Storm cycle, p.23
Storm Cycle, page 23
“Ouch. You know I’d never have said that if I’d thought you were really doing that. I’ve never seen anyone who looked less ill.”
“I didn’t mind. I can accept rudeness more easily than cloying pity.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” He smiled. “But I promise I’ll make up for my rudeness. Ask anything, and it’s yours. Put me to the test.”
“Really? You sure know how to spoil a girl.”
“I like to make my guests comfortable.”
“Even at thirty-seven thousand feet.”
“Especially at thirty-seven thousand feet. Flying can be such a hassle.”
Allie sat up on one elbow, staring at him. Demanski possessed the same charm and confidence she had seen in television interviews, but in person, his bravado was tempered a bit. A definite improvement, she thought.
“I still haven’t figured something out,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Why are you bothering with this treasure hunt of ours?”
“You don’t think it’s worthwhile?”
“Of course I do. But you don’t need this. Flying around the world in your luxury jet, checking in on your billion-dollar casinos with Oscar-winning actresses on your arm.”
He held up his hands. “Nominees only, I’m afraid. Get your facts straight. I’ve never dated an Oscar winner.”
“My mistake.”
“And I’m always on the lookout for a good business opportunity.”
“I’m sure you have many opportunities that are far less risky than this.”
“True. But as your sister pointed out, I’m a fan of the big idea. The game changer. There aren’t many things out there that can rewrite the rule book. But if this works out, we’ll be part of something incredible.”
“I can’t think that big. For me, it’s just about staying alive.”
“You’ve been doing a good job of it so far.”
“I have. I’ve been beating the odds since I was thirteen years old. But there are things I can’t do.”
“Like what?”
“Like having a family.”
“You can have children, can’t you?”
“I think so. But every time I think about it, I get another reminder that I might not be around to see them grow up. Just last week, I started losing my peripheral vision. I think it’s stopped, but you never know. On top of that, GLD is a genetic disease. I had adult-onset GLD, but when it hits infants, it’s almost always fatal by the age of two. I just can’t risk it.”
“Too bad. Is there a man in your life?”
“No one special. You wouldn’t believe how many guys out there try to cast themselves as my rescuer. It’s the Galahad complex. Needless to say, I don’t keep them around long.”
“Needless to say.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the dresser. “Meeting you on this trip was actually a pleasant surprise. My intel didn’t tell me you were a part of this expedition.”
“Last-minute addition.”
“I spoke with Rachel about you in Las Vegas, but I didn’t tell her how taken I was with your paintings.”
She gazed at him in surprise. “You’ve seen my work?”
Demanski nodded. “I’d never seen your paintings in person, but I’ve recently spent a lot of time looking at them online. They’re very powerful.”
“Thank you.”
He raised his index finger. “Don’t go away.”
“Where would I go?”
Demanski disappeared through the doorway. In less than a minute, he returned with a large, framed painting. He turned it around to show Allie a landscape with a tiny lone figure on a hilltop dwarfed by a massive evening sky.
Allie’s eyes widened. “That’s one of mine!”
“I know.”
“Where did you get it?”
“The Tauck Gallery in Denver. I saw it on their online catalog and couldn’t get it out of my mind. I had them bring it to the airport, and I stopped and picked it up on my way out of the country.”
Allie scrambled to the edge of the bed to get a closer look at the painting. “It’s called Biography. I sold it to a collector in New Mexico a few years ago. I didn’t know it was back on the market.”
“Lucky for me it was.” Demanski placed the painting on the dresser and gently leaned it against the wall.
Allie stared at it for a long moment. “It’s always hard for me to part with my work. They’re pieces of me, you know?”
“That’s why there’s such passion there.” Demanski crouched to look at the painting head-on. “The gallery owner gave me her interpretation of it. In her opinion, you’re showing how overwhelming the universe is. How it can overpower you and make you feel insignificant.”
“Really?” Allie studied the painting, as if trying to see it with different eyes. “Do you agree with that?”
“Not at all.”
She turned from the painting to look at his face. Demanski suddenly looked older now that he wasn’t trying to be glib. His eyebrows were no longer raised as impish arches, and his jaw wasn’t set as firmly.
Not older, she decided. More mature. Grounded. And yes, dammit, fascinating.
“What do you think I’m saying?” she asked.
“This figure on the landscape isn’t overwhelmed by anything. It’s taking in the majesty of it all, enjoying the infinite possibilities. It’s a big world out there, but that’s what makes it so wonderful. There’s a feeling of excitement, not dread. I see hope.”
Allie smiled.
He turned toward her. “So who’s right? Me or the gallery owner?”
“Artists shouldn’t impose their thoughts on the people who experience their work.”
“Don’t give me that. What is this about? Hope or dread?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“It matters to me.”
She looked away for a moment. “It’s exactly as you said. Hope.”
“I knew it. But I’m glad to hear you say it.”
