Текст книги "The Naked Edge"

Автор книги: David Morrell

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^{"Hands behind your back," Russell told Cavanaugh}

^{The lieutenant clicked handcuffs onto him.}

^{The policewoman did the same to Jamie and Kim.}

^{"Is the van here?" Russell asked a policeman.}

^{Cavanaugh managed to stand.}

^{Preceded and followed by police officers, he, Jamie, and Kim left the apartment. On the stairs, a camera flashed, a medical examiner and his team inspecting the other gunman Jamie had shot.}

^{Cavanaugh descended. The smell of burnt gunpowder widened his nostrils. He stepped over empty ammunition casings and left the building, confronted by the chaos of flashing lights, police cars, ambulances, and several hundred onlookers.}

^{Chapter 15.}

^{As Aaron emerged from the building into the kaleidoscope of lights, Carl almost pulled the trigger. Aaron had his hands cuffed behind him. He had policemen ahead of him, policemen behind him, and two women next to him. One of the women, Chinese, was the GPS computer expert whose apartment Carl had ordered watched. The other woman was the one he'd seen in Jackson Hole. Aaron's wife.}

^{Carl studied her. Tall, wearing slacks, with legs that drew his gaze from her ankles to her inviting hips. Athletically trim, with upward-tilted breasts that made him imagine standing behind her, cupping his hands over them. Glossy brunette hair that he wanted to stroke. Eyes so intense Carl felt their power even on the roof across the street. Aaron, you and I always had the same great taste.}

^{Do it , Carl told himself. Shoot . But no matter how much he wanted to, he mustered the discipline that he had not possessed while he and Aaron had been in Delta Force and later when they'd worked for Global Protective Services. No "I" in "team"? I understand that now , he thought.}

^{No self-control? Not then. Not when I took out that sentry with a knife instead of obeying the order to kill him with a sound-suppressed pistol. Not when I stabbed that crazy fan when he pulled out a knife and attacked that rock-star babe. No, I learned my lesson, Aaron. You and Duncan taught me that lesson. I spent a lot of time on shit jobs learning that lesson. Stay cool. Keep the mission in mind. Don't get distracted. Don't screw things up for a moment's satisfaction. I learned that lesson so well, I could teach you. But if I shoot, I'll never get off this rooftop and make it to where Raoul's waiting with the car. Right now, there's only one thing more important than killing you, and I'm so cool, so disciplined, so in control, that's what I'm going to do.}

^{Carl pulled a transmitter from his pocket. When he pressed a button, a green light flashed. Then he pressed a second button.}

^{Chapter 16.}

^{Uneasy, Cavanaugh stood at the entrance to the building. Partially blinded by the flashing lights, he watched attendants wheel the injured gunmen toward two ambulances. We got what we need , he thought. When they're conscious, we can question them. We can find out where Carl trains his men.}

^{"I want an officer in each ambulance," Lt. Russell said.}

^{Two policemen stepped toward the vehicles as the attendants shut the doors, and suddenly the ambulances heaved, explosions shattering their windows, blasting their rear doors open. The shockwaves knocked the ambulance attendants and the policemen to the pavement. Others stumbled back. Bystanders ran. Many screamed.}

^{" Bombs? " Russell spun toward Cavanaugh. "What the hell's going on? How did–"}

^{"Wyoming," Cavanaugh said, trying to recover from his shock. His skin itching from wariness, he nudged Jamie back with him into the cover of the building's vestibule. Kim noticed and retreated with them as Cavanaugh scanned the roof on the opposite side of the street. He lowered his gaze toward the windows and the entrances to the brownstones, but the emergency vehicles and the flashing lights made it difficult to see much of anything at street level.}

^{"Wyoming? What are you talking about?" Russell demanded.}

^{Emergency personnel ran toward the ambulances. Smoke drifted from the open doors.}

^{"That's where this started." Cavanaugh stepped deeper into the building, Jamie and Kim following. "A hit team tried to kill me there, also."}

