Shadow of Eden (37 page)

But where was Dr. James? His phone buzzed again—a short one to remind him of the waiting message. Mallis had one more card number he wanted to try. It was James’s Discover card. He typed a few more keys when his cell phone rang.

Mallis crawled out of the chair and snatched up the device. “Mallis,” he growled, but only heard the encryption clicks at the other end.

Morloch shouted in Mallis’s ear. “Mallis, what the hell’s going on out there?”

“We didn’t get James, yet.”

“I know that, you idiot! Why the hell not? Are you jacking off up there? Sun tanning by the pool? Goddamn it, what the fuck have you been doing?”

“It’s under control,” Mallis said smoothly, but inside he struggled to control his temper. He knew Morloch was right—he had never had a subject escape once, much less twice. But how did Morloch know?

“He just got lucky,” Mallis continued, “It’s just a matter of time—”

“I don’t have fucking time.” Morloch hissed. “You’re supposed to shut these things up. How could you let this fucking doctor connect me to this thing?”

“Now,
I
don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mallis said. “How do you know he’s connected you with Eden?”

Morloch’s voice raised a pitch. “What do you mean you don’t know? He’s called Castell to set up a meeting. Jacob Castell, of the goddamn Health and Human Services. The FDA’s under him. James is going to the top.”

“How did you know—?”

“From you, you idiot! I got one of your priority e-mails!”

Shit!
The text message. That must have been about James’s call to Castell.

Morloch heard Mallis’s silence. “Mallis!” he thundered. “Do I have to tell you every goddamn thing?”

Mallis’s face stung. “No. I have not listened to that message yet,” he replied. I’ve been working on locating Dr. James.”

Now Morloch sounded incredulous. “Locating him? What kind of cluster fuck’s going on?”

“He’s dropped out of sight.” Mallis measured his voice. “He hasn’t been to his house or office all day and we don’t know where he’s staying. But,” Mallis hastened to say, “as I said, it’s just a matter of time before we pick him up. He’ll make a mistake. They always do.”

“You mean to tell me that a doctor with a wife, a kid, a mortgage, a medical practice and a fucking dog just dropped out of sight?”

“For the time being, but we’ll find him.” Mallis didn’t tell Morloch they had killed the dog.

“Well, he’s going on the offensive, Mallis. Despite your goddamn high-priced antics, you’ve deterred him, not one fucking iota. You better find him before he spills his guts to Castell. And no fucking loose ends, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mallis hung up the phone embarrassed and furious.
Goddamn James!
Mallis slammed his fist into the wall, punching a hole through the expensive Ritz Carlton sheet-rock.

Mallis called in to listen to the phone conversation with Castell. Morloch had been right. James was planning a meeting. Well, now he knew exactly where and when Dr. James would be available. He had five days to locate James before the meeting, or he would be at that Washington meeting himself.
I’ll fuck James but good.

Chapter 79

S
teve woke up abruptly and sat bolt upright in bed. His aching muscles protested the sudden move. The light filtering around the heavy motel curtains told him it was morning and time to get started. The night had been a bad one, with the achiness not completely controlled by the ibuprofen and when he was awake, he obsessed on how to get out of his bind.

One conclusion, even if the police caught whoever was responsible for trying to kill him, Morloch would send someone else. He rubbed his burning eyes with the knuckles of both hands. So they had to get Morloch.

Steve grimaced as he climbed painfully out of bed. His scalp ached where the stitches closed the bullet wound and his neck throbbed with each movement and swallow. He felt like Mike Tyson had used him as a punching bag.

He made his way into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. It felt good. He splashed his face several more times, letting the liquid cool his skin. He examined himself in the mirror. The hazel eyes that looked back at him saw an older, grayer, thinner man than he knew. His hair was a tangled mess and the half-inch thick line that ran across his throat was crimson red, except for some dark blue splotches in the center. Probing it gently, it responded with sharp bolts of pain. He wet his hair and combed it with his fingers into a semblance of order, avoiding the stitches in his scalp. He had no energy for a shower.

Wanting some noise, he turned on the television. Ignoring the program, a morning news and chat show, he walked into the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator. Valenti had brought him some groceries, but the sight of milk, eggs and hot dogs turned his stomach. He closed the refrigerator door and sat on the bed.

The phone sitting next to the bed alongside the clock radio caught his eye, tempting him. Who would know? Just a short call. ‘Anne,’ he would say, ‘I’m fine. How are you?’ He imagined hearing her voice filled with love and concern. He smiled thinking of how good it would be to just—

A knock on the door made him jump. Suddenly alert, his heart began racing.
Who was it?
Probably housekeeping.
Calm down.
He got up and looked through the fisheye peephole. Pulling the chain off, he turned the deadbolt and opened the door.

Valenti stepped in and closed the door. He carried a plastic shopping bag full of something soft and light. “Jesus, Doc, you look like you got beat up by a horde of angry women at a mud wrestling match.”

“Good morning to you, too.” Steve turned around and sat down at the small oak dining table.

Valenti dropped the bag onto the table. “I brought you some clothes. I think I got your size right. I always had an eye for those things.” He opened the refrigerator, pulled out the gallon jug of milk and opened it.

“Except shoes. I always had trouble estimating shoe size. I’m pretty good with men, but women—now that’s an estimating nightmare for you.” Pulling a short, fat glass out of the cupboard, he poured himself some milk. “I got slapped once estimating a woman’s shoe size incorrectly. You wouldn’t think they’d be so sensitive about those things, but they are. By the way she reacted, you would have thought I had guessed her weight at twenty pounds over or something.”

He downed half the glass of milk. “But men’s clothes, I’m usually within an inch of their height and suit size. Anyway,” he pointed with the hand holding the glass. “See if you fit into those duds. They’re pretty nondescript.”

