The Last Spymaster (22 page)

“Doubtful. Did you recognize any of the voices or names?”

“No. What about you?”

He shook his head. “Whoever Jerry is, he’s not to be taken lightly. He said he reported to someone named Mr. G and that a big deal was going down. Did that mean anything to you?”

“Nothing.” And if she knew, she would not tell him. “I suppose it could be drugs, knockoffs, or stolen merchandise of some kind. Or maybe it’s perfectly legal. ‘Mr. G’ is a tantalizing bit of information but worthless without some context.” She glanced at him. His expression was thoughtful. “Where do you want me to drive?”

“We’ll get to that later. Let’s assume I’m telling the truth—that my goal all along has been information. I’ll obviously get nothing from Whippet now. At the same time, I’ll assume you’re telling the truth that you have no idea what the real story is. That means I’ve got to look elsewhere, and the best candidates are Jerry and his pals. Not only did they know about a highly secret Langley unit, they had the skill to liquidate it and escape. Plus they knew you were hunting me, or they wouldn’t have arrived at your place. Sounds to me as if they have a very well informed source somewhere inside the government—maybe inside Langley itself.”

She tensed then nodded. It was one more reason to contact only Litchfield.

He seemed to make a decision. He reached into his backpack and removed a Timex wristwatch. He handed it to her. “There are two buttons on the left-hand side. Touch the top one.”

She propped it on the steering wheel so she could look at it and watch the traffic. She pressed the button. The watch’s face changed. “There’s a long series of numbers.”

“Right. Keep pushing it.”

She did. More numbers. They changed eighteen times before the face returned to a regular LED reading of the hour and minutes.

“Okay, now hit the second button,” he told her.

This time, words appeared—
OPEN
and
LOCK
. She alternated the buttons. “What does it mean?”

“That’s Frank Theosopholis’s watch.”

She peered at him sharply. “You wiped Theosopholis. The body’s been found.”

“He followed me through the penitentiary’s electronic gates and jumped me before I could get out of the building. I was unarmed. That’s when training counts. He was carrying a shank, but I ended up using it on him. I couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to come after me, until I examined the watch more closely. Each of those number series controls one of the gates, commanding it to open and relock. There’s a subminiature wireless receiver in the watch, too. It looks to me as if the codes reset themselves automatically when the prison computer reset the locks. The other
thing is, there was a tracker inside—that’s how the first assassin found me. And finally, Theosopholis was always in the cell next to mine.”

“Why would he jump you? Didn’t he want to escape, too?”

“He was trying to stop me. I think he’d been planted to keep an eye on me just in case I did try something.” He fished in his backpack and this time brought out Billy’s cell phone. He put on his glasses and turned it on. The LED light glowed. Pressing buttons, he scowled. “I’ve been away too long. I should be able to find his phone book in here, right?”

She held out her hand. “You’re going to end up erasing whatever’s in there.”

He laid the cell on her palm and said dryly, “Fun, isn’t it—the glamorous life of being on the run from the law.”

“Yeah. About as much fun as getting a Brazilian bikini wax.”

The corners of his lips twitched toward a smile.

She propped the cell on top of the steering wheel. Checking the traffic, she touched MENU and worked her way through options.

At last she shook her head and handed it back. “Billy may be too dumb to still be alive, but he was smart enough to have password-protected records.”

As he took the cell, she peered at him. Traffic lights flashed across his stern features. The cleft in his chin seemed deeper, the planes and angles of his face more acute. His oddly compelling personality, which so easily could turn from warmth to violence, had somehow segued into sincerity. To say he was smooth was an understatement. She wondered why he had bothered to tell her so much—then she knew. He was “enlisting” her, a form of psychological seduction. As insurance, he wanted her on his side. But two could play at that game.

“Want a suggestion?” she said. “Hit REDIAL. That way you’ll call whoever he tried to reach last.”

“Good idea.”

He touched the button and lifted the cell to his ear and gazed at her, his eyes radiating inclusiveness, but she did not believe it for a moment. She softened her face and grinned encouragingly. He was armed, and she was not.

“It’s ringing,” he told her.