^{Russell stared.}

^{"When two members of the team were about to be captured, their car blew apart," Cavanaugh told him.}

^{Russell stared harder.}

^{"We think the team's leader planted a bomb under the car and used a remote control to detonate it–to keep them from being questioned. Earlier, somebody on the team shot a sniper working for them, presumably because he couldn't be counted on to keep his mouth shut."}

^{"You're telling me, the guy who organized this attack watched from down the street and blew up his men when he saw them being carried out alive?" Russell asked in dismay.}

^{"He might be out there even now," Cavanaugh said, prompting Russell to turn and scan the street with the intensity that Cavanaugh did.}

^{"How the hell could he put a bomb on his men without them knowing about it or us finding it?"}

^{A frenzied voice shouted from one of the ambulances, "They're blown in half at the waist."}

^{"The plastic sheaths," Cavanaugh said.}

^{"Sheaths?" Russell's voice was raw.}

^{"For the knife each man had. Your people took the knives but left the sheaths. The plastic must have had explosive in it, along with a miniature detonator."}

^{For the first time, Russell was speechless.}

^{"Carl was here, watching us go into the building." Cavanaugh felt a chill. From the building's vestibule, he stared toward the crowd across the street. "Maybe he's still watching. Maybe he's up on a roof with a rifle. Lieutenant, have you still got that earbud and microphone?"}

^{Russell pulled them from a suit pocket.}

^{"Put the radio receiver in my ear," Cavanaugh said, feeling helpless with his hands cuffed behind him.}

^{Russell hesitated, then did what Cavanaugh wanted.}

^{"Please put the battery back in the microphone and raise it to my mouth," Cavanaugh said.}

^{After less hesitation, Russell did.}

^{"Carl?" Cavanaugh asked.}

^{All he heard was static.}

^{"Carl, I know you're out there. You're probably watching the entrance to this building."}

^{More static.}

^{"Carl, I think I know how you've been training your recruits. Remember those visualization courses our special-ops instructors arranged for us to take. We couldn't get over how fast visualization accelerates the learning curve. You used that technique reinforced by movies and video games, right? It's an efficient way to program someone."}

^{Only static.}

^{"I don't know what your objective is," Cavanaugh said into the microphone Russell held in front of him. "But I know you're behind all this, so there's no point in continuing to try to kill me. It won't make a difference. Nothing's going to divert suspicion from you. So quit taking the risk. I'm a worthless target."}

^{Cavanaugh strained to listen to the plug in his ear, to ignore all the distracting shouts, doors slamming, the drone of automobile engines before him, the rumble of footsteps on stairs behind him.}

^{The static changed subtly. Carl's voice, unheard for so many years, said, "You should have been a better friend."}

^{Then the static changed again, as if the transmission ended.}

^{Cavanaugh told Russell, "You can put the microphone away. He's gone."}

^"Carl?"

^{"Carl Duran," Cavanaugh said. "You and I have a lot to talk about."}

^{Russell pulled a two-way radio from his belt. "Randall, get a SWAT team down here. Tell your men to check the roofs."}

^{"What are we looking for?" a voice asked.}

^{"If I'm to believe what I'm hearing: the prince of darkness."}

^{" Who? "}

^{"A guy who doesn't leave loose ends. I'll get you a description as soon as–"}

^{"Six feet tall," Cavanaugh said. "Lean. Women find him attractive until they discover he almost never smiles. Strong arms, particularly his forearms, from working with a hammer and anvil."}

^{"A blacksmith?" Russell asked.}

^{"A master knife maker," Cavanaugh said. "He spends a lot of time thinking about blades and sheaths. I guess it finally occurred to him how sheaths could be weapons, also."}

^{Russell stared toward the ambulances and the blood on their shattered windows. "Yeah," he said, "you and I definitely have a lot to talk about."}

