The Black Silent (40 page)

"That's a long time," Rachael said, not caring about the rest. "People could die while we're sitting here waiting for well-intentioned bureaucrats."

Captain Melrose sat back in his chair. "I suppose we could take one of our choppers up there and try to find this fellow Frick. We could ask him what he's doing and he'd say he's chasing a murderer. I sure would like to get the sheriff on the phone; he's a good man. But that's not gonna happen. I already tried and he's someplace in the Swiss Alps, and nobody's gonna find him in a few hours. And for the moment there seems to be support among the deputies for what Frick's doing. They think your friend killed their own kind."

"He's told all the deputies that my friends shot two of their own and stabbed another,"

said Rachael. "What would you expect they'd say?"

But Melrose's mind was moving ahead. "Why the hell would Homeland Security be interested?"

"I don't know," she said. "Couldn't we discuss this on the way to San Juan Island?"

Stutz looked willing but uncertain.

"After the FBI, maybe," said Melrose. "And last my people heard, they were on Lopez, anyway."

Lopez Island was good news, Rachael thought. In all likelihood it meant that at least one of them, Sam or Haley or Ben, was still alive. "If you don't do something about Frick now," she said, "heroes will die on your watch and the secret of the century will be stolen. Think about that."

Melrose sighed. "I'll have a chopper at the fed building at seven-thirty and tell the feebies we gotta leave. That's the best I can do. I've told them you think Ben Anderson's in danger from Garth Frick. We'll be up to the San Juans by eight-thirty in the morning. I hope you realize how hard it would be to go up there on a stormy winter night in a chopper and do anything."

Lew patted her shoulder. Rachael bit her lip, wanting to cry in frustration. She knew it would have to be enough because it was all she was going to get.

When she and Lew left, a brief and slightly strained discussion followed about sleeping arrangements. In the little time that they'd been together, Rachael had learned that Lew was a Republican, idolized Ronald Reagan, loved Texans, Texas, barbecue, and catfish.

He could smoke a cigar with aplomb, drank Dewar's neat, was confident but not cocky, and treated his mother, kids, and older people well.

In turn, he'd learned that Rachael was a DNA-based Democrat and hated all of the aforementioned aspects of life that he held dear except the part about mother, kids, and older people. She hadn't told him about her penchant for nudism. The one love they shared was for fast boats.

Rachael and Lew went to the Four Seasons, where her father had an account, and with the help of a fastidious night manager, they rented a room with two double beds. One bed was in the east and one the west. She slept in the east but would consider rapprochement with the west. However, she made it clear to Lew that the Berlin Wall didn't come down on the first request. It was insane that they were even having the discussion. On that last point he seemed skeptical about the need for her reluctance and his confidence was troubling. Her growing interest in him, she decided, was a damnable affliction.

As they were rushing from the hotel lobby with their coffees, she decided that she needn't mention about the nudity and that wearing clothes would really not be that big an imposition. Perhaps there was a Liberal Republican group. On further reflection, perhaps there was a Conservative Democrat group. Suddenly working it out seemed very important and she began to see all manner of opportunity for harmony. Some tunes one just didn't need to play around the house.

"B
ring her in," said Martha Harlasen in the commanding voice one develops while raising six boys. Sam had carried the chair with Sarah in it, up from the boat.

"Got any big bolt cutters?" Sam asked Eugene Harlasen.

"Out here in the sticks? Of course," he said. He was a strong-looking, graying man who seemed firm in the body and in the mind, with a face that reminded Sam of Abraham Lincoln or at least the likenesses that he had seen.

In minutes they were doing the careful work of breaking off the cuffs. Although a bit painful, because of a slight twisting motion, they came off with the giant cutters and Sarah was loosed from the chair.

Sam picked up Sarah to follow Martha. For just a moment Sam's eyes connected with hers; then he followed her through the doorway exiting the entry area. Martha was a blond woman, maybe forty-five, much younger than her husband. To the right of the entry stood a grand piano in a music room, to the left a living room, and straight ahead the hallway that they entered. He glanced at books on bookshelves and pictures on the wall.

