The Memory Collector Part 38

"Yours." He handed Kanan a bulging sack from Wendy's. "This too. Eat up. You need the fuel."

As soon as he opened the sack, voracious hunger overcame Kanan. How long had it been since he'd eaten? He pulled out a cheeseburger and dug into it. He'd never tasted anything so good.

Diaz caught his eye. "Boss, I've been thinking. You may have left the sample at San Francisco General. We should check."

"Good. Yeah-Diaz, absolutely."

He had no memory of going by San Francisco General Hospital, but if Diaz said so, he believed him.

He tore into the burger. Dumped out the sack on the desk, grabbed a fistful of fries, and stuffed them in his mouth. He didn't think he'd ever felt so hungry. He pulled the lid off the large coffee Diaz had brought and drank it down.

"Thanks, bro," he said. "Need this."

Diaz looked at the desk. "Where'd this phone come from?"

Kanan looked at the phone. "No idea." He patted his jean jacket. "Pocket, maybe."

Diaz picked it up and read the display. "Christ. Boss-look at this."

Kanan wiped his hands and took it. His vision sparked white. "Jesus."

He and Diaz looked at each other.

Diaz grabbed the rifle. "My truck's out back."

Kanan strapped on the ankle sheath and slid the Kbar into it. He finished the coffee and jammed two pistols in the small of his back.

"Let's go get them," he said.

The Chevy Tahoe rolled along Palm Drive, heading toward the center of the Stanford campus. Jo gazed out the window. Palm trees picket-fenced either side of the road. Beyond the palms, the landscape darkened to chaparral and live oaks and towering eucalyptus groves. The huge campus had originally been a farm, and much of it was still undeveloped.

"Speed limit," Calder said.

Vance lifted his foot from the accelerator. He was a restless driver and tended to speed up without provocation. They'd gotten from San Francisco to campus in record time.

Traffic on Palm Drive was light. It was a Friday night. Most students were elsewhere on campus-studying, partying, losing their virginity, inventing fabulous new tiny technologies that could blow up the world or the inside of your head. n.o.body was paying attention to a single blue Chevy Tahoe heading for the quad.

In the front pa.s.senger seat, Calder couldn't stop sighing and squirming, peering at other vehicles and turning to check on Jo over her shoulder. In the blue light of the phone display, Calder's fashion-forward face was drawn. Her nerves and eagerness were getting the better of her. She finger-combed her sleek hair and put on fresh lipstick.

Too bad Ian Kanan would notice the nasty Sta-Prest burn on her forehead, Jo thought.

Vance stopped at the intersection with Campus Drive. Half a mile ahead, through the palms, was the quad. Its sandstone arches were warmly lit. The mosaic on the facade of Memorial Church glimmered under spotlights.

Riva punched in a phone number and put the phone to her ear. She raised a finger, demanding silence. Murdock, sitting across the back seat from Jo, simply looked her way and adjusted the barrel of the gun to point in her general vicinity.

"New schedule," Riva said. "The bidding is now open."

She was silent for a minute, listening. Without saying good-bye, she put the phone away.

"Slow down," she said to Vance. "Campuses are speed traps. The cops are always out to get you." She turned on him. "I said slow down, you stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h."

Shrugging away from her like a scolded dog, Vance slowed again. They drove toward the end of Palm Drive. The trees gave way and the vista opened wide. The road split into a loop that curved up to the front steps of the quad and circled back. The landscaped lawns and flower beds in the oval's center were black in the night.

Vance crept along. There were parking slots along either curb, mostly empty this time of night. Just off the right edge of the road, a curtain of oaks camouflaged academic buildings.

"Slow," Calder said, leaning forward and peering out. "This is reconnaissance."

Jo glanced at her watch. Nineteen minutes to the rendezvous. She thought of Alec Shepard, struggling to stay above the surface of Stow Lake. She thought of his strength ebbing with every breath.

"Please, call in a rescue for Alec. You can't possibly count on him treading water for an hour with just his arms. Find a pay phone and do it anonymously."

"No," Calder said.

Jo clenched and unclenched her hands. She saw no sign of the police. And they were running out of time to pick up Misty and Seth.

"Make a loop," Calder said.

"What's Ian going to do when he sees you?" Jo said.

She threw out the question as bait. Information, especially information that included unconscious self-revelation, was power. She needed to learn as much as she could. Calder could not rationally imagine that she was about to win Kanan's love. But when it came to Kanan, Calder was not rational.

"What's Kanan going to do?" she said again.

"What makes you think he's even going to see me here?" Calder said.

"He doesn't know you're behind all this, does he?" Jo said.

"You're a nosy b.i.t.c.h, you know?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Calder snorted. Jo decided it was as much respect as she'd ever get from the woman.

"How did you do it?" Jo said. "Did Murdock and Vance deliver the threat to him? Text, video, digital photos of Seth and Misty held prisoner? Did you talk to him at all before he took off to get Slick back and bring it to you?"

"None of your business."

Calder had stayed in the background, Jo thought. Delivered the threats via proxy.

"Who are these guys, anyway? Your cousins? Your puppets?" Jo said.

No reply.

"Who was Ken Meiring?" Jo said.

Around her, they all squirmed.