^*

^{PART SIX:}

^{THE KNIVES OF OLD SAN FRANCISCO}

^{Chapter 1.}

^{Kim threw up again.}

^{A policeman hurried toward a door in the harsh corridor, only to be blocked by Lt. Russell, who suddenly opened the door. Russell was accompanied by two other grim-faced men, one white, the other black: William Faraday and John Rutherford.}

^{". . . sick," the policeman explained to Russell, pointing toward the holding cell. "The Chinese woman's throwing up."}

^{"My client demands medical help," William said.}

^{"And believe me, counselor, she'll get it. I'll send for the police chief's personal physician if that'll make you happy."}

^{" Nothing makes me happy."}

^{"I already got that impression." Russell turned to the policeman. "Send for a doctor."}

^{The group marched along the corridor, stopping in front of the cell, where Russell motioned for an officer to unlock the door.}

^{"Hi, William. Hello, John," Cavanaugh said as they stepped in.}

^{Kim threw up again.}

^{"What's wrong with her?" Russell asked.}

^{"Back injury," Jamie explained. "She needs a pain killer."}

^{"Like more of those OxyContin pills we found in her apartment?" Russell asked.}

^{"Those pills belonged to the attackers," William said.}

^{"Yeah, right," Russell said.}

^{"In the frenzy of the moment, the pills fell out of a gunman's pocket," the attorney said. "That's the sort of man who'd be capable of that kind of violence. A pill popper. A drug addict."}

^{"Whatever you say," Russell told him.}

^{"And you had plenty to say." William turned to Cavanaugh. "I told you to volunteer nothing but your name and your vital statistics."}

^{"It's nice to see you , too, William."}

^{"But the lieutenant tells me you pretty much gave him your life history. If you want to be your own attorney, why drag me down here?"}

^{"Hey, I thought I was doing you a favor, freeing you from your safe site," Cavanaugh told him.}

^{"Well, you didn't do me any favor–" Lt. Russell pointed toward the black man next to him. "–bringing in the FBI. At the start, I figured you were bullshitting me to try to talk your way out of that shooting. Now the director of the FBI's counterterrorist unit invokes national security."}

^{"Bottom line," Rutherford told Cavanaugh. "You're coming with me."}

^{"But that doesn't stop me from trying to untangle this mess," Russell said. "We managed to get fingerprints from the men who were killed in those blasts. It won't be long before we find out who they were. Maybe that information will lead us to your ex-buddy Carl Duran."}

^{"Won't help," Cavanaugh said. "You'll discover they got out of prison recently. Probably within the past six weeks. They were doing time for violent offenses, but they each went to a different prison, and they didn't know each other before they went in."}

^{Russell asked Rutherford, "Is this more bullshit?"}

^{"Afraid not."}

^{"Then enlighten me," Russell told Cavanaugh. "Show me how smart you are. How did these guys wind up together?"}

^{"Carl approached them when they got out of prison, and in a brief time, he turned them from being rough criminals into operators."}

^"How?"

^{"I think Carl selects his recruits on the basis of their capacity for violence, their ability to learn, and their need to be somebody important. They're wannabes, guys who'd love to be in Marine Recon, the Rangers, Special Forces, or the SEALs, just to show how tough they are and force people to look up to them. But they don't have the character and the discipline to make the grade. Approach them when they're fresh out of prison with no prospects and no money but a powerful urge to let off the anger they've been building up. Pay them. Flatter them. Use visualization and other accelerated instructional techniques. Give them a chance to play with guns. Six weeks later, their egos are so pumped, they'll do anything to prove to Carl they deserve his respect. Just as important, they're the kind of guys nobody cares about and nobody'll miss. If Carl thinks they're in a position to be captured and questioned, he blows them up. It's like they never existed."}

