“Was there something more you wanted to discuss?” she asked finally.
“We haven’t found her body yet.”
“Madeleine Grant?”
“Well, yes. Her, too. But I was referring to Abby Hollister—if that was her real name.” Michaelson gave Tess a hard stare. “You, of course, have no idea what she was doing in the storm sewers?”
“No.”
“You never saw her down there?”
“Of course not.”
“She was some kind of operator, obviously. All her paper was forged. Good-quality stuff. She knew what she was doing.”
“Apparently so.”
“At least, until she drove into the tunnels during a rainstorm. She must have drowned.”
“Must have. If that’s all you need to discuss…”
She made a motion to rise. Michaelson waved her back to her seat. “We’re not through yet, Agent McCallum.”
Another silence stretched between them. Tess began to wonder if he’d learned the truth about Abby and was simply prolonging the tension before he made a formal accusation of misconduct.
“Do they really call me that?” he asked at last.
She blinked. “Call you what?”
“The Nose.”
“Oh.”
“Do they?”
“No,” she said. “I made it up. I apologize. It was childish of me.”
Michaelson studied her, uncertain whether he could believe her. After a few seconds he looked away, perhaps preferring not to know. “Apology accepted. You’ve seen Larkin, I’m sure.”
“Yes, at the hospital. His prognosis is good.”
“Crandall did a fine job getting him out of there. Both agents will receive commendations. Agent Larkin will, however, be sidelined for several months of rehabilitation. I’ll be needing a replacement. A new deputy to the assistant director. It’s quite a prestigious post, as you know.”
She began to see where this was leading, but she couldn’t believe it. Michaelson would never—never—make her this offer.
“Yes.” She watched him with almost impersonal fascination.
“Well, you see…” He swallowed hard, as if fighting to suppress a bad taste in his mouth. “FBI HQ thinks it would be a good idea, from a public-relations standpoint…that is, considering the success you’ve enjoyed in Los Angeles on two separate occasions…considering the reputation you’ve made for yourself in this town…”
Now it made sense. It hadn’t been his idea at all. Washington was forcing him to offer her the post. And he was hating every minute of it.
Tess leaned back in her chair. The meeting had turned out to be fun.
“What I’m saying is, the position is open, and it”—he pronounced the words with visible effort—“it can be yours. If you want it.”
She let him dangle for an unconscionably long moment.
“I don’t,” she said. “Thanks, anyway.”
He cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard. “You don’t?”
“No, Richard. I don’t. I like Denver. I like running things. Working in LA as your deputy is not my idea of a good time.”
“I assure you, the discomfort entailed by that arrangement would be mutual.”
“If you keep on sweet-talking me like that, I might change my mind.”
He studied her. “I don’t understand you, McCallum. Anyone else would jump at the chance to be assigned to this office—especially at such a high level. I won’t be here forever. When I move on, you’d be poised to take over as assistant director.”
“Sounds good on paper. But I’m not sure I’m cut out to be an assistant director.”
“You’ll get no argument from me about that.”
She winced, knowing she’d set herself up for that one. “The higher you go in the bureaucracy, the more your job is about politics and not about the work. I want it to be about the work.”
“Well, good for you. You keep doing the work, and I’ll keep moving up the ladder. Then when I get to be director, I’ll have the pleasure of firing you. It will be my first official act. After that, you won’t have the work anymore. You won’t have anything.”
“You’re a charmer, Richard. Don’t ever change.” Tess rose. “Are we done?”
“Thankfully, yes.”
She was opening the door when he said, “You didn’t seem surprised.”
“By the job offer? I have a poker face.”
“I meant you weren’t surprised to hear that Abby Hollister’s body hasn’t been found.”
“Should I have been?”
Michaelson looked at her across the office. “I know you’re holding out on me. And I intend to get to the bottom of things sooner or later. Unless you’d care to unburden yourself right now.”
She hesitated. “All right, Richard. I have to admit, I’ve been lying to you.”
He leaned forward, his face drawn taut with anticipation. “Have you?”
“I’m afraid so. Actually, they do call you the Nose. Well, I shouldn’t say they. I should say we. As in all of us, everybody, all the time. It’s a semiofficial nickname, I guess.”
“Get out, Tess.”
“Don’t take it personally. That particular feature of yours just happens to be the only thing about you that makes a lasting impression.”
“Get out.”
She left the office. As she rode the elevator, she activated her cell phone, which had somehow survived her underwater adventure, and called Josh Green, the Denver ASAC.
