Black_Tide (33 page)

"Kellett gave me a little something," Janet said. "But I don't think it will pan out. I'll run with it, let you know what turns up."

"Okay." Salomon had been a dead end, too. "Battisti at FBI Boston is working a manhunt on the down-low. They suspect CIA or military, what with the quality of Yardley's hardware. It's way beyond anything DARPA's even dreamed of, so we'll have to dig deep. It'll get dangerous."

"Screw the danger. We'll find her."

"You're damned right we'll find her. Thanks again."

He hung up, and looked across the kitchen table. "We can't trust her."

Jason Rees sighed. "I know."

"How do you know?"

Jason shook his head. "The same way I knew how to get down into that cave, and that Monica had to be there. I did and she did, or you'd be dead and so would your son."

Matt looked at Adam, playing with a toy fire truck in front of the living room fireplace. "He's just a boy, Jason. There's nothing odd about him."

"So you feel nothing when you pick him up? Hold his hand?"

"Sure I do. But nothing more than any dad would feel, I guess."

"Peace? A disinclination toward violence?"

Matt ran his tongue over his teeth. "I'm always disinclined toward violence."

Rees sighed again. "I'm serious, man."

"So am I. I hurt and kill when I have to, but never for fun, never because I want to or like it." He looked out the window to where Monica worked on all fours, tearing out the last of the autumn weeds in the flower garden. "I kill to protect my family, my town, my country. I kill bad people when they need killing."

"It's that simple, is it?"

He shrugged. "I considered pacifism once, way back. Lasted about a week."

"Why'd you change your mind?"

"I saw the Jensen twins getting fresh on Cindy Baglio. Remember her?"

"Remember Fun-bags-lio? I dreamed about her my entire adolescent life. How could I forget?"

"This was maybe eighth grade, so she was what, tenth? I come around the corner and those two shitwits had her backed against a wall, eyes closed, slapping at their hands as they groped her."

"Shit. Those kids were twice your size. What did you do?"

"Cracked their heads into the wall at a dead run, kneed them in the balls, and kicked them a couple times while they were down." He looked out the window at his wife and chuckled. Monica waved, and he smiled back. "Then Baglio kissed me—my first French kiss—and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to start in right where the Jensens had left off." He smirked around a cup of coffee. "Never amounted to anything. She was grateful, not attracted to a little pipsqueak like me. Still . . . ."

"And you never told anyone?"

He shrugged. "Monica, years later. My recruiter. The shrinks at ICAP—I had to tell them
everything
. Cindy asked me not to, you know?"

"So why tell me now?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. It came up. How about you? You ever think about hurting anyone, Mr. Catholic Priest-man?"

Rees sat back. "I fantasized about your death for years. It wasn't a malicious thing, not in the true sense, but envy consumed me. I couldn't think about you without a white rage overcoming me. And then you showed up at my church with the girl of my dreams, asking for my help. And I had to help her."

"You betrayed me."

"I did."

"Men died because you betrayed me. Good men, doing their job to keep the world safe."

"I know, and I live with the shame of it every day. I won't ask you to forgive me, or ever trust me. I can only say that I've learned what guilt truly is."

Matt blinked. The world kept turning without the slightest inclination to forgive, but at the same time he didn't hate Jason. "I appreciate your help back there. But you ever even try to touch my wife I'll pull your arms off and beat you to death with them, and that's not an exaggeration."

"I know it." He turned to look at Adam. "It wouldn't be right for so many reasons."

Matt sighed, put his hands on the table, and stood. "Well, I've got to get to work, then spend some quality time with the girl of your dreams. So why don't you get the hell out of my house, and I'll see you next time?"

Jason stood, shook his hand, and headed for the door. "Bye, Matt. Thank you, and sorry."

Matt nodded.

He left, stopping on the deck to rub Ted's belly. The dog rolled onto his back without opening his eyes, and his delighted groans carried through the glass. Jason waved goodbye to Monica—she reached for her headphones but left them in when he didn't stop to chat—got in his car, and pulled out onto Turkey Vulture Lane.