^{"That's quite a theory," the lieutenant said.}

^{"Help me prove it," Cavanaugh said.}

^{"You suggested I look at places where Carl Duran lived," Rutherford interrupted, "including where he was stationed in the military. We searched for a pattern of cats and dogs that disappeared. Or maybe they didn't disappear. Maybe they showed up in alleys or ditches, with their guts sliced open and their heads cut off. The police and the humane societies had records of clusters like that. In Iowa City, just before Duran moved away. In Nashville, Tennessee, just before he moved from there. In Columbus, Georgia, next to Fort Benning, where he started his Ranger training. In Tacoma, Washington, next to Fort Lewis, where he got more Ranger training. In Fayetteville. North Carolina, next to Fort Bragg, where Delta Force is trained. Especially just before Duran moved to another base or when he left Delta, there was a high incidence of mutilated animals." Rutherford paused. "Then the bodies started turning up."}

^{"Bodies?" Russell asked.}

^{"Winos and homeless people. All of them stabbed to death. Other winos and homeless people spread a rumor about a man who stalked them at night. Under bridges. In storm culverts. In parks and alleys, in abandoned buildings and junk-filled lots. The rumors were about this man kicking drunks awake or knocking cardboard boxes over and making homeless people crawl out. He gave them a knife and told them to fight. Then he went to work. But the patterns of the cuts showed that he took a long time to finish them off."}

^{"Yeah," Russell said. "The prince of darkness."}

^{Kim threw up again.}

^{Chapter 2.}

^{After the doctor left, Cavanaugh and Jamie studied Kim where she lay on the bunk.}

^{"An ambulance is coming," Jamie assured her.}

^{Pale, Kim managed to nod.}

^{"The doctor says you're in stress from withdrawal."}

^{"What time is it?"}

^{"Two in the morning."}

^{"Longest time I've gone without Oxy since last spring. At least, I'm not shitting my pants yet."}

^{"The doctor says he's taking you to a detox clinic," Cavanaugh said.}

^{Kim nodded weakly again.}

^{"He says you asked to be taken there," Cavanaugh added.}

^{"Hey." Kim ran her tongue along her dry lips. "I'm into withdrawal this far. I might as well go all the way."}

^{Cavanaugh noted that Kim didn't qualify her statement by saying she would try to go all the way. "Don't worry about your job. It'll be there when you come back."}

^{Kim crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. "I'm not worried about me . It's the two of you . . ." She shivered harder, asking Jamie, "Do you remember the computer codes?"}

^{"You bet," Jamie said. "Your security's so brilliant, I can't get in otherwise."}

^{"Nail the bastard who's doing this."}

^{Chapter 3.}

^{Lt. Russell arranged for numerous cruisers to leave the precinct at the same time, so many that Carl's operators couldn't follow them all. But if any tried, the sparse traffic of two a.m. would make the surveillance obvious and easily intercepted.}

^{Cavanaugh and Jamie hid in the back seat of one of those cruisers. They got out at Central Park's West Drive, slipped into the trees, and headed north. From time to time, they paused among murky boulders and bushes to check if they were being followed. Only the park's usual predators stalked them, but Cavanaugh and Jamie gave off such strong don't-screw-with-us vibrations that just four kids made a move, and what happened to them was so swift and decisive that word spread quickly– stay away .}

^{Confident that they'd eluded Carl and his men, Cavanaugh and Jamie crossed Eighth Avenue and proceeded along West Seventy-Third Street. They reached a modest apartment building, outside which a man with a beer can in his hand seemed asleep behind the steering wheel of a car. Farther along, a man walked a dog. Still farther along, a van had a small air vent in its roof, the vent actually an aperture for a surveillance camera.}

^{Outside the front door, Cavanaugh studied a list of tenants. He pressed the intercom button next to the name Zimbalist.}

^{After a moment, a man's voice said, "This better be good. It's the middle of the night."}

^{"Jimmy Lile sent us," Jamie said, mentioning a famous knife maker whose name they'd selected as a code.}

