Eileen Reed - Ground Zero Part 41

"Waiting rooms are to the left," the orderly said helpfully as Lucy walked toward the elevators.

Moscow, Russian Republic.

The room smelled of desperate and unexpected victory, stinking with sweat and bad breath and the sharp tang of vodka. In respect for the rules, Cherepovitch had allowed only one shot for each soldier. Alcohol was strictly forbidden in GRU headquarters.

"It's the size of the d.a.m.n gla.s.ses that gets me," Major Paxton said to Kalashnikov, one of Cherepovitch's cigars clenched in his still trembling fingers. "You think they're such tiny little things, and the next thing you know you're singing and being dragged along the street by your friends because you can't walk anymore."

Kalashnikov laughed, but not loudly. He was still shaky from reaction. They were sitting in the upper control room, a booth where cable news played around the clock. Hours, it had been, and nothing had leaked. The biggest story was the American tour of the Polish rock band Night, now singing to sellout crowds and being likened to the Beatles, during the British invasion.

"Every new band gets compared to the Beatles," Paxton said. "When I was a kid the Bay City Rollers were compared to the Beatles, for G.o.dsake."

"Who?" asked Kalashnikov.

"So tell me, Major," Cherepovitch said casually. "Why do you think the weapon malfunctioned?"

"Could be the guidance systems were corroded somehow," Paxton mused. "Or faulty to begin with. I'm sure our entire fleet of nuclear missiles-what's left of them-are going to be overhauled starting immediately. I'm sure you'll do the same."

"You wouldn't, perhaps, have shot it down, would you?" Cherepovitch asked, taking a puff on his cigar and squinting his eyes as though he were telling a joke.

Paxton threw his head back and laughed.

"You don't get off that easy," he said. "Our missile defenses were never installed, remember? We made up Star Wars to end the arms race, not to actually build the d.a.m.n thing." Paxton put his cigar in his teeth and put an arm around Cherepovitch and his other arm around Kalashnikov. He gave them both an unexpected and very Russian bear hug.

"We were d.a.m.n lucky, that's all," he said.

Memorial Hospital, Colorado Springs.

Eileen was slouched in a chair in the waiting room, trying to read a magazine. Stillwell, who was grimacing and sipping at some very old coffee, looked up.

"Did you get the Pickle home safe?" Lucy asked. Stillwell had dropped her at the hotel before returning Gwen's car to the airport.

"Safe and sound," Stillwell said, grinning. Eileen snorted.

"I can't believe you got that thing to go over twenty."

"Gwen was amazed too," Stillwell said.

"Where's Joe?" Lucy asked.

"At home," Eileen said. "I took him home. He needed the sleep. And he didn't want to talk to Lowell."

"I can understand why," Lucy said. "And Blaine?"

"Safe in custody at Peterson," Stillwell said with satisfaction. "Now all we have to do is figure out why Blaine was trying to shoot Lowell."

"That's all we have to do now," Lucy said. She saw her smile answered in her new friends' faces. Even though none of them had gotten any sleep that night, they were still all on a high. Saving the world was better than sleep.

"Blaine won't talk, right?"

"Oh, he talked," Stillwell said. "He sounded like a lawyer trying to beat a speeding ticket. He kept telling me he thought Lowell was armed, he thought Lowell was threatening Eileen, blah blah blah. I don't buy it."

"I don't either," Eileen said. "Hey, is that a package of Oreo cookies?" Lucy looked down into the open mouth of her handbag.

"Hey, so they are. You want some?"

"The vending machine is out of order," Stillwell explained.

Lucy doled out the cookies and sat down with a sigh.

"Somebody give me background," she said. "Eileen, how about you?"

"Lowell should be coming around pretty soon. They said it was only a concussion," Stillwell said. "I want the story too, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Eileen said, crunching into an Oreo. "You told us all 'bout that Muallah creep, anyway."