At the end of the hall, near the staircase to the upstairs, was a guest bedroom with a large queen-size bed. Sam laid Sarah down gently. She roused briefly and squeezed his arm. Haley was right behind him and sat with her on the bed.

Sam turned back to Eugene Harlasen, who waited behind them in the hallway. They closed the bedroom door. As he appraised the man and pondered the firm handshake, he liked what he felt and saw, both in the man and in the small things, the pictures, the reading material in the house. Eugene seemed a good man and this seemed a solid family.

"We wouldn't be here if it wasn't an emergency," Sam said. "We appreciate you taking this risk for Sarah and Ben."

"I know that," Harlasen said. "Ben and Haley are good friends."

"We have a very serious problem. Garth Frick is a criminal, and he's temporarily in control of the sheriff's department. He has the Sanker Corporation behind him and all of their resources. That's a formidable combination. It's very dangerous to hide us. And to oppose him."

Not surprisingly, Harlasen's face was dead sober, but as Haley joined them, Sam saw the resolve he was hoping for.

"Evil men win if everyone runs and hides," Harlasen said. "I've heard about Frick."

"Who did you hear from?" Sam asked.

"Lattimer Gibbons."

"What did you hear from him?"

"That, according to Ben Anderson, Frick is crazy."

"Where is Lattimer now?"

"I don't know—at home probably. He's unwell. I don't think he gets around that much."

"Unwell, as in ill?" Sam asked.

"Very. As of a couple of years ago, anyway. Martha and I make a point of calling him now and then, to raise his spirits, you know? He's got some artery disease. And it was pretty much throughout the circulatory system. Already he'd had minor strokes. They were going to try multiple bypasses."

That didn't match Sam's memory of Gibbons. From Haley's expression, she was thinking the same thing. Something had not only cured Lattimer Gibbons's arterial ailment but left him in peak condition.

Sam decided to change the subject. Eugene and his family would be safest if they knew nothing more.

"I need to pick up something really important at Fisherman's Bay, so I need to borrow a vehicle. Secondly, we need a boat. Haley and I may need to leave the island."

Harlasen nodded. "We have a boat. It's down anchored in the bay. It's a Zodiac the kids use for fishing. It'll get you to Friday Harbor, at least."

"First the vehicle."

"Frankly, Sam, you don't look so good. Maybe we should help."

Sam shrugged and smiled, but he felt weary at the mere thought of the task that lay ahead.

"Just let me drive you in the pickup and bring you back," Eugene said.

"It's dangerous," Sam said. "And I'm concerned for your family. I want you out of this.

Just let me use the truck. If anybody asks you, claim we stole it. You're already endangering yourselves by hiding Sarah."

Eugene thought for a moment; he seemed uncertain.

"Please," Sam insisted. "You need to stay out of this as best you can. You've already done a great deal."

Eugene reluctantly handed Sam the keys.

"Sam," Martha called out. "Sarah wants to talk with you."

Sam walked from the living room to the bedroom and found Sarah sitting up in bed. She asked to be alone with Haley and him.

"I have to tell you something."

"Yes?" Haley said.

"Ben had someone call before they caught me."

For a few moments Haley had to think about what Sarah had said.

"It was Nelson Gempshorn," Sarah continued. "He said Ben was running but would come to me. He said absolutely not to talk, said the boat would come at eight p.m., at Fisherman's Bay. Then they caught me before I could make the rendezvous. And Nelson said to bring Haley. Ben tried to call her."

"We didn't connect. I went right over to Sanker," Haley explained.

"If I missed them, I was supposed to wait for a call at the Horngraves'," Sarah said.

"But where did Ben want to take you?"

"My guess? President Channel. I was to be ready to dive. You know the experimental area?"

"Did you tell Frick about President Channel?"

"No."

"Nelson was coming in a boat to get you?" Haley asked.

"Yes. That was my understanding."

"You would be diving underwater? At night?"

"That's what I gathered. I can't be sure."

"Is there any other connection between Ben and diving and President Channel or Orcas or Waldron Island across the way?" Haley asked.