^{A buzzer sounded. Cavanaugh opened the door and stepped into a warm, pleasantly lit vestibule. Halfway along a hallway, a door was ajar. A security camera looked down from a corner. They went up one flight of carpeted stairs and prepared to knock on door 2-C when it opened and Rutherford smiled.}

^{"You two don't look so good."}

^{"You don't need to seem so cheery about it," Jamie said.}

^{"I'm just glad you're all right." He locked the door after they entered.}

^{"What about William?" Cavanaugh asked. "Did he get back to his safe site okay?"}

^{"Nobody followed the car."}

^{In the living room, two men in white shirts had their suit coats draped over chairs, their holstered handguns visible on their belts. They watched a row of closed-circuit TV monitors that provided views of the street, the door to the building, the vestibule, and the stairs leading up.}

^{"You ought to feel flattered," Rutherford said. "The Bureau maintains this place only for prized informants."}

^{"The park." Cavanaugh rubbed his arms. "Cold."}

^{"You've got your pick of two bathrooms to take a hot shower."}

^{"Hungry," Jamie said.}

^{"The pizza's already here," Rutherford said. "With pepperonis, right?"}

^{"And anchovies and black olives."}

^{"And salad and garlic bread. Everything you ordered."}

^{Chapter 4.}

^{"Are you okay?" Cavanaugh asked in the darkness of a bedroom}

^{"A few bumps and bruises. Nothing serious." Jamie lay next to him.}

^{"I mean, are you okay ?"}

^{"Why wouldn't I be? It's just the usual, isn't it? Fear and trembling."}

^{"You were talking awfully fast in the kitchen. You sound as if you're on speed."}

^{"Adrenaline will do that."}

^{"It should have worn off by now." The darkness seemed to compress around him.}

^{"I guess I'm resistant," she said.}

^{"I just want to make sure nothing's wrong." The darkness got even thicker.}

^{Jamie lay unmoving next to him. Finally, she said, "You mean because I killed somebody?"}

^{Cavanaugh exhaled."Now that you mention it."}

^{"He was trying to kill us ."}

^{"Best reason in the world to pull the trigger," Cavanaugh agreed. "You didn't panic. You didn't let the heat of the moment make your hands waver. You acted precisely. You saved our lives."}

^{"Is this what the military calls an 'after-action report'?"}

^{"It's useful to talk. To sort out your emotions."}

^{"In other words, a cheap form of psychotherapy." Jamie remained motionless beside him.}

^{"Imagine that you didn't raise your pistol fast enough. Imagine him firing the rifle, full auto, bullets tearing into us, blood and flesh and bone flying, you and Kim and me dropping."}

^{"Trying some neuro-linguistic programming on me?"}

^{"It's nothing I haven't used on myself."}

^{"When was the first time . . ."}

^{"First time?" Outside the curtained, bullet-resistant window, a car drove by, its lonely drone echoing in the night. "You mean, the first time I killed someone?"}

^{Jamie didn't answer.}

^{"Twenty years ago," Cavanaugh said. "In Peru."}

^{Jamie turned toward him. "Isn't that where you told me Duran was held prisoner by revolutionaries?"}

^{"They called themselves the PCP. The Partido Comunista del Peru . American soldiers were down there, helping prop up the government. Carl and I and some other Delta Force members were sent to teach the Peruvian soldiers how to put together their own version of Delta. Lord knows, enough officials had been kidnapped that the local government needed experts in hostage retrieval. We accompanied Peruvian soldiers on a mission to rescue a high-ranking politician. The PCP was threatening to kill him if the government didn't release some PCP members the army was interrogating. But somebody leaked the details of the mission to the revolutionaries, and we walked into an ambush. Carl was knocked unconscious by an explosion. The government soldiers he was with ran away. Later, we received photographs showing that Carl was alive, with a message that gave the government three days to release the PCP agitators."}

