Dante's Equation Part 26

13.1. Nate Andros

Nate hadn't heard word one about Poland until Rabbi Handalman mentioned it to Jill. He hadn't even planned to spring Jill from the hospital. He'd just gone there to talk and events had taken on a life of their own, kind of like a car plummeting over the side of a mountain-a few seconds of spinning wheels on gravel and thenbingo , every priority you had takes a sudden and dramatic shift.

So here they were. Officially on the lam. But Poland? Go toPoland ? That was way beyond the scope of things he was willing to consider for his immediate future.

Except . . . Jill was seriously thinking it over. He could see the wheels churning as she ran through the possibilities. Nate waited for her to cleave Handalman in two with one snap of those mighty jaws.

Instead she asked, "How much more of Kobinski's work is in Poland?"

"A complete draft of this ma.n.u.script,The Book of Torment . Yes, including those two pages of equations. One of Kobinski's followers lives near Auschwitz. I telephoned him already. Unfortunately, he will not send it. We'll have to go to him. Given the state of things, he is probably right not to let it out of his grasp."

Jill fingered the pages absently, like a baby fingering a blankie. Unbelievable. She was seriously considering it.

"Okay. But we have to go right away." She looked at Nate. "Are you going to go?"

"Who . . . me?"

"Yes,you, Nate. Will you come?"

"Well . . ." He was trying to figure out what was going on. Why was Jill, who was p.i.s.sed at him for taking her from the loving arms of the DoD at all, now willing to go toPoland ?

And then, looking at her, he knew. Jill wasn't agreeing to go because anything he'd said had been compelling.He was intrigued by all this Heaven and h.e.l.l stuff, good and evil, the things Handalman had found in the code, and how it related to the one-minus-one. Jill, however, would not take a trip to Tacoma for more of that malarkey. No, it was Kobinski's math that had gotten her. And Nate knew her well enough that he could read the tense set of her shoulders, the drawn look on her face, and the faraway, calculating look in her eyes.

She wanted Kobinski's work. She wanted it for herself, for her project. Because, according to these scribbles, Kobinskihad known . And-d.a.m.n,he knew her so well-she figured if she could get her hands on his ma.n.u.script, she could come back to the DoD at her leisure and they would welcome her with open arms, just as she'd figured Chalmers would absolve her once she'd published.

She was still going for it. G.o.d help her. G.o.d help them all. Especially him, because he was the poor sap who was in love with her.

"Yeah, I'm going," Nate said.

"All right. So how do we go about it?" Jill went into lecture mode. "I say the sooner we leave the better. The DoD will be looking for me. I'll need my pa.s.sport. It's at home. I don't have my wallet, which means no ATM card. d.a.m.n. My wallet was in my briefcase. I can get cash off my credit card, though. It's at home, too. Nate?"

"Huh?"

"Do you think you can get into my house?"

Nate looked at Handalman, who was shaking his head. The rabbi looked at his watch. "They'll know she's missing. If they're not at her house already they soon will be."

"Sogo !" she said, shooing Nate. "Go to my house; get my pa.s.sport and credit card. The card's in the filing cabinet in the living room and the pa.s.sport's in the table next to my bed.Hurry. "

"Oh. Right." He jumped up.

"And get yours, too," she said as the rabbi handed him the keys to the rental.

"Right."

"And, whatever you do, don't get caught! Don't take any chances!"

Nate gave her one last blank look and headed for the door.

"And get me some clothes!" he heard her yell as he bounded up the stairway.

Nate called his roommate and asked him to rendezvous in an hour with a couple of changes of clothes, his pa.s.sport, and basic toiletries stuffed in a backpack-and to be as discreet as possible leaving the apartment. He wasn't worried. If anyone could look nonchalant it was his roommate, Mikey. He was a champion loiterer. That accomplished, Nate headed over to Jill's place.

It was the second time that day he'd scoped out her neighborhood in Wallingford. This time he was even more paranoid than before. He saw no cars, no indicators that anyone was inside. Yeah, right. Like they'd advertise the fact.

He had no choice. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? If government agents picked him up he could claim ignorance. What could they do, torture him?

Yeah, they could. They could torture him.

He went around to the back, approaching on the alley. The house seemed dead-no noise, no movement. He had Jill's key, but he'd never tried it in the back door. He put it in the lock-it worked. He let himself in.

Christ, his heart was pounding.Credit card, pa.s.sport, clothes. Credit card, pa.s.sport, clothes. The thought, as he snuck through the kitchen in his black boots, of digging through Jill's lingerie drawer picking out stuff was . . . Well, it wasn't bad, actually. Made him feel a little bit better about the whole thing.

