Текст книги "The Naked Edge"

Автор книги: David Morrell

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

^{In an hour, he crossed into Mississippi, and now he felt less threatened, although he didn't delude himself that the hunt for him would not continue to be urgent and widespread. The next Amtrak station was twenty miles farther in another small city, McComb. But again, his instincts warned him away. Too small a station. Too easy to be spotted. By then, it was four in the afternoon. Fatigue insisted, but he couldn't rest until he was confident that he'd found sanctuary. And food. He couldn't seem to get enough to eat. But there wasn't time.}

^{He drove another ninety minutes to the large Amtrak station in Jackson, Mississippi. Making sure that his fingerprints were wiped clean, he left the motorcycle on a side street a few blocks from the station. By midnight, the bike would be gone, no way to trace it to him.}

^{Trying not to attract attention by hurrying, he went to a convenience store. He kept his back to the security camera while he bought shampoo, toothpaste, a toothbrush, shaving soap, a razor, and a packet of Kleenex. Subduing his urgency, he shaved in a men's room in the train station, making himself as presentable as possible. He went into a toilet stall, locked it, then stuffed Kleenex under his lips and into his cheeks, changing the profile of his face, making it look puffy rather than gaunt-cheeked, as the newspaper described him.}

^{He leaned forward at the ticket counter, reducing his height.}

^{"Chicago," he said. "This evening."}

^{"You just made it. Arrives at nine tomorrow morning."}

^{"Got anything in the sleeping car?"}

^{"Let's see. Yep. One compartment left."}

^{"Must be my lucky day."}

^{Chapter 9.}

^{"Your honor, my clients request that the conditions of their release be relaxed sufficiently to allow them to leave Louisiana and fly to New York City. Their corporation, Global Protective Services, requires their immediate presence to oversee urgent financial matters relative to the continuing existence of their company. If my clients are unable to perform their corporate functions, the result will be calamitous, destroying their livelihood and that of hundreds of employees. The charges notwithstanding, Mr. Stoddard has an exemplary record as a protective agent credited with saving the lives of numerous international figures who function at the highest levels of finance, government, and entertainment. Prior to that, he defended the United States as a member of the elite military unit: Delta Force. You have heard the respect that Mr. Yamato and other members of the World Trade Organization have for him and his wife, so much in fact that they guarantee bail. My clients offer to surrender their passports."}

^{Chapter 10.}

^{The rhythm of the wheels on the railroad tracks gradually soothed him. Clickety. Clickety. For a half hour, Carl sat next to the small table in his compartment. His hand on his pistol, he expected that at any moment, the door would burst open and men would throw flash-bangs at him. He kept the window shade drawn, but then he worried about what he wasn't able to see. Raising the shade, he saw only passing countryside and gathering shadows. After his heartbeat calmed, he went to the compartment's sink, removed the wads of Kleenex from his mouth, and brushed his teeth (no matter how filthy he was on a mission, he always felt clean if he had a chance to brush his teeth). Then he washed his hair in the sink and used a wet towel to swab the dirt and river smell from him, all the while keeping his pistol close and his gaze on the locked door.}

^{Hunger demanded to be satisfied. At the convenience store, he'd bought a Coke, two ham sandwiches, and a bag of potato chips. He'd wanted much more, but he'd been afraid of being remembered if he bought too much food in addition to his other purchases. Clickety. Clickety.}

^{The sandwiches were stale and tasteless. He washed them down with the now-warm Coke, seasoning them with the equally stale potato chips. Clickety. Clickety.}

^{Outside the window, the countryside rolled by, vague trees and hills in the darkness, glowing windows in farmhouses, then the glare of towns. He shut off the light, eased onto his bunk, set his knife and pistol next to him, and stared at the ceiling. The passing shadows rippled over it. Mercifully, he slept.}

