The Overseer (48 page)

“The C is
natural
in the left hand,” blurted out Votapek as his fingers worked angrily on the few stray hairs growing from his ear. “
Natural
. Why can’t you get it right?”

“You have your refuge, Anton,” replied Sedgewick, unable to extricate himself from the loop, “I have mine. That one should be your last.”

“I’ll thank you
not
to tell me what to do.” Votapek downed the drink in one gulp and placed the glass on the side table to his right. He then sat back, folded his arms to his chest, and closed his eyes. “You know it’s wrong,” he said as he began to shake gently back and forth. “I can’t let him do it. I just can’t.”

“She compromised us,” answered Sedgewick, finally moving on to the next phrase. “Ah, there it is. You’re right, the C
is
natural.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. You can’t let him do it. I don’t think you have much of a choice. She’s too dangerous with the Trent woman still on the loose. Even at this stage.” He began to play with greater insistence, eager for the end of the piece. “It still puzzles me, though, how she found her—”

“How can you say that? She’s a child. She never really recovered. You know she didn’t know any better
then
. How could she know any better
now
? It’s that Trent woman. She has a way, a way of—”

“We both know what she has a way of doing.” Sedgewick was somehow back in the loop, his frustration forcing him to stop. He continued to stare at the keys as he added, “We were very foolish, you and I.” None of the usual bravura tinged his words; he slowly lowered the piano lid and looked up. “Not that it’ll make much of a difference. Alison, I’m afraid, doesn’t know what to believe now.
Whom
to believe. Stable or not, she has a great deal of information that could be very damaging. Ms. Trent has made her a liability.”

“I see,” said Votapek. “We destroy her life thirty years ago, and now we simply take it. Just like that.” The words were those of a defeated man. “Is that what we’ve wanted all along?”

“Only so that we can build something that has real meaning, that—”

“Oh, stop it, Larry!” Votapek stood. “She’s a
part
of us, the reason we started all of this in the first place. And now—”

“The reason
you
started all of this.” Tieg had appeared at the steps
leading
down to the living room. “She’s forfeited our trust.”

“I tell you she didn’t
know
—”

“Irrelevant,” Tieg continued. “This issue should have been resolved a long time ago.”

“Resolved!” Votapek began to shake his head wildly. “Is that how we talk about our own, about the children who sacrificed—”

“‘Sentiment is weakness,’” Tieg broke in. “How many times have I heard you say that? Well, it’s time to recognize it as a reality, Anton, not as some abstract theory that serves a pedagogic turn in your classroom.”

“Fine,” replied Votapek. “I
also
know that no one would believe her.”

“
No
one will have the chance,” answered Tieg. “Larry, try and explain that to our conscience-laden colleague.”

Sedgewick had moved to the bar, a club soda in hand. Trying to soothe, he said, “You know he’s right, Anton. As long as she showed commitment, she was a liability we could live with. We could understand your feelings—”

“
Thank you!
” barked Votapek, standing and moving to the window. “Thank you both very
much
for your condescension!”

“Anton,” continued Sedgewick, “she
knows
who was there; she
knows
about Pembroke; she
knows
about the children we managed to salvage from Tempsten. She saw it all happening, and she can fill in a lot of holes. As long as she didn’t know any better, she was a reminder of how things can go terribly, terribly wrong. Now she’s confused. And she’s no longer alone. If, for some reason, Ms. Trent were to convince her to come forward with that information, too many links would be made public—regardless of their source. Do you want to drag her through that? We can’t have any of it, Anton, and you know it. Trent, Alison—”

“And now our friend from Washington.” A tired voice, silent to this moment, cut off Sedgewick. The old man, nestled in a corner, shifted in his chair, the strain of the last week scrawled in deep lines across his face. He shook his head, more to himself than to the others. “That, I am afraid,
cannot
be helped. He has left us no choice.” He coughed. “Such
ego.
” The word carried only disappointment. “Never content to play his role.
Always
more,
always
second-guessing. And now this foolishness. Did he ever understand?” The old man did not expect an answer. “So be it. I have found another to replace him. You must act quickly with him. He will be very dangerous now. He will be willing to do anything to save himself.”

“It’s being taken care of,” answered Sedgewick, who turned to Votapek. “You know the same applies to Alison now.”

“That is entirely untrue.
He
knew what he was doing,” said Votapek. “He knew
exactly
what he was doing.”

“Yes, but the rationale is the same.
Any
connection among us and the entire agenda blows up in our faces.” Sedgewick paused. “Not all of us care to wait
another
thirty years before getting the chance to try again.”

“And I suppose you mean Tempsten was all
my
fault—”

“I don’t mean
anything
. All I’m saying is that we can’t take any chances this time. We leave her out there and we could very well sacrifice what we’re on the verge of creating. Wittingly or not, Alison could draw those connections. Would you choose her over that future?”

Votapek remained by the window, not bothering to look at the other men in the room. “Would you let me?”

