woke up on the floor.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, but I’m going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow morning,” she said.

“That makes two of us,” Todd replied, looking at the towel, which had only a little blood on it. “That was expert,” he said to no one in particular. He started looking for his clothes.

“What has happened here?” she demanded.

“I can tell you only that it’s work-related.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Back to the hotel. I want to wake up in my own bed. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

“I’m leaving here pretty soon myself,” Dolly said. “Give me your cell phone number.”

He recited the number, and she wrote it down.

“It’s been fun,” he said, “up until a few minutes ago.”

TEDDY GOT HOME in time for a drink and a good dinner, then before he turned in, he went to his computer, logged on to the Agency mainframe, making his location Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, and addressed and composed an e-mail message.

TODD GOT BACK to his hotel room, took three aspirin and sent Holly Barker an e-mail. “He’s gone. I’m moving on to Sedona tomorrow.”

54

D
avid Santiago worked late, finishing up his notes and filling out his application for a warrant. Finally, he locked everything in his desk and made a phone call.

“It’s Cupie.”

“Hey, Cupie. It’s Dave Santiago.”

“You working late, pal?”

“You know the drill.”

“How’d you do with Jim Long?”

“A lot better than I expected. I turned him. I got everything on tape, in exchange for a guarantee of immunity for anything our girl Barbara has done, plus for any testimony he gave at her previous trial.”

“That’s great news, Dave.”

“I’m going to the D.A. first thing tomorrow morning. You got any idea where the girl is, Cupie?”

“First of all, it’s dangerous to think of her as a girl. Think monster.”

“C’mon. How tough can she be?”

“Well, the first time I ever set eyes on her I followed her out of a hotel, and she turned into an alley. I called out to her, and she turned around and shot me.”

“No shit?”

“None at all.”

“I assume you recovered.”

“A couple of inches lower and this would be a very long-distance call,” Cupie said. “Then there’s what she did to Vittorio.”

“What’d she do?”

“We had her on ice, taking her back to the States. We were on the top deck of a ferry across the Sea of Cortez, leaning against the rail, basking in the sunshine, when I had to go to the can. In the two minutes I was gone, I later found out, she hustled Vittorio into giving him a blow job, and while she was at work, she grabbed the bottoms of his jeans and tossed him into the drink.”

“Holy shit.”

“Worse than that—did I mention that Vittorio doesn’t swim?”

“How’d you get him back?”

“He found something to hang on to, and a few minutes later a fishing boat picked him up. You see what you’re dealing with now?”

“I think I’m getting the picture. Any idea where she is?”

“She’ll end up here in Santa Fe,” Cupie said, “because she’s got this wild hair up her ass about killing Ed Eagle. She might be in Los Alamos.”

“Nah. The Feds went to the Los Alamos house to serve the extradition warrant, and she was gone. They claimed not to know where.”

“Well, she won’t go back to Long’s house,” Cupie said. “He threw her out, and she’s already taken care of her L.A. business, so she could be anywhere. Remember, she uses the Eleanor Keeler name sometimes.”

“Yeah, that’s on my aka list. You got any other names for her?”

“She’s used a lot, but I don’t remember any of them right now.”

“How come you’re still in Santa Fe, Cupie?”

“Vittorio and I are still on the Ed Eagle thing. We screwed it up once already, when Bart Cross got to him, but this time we’ve got the local cops to help.”

“If she turns up there, shoot her for me, will you?”

“It would be my pleasure, Dave, but she’s very, very smart, and I wouldn’t give you odds.”

“Well, I’ll start all over tomorrow,” Santiago said. “Good night, Cupie.”

“Night, Dave.” Both men hung up, and Santiago went home.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Todd Bacon got up early, went to his computer and did a flight plan for Sedona, then called Flight Services, got a weather report and filed.

He ordered some breakfast from room service. Then, as he was about to start packing up his laptop, he thought he’d check his agency e-mail. There were two messages, the first from Holly Barker.

Message received. Good luck in Sedona.

Then he clicked on the second message, which was from Lance Cabot.

Report to this office Monday, nine a.m., for reassignment.

Apparently Lance and Holly had disagreed on what his next step was. He started to compose a message to Lance requesting more time, but then he thought better of it. If he got more time and failed again, that could reflect negatively on his future at the Agency. After all, he was dealing directly with the DO.

Todd’s instinct was to go on to Sedona. The events of last night had not put him off. Indeed, they had added anger to his motive for finding Teddy. Still, one did not ignore a direct order from the DO. Todd started packing his things.

TEDDY AND LAUREN were having a good breakfast at their new Santa Fe home.

“You’re humming,” Lauren said.

“Am I?”

“You only hum when you’re very happy,” she said. “Why are you happy? Does it have something to do with whatever you were doing last evening before dinner?”

“You might say that,” Teddy replied. “I was out neutralizing Todd Bacon.”

“Do you really think you can neutralize him?”