^{But then the clickety, clickety slowed. The change of rhythm woke him. Hearing the squeal of breaks, he grabbed his pistol and peered out the window, only to see a small train station, a passenger departing into the gloom. No one else was in view. Nothing to be alarmed about.}

^{He started to lay back but then noticed a sign on the station's wall: NEWBERN-DYERSBURG, TENNESSEE. A hand seemed to reach inside his barely full stomach and twist at his guts. The northward Amtrak line passed through the extreme western edge of Tennessee, he knew. A hundred miles to the east was Nashville, where Carl's father had taken the family after his drunkenness caused him to lose his stockbroker's job in Iowa City.}

^{In Nashville, the arguments and beatings had worsened. One night, Carl found his father unconscious at the kitchen table at three in the morning. The lights were on. A half-empty bottle of peppermint brandy sat next to him. The peppermint soothed the stomach inflammation that years of too much alcohol caused.}

^{Carl had laid out bread, mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce, dill pickles, and a chunk of ham, as if his father had decided to make a sandwich. His father was so stupefied that the muted sounds didn't wake him. Carl applied mustard and mayonnaise to one slice of bread. He took a sharp knife and cut into the ham. He used a dishtowel to wipe his fingerprints from everything. He used the same towel while he held his father's hands and applied fingerprints to bottles, plates, and the bread wrapper.}

^{"Uh," his father said.}

^{"Ssshh," Carl said.}

^{He raised his father from the table, then hefted him to the counter and the half-prepared sandwich. He put the sharp knife in his father's right hand and knocked his father's legs from under him, making sure that the knife plowed into his father's stomach when he hit the floor. His father tried to moan, but Carl pressed his hands over his father's mouth. As a pool of blood spread, his father trembled, then lay still. Avoiding the blood on the floor, taking care that none was on him, Carl went back to bed. He enjoyed the most satisfying sleep of his life.}

^{Now Carl wished that the same peaceful sleep would come to him. Watching the ripple of shadows across the train compartment's ceiling, he tried to think back to when, if ever, his life had been the way he wanted. There had been a time, he decided.}

^{Chapter 11.}

^{Daylight. The Illinois train stations went by. Champaign-Urbana. Kankakee. Homewood. That name filled him with bitterness. Next stop: Chicago.}

^{He used his cell phone.}

^{A woman's pleasant voice said, "Grand Cayman bank."}

^{"I need to wire-transfer nine thousand dollars to my bank account in Chicago." That account, under an assumed identity, had been carefully established two years earlier. The nine thousand dollars was less than the ten-thousand-dollar transaction amount that banks were required to report to the federal government.}

^{"Certainly, sir. May I have your account number and your password?"}

^{Carl recited the number from memory. "The password is 'stiletto.'"}

^{"Thank you, sir." A moment lengthened. "Sir, would you please repeat that account number?"}

^{"Is there a problem?"}

^{"I may have mistyped it."}

^{Carl repeated it.}

^{"Sir, our records fail to show any funds in that account."}

^{"But there should be a million dollars!"}

^{"No, sir, I'm afraid there aren't any funds."}

^{"Try that number again." Carl recited it slowly.}

^{"Yes, sir, that's the number I'm accessing, but the account does not have a balance."}

^{The undigested sandwiches from the night before soured Carl's stomach. "Was there ever any money in it?"}

^{"Yes, sir. As you mentioned, a million dollars. Yesterday afternoon, it was wire transferred to another bank."}

^{Carl swallowed something bitter. "Thank you."}

^{"You're welcome."}

^{Chapter 12.}

^{Cavanaugh admired the Gulfstream's interior, the last time he would see it.}

^{"The jet needs to go back to its base in New Jersey anyhow," William said. "The expense is the same whether we're aboard or not, so we might as well take advantage."}

^{"It never occurred to me to ask how much it costs to fly this."}

^{"Four thousand dollars an hour."}

^{"And we crossed the country several times. No wonder the company's going bankrupt."}

