The Fourth Perimeter

by Tim Green

  Copyright © 2002 by Tim Green

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Warner Books

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  The Warner Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: November 2007

  ISBN: 978-0-446-50468-3

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  EPILOGUE

  THE FIFTH ANGEL

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  PRAISE FOR

  TIM GREEN’S PREVIOUS NOVELS

  THE LETTER OF THE LAW

  “Taut…page-turning…Green’s best novel to date, and that’s saying a lot.”

  —USA Today

  “Classic Green, with tense courtroom scenes, a smart woman lawyer, and some gruesome killings…another winner.”

  —Orlando Sentinel

  “Realistic dialogue, great characters, and an intelligent plot…one of those books that pulls you in from page one.”

  —Nelson DeMille, author of Up Country

  “A top-notch writer….This book moves fast and hits hard.”

  —Tampa Tribune-Times

  “Green scores big!…Highly recommended.”

  —Library Journal

  “A fun read….Green keeps the pages turning.”

  —Booklist

  “Interesting characters…an intelligent plot…a page-turning legal thriller.”

  —Tulsa World (OK)

  “Entertaining…suspenseful and exciting.”

  —Wichita Falls Times Record News (TX)

  DOUBLE REVERSE

  “Over-the-top...absorbing.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Green keeps the suspense building and the reader continually off guard throughout the book...explosive...a quick and entertaining read.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Plot twists as complicated as a double reverse play....Green, whose writing is ever more polished, scores a touchdown in this one.”

  —Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “Fast paced....Green knows the territory and leads us briskly right through the bloody, satisfying climax.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A highly entertaining novel....Green is at his best.”

  —BookPage

  “Green delivers another gritty story of violence and greed...great action.”

  —Library Journal

  Also by Tim Green

  Fiction

  Ruffians

  Titans

  Outlaws

  The Red Zone

  Double Reverse

  The Letter of the Law

  Nonfiction

  The Dark Side of the Game

  A Man and His Mother: An Adopted Son’s Search

  For my love Illyssa, my dream Thane, my joy Tessa, my pride Troy, and my inspiration Tate

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank the following people who helped to make this book possible: my agent, Esther Newberg, for her invaluable guidance; my editor, Rick Wolff, for his constant instruction, advice, and hard work; Sara Ann Freed, for her valuable editorial help along the way; Mari Okuda and Roland Ottewell for their special attention to the manuscript; Caroline Dignan, M.E., for her insight into forensics; my parents, Dick and Judy Green, for their careful reading of all my manuscripts; Warren Miller for his expert insight into scuba diving; Bob Brown for his knowledge of private aircraft; Sergeant Pete Patnode for insight into police work; also Captain Michael Kerwin, who once again made himself available to me day and night.

  A very special thanks to Larry Newman, who served in the Secret Service under Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, and Reagan, and without whom this book could never have been written.

  PROLOGUE

  It was the taste of metal wiped clean with gun oil. It was the taste of horror, of death. Collin’s teeth bit instinctively into the gun’s barrel, and he closed his eyes against the coming blast. In the brief instant before it came, his mind replayed the events leading up to this crisis. In vivid slow motion he was afforded the opportunity to regret a million moments that he could have rewritten to prevent what was about to happen.

  Pernicious fog, heavy with the moisture from the warm river, shrouded the old brick buildings, casting gloom on their normally cheerful wooden signs. The cold spring’s last dying gasp had rushed down the eastern seaboard from Canada and so everything was obscure and ill defined. Collin Ford rolled slowly down King Street under the hazy yellow light of ancient lampposts in his pewter Toyota 4Runner. He might have been any young man in any American city. Most had renovated areas of bygone commerce that hugged some once-vital body of water, and most were teeming with young professionals at night. But Collin wasn’t just any young professional, and the capital of the United States wasn’t just any city. Collin was an agent in the Secret Service.

  Unlike with many of his young counterparts, money was of little concern to Collin. He had a substantial trust fund. But that was something he neither relied upon nor talked about. His concern, rather, was one of distinction. Collin had no desire to outdo his father in business, even if he could. As well off as the Fords were, Collin’s father had taught him from an early age that while wealth could be beneficial for certain things, it wasn’t something to strive for. So instead Collin had set his sights on rising in the ranks of the Service and surpassing what even his ambitious father had accomplished before he left the same Service to develop a high-tech business.

  Collin found a spot for his truck on a side street and hunched over to pull his jacket closed before slouching up the brick sidewalk to a place called Harpoon Alley. A pleasant amber glow spilled out of the large mullioned windows. Collin spotted his friends inside in the midst of the crowd hunkered down at the bar. He slipped through the door into where it was warm and dry and dodged his way through the throng. He ordered a Coke from the bartender and greeted his friends with a timid smile.