^{Cavanaugh forced himself to continue. "Delta looks after its own. Within twenty-four hours, a full extraction team arrived from Fort Bragg. Twelve hours before the deadline expired, we got a lucky break, some excellent intelligence reports along with aerial surveillance photos that showed the mountain camp where Carl was being held. At night, we parachuted into a clearing about three miles away and converged on the target. The infra-red satellite images we'd studied gave us a pretty good idea of where the prisoners, eight of them including Carl, were being held. About twenty revolutionaries were guarding the camp. We used night-vision binoculars to confirm what was on the satellite images. I was with the men assigned to get to the prisoners and protect them once the attack started. Basically, the tactic was coordinated sniper shots followed by overwhelming automatic fire and a hail of fragmentation grenades. It was a textbook assault, and it went perfectly. No casualties among the prisoners or the attack force. The revolutionaries were utterly outclassed."}

^{"You killed some of them? That was your first time?" Jamie asked.}

^{"I laid down covering fire, three thirty-round magazines, but I have no idea if any of my bullets connected. I need to assume I did damage, but it was as if I was destroying objects. I had no sense that I was actually killing people. My primary emotion was relief that Carl was safe and that I'd survived the mission."}

^{"Then I don't understand. It doesn't sound like your first time."}

^{"We radioed for evac choppers and set up a perimeter in case other revolutionaries heard the shots and came to investigate. When I found cover and waited, I had a sense that something was terribly wrong, a feeling that I was being watched, that something awful was about to happen. By then, it was dawn. I glanced to my left and saw a face in the bushes. A kid. He was maybe sixteen, raising a pistol. Before I realized what I was doing, I swung my rifle and emptied the magazine into him. Total reflex. Thirty rounds. Just about blew him apart. Even if I'd probably killed before, that was my first time. Up close and personal. The moment was so intense, I could see into the kid's eyes, past his fear-dilated pupils into his brain. Into his soul. I remember thinking, You stupid kid, why didn't you hide? Why did you need to try to be a hero? It was so pointless, so damned unnecessary."}

^{"What happened then?"}

^{"I threw up," Cavanaugh said.}

^{"That's what I felt like doing."}

^{"I had a lot of nightmares about that kid," Cavanaugh continued. "His chin had a wart. He had scruffy hair and a scar on his forehead. His clothes were filthy and ragged. He was so thin, he probably hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks. The revolution was one of those 'share the wealth' deals: millions of poor people against a handful of rich landlords and financiers trying to control them. I'm sure the kid had been exploited all his life. He was probably consumed with hate. I bet he went to sleep every night longing for a decent future. A lot to sympathize with. But if I had the chance to do it again, I'd shoot him just as dead as I shot him the first time. Otherwise, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation."}

^{Jamie's hand touched his. "And if I had to do it again, I'd shoot that man as dead as he now is, just to make sure you and I could be lying here like this."}

^{"It's one way to decide if something was justified–whether you'd do it again," Cavanaugh agreed.}

^{"But I hate that it needed to happen."}

^{"Yes. I measured my life from that moment . . . before I killed and after."}

^{"Rescuing Carl Duran," Jamie said.}

^{Chapter 5.}

^{His eyes feeling raw, Cavanaugh peered toward painful sunlight seeping past the draperies. With effort, he got out of bed. He opened the door a crack and saw a different pair of armed agents in the living room. With the attentiveness of their predecessors, they watched the numerous surveillance monitors.}

^{Cavanaugh shifted his gaze toward a different area in the living room and saw Jamie seated at a table, tapping on a computer. Rutherford stood behind her, watching her fingers work magic. Jamie's fresh jeans and turtleneck were part of the safe-site resources.}

^{He took the longest, hottest shower of his life, but tension insisted. He couldn't keep his mind off everything that had happened. Damn it, what was Carl's objective?}

^{Khaki slacks and a brown shirt were on a bureau, along with fresh underwear and socks. Motivated by a sudden idea, he dressed so hurriedly that he continued to button his shirt as he walked into the living room.}

^{"Morning, sleepy head." Jamie kept her gaze on the computer screen.}

^{"Did I miss anything?"}

^"Breakfast."