“I worked it from two angles,” Teddy said. “I sent him an e-mail from Lance Cabot, recalling him to Langley for reassignment.”

“Well, that might get him out of Santa Fe for a few days, but do you really think that they will stop looking for you?”

“They just might. I sent Lance a note about that very thing a few days back, and by now he’s had time to see the wisdom of my suggestion. Lance is a practical fellow. When I used to equip him for missions, he always displayed that. Some of the boys and girls who went out were dreamers, but not Lance.”

“I hope you’re right,” Lauren said. “I like it here, and it would be nice if we didn’t have to leave.”

“I know you do, sweetheart, and I’ll do everything I can to see that we stay here.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “That’s good enough for me,” she said.

55

B
arbara slept late and had breakfast in bed. She felt wonderful, having had a good dinner and a fine roll in the hay with Charles Grosvenor the evening before, but something was nagging at the edges of her brain, something she couldn’t put a finger on. She didn’t feel safe.

Mexico, she decided. At some point Pedro Alvarez was going to screw up. It was in his nature, and sooner or later someone above his pay grade was going to find out that she had flown that particular coop. She put aside her breakfast tray, picked up her new lawyer’s card, called his number and was immediately connected to him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Keeler,” Waters said. “I hope you’re feeling well today.”

“I am, Ralph,” she replied, “but I have a question for you.”

“Anything I can do,” he said.

“Who would be the best lawyer, besides yourself, to fight an extradition to Mexico?”

“For whom?”

“For me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Is this conversation covered by attorney-client privilege?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Some months ago I was falsely accused of a crime in Mexico, and after a sham trial I was sent to a women’s prison there. I managed to get out and back to this country, but eventually they may come after me. Now, please answer my question.”

“We have a partner in this firm who would be ideal to handle that,” Waters said.

“If you were in my position, would you choose him above all others?”

“I would, most certainly,” Waters replied.

“What is his name?”

“Raoul Estevez. He was born in Mexico and has been a naturalized citizen for more than thirty years, and he has the advantage of the Spanish language, which can be helpful in these matters. He also has a number of contacts in the Mexican government.”

“Would you ask him to come and see me this afternoon?”

“At what hour?”

“Four o’clock would be convenient.”

“I will see that he is there,” Waters replied. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“This is less urgent, but I have reason to believe that someone in this country wishes to charge me with a crime. I hope that won’t happen, but if it does, then I will need the best criminal lawyer in this city.”

“I believe Raoul Estevez would fill that bill as well.”

“Good. I’ll see him at four.” She went to Walter’s computer and fired it up, and in a very few minutes she had opened an online brokerage account. She wrote the account number on a card and tucked it into her purse.

She picked up the phone and called her bank. “This is Mrs. Walter Keeler,” she said. “Who is the president of the bank?”

“That would be Mr. Evan Hills, Mrs. Keeler,” the operator said. “May I connect you?”

“Thank you. Yes.”

There was a click. “Mr. Hills’s office,” a woman said.

“This is Mrs. Walter Keeler. I would like an appointment to see Mr. Hills at the earliest possible time.”

“One moment, please.”

Within a satisfyingly short time a male voice said, “Mrs. Keeler? This is Evan Hills.” They exchanged brief pleasantries, then Hills said, “May I offer you lunch today in my private dining room?”

“That would be lovely,” Barbara said.

BARBARA ARRIVED at her bank in the Bentley, chauffeured by the trusty Willard. He gave her a card with his cell phone number. “I’ll be in the bank’s garage,” he said. “Please call if you need me.” He held the door for her.

Barbara swept into the bank and was immediately greeted by a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties.

“Good day, Mrs. Keeler,” he said, “My name is Morton Johns. May I take you up to Mr. Hills’s office?”

“Thank you,” she replied. She was whisked into a private elevator. They emerged on a high floor and walked past two secretaries and into the office of the bank’s president.

Hills leapt to his feet and shook her hand warmly. “I’m so sorry for your loss of Mr. Keeler,” he said, “and I was delighted to read in this morning’s paper that you had successfully solved your problems with Walter’s estate. I know he would be pleased to see his wishes honored.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hills.”

“I’ve asked Mr. Johns to join us, since he is the senior vice president who will oversee the day-to-day work on your account and who will be available to you twenty-four hours a day.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Barbara said, accepting Johns’s card.

“Would you like to go straight in to lunch?”

“Thank you, but first I’d like to do a little business.”

Hills offered her a chair and went behind his desk. Johns took a seat next to her. “What may we do for you?” Hills asked.

“You should have received a wire transfer into my account this morning,” she said.

“Yes, Mrs. Keeler, we have had a deposit of one hundred million dollars from the executor of Mr. Keeler’s estate.”

“You will be receiving a great deal more in the course of events,” Barbara said, “and we will discuss over lunch how investments are to be handled. Right now, though, I would like you to wire twenty million dollars to this brokerage account.” She handed Johns the card with the account number on it.