^{"When you're protecting a Saudi prince, the fee's high enough to earn out," William said.}

^{"But when I'm fighting to stay alive, it's too expensive."}

^{The powerful engines whispered as the jet reached its scheduled altitude, streaking through clouds.}

^{"Less than a week ago, you didn't want anything to do with Global Protective Services," Jamie said, "and now you hate to lose it."}

^{"Yes," Cavanaugh told her bitterly. "Because of Carl."}

^{Chapter 13.}

^{The train arrived in Chicago ten minutes late. Slouching, Carl blended with the departing passengers on the damp, shadowy concourse. He carried his briefcase in his left hand while his right hand was primed to reach for a weapon. He had strips of a towel under his lips and inside his cheeks, altering his features. His ears had Kleenex wadded neatly into them.}

^{Keeping in the thick of the crowd, he entered the brightly lit terminal, the din of which was muffled by the padding in his ears. He tensed when he saw two policemen studying everybody. They stopped a tall, thin man, who looked somewhat like Carl, and asked him questions.}

^{Carl showed no reaction. Face blank, eyes forward, shoulders drooped, he kept moving, not breaking rhythm, just another zombie. Take it easy , he thought. You'll be fine. The "you" was deliberately chosen, a way of disassociating from the moment and keeping his emotions in check. If they really believed you were on a train that arrived here, there'd be a small army to welcome you, not a handful of cops , he tried to assure himself.}

^{Approaching an exit, he glanced at a newsstand, then looked ahead, as if the newspapers meant nothing, even though a large photograph of him stared from the Chicago Tribune , the Chicago Sun-Times , and USA Today .}

^{Not a military photograph. Not him young and in uniform. This was a recent photograph of him among a crowd on a street. New Orleans. Taken by a security camera, it depicted him chasing somebody. Raoul. Digitally magnified and enhanced, alarmingly clear, the image showed Carl in profile. More than in profile. Three quarters of his features.}

^{Silently cursing, he saw another policeman scanning the crowd and warned himself, Be cool. No one'll recognize you from that picture. It isn't a full face, and the angle's downward. Everything's going to be fine.}

^{Yeah, sure, right. He could no longer objectify. Suddenly "you" became "I". I'm being hunted by the bastards who hired me and by every law-enforcement agency in the country. Every intelligence agency, also. I've got fifty rounds of ammunition and two thousand dollars. What the hell am I supposed to do?}

^{Play the game.}

^{For the rest of my life.}

^{A policeman appeared at the exit ahead. Shielded by businessmen, Carl kept walking. The policeman straightened, paying attention to him. Immediately, Carl reached into a pants pocket and removed an object he'd taken from the briefcase. A small canister. As the policeman blurted something to a microphone attached to his shoulder, Carl pulled a pin from the canister and dropped it behind him. The canister clanked onto the floor and made several people turn to look.}

^{The policeman drew his gun and stepped toward Carl, raising a hand to warn him to stop. Carl pretended not to notice.}

^{The policeman shouted, "Stop right there!"}

^{At once, the canister, a flash-bang, detonated. Having counting the seconds until it did, Carl knew when to close his eyes. Even then, and even though the flash was behind him, the searing brightness pushed through his eyelids. Anyone facing that direction, including the cop, would be blinded. The bang from the device was literally deafening, except for Carl, who'd used Kleenex to protect his eardrums.}

^{The force of the two onslaughts stunned the policeman and shoved him backward. People screamed. They scrambled over each other.}

^{"Terrorists!" Carl shouted. "A bomb!"}

^{The panic worsened, everybody charging toward the exits. Carl moved with them. Instead of fighting their fierce momentum, he allowed it to take him. The next thing, he was outside, the stampede spreading into traffic while he blended with people charging along the sidewalk.}

