True Evil (55 page)

Rusk had tried to shut out his memories of the afternoon, but he couldn't do it. After the first euphoric moments of triumph, he had looked down at Thora's shattered skull with horror—but he hadn't frozen. Extreme sports had taught him one indelible lesson: hesitation killed. Knowing that Ponytail would return any moment, he'd rolled Thora into the drop cloth, then carried her featherweight body through the metal studs to a distant office in the construction area. There he'd found a gift from God: a sixty-five-gallon trash can on wheels, with the brand name MIGHT AS WELL imprinted on the lid. Thora fit easily into the can, which he'd rolled straight to the parking garage. He transferred Thora to the back of his Cayenne, and then—after returning the trash can to a different side of the fifteenth floor—he'd returned to his office as though nothing had happened.

But something had happened. And since that murderous minute, he'd felt his time as a free man draining away like blood from a severed vein. He had an escape plan, but to initiate it he'd first have to break free of FBI surveillance. He did not know how to do that. He still held out hope that Dr. Tarver would save them—if Tarver had not already bolted. The doctor had requested an emergency rendezvous at Chickamauga via e-mail, but Rusk had been unable to keep it without dragging the FBI along with him. Nearly frantic, he'd gone to a friend's office in the tower and sent Tarver an e-mail summarizing every threat arrayed against them, in the hope that Tarver could somehow cut through the closing net. But if Tarver didn't contact him soon, Rusk was going to have to take drastic measures. Like calling his father. He dreaded the thought, but at this point—without Dr. Tarver's help—it would take the legendary clout and connections of A.J. Rusk to save him.

"Lisa, honey," he said softly. "We're only talking about a few months in Cuba. I've arranged for us to live on a beautiful yacht right in the marina. Guys like Sinatra paid through the nose to hang out there with Ava Gardner and Marilyn Monroe."

"Yeah, like in the Dark Ages."

Lisa was twenty-nine years old. "Castro's history, babe. He's going to die any day now. He may already be dead, in fact."

She looked skeptical. "Didn't JFK try to assassinate him like a bunch of times, and he couldn't do it?"

Rusk wanted to kill Oliver Stone. "That doesn't matter, honey. As soon as the heat is off, we'll move to Costa Rica under different names. And Costa Rica is a goddamn paradise."

"But I
like
my name."

Rusk squeezed her hand. "Think of it this way: With the name you've got, you're worth about five million bucks. Under your new name, you're worth twenty. That's a big difference."

This got her attention. "Twenty million dollars?"

He nodded with the gravity such an amount demanded. He could see the wheels clicking behind her gorgeous green eyes. Despite the pounding at the base of his skull, he managed a smile. "That's Hollywood money, babe."

"But why can't we go to Costa Rica
now
?" she asked in a girlish voice.

He forced himself not to scream. "Because it's not safe. We have to let the FBI check Costa Rica and find nothing. Then we can go there."

"What have you done, Andy? You said it was some kind of tax thing. How pissed off can the government be about that?"

What have I done? I killed a woman who looked a lot like you, only better. And if you keep this up, I might just kill you, too.
He glanced worriedly at the dark windows. "You don't understand these things, Lisa. The simple truth is, we don't have a choice."

She gave him a long stare, surprising in its coldness. "Maybe
you
don't have a choice. But
I
haven't done anything. I can stay right here until it's safe in Costa Rica. Then I can join you there."

Rusk stared, incredulous. She sounded just like Thora Shepard! "You'd stay here without me?"

"I don't want to. You're the one making this happen, Andy, not me."

She's right,
he thought. Cuba had seemed such a cool idea when Tarver suggested it five years ago. It was one of the last mysterious places on earth, the last commie outpost save China. And it had that Hemingway glamour. What more macho retreat could there be? The fucking Cold War was still going on there, for God's sake. But then Castro got sick. Nobody knew what was really going on. And forty-eight hours after having his umbilical to Dr. Tarver cut, Rusk thought the prospect of living in postcommunist chaos sounded dicey. Lisa certainly wanted no part of it. Maybe she wasn't so dumb after all.

