Southern Cross (32 page)

“Don’t
start,” I said. “If you’d told me when this whole thing started that your owner
was the one behind it, we might not be in this mess.”

Grace
whined mournfully, which I took to mean she was sorry for dropping the ball. Or
else she was hungry. Either way, I scratched her behind the ears and went to
the bed with her. 

“Come
on. We give this ten minutes… then I’ll have to come up with something else.”

I had
no idea what that something might be, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

I leaned
back on Diggs’ bed and picked up his file on Mitch Cameron.
So evolve—don’t
get a friggin’ lobotomy
, he’d said earlier that day. I thought yet again of
all the people who’d died so far in this quest to find the truth about my
father. Diggs was right: I hadn’t pulled the trigger. Still, he was crazy if he
thought I could consider myself completely blameless in all the bloodshed of
the past year.

Now,
he might very well join their ranks.

And I
had no idea why.

I
opened the file and began reading.

It didn’t
tell me much, really: Mitch Cameron had been Special Forces until 1975,
when—according to a very official-looking death certificate—he was killed just
before the fall of Saigon. From what I could gather from the file, Diggs had
worked with a friend of his to do a composite sketch based on his memory of
Cameron the night we’d both nearly died last summer. From there, they must have
done some kind of reverse-aging process, because the final result was a
computer-generated printout eerily similar to the photo in a newspaper article
on Cameron’s death in ’75.

Cameron
was born in Lynn, Indiana, in 1950. Diggs had a map he’d marked of the town.
Just as he’d said earlier, my father, Max Richards, and Mitch Cameron lived on
the same block together.

I
scratched Einstein’s head. He sighed and rested his paw on my thigh while Grace
kept a polite distance from us, her head on her paws and her eyes half-closed.

To
pass the time once I was finished with the file, I amused myself by going
through Diggs’ stuff. Which was wrong. And he would hate me for it. And yet… I
didn’t care anymore. The way I figured it, if we actually found him at this
stage of the game, he probably wouldn’t waste his breath bitching about me
poking around a little. It could be faulty logic, but I chose to run with it.

In
the worn old duffel beside his bed, I found a flip portfolio of photos I hadn’t
seen before. A lot were shots from his travels over the years: Tokyo, Yemen, Fallujah, Capetown, Bangkok, Sydney… It’s not like I’ve never left the country before, but I
might as well be a shut-in when you compare my passport with his. After the
travel pics, there was a shot that I’d seen framed in his father’s office—the
only one he had of Diggs as a kid. In it, Diggs was probably eight or nine. He
stood beside an awkward-looking, pudgy boy with the same ash-blond hair and the
same Diggins grin. Diggs’ arm was draped over the boy’s shoulder. His brother,
Josh.

There
were half a dozen shots of me over the years, from fifteen on up. One was from
the only summer we actually dated… or whatever it was we did that summer. I was
nineteen. We were on the lam at the time, running from a couple of psychotic
drug dealers Diggs was doing a story on. I was in bed in the picture, a sheet
pulled up to my chest, while the sun poured in the window of our seedy hotel
hideaway. He’d taken it the morning after our first night together. Biblically
speaking, I mean. We’d spent plenty of nights together non-biblically before
that. And after.

He
told me that night that it would change everything.
I don’t want to just
sweep this under the rug—I can’t do that with you. I won’t.

He
was right: nothing was quite the same for us after that. I’d never actually
been with anyone before, biblically speaking. And you know how everyone always
says the first time is the worst, and if women gauged sex by that fumbling
first encounter they would probably never knock boots with anyone again?

Their
first time definitely wasn’t with Diggs.

Of
course, it wasn’t just the sex—it was the laughter and the moonlight, the
urgency and the feel of his arms around me and the way he whispered my name,
his forehead tipped to mine, the first time he pressed past that final barrier
between us. People may have been trying to kill us just outside that sleazy
hotel room, but I’d never felt safer in my life than I did in his arms. That
night, my universe was knocked sideways. The man who’d been my best friend, my
mentor, my confidante…

It
sounds corny as hell, but I can’t really help that. That night, Diggs became
the love of my life.

And
then, of course, Diggs and me being the stubborn jackasses that we are, spent
the next thirteen years doing everything conceivable to push each other away.

I
flipped past the picture and looked at my watch. Time was moving way too fast.

After
the shots of me and every third-world country on the planet, there were a slew
of photos of Wyatt and his family: baby pictures and candids and that prom shot
of Rick and Danny that I’d noticed in the Durhams’ parlor when we first got to
Justice. I flipped through quickly, but then turned back when something caught
my eye.