^{Chapter 14.}

^{The Manhattan headquarters for Global Protective Services looked as busy and professional as ever, but Cavanaugh knew that the strength and solidity were only apparent. With Jamie and William, he entered his office. An outsider would not have realized that, less than a week earlier, the place had been littered with bomb wreckage. Now a close look showed Cavanaugh that the hasty cleanup was only cosmetic, that the damage had been disguised, not repaired. Like the corporation , he thought.}

^{"I can't imagine how expensive our lease is."}

^{"A half million dollars a year," William said.}

^{"Amazing that the company stayed in business as long as it did."}

^{"Two executive officers dead and one in a detox ward." Jamie slumped in a chair.}

^{"It's going to be hard dismantling the various operations," Cavanaugh said. "Jamie, you're the one with a business background. How do we handle this?"}

^{"For starters, we alert the heads of our foreign offices and tell them to cancel all upcoming assignments. Then we negotiate to terminate all our office leases and have other protection firms take over the jobs already in progress. After that, we–"}

^{Chapter 15.}

^{A cold October wind breathed a premonition of winter. Especially after the warmth of New Orleans, it made Carl shiver. But as he retreated along the walkway next to the Chicago River, maintaining a disciplined, inconspicuous pace, appearing to enjoy the view of the water, he was determined not to go into a store and risk buying a jacket. After all, the photograph in the newspapers was likely to be on television as well. Word would have spread quickly that he'd been spotted in Chicago. People would pay attention to strangers.}

^{His discomfort gave him a glimpse of the future: decreasing possibilities and increasing deprivations.}

^{What happens when my money's gone? Do I start holding up liquor stores? Hell, I can't show my face to spend the money anyhow. Where am I going to sleep tonight? I can't risk going to a hotel, even a seedy one. It won't be long before the government offers a reward. Do I hide in an alley the way I did two nights ago? Do I hole up in the woods?}

^{Play the game.}

^{Hide and seek.}

^{He passed a newspaper that someone had stuffed into a garbage bin. Making sure than no one was near him, he pulled out the paper and studied his photograph on the front page. Aaron, you son of a bitch, I should be getting laid on the Riviera right now.}

^{In a fury, he read that Aaron and his wife had managed to post bail and been released. It gave him savage pleasure to learn that Global Protective Services was about to collapse. Only a fraction of what you deserve, you bastard. Aaron and his wife had been allowed to leave Louisiana and fly to New York to begin the process of dissolving the company.}

^{"If he had been available to us, the mission would have been a success," the swarthy man had said before Carl blew him up.}

^{Well, let's see about that , Carl thought.}

^{Hide for the rest of my life?}

^{Aaron, I'll prove to you how good I am.}

^{On a bench ahead, a man slept next to a bicycle. The man had beard stubble and matted, dirty hair. He wore a ragged jacket and filthy jeans. Attached to the rear of the bicycle, a small cart contained plastic bags of what appeared to be even more ragged clothing. A cord led from the man's wrist to the bicycle, a burglar alarm.}

^{Carl checked that no one was paying attention. He unclipped his knife from his pants pocket, thumbed the blade open, and sliced the cord. He wheeled the bike out of earshot (it had only one gear and didn't make the clicking sound of sports bikes). He stopped just long enough to pull a ragged blue shirt from a bag and pull it over the brown shirt he'd bought in New Orleans. Then he got on and bicycled away. Like a motorcyclist wearing goggles and a helmet, a ragged homeless man on a bicycle, towing his few meager possessions, was invisible.}

^{He still had the newspaper from the waste bin. When he felt that it was safe to stop, he planned to study the personal ads and buy another used motorcycle. There was always the risk that he'd be recognized, but he would sense if that happened and make sure the man selling the motorcycle couldn't warn anyone. He didn't have enough cash to buy as good a bike as the Yamaha he'd abandoned in Mississippi, but then the bike didn't need to function long. His destination was only five hours away.}

^{Chapter 16.}

^{After Cavanaugh cancelled yet another assignment and set down the phone, he sensed the receptionist standing in his office doorway. "Yes?"}