"Let's just call him the Creep." Lucy winced, looking around the very unsecured waiting room. She'd told the story of Fouad Muallah and his Trumpet of Doom during the wait for Colonel Willmeth and the rest of the Schriever cavalry.

Eileen Reed would have made a great CIA a.n.a.lyst, Lucy decided, even if she was beautiful the way Lucy usually detested: long-limbed, straight dark reddish hair, gorgeous cheekbones. Still, she had an incredible brain behind all of those good looks.

"Well, I'm glad the Creep is dead," Eileen said with satisfaction, sipping at her coffee. "You know, it's too bad he never knew all his great plans were foiled by a woman."

"A woman?" Lucy asked in confusion. Joe Tanner wasn't a woman.

"You, Lucy Giometti, you know?" Eileen said, as though it were obvious. "We and the Russians both were alerted to the whole situation in time to stop him from getting away, if not stop him. And if you hadn't been at Schriever we couldn't have started up the system to stop"-here Eileen looked around cautiously-"it."

Lucy smiled. "I never thought of it that way," she admitted. "It's almost too bad they didn't catch him alive. I would have liked to see him realize he was beaten."

"For Sufi's sake, if no one else's," Eileen said, and Lucy nodded, feeling an enormous rush of affection for her new friend. Eileen understood.

"So what about Lowell and your investigation?" Stillwell asked. He hadn't showered and was still remarkably filthy, but his racc.o.o.n eyes were intent. Lucy realized that his man, Blaine, was still not quite in the bag.

"I'll fill you in up to tonight," Eileen said. "My partner should be here before I'm done. I want him to hear what happened tonight. At least, the part about Lowell and Blaine."

They all exchanged grins, and Lucy felt the laughter bubbling up inside of her again.

"Okay, I'll start with Terry Guzman. She was murdered during the War Game this week, found with a sharpened screwdriver in her back...."

Rosen showed up before Eileen was finished, carrying a bag of subs and a thermos full of coffee. He delivered the subs and shook hands with Lucy and Stillwell. Economical as always, he said nothing, but sat down in a chair and unwrapped his own sub.

"I'm almost finished catching them up tonight," Eileen explained. Rosen nodded, and for a few minutes there was no talking at all.

"Ahh, better." Lucy sighed after swallowing her last bite and crumpling up her sandwich paper. "Thank you for bringing those, Detective."

Rosen nodded gravely.

"Okay, go on," Lucy said. "This is incredible. You know Terry's contact was Major Blaine?"

"That's why we have to wait for Guzman to wake up," Stillwell said. "I don't think we can get an espionage conviction from a single phone number. And unless we can prove the espionage, Major Blaine can beat the attempted murder rap in court."

"Sure, just doing his job," Rosen said gloomily from the depths of his chair.

"We thought the murderer was Blaine," Stillwell said, sipping at his coffee. "Now we know it was Lowell."

"Lowell was trying to kill Joe Tanner, at least," Lucy said thoughtfully. There was a silence among them.

Eileen looked out into the deserted hallway. The waiting room was softly lighted and tastefully decorated, but the chair arms were soiled and the magazines tattered. The signs of waiting.

"I'm hoping Lowell has something to say about Blaine," Eileen said.

The on-duty doctor appeared in the doorway and contemplated the small group of people. He was thin and elderly. He wore gla.s.ses, and his blue scrub suit was wrinkled.

"No problem with the st.i.tches, no fractures, and your patient is waking up," the doctor said, taking off his gla.s.ses and polishing them with a handkerchief. "Four visitors?"

"Four, please," Eileen said.

"Room 309," the doctor said. "Don't stay long."

Lowell was awake. The face was as innocent-looking as Eileen remembered it, although it was bruised and swollen along the right side. A white bandage covered half his head. There was an IV taped to his wrist. Lowell saw Eileen first and looked away. His eyes were blurred and vague.