“I only get afraid when options are taken away. In my mind, there’s nothing overwhelming about a world of possibilities. This is a celebration, not a requiem. I’m surprised at that gallery owner.”
“It says more about her outlook on life than yours. Or mine.”
He picked up the painting, but Allie raised her hands to stop him. “Would you mind . . . leaving it here for a while?”
He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. I’ll prop it up down here on the floor. I’d hate for it to get knocked around by turbulence.”
“Thank you.”
He carefully positioned the painting. “There. But don’t get used to having it around. I’m very fond of this piece, and it’s not for sale.”
FIFTEEN
RIVER OAKS COUNTRY CLUB
HOUSTON, TEXAS
“Gentlemen. How nice to see you. I didn’t know you played golf.” Carlos Dobal smiled at Finley and Gonzalez as they approached him on the fairway. He was a tall, good-looking man who spoke with only a trace of a Spanish accent.
“We don’t play golf,” Finley said.
“You should. Did you know that your police chief’s promotion was decided somewhere between here and that hill over there?”
“Damn,” Gonzalez said. “And here I thought it was because he was a decent cop.”
Dobal shrugged. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“We’re investigating the campus shooting. You’ve heard about it?”
“Of course. Your suspect was found dead, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Finley said. “But we still don’t know who he is or who he was working for.”
“Fingerprints?”
“We have a complete set, but no match. No match on the facial scans, either. But we have reason to believe that the NSA knows who he is. They seized the corpse and the weapon just a few hours ago.”
“Interesting. Did they offer an explanation?”
“No. And we’re still trying to work this case. Can you help us?”
“What help do you think I can be?”
“I believe we both know what you can do for us.” Finley paused. “If you’d be so kind, Mr. Dobal.”
Dobal looked down and away from them.
Finley studied him as he waited for his answer. Dobal looked remarkably the same as he had when they first met four years before. The man’s wife and child had been kidnapped by an old enemy from his days as a Spanish intelligence agent, and Finley and his then-partner had succeeded in bringing them back unharmed.
But at a terrible cost.
“How is Detective Pace’s family?” Dobal asked.
“Her husband got remarried last year, and they moved to Oregon. I think her two girls are doing well.”
Dobal nodded. “Such a tragedy. I think of her often.”
“Me too.”
“Whatever happiness I have in my life, I owe to her.” He looked up at Finley. “And to you, Detective. What do you need?”
“Since our own intelligence agencies seem to be stonewalling us, I wondered if you might go to your own sources. Maybe some of your old colleagues will be more forthcoming.”
“What do you have?”
Gonzalez handed him a large manila envelope. “This is everything we have on the corpse. Prints, photographs, dental X-rays, body scans, the works. Something in here triggered the NSA to swing into action. We’d like to know what it is.”
Dobal placed the envelope on the seat of his golf cart. “You know, of course, I’m now just a dull, ordinary investment counselor. I don’t have direct access to any of the databases you probably require.”
“But you know people who do, right?”
“Possibly.” Dobal reached into his golf bag and selected an iron. “But I know from personal experience that the NSA agents may have a good reason for keeping you in the dark.”
“Even if it means that we can’t do our jobs?”
“Yes. This may not be only for the sake of their interests, but for your sakes as well.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Gonzalez said.
“Once you start down this path, there may be no going back. I daresay those NSA agents have a much better idea what awaits you than you do. Are you sure you want to venture into this territory?”
Finley nodded. “We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t. Rachel Kirby is an innocent victim of whatever is going on. She deserves to be protected. I don’t want this case buried in a NSA TOP SECRET BOX somewhere.”
“Very well.” Dobal walked toward his ball on the green. “And do consider taking up golf, gentlemen. It’s a very relaxing game.”
CHICAGO-WAUKEGAN REGIONAL AIRPORT
WAUKEGAN, ILLINOIS
Rachel frowned as she watched the fire red Maserati speed away from the aircraft hangar. Demanski and Allie never looked back as they roared through the complex’s main gate.
“I wish she’d stayed with us,” Rachel said.
“Splitting up the dual surveillance on Wiley made sense. Demanski said he needed to pick up a report on Wiley in person.”
“He didn’t have to take Allie.”
“As I recall, she volunteered.”
Rachel grimaced. “Yeah. That Maserati may have had something to do with it. Allie loves fine cars.” For the major part of the journey, she had watched Allie and Demanski talking and joking together like old friends. “But I think she likes him.”
“I understand he has a certain appeal to some people.” Tavak slung his travel bag over his shoulder. “To tell the truth, I’m glad your sister is there to keep an eye on Demanski.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“I do. Sort of. But he’s an opportunist, and I feel better knowing that Allie can report back on what he’s doing.”
“Do you think they’ll come up with anything?”
“Demanski says he already has someone monitoring Dr. Wiley’s telephone and e-mail communications, just in case Dawson tries to make contact.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that part.”