^{"You had a dozen more calls."}

^{Exhausted, Cavanaugh glanced at his watch. The time was shortly after five p.m., and he had several more clients to talk to. "Anything urgent?"}

^{"They all seem urgent."}

^{At the desk, Jamie typed computer keys as William spoke into a phone, arranging an auction for the Gulfstream.}

^{"One caller's more insistent than the others," the receptionist said, holding up a list. "So far, he contacted us eight times."}

^{"Must be a really angry creditor. What's his name?"}

^{"Lance Sawyer."}

^{Cavanaugh straightened.}

^{Overhearing, Jamie frowned. "But isn't that the name of the old man who taught you and Carl how to make knives?"}

^{Cavanaugh grabbed the list and pressed the phone number on it.}

^{William looked puzzled. "What's going on?"}

^{Cavanaugh activated the speaker function on his phone. On the other end, the phone rang only once, its tinny buzz filling the room.}

^{Immediately, the three of them heard a man's voice. "Hey, Aaron, how's it going?"}

^{Cavanaugh clenched his fists as he leaned over the conference table. "Fabulous."}

^{"Not likely. I read in the newspaper that you spent time in the slammer yesterday. Sorry to learn about all the trouble you're having."}

^{"Try to sound sincere." Cavanaugh watched Jamie and William approach the phone, listening to the smooth voice that came from its speaker.}

^{"Is the FBI trying to locate where this call's originating from, or are you and the government not on such great terms any longer?"}

^{"To tell the truth, Carl, I was so eager to talk to you, I didn't think to alert them."}

^{"The truth's always nice, not to mention rare, coming from you. Half the directional work's already been done for them anyhow. They know I'm in Chicago."}

^"Chicago?"

^{"Haven't you been watching television? The Carl Duran show?"}

^{Instantly, Jamie went to a cabinet in a corner and turned on a television.}

^{"Afraid I missed it," Cavanaugh said.}

^{"Oh, it's getting big ratings. Lots of action, suspense, and mystery."}

^{The television was tuned to CNN, where a reporter stood in what looked to be a train station, nervous-looking passengers going past. The words LIVE FROM CHICAGO appeared at the bottom of the screen. The program changed to video from a security camera mounted in a corner. The image showed passengers crossing the terminal. The picture became magnified, focusing on a man who resembled Carl (the cheeks were fuller) as he approached an exit. A policeman hurried toward him. A flash filled the screen. Even with the television's sound at low volume, Cavanaugh heard a powerful detonation. The crowd screamed, charging toward the doors.}

^{"I'm watching it now," Cavanaugh said. "Nicely done."}

^{"That's high praise, Aaron, considering that you don't believe anybody can do anything better than you."}

^{"I always admitted you made knives better, and you're certainly a better swimmer."}

^{"Gosh, all these compliments are going to my head."}

^{"Turn yourself in, Carl."}

^"Right."

^{"You can't hide forever."}

^{"I can give it a try. That abortion-clinic bomber lasted five years in the woods."}

^{"Freezing his ass in the winter. Living off acorns and lizards in the summer."}

^{"Yeah, good buddy, but he wasn't trained the way you and I were."}

^{"I'm serious. Turn yourself in, Carl. I can arrange for you to do it safely."}

^{"Golly. I appreciate your concern."}

^{"You can bargain with the authorities. Give them information about the bastards who hired you. Negotiate for a bearable prison sentence."}

^{"Don't I wish. See, the problem is, I don't have anything to reveal. I dealt with one guy. He told me nothing about his organization. I don't even know what his real name was."}

^"Was?"

^{"He's dead. An unfortunate plane explosion. Aaron, don't bullshit me. We both know, if I turn myself in, the government'll go for the death penalty. A thousand people are dead, for God's sake. The government'll snuff me the way it did that guy who blew up the federal building in Oklahoma City. I don't like that option a whole lot. My only chance is to play the game."}

^"Game?"