Before
I could fix on exactly what that something was, both dogs catapulted themselves
off the bed in a fit of frenzied barking so sudden I nearly jumped out of my
skin and into next Tuesday.

There
was a knock on the door.

I
made both dogs lie back down, then went to the door and pressed my ear to the
wood. The peephole might have come in handy, but they’re not that useful during
power outages. Einstein growled from his spot on the bed.

“Hello?”
I said.

“I’m
assuming that sign is for me,” Mitch Cameron said. “Though I suppose I could be
wrong.”

I
opened the door.

He
was drenched, wearing a blue LL Bean raincoat that left pools of water on the
floor. He looked around uneasily before he came in the room. There was a black
leather briefcase in his left hand. Einstein was on his feet now, the fur on
the back of his neck on end. His growl deepened. Grace stayed where she was,
whining anxiously.

“Have
you started a kennel?” Cameron asked. He kept his eyes on the dogs uneasily,
his hand creeping toward what I suspected was a gun at his side.

“They’re
all right,” I said. “As long as you don’t come after me, they’ll leave you
alone.” At least I hoped they would.

He
nodded toward the window. “You need to take that tape off there. And move the
damned light.”

I
didn’t argue. Once the tape was gone, I turned back to him. He was still
standing in the doorway, hand at his side. Grace had laid back down on the bed,
but Einstein was standing next to me, watching Cameron’s every move.

“Diggs
is missing,” I said. “I didn’t know what else to do. Since one of your favorite
pastimes seems to be spying on us, I thought maybe you’d seen something. That
you could tell me where he is.” I decided to leave out the part where I
suspected he might be in on it, at least for now.

“I’m
not your partner,” Cameron said coolly. “We aren’t in this together.”

“You
think I don’t know that?” I asked, my voice rising. “You think I want to be
playing out little X-Files fantasies with you when my—” I stopped, willing
myself to calm down. “I told you: I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What
makes you think I would help you?” he asked, still cool. “Your friend hasn’t
been sticking to our agreement as well as you have. It would be easier if he
was simply out of the picture.”

“I
know that, Mr. Cameron.”

I
watched his face. He didn’t look especially surprised at my use of his name.
The smile that he offered chilled me to the bone. I took out the file Diggs had
put together and handed it to him.

“You
can take that. I won’t let him go near any of it again. He’ll drop it.”

“Because
you say so?”

“Yes,”
I said simply.

He
didn’t question that. Instead, he took the file without looking at it, opened
his briefcase, and slid it inside. He snapped the briefcase closed again,
straightened, and we stood there for a half-second, staring each other down.
Einstein sat at my feet, his body warm against my calf. The candles flickered
and the clock ticked and Diggs’ life hung in the balance.

“When
we talked to you that first night, you said you didn’t have anything to do with
Jesup Barnel or anything that’s happening in Justice right now.”

His
eyes never wavered from mine. “I didn’t say that, actually,” he said. “I told
you I was more interested in you and your friend—which was true, at the time.”

“But
it’s you and… whoever it is you represent, who are pulling the strings on this
whole thing. Isn’t it?”

He
looked away, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. It was the first real reaction
I’d seen from him, and it made him seem unexpectedly human.

“I’ve
told you how many times now to leave this alone?” he asked.

“I
was
leaving it alone—you know that. We came here because someone killed Diggs’
friend. That’s it. Neither one of us had a clue that you had anything to do
with this. You have to believe that.”

He
scratched his head. There were circles under his eyes that I hadn’t noticed
before. “I do believe that, actually,” he said. “We have many interests at the
moment—a number of projects around the globe. It seems to be one of those
tragic tricks of fate that your friend Wyatt got caught in the mix on this
one.”

“So,
you know what they have planned for midnight.”

He
nodded infinitesimally.

“And
you know where they are.” Another nod. A surge of anger burned through me. “You
have to tell me how to find Diggs.”

 “Why?”
he countered. “Why do I
have to
tell you anything?”

I
took a step toward him, my voice rising. “Because none of this would have
happened if not for your people—whoever the hell they are. He’s out there
somewhere, and you know where. You saved us last summer. Since then, I’ve spent
every second trying to make sure I never have to see you again. All I can see
when I look at him now is that friggin’ gun pointed at his head.”

“Because
I’m the enemy, Erin.” His voice rose, his eyes suddenly dark. “I am not your
guardian angel. Don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise. I am your worst
nightmare—and they will have me prove it, at the first opportunity.”