The house was empty, ominously so. In the hall he picked up the empty garbage bag he'd left on the floor. Two steps more and he was in her bedroom. Pa.s.sport first-it was still where he'd seen it earlier, in her bedside table. He stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. Next, the closet. He pulled open the doors and began pulling things off hangers, clothes he recognized, clothes she'd worn often. G.o.d, this stuff was awful. Wool vests, b.u.t.ton-down shirts, a regular Lands' End catalog all miniature-sized. There was one odd note-a red, silky dress. She'dnever wear such a thing. It still had a tag. Ever hopeful, he put it in the bag.

He went to the dresser for her pants, selected four pairs. One drawer up was lingerie. He grinned, giddily amused that he was looking at Jill the Chill's underwear. First andlast time, no doubt. They weren't exactly Frederick's of Hollywood, but they weren't white cotton, either. He picked up a small underwire bra-peach silky fabric with just a hint of lace trim. He felt a stomach-twisting rush, Pavlovian in its predictability. He made himself stuff the bra in the bag. He followed it with a few more handfuls of whatever came into his grasp.

He was rubbing a silky bit of black panties between his fingers when he realized he'd been standing there like that for a couple of minutes. d.a.m.n.

Credit card.

Right. He shoved the drawer closed and headed for the living room.

He was trying to recall his sisters' underwear. Not that he ever saw much of it, but it hadn't been white cotton, either. They probably didn't make stuff that plain anymore. So Jill having semihot underwear didn't mean a thing. It didn't, for example, mean that she was a closet nympho. It was probably all she could find. She'd probably bought it with about as much interest as she ordered teriyaki.

Credit card.

Right. Jill kept a filing cabinet and desk in a s.p.a.ce between her living room and kitchen. Nate opened the filing cabinet, looking for a credit card file. He found the credit card file, but naturally, there was no credit card in it, only bills. Who would keep a credit card in a filing cabinet? He began going through the top drawer of her little desk and had just wrapped his hand around something that felt suspiciously like a credit card when the front door crashed open with a violent, splinteringcrunch .

Calder Farris was enraged. It wasn't apparent on the outside, not unless you made the mistake of questioning him or getting in his way-which his men didn't. It wasn't obvious as long as his dark gla.s.ses were firmly in place. But inside, the demon ran the show, possessing him from fingertip to toenail-and it was G.o.dzilla on a rampage.

An hour ago-and the mere thought made him tremble with fury-an hour ago he'd been on the phone with Dr. Rickman, formulating an offer. Putting together af.u.c.king job offer . Dr. Talcott, that tiny, twisted ma.s.s of feminine deception, had made him believe she'd cooperate, that she waspanting to work for the DoD. He could have sworn he'd seen the power l.u.s.t in her eyes. She'd appeared to have such a practical bent. She seemed to know on which side her bread was b.u.t.tered and that the government held the biggest, fattest jar of the stuff.

Ohhh, she had made him buy it.f.u.c.k. The thought of how he had bought it made him tremble and burn. She'd made him look ridiculous in front of Dr. Rickman. Or hewould look ridiculous if he had to tell Rickman she was missing. But Calder's plan was to find her and have a little chat, to cram that job offer down her throat before Rickman knew anything about it.

The men he'd had on guard, worthless p.r.i.c.ks one and all, had described the platinum blondtipped youth, gold hoop in his ear, who had gone twice into Talcott's room. Hinkle had ID'd him as Nate Andros, Talcott's grad student. They'd had a picture of him and Calder had shown it around, but it had been old. His hair had been a long, curly mess. No one recognized him and he'd been wearing a hospital uniform, so they'd a.s.sumed . . .

There was no excuse. Obviously Andros had been working with the lab tech with the cart. They'd snuck her out in the thing; there was no other explanation. They'd snuck her out while Calder's men had been scratching their tiny little b.a.l.l.s and Calder himself had been on the phone discussing f.u.c.king pension plans.

Meanwhile, the Seattle Fire Department's report blamed a furnace. Afurnace ! And he'd called an XL3! Could helook any more d.i.c.kless?

Except that it occurred to Calder that what had happened to that furnace might have been akin to what happened to those birds in Alaska. Only he wasn't going to say that. He wasn't going to risk looking lamebrained again, not without some proof that waves were even remotely involved. He had to know what Talcott had been doing down there. He had toknow .

And she was going to fill him in, tell him all about it-right after he'd made her luncheon on her invitation to join the happy family in the DoD.

He'd sent Hinkle to Andros's place and other team members to the university. Still others were scouring the hospital and its surrounds. Calder and a Marine named Rice had gone to Talcott's house because Calder figured she was most likely to show up there. She'd need clothes and ID. Calder sent Rice sneaking around the back while he covered the front door himself.

He stood on the stoop and silently removed his gla.s.ses, the better to see inside. He drew his gun in his right hand but didn't intend to use it. He wasn't going to shoot the b.i.t.c.h. Not immediately anyway. He noiselessly tried the k.n.o.b with his left hand-locked. He stepped back and aimed a fury-filled kick just to the right of the doork.n.o.b.