Steve had pulled out the bundle of clothes and was looking at them. There were two long-sleeved white dress shirts and a pair of Wrangler jeans. He checked the sizes and shook his head in amazement. The sizes were pretty much spot on, Pants inseam 36 and shirt sleeve length also 36. Valenti had purchased his exact sizes except for the waist, which was one size too big at 34 but it would do.

Next were several pairs of white athletic socks, an XL hooded sweatshirt and a package of Haynes briefs, size thirty-four and a package of three white t-shirts. At the bottom of the bag was a brown leather belt curled up around a pair of tennis shoes.

“Nice job,” Steve said. “Did you go in and tell the sales lady that he’s about your size?”

“Go now, and leave the sarcasm to me.”

Soon he had showered and dressed in his new clothes making Steve feel considerably refreshed. He was still sore, but perversely, welcomed the physical discomfort; it was more tangible and transient than his other worries.

When he walked out of the bathroom, Valenti had apparently made another trip out, this time to Taco Bell. He was elbow deep in burrito wrappers and towering soft drinks.

“Come eat,” Valenti said between bites of his Taco Supreme. “You like Mexican, don’t you?”

Steve discovered an appetite and sat down. The brand new cotton smell of his shirt reminded him that things were different. At home, he would have washed it first. He was conscious of the wrinkles and fold lines in the shirt, pulled straight from the package, and its stiffness chafed his neck. All the more reason to get cracking.

“At home, Maria makes me eat right, you know, green stuff and broiled chicken and fish. But out on assignment, I’m the master of my own fate.”

“At least your diet,” Steve said, eyeing the three paper bags bulging with food. He pulled out a crispy taco and unwrapped it. “Did you buy one of everything on the menu?”

“At least. Food will make you a whole man.”

“And this food will make me a whole lot of man.”

“Ahhh, sense of humor’s back.”

“Mmm. So what’s on the agenda?”

“I went to your house this morning with Detective Harmon.”

“Anything left?” Steve recalled watching the last parts of his house collapse in flames, including Johnnie’s bedroom. He already knew what to expect. But still, hearing it would make it more definite and final.

“Anything that’s recognizable is being taken to a storage warehouse for such time that you or your wife care to look through the items. It’s pretty much all gone, though, I’m afraid.”

“Photo albums?”

“Probably not.” Valenti concentrated on his burrito.

Steve was ready to choke the man who was responsible for this.

Valenti glanced up. “Good. Mad is good. You’ll need that energy.” Looking back down, he added in an offhand tone, “By the way, your house was bugged.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“They could hear everything?” Steve’s voice rose.

“Probably.” Valenti took another bite.

“Jesus, isn’t that—” he stopped. The rules didn’t apply. He kept thinking things were supposed to be normal. They weren’t. Not anymore. “Fucking assholes.”

“Eat. Keep your strength up. My mom’s not here to nag you, so I’ll have to.”

Steve looked at the taco in his hand and the salsa he had just squirted onto it. If eating were an act of defiance, he was going to eat. He bit off the end and chewed.

“If you’re feeling stressed, it’s fine dining we suggest. Besides, this is my dietary swan song. I’m done with greasy fast food and back on the training circuit.” Valenti shoved in another bite before he had swallowed his previous one. If eating were an act of defiance, then Valenti was giving his assailants the middle finger. The thought lightened Steve’s mood, if only a little.

Really, he thought, things were no better or worse then they had been 24 hours ago. Except now he knew more and was better prepared for what he needed to do. Plus he had an ally. He was suddenly glad Valenti was on his side.

“Yesterday,” Valenti said after taking a long draught from his huge soda cup, “I was pretty sure these guys were pros, but after I found the Jenny—”

“What’s a Jenny?”

“A bugging device. After I found the Jenny, I knew these guys were professional.”

“And?”

“Well, for one, pros are expensive. Someone’s willing to pay a lot of cash to scratch you. They want containment.”

“Containment?”

“They want this thing shut up tight. That means anybody attached to you professionally is in real danger. It would be relatively easy to just plug you and make it look like a random thing, but they went to the time, expense, and risk to bug your house. If they go to that kind of trouble,” he continued, “they want to know who knows what. If they have that information, they can contain the leak.”

“Great. My friends are all potential victims because I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“No good deed goes unpunished. But we now know something about the fucks after you. They’re scary.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Amateurs make mistakes. These guys didn’t. They’re smart and experienced. They have lots of money to play with and they have ways to find out more about you than your wife knows. Probably the most dangerous thing about them is their detachment from the outcome. They’re hired assassins with a mission . . . in some ways like plumbers. You’re just another clogged toilet for them.”

“Great, I’m a shit hole.”

“Well, you’ve become a little more than just a shit hole. You’re currently stinking up the whole house and they can’t find you. But the point is—” Valenti took another drink, “—they’re good. We just have to be better.”

“Are you that good?” Steve watched Valenti closely.

Valenti carefully wiped his mouth with a paper napkin before he answered. “Used to be.”

“You used to be in the FBI.”

“Bad subject.”

“But you used to, right?”

“Right. You get to ask one more question, then drop it.”

Steve thought a minute. “Nah. It’s your life. Tell me when you want to.”

“When the Cubbies win the Series. And one more thing. You can’t go to the medical board hearing. Too obvious.”

“I already figured that out.”

“Good thinking, Doc. Your lawyer’s going to try and postpone it, since you’re not practicing anyway, but she’s not sure it’ll work. She says they smell blood and a chance to grandstand about how they’re protecting the public from charlatans, snake oil salesmen, and the like. Sorry.”

“Like I said, I’m already past that. I was thinking, even if we catch the hit man, Morloch will only send another.”