Matt walked over to his son and picked him up, spinning him in the air before zerberting his exposed belly. They both laughed, and he booped Adam's nose.

"There something you're not telling me, little man?"

"Dada."

"Yup. That's what I thought."

He squirmed, pointing. "Doggie!"

Matt smiled. "That's a new one. Let's go say 'Hi' to the doggie."

Once on the floor the little man hobbled toward the deck on enthusiastic but uncoordinated legs.
They grow up so fast.

He walked out onto the porch and sat next to Ted, who shifted as Adam plopped down and petted him with clumsy hands, leaning in to put his head against the dog's chest. Matt breathed in the brisk mountain air, dead leaves, pine, and clear, crisp water, and savored the moment.

His thoughts drifted to Sakura and the dead ends that led them no closer to finding her.

Monica pulled off her headphones. "What you thinking about, baby?"

He smiled, allowing the small joy to overwhelm the big worry. "I got to go to Washington for a couple days, to testify in front of some top-secret oversight committees about this Yardley mess. You want to come along? We'll make a vacation of it."

Her dazzling smile gave him his answer. He hopped off the steps, bounded to her, and swept her off her feet. She giggled as he kissed her and nibbled her shoulder, and responded with a bite.

"Ow!"

"Oh, I've seen you take worse, you big baby."

He kissed her again. "Pack up and we'll leave tonight. I hope Ted does okay on the helicopter."

"You're kidding me." Libby Kamen glared down at the man she'd paid ten thousand dollars to come to her house, no questions asked, just so he could sit her on the couch and tell her "no."

"I'm sorry." Already kneeling on the floor in front of her, he tapped the ankle bracelet. "These things are state-of-the-art technology, with all kinds of redundant backups. A fiber-optic prevents you from taking it off or even loosening it too much, and you'd have to move faster than light to foil that. You can't mask the GPS or remove the battery without setting off the alarm. It's like a dead-man's switch, you know?"

"No, I don't fucking know," she snarled. "How am I supposed to take the fucking thing off, then?"

He laughed. "You're not. That's the point."

"Are you laughing at me?"

He choked it down. "No, I'm not laughing at you. Sorry."

"Sorry for what? Not laughing?"

He held up his hands. "Look, I didn't mean anything by it. You're just stuck with it is all. They're literally foolproof."

She smiled and scooched forward, letting her legs fall open just a little. "If you could do it, I could make it worth your while."

His eyes wandered up her thighs and he licked his lips. "Uh, I can't. I mean, we could remove it, but they'd know instantly."

"What about a fake signal? Could you jack the GPS and send a false location?"

He sighed. "They'd still get the real one. Without hacking their system—and no, that's not going to happen without months of work, and probably not even then—they'd get two signals and it'd tip them off anyway."

She dropped off the couch and shoved her tits in his face. "If you help me cut it off, I'd be really grateful."

"They'll know."

She bit his bottom lip, pulling it out with her teeth while rubbing her tongue along it. "It's the fucking cops. I'll be long gone before they get here."

"It's not smart."

She grabbed his belt and yanked it free. "Nobody's ever accused me of being smart."

*   *   *

Matt texted Monica on the way out of the Capitol Building. His four-hour deposition consisted of a million times saying, "I don't know" and an uncomfortable moment when he'd questioned them about Sakura's disappearance and looked for reactions. Unfortunately, he'd always depended on her to read the liars, and he'd learned nothing.

Monica met him under the Washington Monument amidst a heavy lunchtime crowd, the Indian Summer having drawn the residents and workers out of their homes and offices to bask in the near-seventy-degree sunshine. She had Ted leashed to the stroller and looking none the worse for wear after the most traumatic helicopter ride in the history of dogs or helicopters. He kissed her, then leaned down to scratch Ted behind the ears. "Must be nice to be too dumb to remember, huh?"

Monica slapped his ass. "That for me or the dog?"

He stood and kissed her again, then pulled back and grinned. "Why not both?"

She patted his cheek. "You watch it, mister. I've killed men twice your size."

He looked for guile or pain or anything in her eyes, and found her as inscrutable as ever. He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. "You okay with that?"

