The Bannerman Effect (The Bannerman Series) (50 page)

Her face was red, almost purple. The only breaths she took came in tiny gulps and she was choking on them. He reached for her, afraid that she might fall. She yielded, burying her face against his chest, almost vanishing within his arms. Her fingers found his belt. They gripped it, tightly. She said something, he thought. Maybe it was just a sob.

“What was that?” His lips brushed her hair. “Never mind.” He patted her shoulder. “It's okay. Really. It's okay.”

The sobbing slowed. “Do—do you swear?” she managed.

”I—ah, I didn't hear.”

She did not look up. ”I said n—n—never.”

He could barely understand her. She was trembling so. “Yeah, well—sure. Until you get things straightened out.”

“Lesko?” His name came as a scream. She pulled at his belt, twisting it.

“Okay,” he purred. “Okay, Elena—sweetheart.”

”S—swear it, Lesko,” she gasped. ”I cannot—if you go-”

He swallowed. ”I won't leave you. Not ever.”

He held her tightly. Ten minutes later, neither had moved. And tears ran down Lesko's cheeks as well.

A message came up. Clew to Hagler.

MANLEY MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD—BANNERMAN/ZIVIC ARE ON TO US—MUST MOVE BEFORE HE DOES.

“When he says ‘move’ ”—Belkin pointed—“one would assume that he means against Westport.”

Reading on, Roger had learned that they planned a ski trip to Switzerland. Probably tapped her phone. Clew wondered, in his notes, what Palmer Reid might make of that.

More notes. Evidently taken from a computer analysis. These seemed to list Reid's probable courses of action.

Not likely.

“Colonel Belkin.” He sat back. “These notes seem personal. Not meant for transmission. Why would he send them to Hagler?”

“He did not. This part, the profiles and notes, were transmitted by modem to the machine of Irwin Kaplan. It was done on the day of Palmer Reid's burial. Roger Clew left for Westport directly from the cemetery. We believe that Irwin Kaplan gained access to Clew's apartment.”

“Any idea why?”

“There appears to have been an estrangement between Kaplan and the others.”

One would say so, thought Bannerman. Breaking and entering, theft of data, would tend to suggest a breakdown of goodwill.

“Colonel Belkin,” he asked, “would you ask Susan to join me here?”

“You would show this to her?”

“I'd like to know what she thinks.”

Belkin hesitated.

“About this,” Bannerman told him, “and about your proposition as well.”

“For heaven's sake, why?”

”I told you. Because I trust her.”

Bannerman stared at the phone. There had been something in Lesko's voice. A hesitation. A thickness. But Urs Brugg was fine, he said. Sleeping comfortably. Elena was fine. Everyone arrived safely.

Bannerman shrugged it off. Probably still upset about the shooting in Marbella. He dialed the number Lesko had given him. A woman answered.

“Mrs. Kaplan? This is Paul Bannerman. May I speak to your husband, please?”

“Does he know you, Mr. Bannerman?”

”I think so. Yes. It's quite important.”

“One moment, please.”

A long pause. Too long. Bannerman could hear whispers. The voice came on.

“This is Irwin Kaplan.”

“Good evening, sir. This is—”

”I know who you are.”

“Mr. Kaplan, I've just spoken with Raymond Lesko. He says that you're an honest man.”

“Is he there with you?”

“No, sir. But I'm about to give you his number. I'm going to ask you to gather your family, leave your home immediately, take your disk file with you, destroy it or not as you choose.”

“Wait a minute. Why would I—”

“And if you don't?”

Silence. It had the sound of doubt.

“Get out of there, Mr. Kaplan. Call Lesko.”

Bannerman felt a touch at his shoulder. Susan reached for the phone, took it from his hand.

“Mr. Kaplan? It's Susan. Susan Lesko.”

“—Susan?”

“We've met. You've been to our house.”

“Of course—I—”

“Please trust him, Mr. Kaplan. Trust me. And call my father.”

“Give me the number.”

“Get some rest, Paul,” she told him, frowning. “At least get off your feet.”

Two in the morning. Six hours ahead of Washington time. Kaplan should be calling soon. He had Belkin's word that the phone would be clear. He had to keep his mind clear as well.

”I think I'll look in on Billy,” he said.

”I just did. He's out cold. So should you be.”

“Soon,” he told her. “You go to bed. We have an early flight.”

Which was dumb, she thought. But at least he was leaving Billy. The doctor said two weeks before he could travel. Bannerman said he'd probably kick his way out in three days without us here to sit on him. Speaking of sitting . . .

“Sit, Bannerman.” She dragged a chair to within reach of the bedside phone and eased him into it.

“Did your father,” he asked, “have anything else to say?”

She had spoken to him before he did. Paul had told him about the Ripper Effect. The American version. Not in great detail. Just enough. And that it was Susan who had recognized the name of Irwin Kaplan when she saw it on the screen.

“Not much. But Elena came on. She was very grateful. That you were so nice about what happened, I mean. And so considerate of my father's feelings.”

A dismissive shrug. He said nothing.

“You
are
nice, Bannerman. You're a nice man.”

He cleared his throat.

“And Elena's nice. So's her uncle. And Billy. Even Colonel Leonid Belkin of the dreaded KGB is nice. I still can't get over it.”

“As Billy would say, what's not to be nice? It's not a weakness.”

“How tough is Elena? Tough as my father?”

”I only know her secondhand. But the word I'd use is
strong”

“How long does it take? To get that way.”

“You're already there, Susan. You were born with it.”

She smiled, but remained doubtful. “If that's true, it probably needs to cook for a while. I'm way behind the rest of you.”

“You haven't taken these? You've had nothing since the anesthetic?”

After I speak to Kaplan,” he said. He gave her a look that asked her not to argue.

His cast was sliding over the arm of his chair. She took his bed pillow and gently placed it in between.

“Have you ever been shot before?” she asked.

“Nope. First time.”

“I've seen scars on your body. What are they?”

“Appendix when I was thirteen. Otherwise, just your basic collection of cuts and bumps, mostly from general klutzi-ness.”

“Is that true?”

“Scout's honor.”

“Then you've been lucky. What you do is so dangerous.”

He shook his head. “Not really. It's a lot safer than being a New York street cop, for example. Has your father been shot?”

“Twice. And cut a few times.”

“There you have it.”

“Bannerman.” She curled her lip. “I've traveled with you twice in the past four weeks. And both times one of us almost got killed.”

“You can plan for no Tuckers?”

“Am I your friend? You know what I mean.”

“More than that. You're
our
friend.”

She knew that. Although it was good to hear. And although there might be an exception or two.

“What about Carla? Do you think she'll ever get off my case?”

“Eventually. Don't worry about it.”

Calamity Carla. ”I could probably learn from her.”

Bannerman shook his head. “Learn from Molly,” he said, “or from Janet Herzog if you can get her to talk. Carla's good but she likes to walk too close to the edge.”