"How do you plan to conduct the exchange? I need to know, so I don't blow it or scare you into doing something rash. When Ian arrives with the stuff, do we just get out?"

"You get to climb out when Murdock has the stuff in his hands. You get out when I see Ian with my own eyes. None of this bulls.h.i.t about talking to this Gabe person."

Murdock eyed her. "Why did you even have Gabe's first name in your phone?"

"I'm a psychiatrist. I have to protect the privacy of clients and contacts. I never put people's last names in my phone. Ever."

And she thought, wow, that was a good idea. She should implement it.

"When are we going to get Misty and Seth?" she said.

"Don't worry about them."

"Isn't it time to pick them up?"

"No." Calder glanced at her. "I'm renegotiating the terms of the exchange. If you and the folks on the phone were telling the truth, and Ian's really bringing Slick to the rendezvous, we'll go get them. If not ..."

Oh, s.h.i.t. Dread coursed through her. Calder had no intention of bringing the Kanans here.

Calder made a looping motion with her hand. "Go around again." She glanced back at Jo. "You can't trust anybody."

Officer Frank Liu circled the block and returned to the lieutenant's unmarked car. She wasn't there. She hadn't been at their meeting point or at his patrol car, either. He walked back to the alley. There was no sign of her. He got on the radio.

The clerk behind the lost and found counter handed Kanan his backpack. "Here you go, sir."

"Thanks."

He signed for it, slung it over his shoulder, and turned to go. Nico Diaz was standing there.

He smiled. Diaz-large as life, out of the blue, and just the man he needed.

He clapped a hand on Diaz's shoulder and together they strode along a hallway.

"Glad the pack was here all along," Diaz said. "You obviously got separated from your belongings when you came in. Good thing n.o.body else took it home with them."

Diaz was cool as an ice rink, but Kanan's nerves ginned up. They crossed a quiet lobby and walked out a set of automatic doors. It was a foggy night. Kanan looked back. The sign over the doors said SAN FRANCISCO GENERAL HOSPITAL.

Diaz had parked his pickup truck in the ten-minute zone. The dashboard was cluttered with cheap plastic toys and religious memorabilia. They got in and Diaz fired up the engine.

"What are we doing?" Kanan said.

Diaz reached over and pulled up Kanan's sleeve, showing him the words Sat.u.r.day they die.

"We're going to the meet. Is the stuff in the backpack?" he said.

Kanan unzipped the pack and took out the battery from his laptop computer.

"That's it?" Diaz said.

To casual examination, the battery looked completely normal. But in Zambia, he had disa.s.sembled it and junked the actual battery. Then he had filled the plastic battery casing with the gel from the flask, screwed its two halves back together, and sealed the joints with superglue. The plastic felt warm in his hands, and there was some softening near the seal. It was holding but wouldn't forever.

But the kidnappers could deal with that. f.u.c.k 'em.

"You cool with what we're doing?" Diaz said.

Kanan looked at him. "This memory thing freaking you out?"

"I'm past it now."

"I don't matter, Nico. Only Seth and Misty."

Diaz gave him a slow nod. He glanced at the battery. "That stuff's valuable?"

"It's my family's freedom. It's priceless." Kanan pointed at the road. "Drive."

* 32 *

Gabe crept through the trees toward the Oval, treading carefully so his feet wouldn't crunch on fallen oak leaves. He had a crowbar in his hand. He had a folded Buck knife in his back pocket. His 4Runner was parked two hundred yards back, on a cross road, aimed straight at Palm Drive so that he could cut off any vehicles leaving the Oval. In the chilly air, the quad was gloriously lit. The road was quiet. The lawn and garden in the center of the Oval were dark and empty, except for a lone cyclist pedaling furiously toward the chemistry department.

Keeping to the trees, he ran counterclockwise up the right side of the Oval, in the same direction as the one-way traffic around the loop. He stopped at a vantage point seventy yards before the pickup zone, which was near the plaza and steps leading to the quad at the top of the loop. That put him behind anybody who stopped there. And people who stopped in the pickup zone would likely be busy looking ahead or toward the quad, not watching their backs. He ducked behind the trunk of a live oak and blended into the shifting shadows.

He checked the time. The illuminated blue dial of his diver's watch read eight forty-five P.M.

Jo knew Stanford inside and out. After four years at the medical school, she could probably scramble from one side of campus to the other via rooftops and steam tunnels. He knew the campus too, but not nearly as well. And he didn't know what kind of vehicle the hostage-takers were driving.

He checked his phone. No messages from Tang. No sign of any law enforcement. He didn't know whether the lieutenant was sending the Stanford Police, Palo Alto P.D., Santa Clara County SWAT, or a combination of the three.

But he wanted her to send somebody, and now. She had told him she was taking point on this, and he believed her-but he also wanted confirmation. He called her cell phone and got voice mail.

He clicked off and redialed the SFPD Northern Station. He kept his voice to a murmur.

"This is Gabe Quintana from the One twenty-ninth Rescue Wing at Moffet Field. I phoned forty-five minutes ago with an emergency message for Lieutenant Tang. I'm calling to verify that she's coordinating the police response to a hostage situation on the Stanford campus."

The desk officer's voice perked up. "Let me check, Mr. Quintana."