“Good.” She checked her rearview mirror, hoping again to spot a state police car.

“Yeah,” a man answered.

Tice’s pulse quickened—he recognized the voice. He raised his brows at her. “Hello, Jerry. This is your new friend, Jay Tice.”

“Tice?” Jerry asked. “What the fuck? How did you—!”

“I know it’s late,” Tice said, “but I hope you’re not too tired to talk.” There was a stunned emptiness in Tice’s ear.

The tones were suddenly hearty: “Sure, buddy. Great idea. Where are you? How about a drink? We can talk face-to-face. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.”

“It’s mutual. Actually, I’ve been thinking about Mr. G, too. Sad that he’s so pissed at me.”

Again there was a pause, as if Jerry were trying to figure out how Tice knew the nickname of his boss, much less that he might have an attitude about Jay Tice. “Well, Jay—you don’t mind if I call you Jay, do you? Sure seems like I know you well enough to call you Jay. That’s it—Jay and Jerry. So, Jay, it’s not like I’d say Mr. G is pissed. No, I wouldn’t go that far at all. It’s more like he’s a busy man, so he has to turn over certain responsibilities to me. Right now, you’re my responsibility. Bottom line, Mr. G’s thoughts on the matter are none of your damn business. But, hey, I’m glad you called. How’s Cunningham? You ice her yet?”

“Had to, Jerry,” he lied. “Very sad. I know you understand. But as you pointed out, one has one’s responsibilities. Couldn’t let Cunningham live. Besides, you know the type. No respect.”

She shot him a look.

“Boy oh boy!” Jerry sounded impressed. “Do I
ever
know the type. So now you’re all alone?”

“You got it.”

He remembered Jerry’s words:
Then where would Mr. G be? He’s got that big deal, and no way he stands for these fuckups.
In negotiation, a prime rule was to use what you knew and plumb for weakness.

Jerry was protective of his boss, so Tice made his voice sympathetic as
he threw out bait: “What’s this I hear about Mr. G’s being in real serious financial trouble? A man like you, someone with your brains and ability, might want to consider looking for a new job. That new deal of his is all over the grapevine, you know. It’s falling apart. It’s going into the dumper fast, which means he’s going into the dumper. And you’ll go with him.”

“Like hell it’s going into the dumper,” he said indignantly. “Mr. G’s fine. Whatever made you think—”

Tice had hit a nerve. “We both know how hard it is to pull a deal like that together. The word’s out he’s an amateur.”

“Not Mr. G! Who says that? He’s been doing this for years. He’s at the top. He’s the best in the business.” But there was a faint inflection of uncertainty.

“As I said, the word’s out, Jerry. You’ve got a lousy hand. Mr. G’s a loser. Your reputation’s about to take a serious hit. Consider working for one of his competitors. In fact,” Tice said casually, “consider working for me.”

Jerry’s voice was a growl, going on the offensive. “I heard you did a lot of shady business. I heard you sold out on a lot of things. Make a lot of money, Jay? Didn’t do you any good, did it, ’cause you aren’t good enough to stay out of the joint.
You
fucked up big-time. I’m getting the picture. Well, let me tell you, Mr. G’s deal is closing tomorrow right on schedule, so you’re way behind the curve. Guess you’d like to know where I am and how we know that right now you’re on the Beltway real close to Falls Church. In fact, hey—not that I want to worry you—be sure to keep yourself alert, ’cause my boys will be there any second. My driver’s on his cell right now with a guy who’s got the scoop. I hate fuckups, Jay. I really do. They’re disgusting no-goods who’re wasting the planet’s real estate. That’s you. Be sure to wave hello to me and my boys. Thanks for calling. I’ll let Mr. G know you send your worst.
Sayonara,
Jay.
Arrivederci.
Go to hell,
buddy
.”

Silence filled Tice’s ear, while he remembered “Mr. G’s deal is closing tomorrow” and “He’s been doing this for years. . . . He’s the best in the business.” Whoever the man was, and whatever the deal was, there might not be enough time to stop it. With a flick of his finger, he turned off the cell.

“What did he say?” Elaine asked instantly.

