Persuader Part 18

I said nothing.

"I just thank G.o.d I have a son," she said. "Not a daughter."

I said nothing.

"Last night was very bad," she said. "I was hoping he would start leaving me alone. Now that I'm getting old."

I glanced at her again. Couldn't think of anything to say.

"It was my birthday yesterday," she said. "That was Paulie's present to me."

I said nothing.

"I turned fifty," she said. "I suppose you don't want to think about a naked fifty-year-old, parading around."

I didn't know what to say.

"But I keep in shape," she said. "I use the gym when the others aren't around."

I said nothing.

"He pages me," she said. "I have to carry a pager at all times. It buzzed in the middle of the night. Last night. I had to go, right away. It's much worse if I keep him waiting."

I said nothing.

"I was on my way back when you saw me," she said. "Out there on the rocks."

I pulled onto the side of the road. Braked gently and stopped the car. Eased the gearshift into Park.

"I think you work for the government," she said.

I shook my head.

"You're wrong," I said. "I'm just a guy."

"Then I'm disappointed."

"I'm just a guy," I said again.

She said nothing.

"You shouldn't say stuff like that," I said. "I'm in enough trouble already."

"Yes," she said. "They'd kill you."

"Well, they'd try," I said. Then I paused. "Have you told them what you think?"

"No," she said.

"Well don't. And you're wrong anyway."

She said nothing.

"There'd be a battle," I said. "They'd come for me and I wouldn't go quietly. People would get hurt. Richard, maybe."

She stared at me. "Are you bargaining with me?"

I shook my head again.

"I'm warning you," I said. "I'm a survivor."

She smiled a bitter smile.

"You have absolutely no idea," she said. "Whoever you are, you're in way over your head. You should leave now."

"I'm just a guy," I said. "I've got nothing to hide from them."

The wind rocked the car. I could see nothing but granite and trees. We were miles from the nearest human being.

"My husband is a criminal," she said.

"I figured that," I said.

"He's a hard man," she said. "He can be violent, and he's always ruthless."

"But he's not his own boss," I said.

"No," she said. "He isn't. He's a hard man who literally quakes in front of the person who is his boss."

I said nothing.

"There's an expression," she said. "People ask, why do bad things happen to good people? But in my husband's case, bad things are happening to a bad person. Ironic, isn't it? But they are bad things."

"Who does Duke belong to?"

"My husband. But Duke's as bad as Paulie, in his way. I wouldn't care to choose between them. He was a corrupt cop, and a corrupt federal agent, and a killer. He's been in prison."

"Is he the only one?"

"On my husband's payroll? Well, he had the two bodyguards. They were his. Or they were provided for him, anyway. But they were killed, of course. Outside Richard's college. By the men from Connecticut. So yes, Duke's the only one now. Apart from the mechanic, of course. But he's just a technician."

"How many has the other guy got?"

"I'm not sure. They seem to come and go."

"What exactly are they importing?"

She looked away. "If you're not a government man, then I guess you wouldn't be interested."

I followed her gaze toward the distant trees. Think, Reacher. This could be an elaborate con game designed to flush me out. They could all be in it together. His gate man's hand on his wife's breast would be a small price for Beck to pay for some crucial information.

And I believed in elaborate con games. I had to. I was riding one myself.

"I'm not a government man," I said.

"Then I'm disappointed," she said again.

I put the car in Drive. Held my foot on the brake.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Do you think I care where the h.e.l.l we go?"

"You want to get some coffee?"

"Coffee?" she said. "Sure. Go south. Let's stay well away from Portland today."

I made the turn south onto Route One, about a mile short of I-95. It was a pleasant old road, like roads used to be. We pa.s.sed through a place called Old Orchard Beach. It had neat brick sidewalks and Victorian streetlights. There were signs pointing left to a beach.

There were faded French flags. I guessed Quebec Canadians had vacationed there before cheap airfares to Florida and the Caribbean had changed their preferences.

"Why were you out last night?" Elizabeth Beck asked me.

I said nothing.

"You can't deny it," she said. "Did you think I hadn't seen you?"

"You didn't react," I said.

"I was in Paulie mode," she said. "I've trained myself not to react."

I said nothing.

"Your room was locked," she said.

"I climbed out the window," I said. "I don't like to be locked in."

"What did you do then?"

"I took a stroll. Like I thought you were doing."

"Then you climbed back in?"

I nodded. Said nothing.

"The wall is your big problem," she said. "There are the lights and the razor wire, obviously, but there are sensors too, in the ground. Paulie would hear you from thirty yards away."

"I was just getting some air," I said.

"No sensors under the driveway," she said. "They couldn't make them work under the blacktop. But there's a camera on the lodge. And there's a motion alarm on the gate itself. Do you know what an NSV is?"

"Soviet tank-turret machine gun," I said.

"Paulie's got one," she said. "He keeps it by the side door. He's been told to use it if he hears the motion alarm."

I breathed in, and then I breathed out. An NSV is more than five feet long and weighs more than fifty-five pounds. It uses cartridges four and a half inches long and a half-inch wide. It can fire twelve of them in a second. It has no safety mechanism. The combination of Paulie and an NSV would be n.o.body's idea of fun.

"But I think you swam," she said. "I can smell the sea on your shirt. Very faintly. You didn't dry yourself properly when you got back."

We pa.s.sed a sign for a town called Saco. I coasted to the shoulder and stopped again.

Cars and trucks whined past us.

"You were incredibly lucky," she said. "There are some bad riptides off the point. Strong undertow. But I expect you went in behind the garages. In which case you missed them by about ten feet."

"I don't work for the government," I said.

"Don't you?"

"Don't you think you're taking a h.e.l.l of a chance?" I said. "Let's say I wasn't exactly what I appeared to be. Just for the sake of argument. Let's say I was from a rival organization, for instance. Don't you see the risk? You think you would make it back to the house alive? Saying what you're saying?"

She looked away.

"Then I guess that will be the test," she said. "If you're a government man, you won't kill me. If you're not, you will."

"I'm just a guy," I said. "You could get me in trouble."

"Let's find coffee," she said. "Saco is a nice town. All the big mill owners lived there, way back."

We ended up on an island in the middle of the Saco River. There was an enormous brick building on it that had been a gigantic mill, way back in history. Now it was being gentrified into hundreds of offices and stores. We found a gla.s.s-and-chrome coffee shop called Cafe Cafe. A pun in French, I guessed. But the smell alone was worth the trip. I ignored the lattes and the flavored foamy stuff and ordered regular coffee, hot, black, large. Then I turned to Elizabeth Beck. She shook her head.

"You stay," she said. "I've decided to go shopping. Alone. I'll meet you back here in four hours."

I said nothing.

"I don't need your permission," she said. "You're just my driver."

"I don't have any money," I said.

She gave me twenty bucks from her purse. I paid for the coffee and carried it to a table.

She came with me and watched me sit down.

"Four hours," she said. "Maybe a little more, but no less. In case there's something you need to do."

"I've got nothing to do," I said. "I'm just your driver."

She looked at me. Zipped her purse. The s.p.a.ce around my table was tight. She twisted a little to get the strap of her purse square on her shoulder. Jackknifed slightly to avoid touching the table and spilling my coffee. There was a clunk, like plastic hitting the floor.