And found himself in the open doorway staring at the kid with platinum-tipped hair and the f.a.ggy gold hoop in his ear. The kid took one look at him and dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

*** It might have been horrendously stupid, deserving of a mention in one of those "really dumb ways people die" books, but when Nate saw the Fed in the doorway-black suit, spooky eyes, gun, and all-his immediate reaction was to play dead.

Funny, because the reaction was so innate, instinctual really, and he didn't recall reading anything about the Greeks, his ancestors, favoring the techniques of possums in warfare. Trojan horses, yes, maybe even something about Odysseus and sheep. Possums, huh-uh.

But there he was, lying on the floor with his eyes closed, his heart going 10 zillion miles an hour. Then it occurred to him: now what? He'd forgotten that part when he'd fallen to the floor.

Except not all of him had forgotten. His right hand, which was nearly covered by his body, gripped a credit card and something else. His fingertips felt something hard and narrow and plastic. He worked his fingers to scoot the object higher and touched metal.

Scissors. He'd pulled a credit card and a pair of scissors from the drawer. Which meant he could either bribe or stab his adversary. Or he could go into a frenzy and cut up Jill's credit card.That would confuse 'em.

"Rice. In here." Deep voice, sounding cruelly satisfied, from about five feet above him. Since the Fed probably wasn't placing a to-go order, that meant there were two of them, one coming in from the back door.

That made Nate move, because there was no way he could get past two of them. He rolled to his left, his right arm coming up fast and hard.

The scene registered clearly the moment he opened his eyes. Above him stood the man he'd seen in the doorway, gun still in his hand. At that precise second, the man was not looking at him but straight ahead at the approach of the second Fed, whom Nate could sense but not see.

It was only for a brief second that the man was looking away. As soon as he saw Nate move in his peripheral vision he looked back down, but by then Nate's hand was already on its course and the scissors connected with flesh.

The man jumped back just as the tip of the scissors connected. It was unfortunate timing-or fortunate, depending on whose side you were on. Nate had swung the scissors hard, and their tips were sharp. They dug through pant material into flesh. When the man jumped back at that same instant, his own movement added a tearing effect. Nate felt, imagined he could almosthear , the ripping open of the man's leg in a long gash.

It was repulsive, actually. d.a.m.n gross. The man screamed, short and furious. But Nate was already rolling away, toward the front door, then scrambling to his feet. He felt a hand grab his shirt- whether it was the wounded man's hand or his backup's Nate never knew.

His shirt tore, areal ripping sound this time; then he was free and heading out the door. Behind him he heard the Fed shout, in a voice dark and furious, "Don't shoot!Grab him, you a.s.s!"

Nate ran. It was surreal to be chased down residential streets in the middle of the day. He could hardly even take it seriously, it was so cinematic. Still, his feet moved faster than they ever had in his life. He glanced behind him once and saw that they wereboth chasing him-two guys in suits, one with blood streaming down his pant leg. It never even slowed the guy. His face was hard, set like sculpture. Nate was seriously screwed.

He tried to dodge around, getting things between himself and his pursuers whenever possible. He was afraid they'd shoot him. They might or might not want him dead, but a bullet in the leg would put on the brakes quite nicely.

The thought gave him another surge of adrenaline and he poured on the speed.

Calder Farris was chasing the little p.i.s.sant, running as if his legweren't practically spurting arterial blood. He did not feel pain; he was too focused to feel pain. He did not even consider using the gun he'd shoved back into its holster when he'd started to run. There was only one thing on his mind, and that was wrapping his hands around that f.a.ggy b.a.s.t.a.r.d's throat and screaming,Where is she ?

Rice was fast; he was keeping up. The boy was fast, too, the little c.o.c.ksucker. Calder motioned for Rice to move around to the side, try to outflank him. Rice took off up a short, steep hill toward an alley.

Then it was Calder and the boy. They had settled into a rhythmic sprint, because you had to when a chase went on this long. Calder's arms, bent at the elbows, pumped at his side. His gun holster was tight to his chest and side, but it still jolted as he ran. He was in excellent shape and he was starting to gain: thirty yards, twenty-five, twenty. He knew approximately where Rice would come out, from off to the right up ahead. He could picture the capture clearly in his mind-the grab, the spin, the tackle, the crunch of the kid's body hitting the ground. The demon inside him was licking its chops. He was looking forward to it enormously.

Then, still twenty yards from the boy, Calder got faint.

The ground began swimming in front of him. Sweat popped out on his upper lip, his ears rang, and his skin went clammy. He hazarded a glance down at his leg and saw that he was leaving great b.l.o.o.d.y puddles with every step. The sight of it, red on asphalt, and the knowledge of how far he'd already run gushing like that had an immediate psychological impact. He became aware of the pain and of a trembling weakness that wanted badly to come over him.

