by Неизвестный
"I'm not a jock, ma'am. I'm a Special Agent, Dillon
Savich, FBI."
"Oh," she said, and immediately went still. "I'm sorry. You're here for Mac, aren't you? I saw you at Charlie Duck's funeral but I was late and didn't have a chance to meet you."
"That's right. Can I put you down now?" "Please do. I won't hurt that little wimp." She looked over at Paul like she wanted to spit on him.
"Paul," I said, "go sit down. We need to talk. Maggie, you sit over in that chair. Either of you makes a move toward the other and Savich or I will flatten you. Well, Savich will for sure. My ribs are a bit on the sore side.
Got it?"
"I'm the" sheriff," Maggie said, tucking her blouse back in. "I'll do whatever the hell I want to."
"Fine," Savich said. "That's the spirit. What we'd really like is for you to sit down and tell us if you've heard anything about Mac's sister."
"Not a blessed thing," Maggie said, looking over at Paul. "I even spoke to Minton this morning, not something I was crazy about doing, but he didn't have anything new, just sputtered and whined about not knowing what you and Ms. Scott are up to. I told him that if it had been any of his business, you would have told him." She smiled. "He called me a bitch. Made my day. I'm leaving now. If I stay in the room any longer with this jackass, I'll lose it. Call me if you find out anything, Mac." She nodded. "Agent Savich, thank you for your generous help. I'm sure you'll let me know if you need anything."
"Wait a minute, Maggie, I'll walk you out," I said.
"He's a pathetic jerk," Maggie said in my direction as we walked out of the house.
"What did he say this time to make you blow up?"
"You won't believe it, Mac. He tried to get in my pants. Well, to get under my uniform so he could find my pants. The little jerk. It took me a while to get him off me, so I could beat the crap out of him."
"Why would he do that?"
"God knows. I've always thought he was weird."
"Okay, Maggie. We'll keep in touch."
I waited until she drove off, waving at me. When I came back into the living room, Savich was waiting. "All right, Paul," he said as I came in, "tell us about the drug you've developed."
"Yes. We're real interested in that, Paul."
Paul just sat there, staring down at his hands that were clasped between his legs. "I don't have a damned thing to tell either of you. Go away."
"No, we're not going anywhere until you tell us about it."
Paul looked as if he wanted to fold in on himself. Again, I thought he looked scared. "Talk," I said.
He walked around the room a couple of times, pausing in front of one of the stark modern paintings. We waited until finally he turned back to us and said, "It's all experimental, Mac. It's doubtful anything will come of it, truth be told. You know the odds against developing successful drugs these days. The business of pharmaceutical research is astronomically expensive, demands incredible numbers of man-hours and highly specialized computer programs. And then there's the PDA to contend with."
He paused a moment and pulled at a loose thread on his tweed jacket. "I wanted to continue along a certain line of research. The people at VioTech deemed it too expensive to continue the research, not enough projected payback even if the drug could be perfected, and so they canceled it. They wanted Jilly and me to go into AIDS research. Our interests just don't lie there. When Alyssum Tarcher offered to finance us, we took him up on it."
"What exactly is the drug, Paul?" I asked. "It's a memory drug, nothing more than that." "I don't know what you mean by a memory drug," Savich said. "We know so little about the mind, about how memory even works. What does it do to the memory?"
"It's meant to take away the physical responses to bad memories when they surface. You see, the drug seems to be activated when there are sudden physical manifestations of distress-heightened adrenaline levels, rapid heartbeat, dilated pupils-things like that. Its purpose is to shut down the power of the memory by reducing the physical distress and substituting a sense of well-being.
"The benefits might be enormous in treating someone who has lived through something terrible, for example, soldiers surviving battles, or physical or sexual abuse as a child. Once the emotional baggage of the memory is dissipated, so is its physiological power."
I sat forward on the sofa, my hands clasped between my knees. Finally he was talking. I had to keep him going. "The physical reactions you're describing, Paul, aren't just prompted by a bad memory. They can happen with a whole lot of things, like fear, excitement, tension."
"True enough, but you see, the drug is meant to be given in a controlled setting in which the memory is repeatedly triggered. So the drug is focused."
"It sounds incredible," Savich said slowly. "But how can you continue research by yourself, in a home laboratory?"
"I was very close to success when I left VioTech, although none of the decision makers at VioTech agreed. It's just a matter of fine-tuning some of the drug's side chains."
"Would the drug be addictive?" I asked.
"Oh no," Paul said, shaking his head. "Oh no."
"What about military uses?" Savich asked. "After all, if you can lessen all the physical manifestations of distress, why, then you could give your soldiers a shot and produce a battalion of heroes."
"No, I won't ever have anything to do with the military."
Paul looked incredibly tired, his voice flat, as if he simply didn't care about anything anymore.
"When I asked you about this before," I said, "you just laughed it off as a fountain of youth drug. This is something else entirely."