“I
don’t care!” I shouted. “I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I don’t care who
they are, I don’t care who you are, I don’t care what they have to do with my
father or who burned down the Payson Church or why they’re feeding Barnel’s
insanity by helping him with this whole Apocalyptic nightmare. All I care about
is finding Diggs. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of it—I’ve already
proven that once.”

I was
advancing on him fast, my eye on the briefcase. I don’t know what I thought I
was going to do—Juarez taught me a couple of nifty moves if a second-rate thug
jumped me in the street, but he sure as hell hadn’t schooled me on how to lift
a briefcase of deadly secrets from a world-class assassin.

Cameron
picked up the case when I was still a couple of feet away. For a second, I
thought I saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Regret, even.

“I
can’t help you, Erin. It isn’t my place.” He buttoned his trench coat and
nodded toward the window, indicating the spot where my magic J had been. “Don’t
do that again—it was very stupid. They watch me, just as I watch you. A private
meeting between you and me would not be received well. Particularly now.”

“Right,”
I said numbly. “God forbid.”

He
got as far as the door before he looked back. There was no mistaking his inner
conflict.

“Do
you ever watch magicians?” he finally asked.

I
shook my head, confused. “Like Houdini? Not really.”

“Their
secrets are all the same—there’s no such thing as magic, of course. You’ve
heard the phrase ‘smoke and mirrors’?”

“Sure,”
I said. “It’s all about misdirection: having the audience focus in one
direction while the magician does his thing somewhere else.”

“Precisely.”
I started to ask another question, but he shook his head. “That’s all I can
say. And trust me, it’s far too much. I’m sorry about your friend… I’ve come to
like him. The fact is, I’ve come to like both of you. That’s not a good thing
in my line of work.” He stopped, torn. “Don’t contact me again, Erin. I’m not an ally in this.”

He
slipped out the door without another word.

00:50:02

“All
right, Professor. Your turn,” I said. I scooped another handful of dirt onto
the pile and set back to the task. My arms ached and my wrists were
bleeding—which would teach me to ask a tweaker just coming off his drug of
choice to set me free. But I was making progress. The professor looked
flummoxed.

“Top
twenty-four…” he began.

“Records,
Munjoy,” I said. “Albums. The music that rocked your socks way back when.”

“Probably
some classical shit,” Biggie said.

“Shut
it, Nickelback,” I said. “Let the man speak.”

“I
don’t really listen to newer music,” the professor said. “I’m partial to the
groups I liked in high school.”

“No
shame in that,” I said amiably, already mentally forming the list: Tony
Bennett, Burt Bacharach, The Four Tops. We’d been playing this game for the
past half hour while we tried to dig ourselves to freedom. So far, everyone had
proven predictable in their tastes.

The
rest of the group was more subdued now, focused as they were on our imminent escape.
Even Glenda had settled down to a quiet, rhythmic rocking, still crouched
against the wall with her head down. I was working with Danny, Sally, and
Biggie, whose buddy Riley’s tremors were debilitating by now. We’d decided to
limit everyone else’s involvement in the actual digging, just in case someone
was watching. Besides which, you can only have so many people digging one
damned hole before efficiency is significantly compromised.

“Come
on, Doc,” I said again. “This isn’t a hard question.”

Actually,
I’d been going back and forth on the question for nearly twenty-four hours now,
but he didn’t need to know that. Your top twenty-four records of all time isn’t
a list to take lightly.

Finally,
the professor took a deep breath. “
Licensed to Ill
,” he began. I looked
up. Biggie stopped digging. “Uh—that’s the Beastie Boys,” he clarified. “
Nothing’s
Shocking
—Jane’s Addiction, of course.
Darklands
… The Jesus and Mary
Chain. Though I do love
Psychocandy
,” he admitted in his proper British
voice.

“Where
the hell did you go to high school?” I interrupted.

“And
when?” Biggie added.

He
looked at me innocently. There was a twinkle in his eye that made me suspect I
was being toyed with.

“I
didn’t say I was partial to the groups I liked when I was
going to
high
school,” he said. “Just when I was
there
. I used to teach; always found
music to be a good way to reach my students. And their tastes just rubbed off
on me, I suppose.”

“I
suppose,” Biggie said, mimicking the professor’s accent. “If that’s your record
collection, Doc, I reckon you can party with us anytime.”

“Now
that’s a party I’d come to,” I said.

“We
make it out, and everybody here’s invited,” Biggie said seriously. “We’ll do it
up right.”

Beside
us, George swayed slightly. He leaned against the wall, his color worse now. I
looked at Sally, crouched beside me.

“Will
you take a look at him?” I asked.

“She’s
not comin’ near me,” George said. “I don’t need no baby killers touchin’ me.”