"I can't do it, Andy," she said with sudden conviction. "I promise I'll come to Costa Rica when you get there. But I don't want to leave my mom and my friends to go to Cuba."

"Baby…once we get there, you'll see how great it is. Now go upstairs and pack the absolute minimum you need to leave the country. One suitcase, okay? One."

Instead of obeying, Lisa set her jaw and spoke through clenched teeth. "
I said—I'm—not—going.
You can't make me. And if you try, I'll file for divorce."

For the second time today, Rusk was stunned speechless. Lisa had to be bluffing. He'd written an ironclad prenup. If she divorced him, she'd get almost nothing. Well…that wasn't exactly true anymore. Over the past three years, he had found it advantageous to transfer some considerable assets into her name. It had made a lot of sense at the time. But now…now he saw himself as a sucker, like one of his pathetic clients. Before he realized what he was doing, he had slid his right hand up to her throat.

"One more inch and I'll scream," she said evenly. "And when those FBI guys bust in here, I'll tell them about every tax scam and swindle you ever pulled."

Rusk stood and backed away from his wife. Who the hell was this woman? And why in God's name had he married her?

It doesn't matter,
he told himself.
To hell with her. As long as I get out of the country, it doesn't matter what she does. She can have a few million. There's plenty more for me. If only Tarver would show the fuck up….

He walked toward the central hallway, meaning to check his e-mail on the computer in his study, but as soon as he entered the hall, he saw a massive shape silhouetted by the light spilling from the study.

"Hello, Andrew," said Dr. Tarver. "It's pretty crowded outside. Did you give up on me?"

Rusk couldn't see the doctor's face, but he heard the cool amusement in that voice. Nothing rattled this guy. "How the
hell
did you get through those FBI agents?"

Soft laughter from the shadow. "I'm a country boy at heart, Andrew. Remember when I shot the Ghost?"

Hell, yeah,
Rusk thought, recalling the legendary buck with a flush of admiration. "You really pissed off the old-timers that day."

Dr. Tarver unslung a large backpack from his shoulder and dropped it on the ground with a heavy rustle.

"Can we get out?" Rusk asked, trying to sound calm. "I mean, have you got something figured?"

"Have you ever known me not to have things figured, Andrew?"

Rusk shook his head. This was true, though he couldn't remember them ever being in this kind of spot before.

"I appreciated this afternoon's e-mail about Alexandra Morse. I'd suspected that she was acting on her own, but I had no idea that the Bureau was going to terminate her. Most convenient."

As Rusk puzzled over this, Dr. Tarver turned toward the study. "Call Lisa in here, Andrew. We need to get started."

Rusk started to ask why the study, but then he realized it was because the room had no exterior windows. He looked over his shoulder. "Lisa? Come here."

"You come here," came the petulant reply.

"
Lisa.
We've got company."

"Company? Oh, all right. I'm coming."

With Dr. Tarver's miraculous arrival, Rusk felt the pleasant return of male superiority. Meaning to say something witty, he turned back toward the doctor and saw the pistol rise as Tarver shot him in the chest.

Alex struggled up out of a dark sea into piercing white light.

"Alex?" said a deep voice. "Alex!"

"I'm here!" She shielded her eyes with her left hand and reached out with her right. "Don't touch it, Uncle Will!"

"I'm not Will," said the voice, and gradually the blur above her coalesced into the face of John Kaiser. His hazel eyes held a worry as paternal as any that her father or Will Kilmer had ever revealed. "You're in the emergency room at UMC," Kaiser said. "You've got a pretty serious concussion, but otherwise you seem to be all right."

"Where's Will?" she asked, gripping the FBI agent's hand for support. "Tell me he's not dead."

"He's not. He may have some internal injuries. They stitched up his back and admitted him for twenty-four hours' observation. They're going to do the same to you."

She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. Kaiser eased her back down onto the examining table.

"How long have I been out?"

"Several hours. It's night."

"I'm sorry I lied to you, John. I know you told me not to go there. I know—"

"Stop wasting your energy. I should have known you'd go, no matter what. In your place, I probably would have gone, too."

"What the hell happened? A bomb?"

"You tell me."