She shrugged and looked out toward the Lincoln Memorial. "Had to happen. I ain't going to feel bad about self-defense."

"And that's that?"

She smooched him. "No. But yes. It's got to be."

She turned and pushed the stroller down the sidewalk then stopped to look at a plaque on the trees by the FDR Memorial. "That's ironic."

He raised an eyebrow.

She read the plaque. "In nineteen-twelve on this spot, three thousand and twenty Sakura cherry blossom trees were planted in a spirit of friendship between the cities of Washington, D.C. and Tokyo, Japan. Under the guidance of First Lady Helen Herron Taft and fulfilling the dream of Mrs. Eliza Ruhamah Scidmore, these first trees led to mass plantings throughout the Tidal Basin for several decades."

The plaque continued for several more paragraphs, but she didn't read it aloud. They stood in silence, until Ted broke it with a loud fart.

"Really, Ted?" Matt said. Ted wagged his tail at his name, and looked back and forth between the two of them, assessing his best options for treats or loving.

"I hope she's okay."

He hugged Monica with one arm and led her away from the spot. "She's the toughest woman—the toughest person—I've ever met."

They approached the water, and Monica pulled Adam out of the stroller. He rubbed sleep from his eyes but didn't fuss—at this point Adam never fussed—and suffered the baby leash with aplomb as Monica prevented him from chasing the few remaining Canadian Geese lingering around the reflecting pool.

Monica wandered down the side of the pool, and Matt watched her take in the sights. A young woman jogged by in a heavy jacket and running shoes, large sunglasses covering most of her face. As she passed, a half-folded paper fell from her pocket.

Matt picked it up. In streaks of black marker it read,

*   *   *

You took my happiness. I'm taking yours.

*   *   *

Matt bolted for his wife. "MONICA!"

Monica looked up as the jogger passed her and raised a pistol, her happy wave turning into a downcast look of sorrow and resignation. The jogger removed her sunglasses and smiled at Matt.

Someone screamed, and the world slowed down. Ten steps away. Nine. Eight. The whispers cackled in elated glee.

Libby Kamen pulled the trigger. Seven steps.

Monica's eyes closed. Her head listed to the side. And then it erupted, a spray of blood and brains out across the water.

Six steps. The geese scattered at the sudden noise.

Monica collapsed on the bank next to their son, who stared around with wide eyes. The world shrieked back to normal time.

Matt brought his hands to his head and stumbled to his knees, sliding across the sidewalk, a wail of complete anguish erupting from his throat.

Libby's eyes blazed green, a look of sheer terror wracking her face as she put the gun to her own temple and fired. A red puff and she collapsed, the weapon clattering to the concrete. Ted barked, turning in confused circles, tail between his legs.

People ran, most away, some toward the bodies. Cell phones streamed video, cameras flashed, and through it all Matt screamed, raw and unending, a maelstrom of whispered hell given victim and voice.

Adam looked down at his dead mother and shook his head. Over and around and through the cacophony he said, "No, Mama." He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her neck. Matt crawled toward them, unable to stand, unable to reason.

A silver light enveloped Adam, a million tiny particles glowing with internal flame. It shifted, took in the light from the reflecting pool, stole the light from the midday sun. Shimmering motes became feathers of silver and ice and light, and his wings unfolded to blanket the sky. He cradled Monica's head and stroked her hair, and the silver light slithered into her.

The bleeding stopped, the exit wound collapsed in on itself, and new flesh covered the red ruin. Adam beat his wings and they both rose from the ground, limned in silver. Monica's eyes fluttered open, she lifted her head. As her feet touched the ground the light died, and Adam fell into her waiting arms as his wings disintegrated in the rising wind.

Matt stood, stumbled to her, wrapped her in his arms, then sobbed. He closed his eyes and kissed her hair, kissed his son, held them and cried, hot tears streaming down his face from under his eyelids.

"Look, Dada."

He opened his eyes at Adam's touch. Through blurred vision he saw them, hundreds of people on their knees, eyes raised in rapture at his family, some of those present with cellphones raised, red lights staring like baleful eyes.

Ted licked his ankle, tail wagging. In the distance, sirens blared.