“I’m coming home,” she said. “I need an airport pickup at four.” She told him the airline and flight number.
“It’ll be arranged. Congratulations, Tess. You’re all over the news. A media superstar—again.”
“I don’t want to be a superstar.” She got off at the ground floor. “By the way…is that dinner invitation still open?”
“You taking me up on it?”
“I am.”
“What happened to the unwritten rule against fraternizing with a subordinate?”
“I’ve decided there are some occasions when it may—just may—be permissible to break the rules. I’ll see you, Josh.”
“We’ll leave a light on for you.”
She found Crandall in the parking lot by the Bureau sedan she’d commandeered on Monday night. It was his car again. He slid behind the wheel, and she slipped into the passenger seat.
“LAX, here we come,” Crandall said, shifting into drive. “How about some music for the trip?”
“I’m not in a Sinatra kind of mood.”
“Me neither. After last night, I may never be a Rat Packer again. What do you say we go classic country?”
He switched on the radio. A clear tenor voice filled the speakers. John Denver singing “Rocky Mountain High.”
“Appropriate, given your destination,” Crandall said.
“The song title? Or his last name?”
“Both, actually. Maybe it’s a…what’s the word…synchronicity.”
“A sign from above. Could be.” Tess smiled. “A little pat on the back, a way of saying, ‘Job well done.’”
“You deserve it.”
“I think it’s meant for both of us.”
Crandall pulled onto the San Diego Freeway, heading south. Traffic was light under a cloudless sky. “Hey, you know what? I got a call from my father.”
“I’ll bet he’s proud of you.”
“Claims he is. I didn’t have the heart tell him all I really did was fall on my ass.”
“You survived a firefight in close quarters. You kept your head. You got Larkin to safety. Don’t sell yourself short.”
He was embarrassed but, she thought, secretly pleased. “At least I’ve proven I’m not a complete screw-up at everything I try.”
“There you go. That’s the attitude.”
“Can’t believe it was Mason, though. I mean, he was so friendly to me. Sucked me right in.”
“Me, too.”
“And all the time he was j
ust trolling for info. And I gave it to him.”
“Everybody did. He was the civilian liaison. He sat in on the meetings. He knew everything—which entryways would be watched, which neighborhoods we would concentrate on. He knew it all, courtesy of his friends at the FBI.”
“But you weren’t fooled.”
“Sure I was.”
“Not in the tunnels. If you had been, he would’ve gotten the drop on you. And don’t tell me it was just luck.”
Tess thought of the phone call that had saved her life. “No,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t luck.”
They rode into the midday glare. Crandall flipped down the visor to shield his eyes. “Hear the forecast?” he asked. “No more storms. Sunshine as far as the eye can see.”
She looked at him. He was so young. “Don’t believe it, Rick. It always rains eventually.”
“All the more reason to enjoy the blue skies while they last.”
Tess couldn’t argue with that. She turned up the radio and let the music take her home.
Author’s Note
The Los Angeles storm-drain system is every bit as labyrinthine and treacherous as this story indicates, and has been put to good use in many previous thrillers, among them the film noir classic He Walked By Night, the great science-fiction movie Them!, and Michael Connelly’s outstanding debut novel, The Black Echo. Although it’s true that some foolhardy adventure seekers enjoy “infiltrating” storm sewers, this pastime is more than perilous—it can be suicidal, even on days without rain. Don’t try it. The life you save will be your own.
The two protagonists in Dangerous Games have appeared separately in two earlier books of mine. Tess McCallum is featured in Next Victim, while Abby Sinclair is the focus of The Shadow Hunter.
The fragments of Hegel quoted in the story are generally accurate, though sometimes slightly reworded for easier reading. The poem containing the famous line “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul” is “Invictus” (1875) by William Ernest Henley. The quotation from the Book of Judges that serves as an epigraph is from the King James Version of the Bible.
I’d like to thank all the people who helped me with Dangerous Games, especially: Doug Grad, senior editor at New American Library, who first suggested having a couple of my previous characters team up; copy editor Tiffany Yates, who caught a lot of mistakes; my agent, Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich Literary Management, who handled the project with her trademark expertise and care; and Miriam Goderich, also of DGLM, who offered helpful comments and counsel.
As always, readers are invited to visit my Web site at www.michaelprescott.net, where you’ll find information on my other books, as well as interviews, essays, deleted material from some of my earlier titles, and an e-mail address if you’d like to contact me.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Quote
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
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Author’s Note
Dangerous Games Page 35