She shook her head, trying to remember. "All I know is, I was looking inside at dogs, hundreds of them, and they were all asleep. Every last one. And it just seemed
wrong,
you know? Then I heard an engine, and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a van racing away. It was just like the van that followed me in Natchez, only it was red. And I just
knew,
you know?"

Kaiser barely nodded, but his eyes told her he'd experienced such intuitive flashes before.

"I knew that somehow Noel Traver was Eldon Tarver, that Tarver was bugging out, and that he had let me get that close to him for a reason."

"You saw Tarver at the scene?"

"No. But I felt him. He meant to take me out, along with whatever evidence was inside that building."

Kaiser seemed discouraged by her answer.

"Did you get the warrant for his house?" Alex asked. "Is the SAC still stonewalling on an all-out investigation?"

Kaiser sighed heavily. "Not completely. We did get the warrant for Tarver's residence, and there's a team there now."

Alex raised her eyebrows.

"So far they've found nothing incriminating. Zero."

"Nothing tying him to Rusk?"

Kaiser shook his head. "But the VCP stuff you uncovered is mind-blowing. In conjunction with the explosion at the breeding facility, that convinced Tyler to ask for the search warrant. We just need to find some evidence that's fresher than thirty years old."

"What about Rusk? You should search his residence and his office."

"Tyler won't budge on that. He keeps saying there's no probable cause even to investigate Rusk, much less search his house or office. And technically speaking, he's right."

"Come on, John. Tyler's just—"

"The special agent in charge. Don't forget that. He has authority over every FBI agent in Mississippi. Don't worry, Rusk is bottled up in his house right now, and I've got six agents covering the place."

"No idea where Dr. Tarver is?"

"None."

"Thora Shepard?"

Kaiser looked embarrassed. "She was in Rusk's office this afternoon, but somehow she slipped out without our guys seeing her."

"Come on!" cried Alex, coming off the table again.

"A lot of people work in that building, Alex. Four agents just weren't enough."

"What about Chris?"

Kaiser pushed her back down. "Dr. Shepard is here in the hospital."

A stab of fear went through her.

"He's conscious, and he's doing a little better. He has a high fever, and he's seriously dehydrated. He called 911 from the hotel, and when he got here, he asked for an old med-school classmate. Dr. Clarke."

"My mother's oncologist?"

"Yes. Between Dr. Clarke and Tom Cage, they managed to check Chris into the oncology unit here. He's just a few doors down from your mother. Now they've got an oncologist from Sloan-Kettering involved."

Alex could scarcely comprehend it all. She felt as though she had come out of heavy sedation for surgery. "What about Chris's son? Ben Shepard? He's only nine, and he's staying with some older woman in Natchez. Has anyone checked on him?"

"Dr. Shepard was delirious when he arrived, but he kept asking about the boy—and you, by the way. He finally managed to make a call. Ben seems to be fine, and Dr. Cage promised to check on him."

Alex struggled to see all angles of the situation through the fog in her mind. "Thora could be a threat to Ben," she thought aloud. "She's got to be out of her mind with fear. She's also a major threat to Andrew Rusk and his accomplice. What if she never left that building, John? What if she's hiding up there?"

Kaiser considered this.

Alex grabbed his arm. "What if Rusk killed her up there?"

"Rusk hasn't killed anyone yet, has he?"

"I have no idea. But Christ, for all we know, Tarver could have been up in Rusk's office today. You know?"

"I guess it's possible. Do you think they'd move so quickly against Thora?"

"Two words: William Braid."

Kaiser grimaced. "Damn it. All right, I'll get some people to start searching that tower."

"Officially?"

"No. But if we find a corpse, the case will break wide open. We can haul Rusk in and put his feet to the fire."

"I hope you find a very scared woman. Will Kilmer overheard Thora screaming at Rusk to cancel the hit on Chris. If she would turn state's evidence, we'd have Rusk by the balls. And I guarantee Rusk would cut a deal and give us Dr. Tarver."

"You really believe Thora would talk?"

"You show her the alternative, she'll crack. She wouldn't last a day in prison."

Kaiser squeezed Alex's shoulder. "I'm going now. It's time you got some rest."

Alex snorted in contempt. "You know I can't sleep with all this going on."