 

They had backtracked a good twenty miles, cutting through roads that Jeff had promised were too obscure even for the local police. Sarah had told him that her
friends
would no doubt try the same sort of ruse they had plotted in Glendon, and she had therefore convinced him to travel north, away from the city, so that she could avoid another run-in. At first, the mechanic had been reluctant, insisting that he drive her all the way to Mexico, but, after careful explanation, she had made it quite clear that Menace—though a fine piece of machinery—was perhaps a shade too conspicuous to make it all the way south of the border without further interruptions. A few minutes of silent
consideration
had brought Jeff to the same conclusion. He had turned off the road and opted for the more scenic approach to the town of Palametto.

Now, about a mile outside the village, still safe within the cover of a backwoods trail, Sarah asked him to stop. Opening the door, she stepped down from the cab.

“You’re gonna
what?
” he said, snapping his head in her direction to emphasize his amazement. “It’s over a
mile
from here. Maybe two. There’s no reason for you to walk. I said it’s
no
problem for me—”

“I’d like to get into town without too much of an entrance. You know, slip in, slip out. That kind of thing. Catch the next train.”

“
Jeez
, you guys take this game seriously. You know he’s halfway to Carmel by now, and you’re gonna start walking?”

“Trust me,” answered Sarah, “I’ve played with him before.”
Such are the sacrifices we make.
Ever the rationale. Ever Pritchard’s modus operandi. And now he wanted her out. Why? Or had that been part of the ruse? Another prod to make certain she would see it through to the end. To Tempsten and Senator Schenten. She recalled a phrase from Feric’s
message
: “
cut off the head and the whole thing falls apart.
” Again, Pritchard had left her so few choices. Disappear now and ensure the sacrifice. Or become the assassin. It was the only way she knew to save Xander.

“Hey, it’s your thing,” answered Jeff. She could tell his interest was
waning
, speed a vital component to his enthusiasm. He revved the car. “Just thought you might want the help.”

She nodded. “You’ve been really great.” She reached into her pocket and pulled a hundred-dollar bill from the wallet she had taken from Tieg’s man. “I want you to have this.”

“
What
the—”

“It’s … your share if I win,” she explained. “I wouldn’t feel right
winning
the five thousand knowing I’d still be at the garage if not for you.” The boy’s eyes responded a moment later, his cheeks a little flushed as he coyly reached across the seat.

“Five thousand?” His eyes widened. “Well … I guess that’s okay, then. And we did outgun that little sedan.”

“We sure did,” replied Sarah. “Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t get back to Mick’s until, say, late this afternoon. You know, just in case my friends are there and want to know where I headed.”

Jeff was busy cramming the hundred into his pocket. “Right, right,” he nodded. “Get yourself a head start. I can understand that. I’ll drive out to a friend’s, play some vid. I can handle that.”

“And Mick won’t mind?”

“Nah, we’re slow right now. Two Beemers by next Friday. Nothing much. Hey, it’ll serve him right for treating me like an idiot.” He smiled and reached over to pull the door shut. “A hundred bucks and some great driving. I should be thanking you. …” He stopped and looked at Sarah through the window. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Susan,” she said.

“Cool, Susan. Hope you win.” With that, he gunned the engine and tore off down the trail, his hand waving out the window as Menace
disappeared
around a curve. Sarah waited a minute and then headed for town.

 

Twenty minutes later, she stood in the ladies’ room of the Palametto
station
, a tiny cubicle about halfway down the platform. The train had been her only option—no way quicker or less obtrusive to the Sacramento
airport
. If all went well, she would be on the first flight to points east within the next hour, then a connector to upstate New York. And Schenten.

And somehow she knew Jaspers would be there. He
had
to be. She needed him there,
needed
to see that he had survived, more for her own sake than for his. The gentle, decent man who had tried to reach out to her, who had seen her lose herself in those tunnels, and whom she had sent out into the madness. And all with just a smile.
Don’t let me down, Feric.

The question now was whether they would recognize
her
once she arrived. In a short leather skirt, silk blouse, and suede jacket, she was a far cry from the Firenzan Signora Fabrizzi. The tight-fitting ensemble had come courtesy of The Fashion Plate, Palametto’s only women’s clothing store, and duly stocked with all the latest styles—or so the sign had said. Exactly whose idea of style, though, remained something of a mystery. The new clothes—including a pair of dark green kneesocks, a rather daring pair of lace bikini underwear, and a set of climbing boots—had transformed Sarah into a poster child for northern California chic.

Now, standing in front of yet another mirror, Sarah was making the most of the few items she had picked up at the local pharmacy to finish the job. With slow, even strokes, she was carefully smoothing a few dollops of Ultra-Tan into her face and neck. Bathing her hands, forearms, and thighs in the oily concoction, she decided not to worry about the aftereffects. All that mattered were the few age lines and scrapes from her tumble down Tieg’s hillside. Within a minute, they were gone, and with them a good seven years, transporting Sarah to somewhere in her mid-twenties.
All right, late twenties. The clothes would have to work a little overtime
. Next came the clippers, to make quick work of her hair, cropped to chin length and trimmed to as straight a line as possible. She hoped the six hours of flying time—and several packets of blond dye—would be enough to damage the hair to perfection. If nothing else, her costume was sufficient to get her as far as the airport.