^{"We left you a doughnut," Rutherford said.}

^{"Haven't you heard of Dr. Atkins?" Cavanaugh picked up the phone and pressed the numbers for information. "Cincinnati, Ohio," he told a computerized voice. "F and W Publications."}

^{Jamie and Rutherford looked at him.}

^{"F and W Publications," a cheery voice said.}

^{" Blade magazine. Steve Shackleford," Cavanaugh said.}

^{"One moment please."}

^{Cavanaugh said a silent prayer that Steve wouldn't be out of his office on an assignment. Blade was a favorite magazine of knife enthusiasts, but it was a mistake to imagine a redneck, good-old-boy reader with biker's boots, a beer gut, and a chain leading from his thick wallet to his belt. Instead, most of Blade 's 40,000 subscribers were attorneys, physicians, computer experts, and other white-collar professionals, their average income in six figures: a subscription base that many magazines envied. The magazine's avid readers had knife collections they'd assembled with the care of sophisticated art collectors.}

^{Some of the knives were treasured antique Bucks, evoking pleasant memories of trusty jackknives from a happy childhood. Others were pocket knives crafted so painstakingly and with such elegance, those by Michael Vagnino, for example, that collectors who'd paid $2,000 for one of his folders felt lucky to have gotten a bargain now that he'd risen to the top of his field.}

^{Some knives were valued because of the life-experience they symbolized, Vietnam veterans treasuring the rugged Ka-Bar combat knife that, in many instances, had meant the difference between death and survival. Other knives were valued because of their current reputation as a dependable tactical knife, those by Ernest Emerson, for instance, who in 1991 handcrafted tactical knives for soldier friends departing to the Gulf War. These soldiers bragged to their comrades about how well designed the knives were. Eventually, Emerson received so many orders that he shifted from making knives by hand to manufacturing them in a factory, with the goal of proving that, with proper diligence, a factory-made knife could have the quality of a forged one. He followed the example of Al Mar, a former Green Beret who in the late 1970s pioneered the modern tactical folder and became known as the father of specialty knives. An original Al Mar or Ernest Emerson knife had an auction price of several thousand dollars.}

^{Still other knives were prized because of their place in popular culture. The prop knives for the film The Iron Mistress were diligently acquired by Hollywood production-artist Joseph Musso: a wooden version, a rubber version, an unfinished steel version used in a forging scene, and the magnificent fully realized knife. Musso's unique collection traveled to various museums, including one in San Antonio, Texas, the site of the Alamo, where Jim Bowie had died. Musso's love for the Iron Mistress prompted him to allow skilled bladesmiths to study the knife and its studio blueprints. Copies by George Cooper, Joe Keeslar, and Gil Hibben were better made than the original and highly prized. This was the world that Cavanaugh needed to tap into as he listened to the other phone ring.}

^{"Steve Shackleford." The pleasant voice had a Tennessee accent.}

^{Thank God , Cavanaugh thought.}

^{"Steve, it's Aaron Stoddard."}

^{Both Jamie and John straightened, frowning at one another, so unusual was it for Cavanaugh to use his real name.}

^{"Aaron, what a surprise. I haven't talked to you in . . . It has to be three years."}

^{"The last time I was at the Blade Show in Atlanta," Cavanaugh said. Of the numerous knife-enthusiast conventions, the Blade Show was the hugest, with more than ten thousand attendees.}

^{"I was afraid you'd dropped off the face of the Earth" Steve's voice said.}

^{"Not quite. I had a lot of obligations at the ranch." As far as Steve knew, Cavanaugh was a cattleman, thus explaining the Wyoming address. "But when I told you I was a rancher, I was really referring to a sideline. My main work is in the security field."}

^{"Oh?" A moment's thought was broken with, "I guess you get a lot of use for knives in that kind of work."}

^{"More than you can imagine. I need a favor."}