“Looks as if the deal’s illegal, and it’s closing tomorrow. No more details than that.” Gun in hand, he swiveled to face her. “We may have trouble. Jerry claims he’s got someone reading our location. He and his people are on their way. If that’s true, how in hell did they manage it?”

“It makes no sense.” Still, she checked her mirrors and floored the gas in a swift kickdown. The Jag shot forward like a missile, driving them into their seats. She looked eagerly around for a state police car.

“You can believe it now. We’ve got company.” He angled so he could study more closely a black sedan—a powerful Lincoln—that had broken out of traffic and swung into the lane behind them. It was coming up fast.

She immediately moved the car left, into the next lane. The Lincoln’s nose made a sudden rush to squeeze in behind again. She swore loudly and braked. At the last second, the Lincoln swerved away, tires squealing, barely missing the Jag’s fender.

“That was too close.” She exhaled.

But already the Lincoln was speeding again, catching up. Tice lowered his window. As it opened, so did the driver’s-side window of the other car. Fresh air blasted through the Jag. The sudden din of engines and churning tires was explosive.

Tice raised his voice to make sure she heard: “The guy’s armed. He was part of the assassination squad that took out Whippet, too. Get us out of here!”

Elaine studied the rushing Beltway. There were so many cars that gunshots could cause a catastrophic multiple-car crash. As the muzzle of a pistol extended from the Lincoln, she spun the steering wheel, moving into the next lane and the next, increasing speed.

“Here comes another car!” Tice warned.

Pulse throbbing, Elaine whipped the Jaguar in and out of the lanes as the two janitors’ cars jockeyed, following. The second car was a green Olds, about six years old but with a powerful engine. In her rearview mirror she spotted a third car.

Her breath caught in her throat. “There’s the BMW. Jerry’s here. Behind us.”

“I see it. Now he’ll know I lied about wiping you.” His smile was arctic. “Guess he won’t trust me anymore. I can see Jerry in the passenger seat. It’s just him and the same guy who drove them to your place.”

“The BMW’s a fast car. Its speed is comparable to the Jag’s.”

Quickly she took stock. The Jag’s computerized suspension felt elastic, as always, and the engine was running smooth and hushed, purring. It could be pushed hard and securely to its governed speed of 130 miles an hour, which meant she probably had a mechanical and horsepower edge over at least two of the cars. What she had hoped was to slip out of sight then find an open stretch and outrun all of them.

Checking her mirrors, she pulled the Jag in behind a Ford SUV, then over in front of a Dodge muscle pickup, accelerating to eighty miles an hour. The Jag’s engine rose to a happy growl.

She could see none of the pursuing cars. “I’m going to move again.” As Tice scanned tensely, she paced the next lane, where a blocky Hummer was pulling away from a chic Lexus. She had been studying both. As
soon as she slid the Jag into the pocket, the Lexus, which had been rolling along inattentively, its eight-cylinder engine hardly breaking a sweat, accelerated and closed in on the Jag’s rear, protecting its tail as she had hoped. The Dodge pickup, which had been going much faster earlier, caught the competitive spirit and put on a burst of speed, riding the rear bumper of a new Chevy, which was to the right of the Jag’s grille. A Volvo and a Mustang and a Mercedes protected the Jag’s other side. The Hummer continued to lead, its blunt nose creating a ragged slipstream.

The pack of eight vehicles tore through the night at eighty-five miles an hour, a lethal cavalcade of rushing steel and glass. The Jag was in the center, concealed. The steering wheel felt alive in her hands.

“Jerry’s found us again,” Tice said sharply.

Her rib cage contracted. As if by magic, the BMW had reappeared. It was two lanes over, Rink peering around, angling for a clear shot or a way to break through. This was the second time she had hidden the Jag then been found.

“I can’t shake him,” she said worriedly. “Rink seems to know where we are no matter what I do.”

“They’ve definitely tagged us. But how?” He grabbed the dead man’s cell from his backpack. “This is the only thing I took from Billy. Could there be a tracker in it? Maybe Jerry put trackers in all of his men’s cells to keep tabs on them.”