^{Chapter 17.}

^{Carl lied. He wasn't anywhere near Chicago. His newly acquired motorcycle had taken him two-hundred-and-fifty miles west, where he now sat on a picnic bench, watching a shallow creek meander through autumn-brilliant trees while he spoke to the phone.}

^{"The game, Aaron. That's all there is. That's all there ever was." A chill wind bit into him. "So here's the deal. I'm offering you one last chance to play. Tomorrow night. The usual place. But if you don't show up or you bring help, you'll piss me off even more than you already have. If you betray me again, I'll come to you , but the next time, you won't get fair warning. It'd be nice to meet your lovely wife."}

^{Through the phone, Carl heard a noise as if a hand slammed a table.}

^{" Now you're threatening my wife? " Aaron shouted. "You cocksucker!"}

^{"That's the spirit, Aaron."}

^{Carl broke the connection.}

^{Chapter 18.}

^{Hearing the dead air, Cavanaugh slowly lowered the phone and deactivated its speaker function. His heart pounded with rage. Gradually, he became aware of Jamie and William staring at him.}

^{"'One last chance to play. Tomorrow night. The usual place'," Jamie said. "He's challenging you to a fight."}

^{"Sounds like it."}

^{"One on one."}

^{"That seems to be the idea."}

^{"Do you know the place he means?" William asked.}

^{Cavanaugh thought for a moment. "Yes, I believe I do."}

^"Where?"

^{Cavanaugh didn't answer.}

^{"You're not seriously thinking about accepting the challenge," Jamie wanted to know.}

^{"I hate him so much. Everything he's done to us. You have no idea how much I'd like to."}

^{"But," Jamie said, "you won't."}

^{"You heard him. He's giving me a chance at him. If I don't take it, his target will be you ."}

^{"Not if you phone Mosely and Rutherford and tell them about this," William said. "It'll go a long way toward getting the FBI on your side again. They'll order the place–wherever it is–surrounded. A SWAT team will take care of this."}

^{"But what if they can't . The place I think Carl means, there are too many ways for him to see if I betrayed him and brought help. Too many ways to escape. I'm willing to bet my life, but not Jamie's."}

^{"Don't I have something to say about that? What if he wins?"}

^{"Then he'll leave you alone. But he isn't going to win."}

^{"Did he ever win before?"}

^{"When we were kids."}

^{"Well, you're not kids any longer! If the FBI doesn't get him, we'll deal with the consequences together. But I won't let you use me as an excuse to satisfy your hate and possibly get yourself killed."}

^{Cavanaugh studied her.}

^{"William," he finally said. "I assume it's easier for you to negotiate in person than on the phone."}

^{"That's correct."}

^{"Then arrange a meeting with Mosely and John as soon as possible." Cavanaugh picked up the phone and made a call of his own. When a voice answered, he said, "Get the Gulfstream ready to fly in an hour. . . . Selling it? Not just yet."}

^{Chapter 19.}

^{"I'm amazed," Mosely said. The lights of Washington's Capitol Building gleamed beyond his office window. "Shocked, in fact. You're actually following proper procedure instead of showing everybody what a hotshot you are."}

^{"All I ever tried to do was the right thing," Cavanaugh told him.}

^{"Sure. Of course, it would have been even better if you'd alerted us before you made the call so we could try to trace it. But I guess I'm asking for too much. This 'usual place' he referred to. I assume it's the farm where the old man taught you and Duran to make knives."}

^"No."