Sarah thought for a moment. "I mailed things to West Sound. Just a PO box, no real location. I asked him, but he . . ." She shook her head. "On the phone Nelson referred to the place Ben and I took a picnic."

"Was the picnic at Orcas, along President Channel?"

Sarah nodded.

"Do you know about the other people Ben was working with?"

"Only names—Lattimer, Nelson Gempshorn. I think it's a secret society. They all sign something."

"Where do they meet?" Haley asked.

"I don't know."

Haley thought out loud. "Ben mailed things to West Sound. But that's a fairly big area.

Turtle Mountain and such."

Sarah nodded.

"Sarah, was Ben involved with anything? Other people?"

She looked uncertain and deeply conflicted. "I think it was a government secret." She had tears in her eyes, probably torn between a promise made and the exigencies of the moment.

"What do you mean?" Sam broke in at last. "Ben's research?"

Sarah nodded. "Ben has been talking to the government. I don't know who or how or what was said."

H
aley and Sam climbed in the Harlasens' truck and Haley started the drive to the marina, where they hoped to find Sarah's car and the laptop computer. The truck was an

'80s Chevy that somebody had worked over a bit with a flashy interior. No doubt one of the Harlasen boys had an interest.

"The government. . .," Haley mused. "Could they have Ben? The terrorist angle?"

"It's something we can't answer," Sam said. "Not yet. I'm wondering about Sarah having to dive in the night. An underwater entrance or a secret approach to something, but what?"

"I don't know how Ben thought we'd think to look in Sarah's computer for a stew recipe," Haley said. "Why would I ask Sarah about Sargasso stew? He was gonna pick her up. It was a complete fluke that we figured it out."

"Maybe we didn't figure out about the computer in the way he intended. Also, if he were gone, wouldn't you be talking to Sarah about things you didn't understand, just the way you did?"

"You could be right on both counts," Haley said. "It's just obscure."

Sam looked hard through the trees along a slight bend in the road. "Stop," he said.

Haley hit the brakes and they lurched to a stop. "Up ahead it looks like a car stopped in the middle of the road. Just beyond that you see flashing lights—it's a cop stopping traffic."

"I don't see anything," she said.

"Through the trees. It's just visible."

"Oh, I see. Yeah. If they stop traffic in this area, they block off the whole lower part of the island. I'm not sure there's any way around."

"Turn off the headlights quick." Haley did it. "Slide over the top of me. Let me drive."

Sam got behind the wheel of the old, stick-shift Chevy. It was now apparent that somebody had enhanced the power block and power train.

Sam turned around before he flipped on the headlights. After taking a slight turn in the narrow road at fifty, he found a driveway and drove down it, quickly dousing the lights.

Within sixty seconds there was a siren and a deputy's car screaming by with all the lights flashing.

"How'd you know to do that?" asked Haley.

"They would have seen the lights approaching and then all of a sudden they disappear.

Nothing comes. They're gonna think it was a turnaround."

Sam resumed travel, hurried to the turn, saw no lights, and proceeded to Fisherman's Bay, taking some back roads, trying to avoid as much of the main thoroughfare as possible. They drove the pickup back down along the Fisherman's Bay, the only vehicle on the road, both convinced that at any moment they would be tailed.

They were somewhat surprised when they found Sarah's car unmolested.

"Thank God," she said.

"Amen."

"I think I'd rather shoot myself than let them get me."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I feel so much better knowing Ben is alive and probably safe. Honestly, I can't believe she didn't tell us immediately," she said.

"She was doing as she thought Ben had instructed and, truthfully, she didn't have that much real opportunity. She's been totally traumatized and suffering from stress syndrome. Ben or whoever he's with may have their own security concerns that aren't the same as ours. If you think about it, she told us within a few minutes after she got to the house. She couldn't think clearly."

"You're right. When you say whoever Ben's with, do you mean like the government?"

she asked.

"Possibly, but not likely. The feds would never let this go on, even for a few hours. I'm afraid Sarah knows a lot of significant stuff that she doesn't realize is significant. We've got to get that computer back to her and see what jogs her memory. Who knows what's on that thing if Ben used it?"