"It doesn't matter. None of this has anything to do with Jilly's disappearance. It doesn't have anything to do with anything at all. Go away, Mac. I don't want to talk to either of you anymore. Please leave now."
"Oh?" I asked, an eyebrow up. "You just want to attack women who happen to wander into your house?"
"Maggie told you about it all wrong. She was coming on to me and when I decided to do something about it, she turned on me. A man gets horny, you know that. Maggie's nothing but a tease, Mac."
"Tell me where Jilly is, Paul."
"I don't know. If I did, I'd be with her."
"Look, Paul," I continued after a moment, "it's time to drop the pretense. Laura told me she's DEA, that she was undercover. They know about this drug. They know about Molinas. There were then two attempts on Laura's life after Jilly disappeared. Who ordered them, Paul? You? Tarcher? This arch criminal, Del Cabrizo? Tell us how Tarcher's involved. Tell us about John Molinas."
"I don't have to talk to you, and I want you to go away, both of you." With those words, Paul got up and walked out of the living room.
I went after him. When he heard me coming, he broke into a run, took the stairs three at a time. By the time I caught up to him, he was locked in his laboratory. Jesus, I thought, this was nuts. It was a steel-reinforced door. I didn't have a prayer of breaking it open. I told him to let me in, pleaded with him to tell me what was going on before they came in with a search warrant, but he remained completely silent.
After ten minutes, I felt Savich touch my arm. "Let's go," he said. "We need to regroup. Maybe it's time for Laura to call her boss at the DEA and let them take over. A search warrant doesn't sound like such a bad idea. They can haul both him and Tarcher in and interrogate them big time. Jesus, I'm tired. That late flight is catching up with me."
"Maybe you and Sherlock can rest a little when we get back to the cottage."
Chapter Nineteen
Laura and I held hands while we watched the sun sink into the ocean. The evening was mild with only a light breeze coming off the ocean. We walked along the cliffs, stopping every couple of steps to talk or kiss.
"You're right," she said, her arms clasped tightly around my back.
"About what this time?" I kissed her silly before she managed to pull back.
"We've talked to almost everyone today. You baited Tarcher. You went after Paul and
he's locked himself up. It's hard to know how to make any more progress. Unless you've got a better idea, maybe it's time to call my boss and let the DBA come on out and kick butt."
Savich agreed with her. I agreed with her. But what hit me full in the gut in that moment was that I had met Laura less than a week before. Yet I knew she was honorable and, I'd wager, as loyal as a tick. After less than a week, I knew I didn't want to let her get away from me.
I couldn't stop looking at her. She was wearing Nike running shoes, tight jeans, and a long, loose white shirt.
She'd pulled up her long hair and fastened it with a banana clip. She wore a bit of coral lipstick and no other makeup. I'd nearly kissed all of it off. I looked at her mouth and decided it was my duty to get the rest of it. I closed my hand over her forearm and pulled her to a stop. We looked out over the ocean, following the flight of several seagulls that were cruising for dinner in the water below. It was quiet and peaceful, tastes of salt blowing in the wind.
"Let's sit down," I said. We found a trio of rocks leaning into one another, back about fifteen feet from the cliffs.
"Talk to me," I said.
"You want me to tell you how sexy you look?" "Yeah, but it can wait a minute. Tell me about yourself,
Laura,"
"Nothing wild in my youth, Mac. Actually, I had a pretty normal life growing up in Tacoma, Washington. My mom and dad were close to me and my older brother.
"I played the clarinet growing up. I had great technique but my tone wasn't very good, I could never be first chair because of that."
"You couldn't play those sweet solos, huh?" "Only once in junior high. I was a pretty sight, my mom said, but my clarinet wasn't a pretty sound. I went to Boston College, dropped the clarinet-no loss to the music world-and got a degree in psychology. I always knew I wanted to be a cop. I love my job, Mac. My older brother, Alan, is a homicide detective in Seattle. My dad was a cop. He's dead now. My mom lives near my brother and his family in Seattle."
I noticed how the wind, stiffer now than just five minutes before, lifted some stray hair and blew it across her face. I watched the fading daylight shadow-play across her face.
In that instant, a bullet struck the rock not an inch from her hand, spewing out sharp shards. She looked at me blankly as I grabbed her and hurled her to the ground, rolling back behind those rocks. Not much cover, but it was all we had.
Two more shots rang out, one striking the rocky ground and flinging out clumps of dirt and shards of stone, and the other probably high and wide. I grabbed Laura's head and flattened her face against the ground. I had all of her covered with my body, I hoped.
I leaned close to her ear. "Damn, we're about twenty-feet from the cottage and there's not even a stump for cover."
There was another shot, this one thudding solidly into the ground beside us. I pulled her back farther under me.
I looked back at the cottage, beyond that huge expanse of naked ground, and saw the front door slowly open. "Sherlock, Savich," I shouted. "Keep inside. Call the cops."
I saw a good half-dozen bullets slam into the cottage. Those shots came from my right, near the cliff. I squirmed around, pulled my SIG Sauer, rose up on my elbow, and fired off six rounds in that direction. I heard a yell.