^{"Then where is it?"}

^{Now Cavanaugh looked at William.}

^{"Do we have an understanding?" the attorney asked.}

^{"Counselor, I don't make deals."}

^{"We're not asking for a deal. My client is willing to cooperate to the fullest extent. But he wants that taken into consideration when his case comes to trial."}

^{"Consideration. Oh, he'll get plenty of consideration if he doesn't cooperate."}

^{Rutherford sat next to Mosely at the conference table. He leaned forward, one friend to another. "Where's 'the usual place', Aaron?"}

^{"A park in Iowa City. It's down the street from where he and I used to live."}

^{"A park?"}

^{"Willow Creek. Carl and I played there often when we were kids. We used to pretend we were special-operations soldiers shot down behind enemy lines. We hid in the bushes and trees and kept the enemy . . . people walking through the park . . . from noticing us."}

^{"Keep talking, Aaron."}

^{"Then we changed the game and pretended we were on opposite sides. We had rubber knives, and we hunted each other. We got so good at hiding that sometimes it took all day before we finished the game."}

^{"Who won?" Rutherford asked.}

^{"Sometimes I did. Sometimes Carl did."}

^{"So you assume he's inviting you to have one last go-around?" Mosely asked.}

^"Yes."

^{"Instead of trying to escape."}

^{"Maybe Carl doesn't think he can escape. Maybe he figures he might as well amuse himself in the little time he has left."}

^{"Well, it's for sure he can't escape," Mosely said. "You're one hundred percent confident about this hunch of yours?"}

^{"It's not a hunch. Carl wouldn't have been vague about the location unless he knew it was the only place I'd think of. The usual place where we played the game."}

^{"You'd better be right," Mosely emphasized. "If this is part of his strategy, if he's using you to jerk us around and you fell for it, I won't be happy, and that means you won't be happy. Tomorrow night, he said?"}

^{Cavanaugh nodded.}

^{"The fallout from what happened in New Orleans is so complicated, I can't possibly get away. In fact, I'm expected right now at another meeting." Mosely stood and looked at Rutherford. " You're in charge of counterterrorism. Make sure you catch this guy. Assuming this isn't just a big joke on us."}

^{Mosely picked up a briefcase and left the room.}

^{Cavanaugh thought, He's setting up John to take the fall if anything goes wrong.}

^{"John," Cavanaugh said, "your friendship means a lot to me. I believed I was doing the right thing. I still do. I never meant to put your job at risk. I never thought it would seem I abused your trust."}

^{"Things don't always turn out the way we want," Rutherford said.}

^{"I'm sorry."}

^{The office felt cold.}

^{"Tomorrow night?" Rutherford asked.}

^{"Yes, but he'll start earlier."}

^{"Have you got room on your fancy plane for an FBI SWAT team? And this time, you don't carry guns. This time, you're truly a civilian."}

^{Chapter 20.}

^{Cavanaugh wasn't prepared for the changes. Driving into town from Iowa City's airport, he asked the FBI driver to head toward the park.}

^{"Might be risky," Rutherford said. "If Duran sees you in a van full of people . . ."}

^{"At eight in the morning, we're just one in a stream of vehicles going to work. He won't even try to monitor traffic at this hour. What he'll look for is stationary surveillance."}

^{"I made sure there isn't any," Rutherford said. "I don't want to scare him away. Tonight, after he has a chance to go in and get settled, we'll surround the park and tighten the noose. Assuming you're right about this."}

^{"I guarantee he's in there at this very moment."}

^{As their driver turned left onto West Benton, one of the streets that flanked the park, Cavanaugh couldn't adjust to how much traffic there was. In his youth, this had been a sleepy area of town, on the verge of farmland. Now, except for the park itself, the area was thick with houses and apartment buildings.}

^{With greater surprise, Cavanaugh peered to the right and saw that the park wasn't the same, either. Dense woods had been cut down, leaving trees only along Willow Creek. Clearing the area had made room for more soccer fields. On the opposite end, near where there had once been a cornfield, a children's climbing-gym area had been added.}

^{"In there right now?" Rutherford said. "It doesn't look to me as if he has many places to hide."}

^{Chapter 21.}

^{"I've got a bad feeling," Cavanaugh murmured to Jamie and William as they followed Rutherford and his men into Iowa City's modest-sized police station.}