"First, the business," Eileen said. "You have the right to remain silent..."

When Eileen finished reading Lowell his Miranda rights, she asked him if he was willing to speak.

"Sure, why not?" Lowell said, not looking at Eileen. He glanced at Lucy Giometti, and turned away from her bright look of loathing. Rosen leaned against the door frame. Still-well stuffed his hands into his grimy pockets.

"Why did you kill Terry?" Rosen spoke first, quietly.

"I don't know why she married me," Lowell said, and moved his hands on the covers. "I don't know why. She wanted-I don't know what she wanted."

"Why?" Eileen repeated patiently.

"Because she was going to lose her job. She was so obvious about her little games. I found out about her and Major Blaine-"

Lowell caught the abrupt movement from Stillwell. He looked at Stillwell, and understanding cleared the sad brown eyes for a moment.

"Ahh, you want him? He's got a habit, that's what Terry said. When I confronted her. They didn't sleep together, they just did business. You can't screw on heroin. I guess he got the habit overseas."

Lucy gave a little shudder of disgust.

"Terry, everything was easy for her, you know?" Lowell added in a blurred voice. "From the time she was a little cheerleader in high school, everything was just handed to her. Her mom and dad gave her money, a car, a college education. When things got hard in college she just went out with guys who would help her get through her cla.s.ses, help her cheat. She didn't even really have a computer science degree, she had a business degree with a CS emphasis."

Lowell chuckled rustily, his eyes focused far beyond the people in the room.

"Emphasis," he said bitterly. "She couldn't code her way out of a paper bag. But ah, G.o.d, she looked so good, she smelled so good, she wanted me, and I would have done anything for her, anything...." His voice trailed off and his eyes sharpened. He looked over at Eileen. "She had anything she wanted, but she always wanted more. Why is that, do you know?"

"Who did Blaine pa.s.s the information to?" Eileen asked neutrally, struggling with a desire to feel pity for the drugged man. He was pitiful, but he was a monster.

"I don't know." Lowell sighed. "Once I found out it was too late, you know. All I could do was beg her to stop, and she just laughed. I'd lose my clearance. They'd probably send me to jail, too."

"That's why Blaine tried to shoot him," Lucy said. "With Lowell dead, no one could prove that he was her contact."

Lowell turned his blurry gaze to Eileen.

"She was so wicked. Didn't you find that out? Didn't everyone tell you how evil she was?"

"She didn't deserve to die," Rosen said coldly.

"And Art?" Eileen said, tasting the brightness of revulsion in her mouth. "Was Art evil and wicked? Is Joe Tanner?"

Lowell looked puzzled. The big hands on the coverlet stirred a little, then relaxed again.

"I-don't know," he said. "I couldn't let Art find out it was me. Who would have thought you could play back those terminals? I thought I had the perfect murder planned. I worked on it for months. I even tested it one Game earlier, without raising the floor tile behind her. But Art figured it out." Lowell shook his head.

"Then Joe figured it out too, and left a message for Nelson. I-" He looked around the room, seeking understanding. "I couldn't let them figure it out. It was easy, after killing Terry. It was easy after the first time."

Lowell laid his head back on the pillows, his bruised face gray and wan.

"It was pretty easy, really," he muttered, and fell asleep.

Eileen, Lucy, Rosen, and Stillwell stood around the bed and watched Lowell Guzman sleep. They looked at each other, and as they turned to leave the room the first light of dawn began to touch the windows with pink and gold.

39.

Denver Animal Shelter.

Fancy surged to her feet along with the other dogs in the kennels that lined the room. It was morning. Someone was coming in from the street entrance. The dogs barked. Debbie walked an elderly couple down the corridor. Fancy wagged her tail, trying to shove her tender nose through the chain link of the kennel gate.

A volley of barking burst from one of the kennels and the couple rushed to the door. The girl opened the door and a little white poodle came bounding out, leaping in joy around the old couple's feet.