“Well,
that’s intelligent,” Sally said dryly. She straightened, wiped her hands on her
pants, and pushed George back against the wall.

The
issue of who was bound and who wasn’t had been a contentious one. We finally
agreed that only a few of us should be loose—everyone had to be able to get
back into the zip ties quickly when Jenny came back, and the more people
expected to do that, the greater the chances that someone would screw up and
we’d all be caught. We’d also been going back and forth on whether or not to
simply take out Jenny and her man when they came calling next, but I had a
strong feeling the only thing that would accomplish would be getting a slew of
us killed a little sooner than midnight, while the rest of us were tied up so
tightly there would be no hope of escape.

And
it didn’t hurt that the threat of violence wasn’t quite so immediate when
everyone was tied up, of course.

“You’ve
lost a lot of blood,” Sally said to George, unbuttoning and removing his shirt.
“But it looks like the bullet just grazed you… It would be nice if we could
clean it. How long ago’d this happen?”

He
had to think about it. “Wednesday, I guess. Maybe Thursday. I was headed up to
the cabin and got jumped. A car run me off the road, and a couple fellas pulled
me out of the truck. They tried to put a needle in me, but I don’t hold with
none of that. I got a couple jabs in and took to the hills. Didn’t get far
before they took me down, though.”

“You
didn’t see anyone’s face?” I asked.

“Nope,”
he said. “Like I said—everybody’s in black. But they knew what they were doin’,
for sure. Ow—dammit, woman, stop that.” He pulled away from Sally, who was
tying an awkward bandage using the shirtsleeve of his discarded flannel.

That
left George in his undershirt. When I looked at him, my eye was drawn
immediately to a too-familiar scar just under his collarbone. I’d never seen it
before.

He
caught me staring and scowled. “What the hell are you lookin’ at, boy?”

I
nodded to his chest. “That cross.”

“What
about it?”

“You
got it from Barnel?”

“I
know what you’re thinkin’, but it wasn’t what it is now,” he said, his voice
rough. “He’s got one, too. We come up together; went to school together. Took a
vow, together. It was all voluntary—nobody was holding the other one down,
forcing ‘em into something they wasn’t ready for.”

“And
Billy Thomas?” I asked. My voice didn’t sound quite right. “Did he take that
vow?”

Biggie
continued digging, but the others were looking at George and me with great
interest. George looked down. It took some time for him to tamp down his
emotions.

“We
vowed to follow the Lord. Accepted that brand over our hearts—it was a sign of
our faith. Our devotion. Our willingness to endure hardship, to stay on the
right path.”

I wet
my lips, fighting a wave of revulsion. “You killed him,” I said.

Danny
looked up sharply. George shook his head. “He turned his back—violated
something holy. The things he did to those girls…” He looked at me, his eyes
dark with conviction and despair. “You think a man like that deserves to live?
A monster like Billy Thomas deserves hell.”

“And
you and Jesup Barnel sent him there,” I said. I waited for George to deny it.
He didn’t.

Footsteps
approaching cut the moment short. I pulled myself back together, quickly
grabbed Biggie’s zip tie and cinched it around his wrists, then did a
half-assed job of binding myself again. We situated ourselves in front of our
escape route just as Jenny opened the door. The Giant shined his light in. The
crowd shrunk back.

Jenny
looked at each of us, appraising us like we were cattle. Then, she began
pointing at individuals among the ranks.

“Him,
him—the junkie,” she said, nodding to Biggie. She singled out the professor and
both grad students, and then set her gaze on Casey. “And her,” she said. Danny
stepped in front of Casey and looked at me desperately, begging me to do something.

“She’s
hurt,” I said. “Badly. Whatever you’re doing, she’ll only slow you down.”

“We’re
not running a marathon, slick,” Jenny said easily. “She’ll be fine.”

Casey
struck me as the kind of girl who could hold her own in most situations, but the
bombing and the circumstances had taken their toll. Danny didn’t move, shaking
his head.

“If
she goes, I go,” he said.

Jenny
shrugged. “Fine. Come on.”

I
stepped between them, lowering my voice. “Hang on. I had a deal with Barnel…
just pick someone else, all right?”

“Sorry,”
she said. “But Barnel doesn’t have the authority to make deals right now.” She
nodded to The Giant, and he grabbed Casey. Then, she pressed her gun to Danny’s
temple. “Come on, lover boy. You wanna play Romeo and Juliet, be my guest.”

She
stepped aside, nodding to the door. I watched as the kids walked out, Jenny
behind them. I’d never felt so powerless in my life.