Hetried to fight it. He got p.i.s.sed at himself and tried to run faster. But even so, the figure in front of him was receding-twenty-five yards, twenty-eight, thirty.

In a last desperate effort he pulled his gun from his holster, stopped, and propped it on his arm, prepared to shoot, take his quarry down. But the lucky s.h.i.t was partially blocked by a tree. Calder hesitated for an instant and the boy dodged around a house, out of sight.

Rice finally showed up, around a house on the other side of the street and down some steps, moving fast, still not winded. Calder, holding his leg, shouted directions, pointed to where Andros had disappeared. Rice went after him.

But Calder knew it was over. The boy was gone, and it was Calder's fault. First for falling for that asinine fainting trick like some green kid and second for underestimating the kid's speed and his own injury. He'dwanted to believe the sight of him alone could drop the kid into a dead faint. Hadn't it made him feel great? The big man, the lethal b.a.s.t.a.r.d. It had been vanity.

But Calder would not make the same mistake twice. He would find the kid, he promised himself-it was the only way to a.s.suage the demon inside him. He would find the little b.a.s.t.a.r.dand Talcott. And next time he'd see them dead before he let them escape again.

13.2. Jill Talcott

There were footsteps on the stairway. Jill ran to the apartment door and opened it. It was Nate. She was swamped with relief. "G.o.d, what took you so long? I thought something had happened!" He gave her a dry look. "Gee. What could have happened?" He pushed past her, arms full. He had a backpack containing his own gear and a garbage bag full of hers. She and Rabbi Handalman, with surprisingly little bickering, had worked out every detail of their plan while Nate was gone and they began implementing it at once-loading her clothes into a suitcase the rabbi had emptied for that purpose.

Jill was talking a mile a minute. "I was about to panic! We only have half an hour to get to Lake Union. I chartered a seaplane. It'll take us up to Vancouver and we can fly out of there. We figured Sea-Tac might be dangerous. Maybe that's paranoid, but better safe than sorry."

"Not paranoid," Rabbi Handalman grunted. "The Mossad came to the hospital, they wouldn't be at the airport?" Jill looked up for Nate's reaction, but he stood there watching her with an odd, appraising expression. His hands were casually in his pockets as though they had all the time in the world.

"You got my pa.s.sport, right?" she asked, frowning. He took a hand from one of the pockets, flashed the pa.s.sport at her, put it back. "And yours?" "Yup." Satisfied, Jill's mind raced on. "Even flying out of Canada, they'll probably track us eventually." "Naturally," the rabbi put in. "That's what theydo." "Ifthey bother to try. We'll have to travel under our own names. It would take too long to get fake ID. The trick will be making it to the airport in Krakow before they do. As long as we can get away

from the airport there, we should be fine. No one knows where we're heading." Handalman shrugged. "They'll figure it out. The question is how long will it take them?Long enough, that's all we can hope for."

Everything was packed. Jill checked her watch and grabbed the clothes she'd set aside to put on. She'd taken a shower while Nate was gone and she felt better than she had for days, but she was still in the hospital robe. She started to head for the bathroom to change, but Nate's peculiar silence got through to her at last. She paused. "What happened?"

"What? Did you have a problem?" Rabbi Handalman seconded. For a moment, it looked like Nate was going to say something. But he was still studying her with that peculiar wary look. He cleared his throat. "Nothing. You said we were in a hurry, Jill. So let's go." POLANDO'swiecim-Auschwitz-looked no different from any of the other Polish cities they'd driven through on their way from Krakow. It was charming and modern, well maintained. The main street

through town was lined with businesses that had an international flavor. A discreet sign pointed the way to the Auschwitz-Birkenau museum.

"So now it's a national monument." Rabbi Handalman was driving. He snorted sourly. "Polish children come from all over, no doubt, to see what outrage theGermans committed during the invasion."

Jill glanced in the rearview mirror at Nate. He was looking at the scenery, quiet and reserved. His head was back on the seat, his eyes brooding. He'd been that way since Seattle.

"This must be hard for you, Rabbi. Coming here." Nate's eyes met hers, briefly, in the rearview mirror as they shifted to Rabbi Handalman.

Handalman shrugged. "It's no one's idea of a picnic." He almost said more, then just shook his head, lips tight.

Nate's eyes shifted back to hers, held. Her hands clenched nervously in her lap as she tried to read him.

On the plane Nate had told them what really happened at her house-a small detail he'd previously left out likestabbingLieutenant Farris. Just the thought of Nate,her Nate, and that man she'd met in her hospital room-the man with the soulless eyes-engaged in combat was enough to send her into paroxysms of distress on any number of levels. Nate could easily have been shot! And Farris-G.o.d, what a disaster. He was herrecruiter , for G.o.d's sake. How would she ever be able to explain?