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telephone."
"I'm calling from the beach," Kit manufactured a high-spirited, buddy-to-buddy
laugh. "Actually, I'm being pretty good for me. I'm on my way to becoming a
world-class beach bum up here. There's just one little thing."
"There always is, Tom. Always just one thing, always a hitch in your swing.
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You're supposed to be getting used to not worrying about the little things,"
Stricker told him in the usual soft tones. "Wasn't that our deal?"
"I know, I know. It was. And I appreciate the few weeks up here. It's just
that - I was on the Web this morning. I happened to see that a Dr. Frank
Mcdonough was drowned in Colorado yesterday. It really weirded me out. Did you
see it, Peter?"
Stricker couldn't mask his annoyance for a second longer. His whisper rose a
notch. "Tom, please let this phantom case go. Stay off the Web for a while.
Christ, man. It's already started to wreck a pretty terrific career."
"Not really. But anyway, there was a Dr. Mcdonough in the original Berkeley
think-tank group. I'm sure about that. Would you mind having somebody follow
through with it? Maybe Michael Fescoe? Or Manny Patina? Just for my peace of
mind? Check and see if it's the same Frank Mcdonough."
He could tell that Stricker wasn't at all happy with the way the call was
going. "Okay, Tom. I can do that for you. I'll check up on the deceased.
It's Dr. Frank Mcdonough, right? You work on the personal demons.
Work on your tan. Find some nice Nantucket chick to hang out with.
Make love, not war."
"If he's the same Mcdonough, he's number four, Peter. Doctors Kim, Heekin,
Mekin, Mcdonough."
"Right, I know all the particulars of the case, Tom. I know you think there's
a missing link, even though the folks in Quantico don't see it that way. I'll
take it from here. You take care of the sun and sea."
"Thanks for the help, Peter. You're the best. I'll check in about Mcdonough,
though. Maybe tomorrow?"
He could hear Stricker's sigh. If it was possible, his voice got even lower.
"Give me your number on the island. I'll call you there."
"No, it's okay. I'll check in. It's really no problem. I'll call you tomorrow.
Well, the sun and sea beckon. I even met somebody who I kind of like. I like
her looks, anyway. Thanks again for the help, Peter."
He had to strain to hear Stricker's response.
"No problem. Try to relax, though. Promise me, Tom. This isn't something you
have to worry about anymore. No loose cannon shit. That was our deal. I'll get
the info you need on Dr. Mcdonough. I'm doing it because of our friendship."
Kit hung up the pay phone, and he let out a deep breath. Man, he hated to lie
to Peter - and now it was what he did for a living. His whole life had
suddenly become a lie.
Chapter 18
STOP IT, Mathew! Don't play with my head right now. I'm not in the moodfor it.
Max had just thought of another of Matthew's dumb lines: Why do kamikaze
pilots wear helmets? She could actually hear the sound of Matthew's dumb laugh
at his own dumb jokes. Hardee-bar-bar! He always did that. Annoying little
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twit that he was.
She still hadn't found her little brother and she didn't know where else to
look. Maybe at this slick, modern-looking house up ahead in the woods? Or
maybe she could at least get a little food there. Some water?
F-o-o-d was on her mind. No, f-o-o-d was her mind.
Uh-oh, Spaghettios! She remembered a favorite line from TV. She knew just
about everything that had ever been on the tube. Every show, every dumb and
dumber commercial, every character in every show. The TV had been her
baby-sitter, her mom and her dad, her hundred closest friends at the School.
Max stopped walking, stopped thinking idle thoughts. She cautiously eyed the
house standing up ahead. Careful now. Be ever so careful.
The house looked dark and quiet and it made her wary and afraid in some deep
place inside. A brier thicket grew around it. Oh, please don't throw me in the
brier patch.
She picked her way along the edge of the thicket and up a steep slope toward
the modern construction of thick plate glass and rough timber.
Nobody home, nobody home! Please let there be nobody home. Please, please.
Let there be F-O-O-D here.
Her heart thudding, she tiptoed up a wooden flight of stairs and onto the back
porch. She peered through sliding glass doors that needed a washing with Spic
& Span real bad. She noticed things like that. The genius was in the details,
right?
Forbidden, forbidden, forbidden, she was thinking. Nobody was supposed to see
her. Ever. If they did, then they would die, too.
Max put her fingers to the sealed lips of the glass sliders and pulled.
Her dula/thumb had been modified into a hand. Her fingers worked fine.
She had been made that way.
The doors gave, opened. She was in!
Trap! she thought, but it was already too late.
Chapter 19
IT WASN'T A TRAP, after all. There was nobody waiting inside the house. The
owners were obviously stupid, or really sloppy people, because they left their
back door unlocked and unprotected. But no one was there to capture, or maybe
even kill her.
The house was sloppy and disorganized inside. A family definitely lived here,
though. She could tell by the mess of kid's stuff. Bikes, in-line skates,
video games.
"Matthew," she whispered. She was hoping against hope that he might have found
the same house. Maybe he was hiding in here somewhere.
"Where are you, bra? It's me. Max!"
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She tiptoed into the kitchen. A refrigerator hummed noisily. A fridge - oh,
God, yes. She pulled open the refrigerator door. She basked in the cool air
and the frosty light of the bulb. Her eyes hungrily searched the shelves.
She grabbed a can of soda pop. Sprite. Obey your thirst!
Okay, I think I will.
She had a brief guilt trip that stealing food and soda pop was wrong.
And that it just wasn't a nice thing to do.
Oh, screw that. I've been shot. I'm being hunted. I need to eat and get some
fluids in my body. End of story.
Max drank, then she began to gorge herself. Flying really made you hungry. It
took incredible energy.
She peeled clingy plastic wrap off a glass bowl. Uh-oh, Spaghettios!
She pushed cold spaghetti into her mouth. She didn't care if the spaghetti was
cold, just so long as it was food. Not good food, not great food, just food -
food.
Got milk? Yippee! There was milk, too. She sniffed - it was okay.
Barely. She gulped it down right from the carton.
She found a knife in a pie dish and she used it to hack off a large, sticky
chunk of apple pie.
It was the best pie she'd ever eaten. No contest. No pie-eating contest, she
thought. She grinned. She loved wordplay, any kind of play. Pie play,
whatever. She was smart -really smarl That was the way they had made her,
right.
Max looked in the freezer for more goodies. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]