  “You’re late,” Lou said, looking pointedly at his Rolex. Lou was tall, handsome, and blond, a former college swimmer. Collin was his opposit
e in looks as well as demeanor. Lou was the kind of guy who introduced himself to strangers with total ease. Collin, while singularly intelligent, was reserved, average in height and build, and dark-haired, with hazel eyes.

  “One of my kids needed a ride home,” he said with a shrug.

  “Your kids?” asked Allen, a preppy-looking lawyer with stylish glasses who was better acquainted with Lou than with Collin.

  “This guy is like the original saint,” Lou replied, taking a swig of beer. “Instead of using his trust fund to travel Europe in style, he buys uniforms for a kids’ basketball league. Instead of working for his old man in a Manhattan high-rise, he hoofs it all over the country sleeping in Motel Sixes waiting to take a bullet for the president.

  “It’s a good thing,” Lou continued, raising his hands in the air. “Don’t get me wrong. But I’m just not prone to a guilty conscience or else I wouldn’t be able to stand hanging around with you.”

  “Like handicapped kids or something?” Allen inquired, blinking behind his glasses.

  Collin looked at him out of the corner of his eye and took a drink of the Coke that had just arrived in a pint glass. “They’re at-risk kids,” he explained, satisfied that Allen wasn’t trying to poke fun at him. “And we just won the City League Championship for ten- and eleven-year-olds . . .”

  Collin was beaming now and he looked at Lou expectantly. Lou knew better than anyone that Collin had gone into this not knowing the first thing about basketball. A couple of months back, when the two of them were on their way to a party, Lou had asked for a breath mint. Collin distractedly told him to check in his briefcase and that’s when Lou discovered the book on basic strategies of the sport that Collin had borrowed from the library.

  “Hey,” Lou said now with genuine admiration, “that’s great, Collin.”

  “I know it,” Collin said with a self-deprecating grin. “But these kids worked so hard. You should have seen their faces when I handed out the trophies. The trophies were as big as the kids.”

  “Now that calls for a real drink, by God!” Lou said, signaling the bartender for another round. He pointed to Collin and told the bartender, “And make his a pint of Foster’s.

  “You can certainly have one or two to celebrate,” he said brightly as the glasses arrived. “I mean, that’s really great.”

  Effusive over his victory, Collin gave in and raised his glass. It wasn’t long before he had two pints under his belt and was working on his third. He was demonstrating his zone strategy with balled-up cocktail napkins on the bar when he caught sight of a familiar face across the bar. He stopped speaking in midsentence.

  Lou followed his gaze and emitted a low whistle. “Wow,” he said.

  “That’s her,” Collin heard himself say. He was suddenly and acutely aware that he was wearing his old jacket rather than the new double-breasted Italian blazer his father had given to him at Christmas and that he’d forgotten to brush his teeth before he came out.

  “Who?” Lou asked.

  “Her,” Collin said, buttoning and then unbuttoning his jacket. “The girl I told you about. The one I see in my coffee shop. She’s—”

  “Incredible,” Lou said. Allen nodded appreciatively and uttered his concurrence.

  Her hair was black and straight and her eyes a striking incandescent yellow. They were almost feline and hinted of Asia. But her high cheeks, thick red lips, and long straight nose were more reminiscent of the Mediterranean. Her skin was bronze, and her tall, striking figure was snugly ensconced in a cashmere turtleneck and pleated black slacks.

  She had taken the one empty stool on the opposite side of the bar and ordered a drink. She was alone, and while nearly all eyes were on her, she seemed unaware. There was something delicately innocent about her; Lou knew in an instant why she had been the first woman in over a year to distract Collin from the girlfriend who had dumped him for an NHL hockey player.

  “Go talk to her,” Lou urged.

  “No,” Collin said. “I can’t. Look what I look like.”

  “What are you talking about? You look fine,” Lou said.

  “I don’t even know her name,” Collin said weakly.

  “I thought you said you’ve talked to her,” Lou protested.

  “I’ve said hello and things like that,” Collin replied, taking a nervous swig from his glass. “But I haven’t really talked to her, and I don’t know her name.”

  “Dude, she’s looking right at you,” Allen said, nudging him in the ribs.

  Collin looked up and smiled foolishly. The girl smiled back and gave an embarrassed little wave.

  “Go!” Lou hissed, surreptitiously grabbing Collin by the back of his blazer and urging him away from them.

  Before he knew it, Collin was standing there in an empty space, his friends jerking their heads at him like idiots and the girl smiling patiently from the other side of the bar. He took a deep breath and worked his way through the crowd.