I smiled. "Maybe I got one of the bastards. Now they know we're armed, they won't take the chance of rushing us. They might have heard me yell for Sherlock and Savich to call for the backup. Just hold tight, Laura. Think of me as your Kevlar vest."
Her face was covered with dirt. She spit some out. "Damn, that was close. This is incredible, Mac. Who are these people coming after federal agents? What good does this do them?"
I was lying only half on top of her now. Three more shots sounded, these toward the cottage. I wasn't surprised to hear return fire from the cottage, fast, an entire clip in a matter of seconds. I knew I wasn't mistaken- there was a shout of pain. Sherlock or Savich had hit one of them. How many were there?
There was silence now. Even the seagulls were quiet. Laura began to squirm away. "No," I said, grabbing her shoulder. "Don't move, not yet. Wait a few more minutes."
I yelled, "Savich, did you get through?" He yelled back, "The cops should be here in three minutes, no more." But there was something about his voice I didn't like, something that didn't sound right.
"Those guys must have thought they'd died and gone to heaven when you and I came trooping out here."
I looked up at the sky. We had another fifteen minutes of daylight. Laura and I had three rocks for cover. A piece of cake.
She twisted about to get more comfortable, lying fully beneath me now, and said, "How many are there?"
"I don't know. At least three. Two of them may be hit. Now we wait for Sherlock and Savich. It shouldn't be long."
We waited stiff and silent for two more minutes. Laura spit out some more dirt. The door to the cottage opened. I heard Savich yell,
"Come on in, Mac. Run!"
We ran hunkered over, zigzagging over the ground as we'd been trained to do, Sherlock and Savich covering us. They fired off another clip each, fanning the area behind us. There were three or four stray shots that didn't come near us, several more that struck the cottage, then silence again.
I literally threw Laura through the door, turned and fired as Sherlock and Savich eased back into the cottage. I slammed the door, crouched to the floor, and turned to see both women laughing.
"Well done, you two," Laura said, her arms around Sherlock. "You really saved our hides."
Well, I thought, staring at the women, everyone reacts differently to being shot at. I checked out the other narrow window that looked toward the cliffs. Nothing. I pulled the curtain tightly over the window. Savich nodded. "All clear from here." He was staring from his wife to Laura. Laura's face was dirty, her hair hanging in tangles. Sherlock was grinning at her like a loon.
"You've got a clot of dirt in your ear," Sherlock said and picked it out.
"So who did you call, Savich?" I said.
He pulled the curtain back into place. "They cut the phone lines, Mac. It's just us in this little box of Cracker Jacks."
"Damn," I said. "These guys are good." I got to my feet and went into the kitchen to check the back of the house. I brought the two beers left in the refrigerator back into the living room. I looked from Laura to Sherlock, knew there was no hope for it, and pulled a quarter out of my pocket. "Call it in the air, Sherlock," I said.
So much for fairness. They started on the beers without the slightest guilt.
"They've got balls," Savich said, looking up from cleaning his gun by the window. "They can't shoot worth a shit, but they're serious about this."
"Please tell me our rental car has a cell phone, Dillon," Sherlock said.
"I'd tell you so if it were true," Savich said.
"This is very depressing," Sherlock said. "I wish I hadn't finished my beer off so fast."
I checked the dead bolt again and shifted the chair more firmly beneath the knob. "When it's dark we've got to try to get out of here."
"It's dark enough," Laura said. "We'll all go right now. Let's try to make it to your car, Mac. We can get the hell out of Dodge." I saw she was chewing on her bottom lip, looking toward Savich, who'd been silent. He said finally, "I agree. It's been nearly a half hour that we haven't heard a thing. If they wanted to kill us, they'd still be shooting. Yeah, why not try to get out of here?"
I opened the front door very quietly. I waited, then eased outside, looking toward the cliffs, sweeping my SIG Sauer slowly around in a wide arc. There was a big moon floating over the water, but roiling dark tattered clouds kept sliding in front of it. The night was blessedly dark. I waited until the moon was covered, then ran low to the Taurus, Savich, Sherlock, and Laura on my heels.
Both women were in, down on the floor of the backseat, Savich in the passenger seat as I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. I tried again, then stopped. "Somebody disabled the car," I said.
"They mus
t have been very quiet about it," Savich said. "Let's get back inside. I'll cover you."
No one tried to shoot us on our mad run back.
Once the four of us were back inside the cottage, the front door closed and locked, Savich said, "This is interesting. We're in America and we're as effectively cut off from help as you were, Mac, in North Africa." I remembered that day when I thought my ticket was punched. There'd been help there though.
Laura shook her head, her face drawn. 'This should have been just me. It doesn't matter that you're cops too, this wasn't your assignment. You're innocent bystanders. I'm sorry you got tossed into the middle."
"I made the decision with you," I said. "It's Sherlock and Savich who are the innocent bystanders." "Shove it, Mac," Savich said.