Tavak laughed. “Dawson tried to kill me, and I do believe those were real bullets whizzing by your head at Hearst Castle the other night. You’re upset by somebody reading his e-mail?”
“Sounds ridiculous, I know. Somehow, a bullet in Dawson’s brain seems less objectionable to me than invading his privacy. I guess that’s something I need to get over.”
“Immediately.”
They walked toward a black Escalade SUV parked just outside the hangar. Tavak opened the rear hatch and tossed his and Rachel’s bags inside. “Funny how Demanski rented that hot little Maserati for himself and this behemoth for us.”
“Well, I feel better in this.”
“I do too, actually. It’s more inconspicuous if we’re going to be tailing someone around the streets of Chicago. Too bad Demanski didn’t show a bit more restraint with his own car.”
“The words ‘Demanski’ and ‘restraint’ should never appear together in the same sentence.” Rachel suddenly realized something. “I think that’s why Allie is drawn to him. She’s been restrained by her illness and fighting those strictures for most of her life. Demanski’s recklessness and flaunting the rules must be very appealing.”
“You’re not worried that she might be unduly influenced?”
“Allie’s no fool. She might enjoy him, but she’s too strong to let him change anything about her.”
“Then there’s no problem. You know her better than I—” Tavak’s cell phone rang, and he picked up. “Tavak.”
“You tried to shut me out, dammit. Okay, so I told you no more tombs, but I can handle—”
“Ben?”
“Yes. You should have come to me first. You’ve known me a hell of a lot longer than Nuri.”
“You’re still in the hospital, dammit.”
“No, I’m in London.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“I’m fine. A little wonky, but at least I’m not bored. That hospital was driving me nuts.”
“Ben, go back to the hospital.”
“Nope. I’m on the job. Nuri and I will get back to you as soon as we find out something.”
“Is Nuri there? Let me talk to him.”
A moment later Nuri was on the line. “I’m sorry, it was necessary that I either bring him or have him follow me.”
“How bad is he?”
“Not too bad. The hospital would have released him within a few days anyway.”
Tavak muttered a curse. “Listen to me. Take care of him. Sometimes he’s—Don’t let him do too much.”
“Trust me. I know he’s your friend.” He paused. “But now he’s my friend, too. I will watch over him. And now I must go because Ben is looking at me with extreme indignation. Goodbye.”
“Your friend, Ben?” Rachel asked, as Tavak hung up.
Tavak nodded jerkily. “He checked himself out of the hospital and tagged along to London with Nuri.”
“Nuri seemed to be very capable.” She studied him. “But you’re not with Ben, guiding, watching him yourself. You don’t like that. You’re very protective.”
“Yeah, that’s why I almost got him killed in that tomb. Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now.” Tavak checked his watch. “Ready to go to school?”
It took less than an hour for Rachel and Tavak to drive to the University of Chicago, park, and make their way to the five-hundred-seat auditorium where Dr. James Wiley was lecturing.
As they entered the hall and allowed their eyes to adjust to the darkness, Rachel realized that Wiley was speaking on the subject of Babylonian customs. He spoke in a painful monotone, and to illustrate his lecture, he used a large projection screen and a particularly unimaginative PowerPoint slide presentation.
Rachel glanced around the auditorium. “These poor kids,” she whispered.
“Half of them are asleep,” Tavak said. “Can you blame them?”
Wiley pulled up another slide of a colorful painting. “For the next hour, we’ll take a look at some of the headpieces of this era . . .”
Rachel was sure she heard about two hundred anguished sighs in the room.
“That’s our cue,” Tavak said. “Let’s go.”
Tavak was already out of his seat and heading for the door. Rachel ran to follow him.
Outside, in the bright sunlight, Tavak briefly consulted a campus map on his phone before pointing to another building. “His office is over there in Haskell Hall. He just told us the coast will be clear for the next hour.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Remember that thing we decided you needed to get over?”
“Invading people’s privacy?”
“Yes. Over it yet?”
“Guess I’d better be,” she said, as they walked into the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Tavak consulted a scrap of paper as they walked past a row of faculty offices. They finally stopped at a door with a typewritten card affixed to it that read DR. JAMES WILEY and listed office hours. Before Rachel even realized what was happening, Tavak had jimmied the door and was ushering her inside.
“You did that way too fast,” she said.
“I admit I’ve done this once or twice before.” He pulled her into the office and closed the door behind them.
Rachel flipped on the lights to reveal a small, windowless room with a desk, a set of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a long table covered with what appeared to be ancient stone cookware.
Tavak leaned over the desk and looked at Wiley’s computer monitor. “His e-mail application is open.”
“Is there anything there?”
“You mean a subject heading that says ‘come look at our stolen Egyptian artifact’?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Tavak scrolled though Wiley’s e-mails for the previous week. “Afraid not. And nothing about plane reservations or travel plans of any kind. Too bad.”
Tavak reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black box the size of a pack of cigarettes. He pulled off an adhesive backing and affixed the box to the underside of Wiley’s desk.