  By the time he got to the other side, it was too late. A big guy with a gold watch wearing a dark Armani suit had wedged himself right up alongside her and was already making his pitch. Collin dipped his head and slipped past as if he were really on his way to the rest-room after all. He was struck by the strong smell of the man’s cologne and further reminded of his own tousled appearance. But as he passed, the girl reached out and tugged him toward her. Collin stumbled and bumped into the guy sitting on the next stool.

  “Excuse me,” the girl said abruptly to the interloper, “this is my husband.”

  Collin met the other man’s hostile glare with a confused look. Then, without thinking, he bent down and kissed the girl on her cheek.

  “Hi,” he said, then straightened up and gave the other guy his best forbidding Secret Service look. The man opened his mouth as if to speak, but his resolve visibly wavered and he quickly melted away. Collin turned to the girl with a grin.

  “I never saw that before,” he said.

  “It worked,” she told him. “I’m Leena.”

  “I’m Collin,” he said, taking her hand. “Collin Ford. I’m the guy from—”

  “The coffee shop,” she said with a suppressed smile. “I know. I was wondering if you were ever going to talk to me.”

  “You were?” he asked.

  Leena nodded and said, “I’m not very good at meeting people. I’m new here. I guess you’ve been here for a while. I saw your friends . . .”

  “About three years,” he told her. “Originally from New York.”

  “The city?”

  “Close by,” he said. “Now I’m with the Secret Service.”

  “Not very secretive, are you?” she said archly.

  Collin blushed despite himself.

  “Your friends are staring at us,” she added with a smile.

  He gave them a dirty look, but all that did was incite them. “They’re morons,” he said.

  “Want to go someplace that isn’t so . . . crowded?” she suggested.

  “Sure.”

  Collin led her out into the fog. She had a dark full-length coat over her arm and she stopped outside the door to put it on. Collin helped. The shapeless coat hid her spectacular form and left Collin eager to get to someplace warm where she would take it off again.

  “Thank you,” she said in a soft tone that thrilled him. She was almost too sweet.

  He started down toward the water but she said, “No, let’s go this way. I know a good place.”

  He shrugged and walked along with her in the mist past storefronts, restaurants, and bars.

  “How about here?” she said, pointing around the corner to an out-of-the-way place. They went down a small set of stairs into what was once a cellar. It was darker than Harpoon Alley, darker and dingier, yet Collin felt remarkably at ease. They found a pair of empty stools at the long bar in the back corner.

  “Can I take your coat?” Collin asked.

  Leena pulled the garment tight to her shoulders and with a feigned shiver said, “No, thanks. May
be after a drink.”

  A lanky bartender who wore two silver hoop earrings as well as a thick dark beard ambled over and asked what they wanted.

  “How about a vodka?” Leena said, looking at Collin expectantly. “I’m not much of a drinker, but sometimes I think it’s the best thing in the world to take away a chill.”

  Collin hesitated, but only for a moment. “Sure.”

  “Two doubles,” she told the bartender, “straight up.”

  Collin fished out his wallet and slapped a fifty-dollar bill down on the bar without comment. He never noticed that while the bartender filled his glass with vodka he gave the girl nothing but water.

  When the drinks came, Leena held hers in the air and touched Collin’s glass. “To new places, new friends,” she said, and with a mischievous smile added, “and secret agents . . .”

  “I said Secret Service,” he told her, smiling also. He liked her sense of humor. And in fact, as they talked, he found he liked everything about her. Leena was remarkably similar to his ex-girlfriend. They both had fathers who were bankers. They both had studied fine arts, rode horses, and loved the symphony. The similarities didn’t even bother him. For nearly a year now, anything that reminded him of Amanda had caused a pang of regret. But Leena was like an improved version of his old girlfriend. She had none of Amanda’s haughty and sometimes frigid nature. Leena was warm and open. Before Collin knew it, he was dead drunk.

  He was buzzing comfortably when she finally said in a bashful whisper, “I’d like to go home with you.”

  He looked at her, stunned. Tears were welling up in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Leena blinked and looked up at him through her long lashes. “I’m just so lonely. I haven’t been with anyone in so long. I’m sorry. I know it’s not right, but I can’t help it. I’ve seen you now for weeks and I think about you all the time. I can’t help wanting to be with you . . .”

  Collin almost choked. “No, no, no,” he slurred. “Don’t you worry. I don’t mind. I’d love to have you come home with me. Please, come . . .”

  She smiled tentatively and stood up. Her coat fell open, and the sight of her perfect body thrilled him. But when he rose, Collin staggered half a step backward. Leena helped him into his jacket like a mother sending her son off to school. She pulled her own coat close around her shoulders and tied it tightly at the waist. Then she hooked her arm through his and led him through the bar with her head slightly inclined so that the curtain of dark hair hid her face until they walked up the dirty stone steps and out into the cool damp night.