“You don’t look Indian.”
“I’m one of the original Aryans.”
“How did you get so much money?”
“How do you think?”
“I figure you must have inherited it.”
“Not true. I’m a great saver, and I know how to invest.”
“Do you play the market?”
“I love to play . . . it.”
My remark might have been suggestive, I don’t know. He pulled me closer and began to massage my calves. He had such strong hands and his touch was . . . well, it was ridiculously sensual. I felt myself getting aroused, and I would have had to be blind not to know he was excited. I swore I wouldn’t kiss him. I knew if I did I wouldn’t stop. Still, he kept rubbing me higher, harder, and deeper.
“You like this?” he asked.
“Stupid question.”
“You know, I’ve never cheated on Teri.”
“I believe you.”
“But you’re thinking there’s a first time for everything.”
“I didn’t ask you to massage my feet.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I didn’t ask you to massage my legs.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
I leaned back. “Maybe you should.”
He leaned closer. He kissed me on the cheek, or else I averted my lips, I wasn’t sure. He spoke in my ear. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m a phantom. I’ll be here for a while and then I’ll disappear. You don’t have to worry. I won’t hurt Teri.”
He sat back and stared deep into my eyes. “I think that’s the first time you’ve lied to me.”
I wanted to argue with him. I couldn’t.
Looking back, I realize Matt is obsessed with protecting Teri. He is attracted to me. His flirting is genuine. Yet he uses it for a deeper goal. To pry the truth out of me. And he’s good at it. He got me to reveal something I had no intention of revealing, and as a result he now knows I’m dangerous.
I wonder if he will warn Teri to stay away.
I suppose I couldn’t blame him.
I call Lisa Fetch last, at nine in the morning, and with Brutran still hard at work at her desk. I don’t worry my call can be tapped. I have a device on my cell that makes it 100 percent secure. Claire, my FBI friend, gave it to me.
Lisa sounds tired, and I doubt she got much sleep. I feel bad about having turned her life upside down, but I can’t think of another way to keep her safe.
“I still haven’t located Jeff,” she says.
“Did you call his house?”
“What do you think?”
“I think that might be a bad idea.”
“Look, Alisa Perne, or whatever your real name is, he may be dead to you, but I still have hope.”
“You have to take my advice seriously. Hope can be a good thing in many situations, but you have to admit it’s a bad sign he hasn’t left a message on your home voice mail, which I’m sure you’ve checked a hundred times.”
She’s tired and she’s hurting. It’s all there in her voice.
“You don’t have to keep rubbing it in,” she says.
“Okay. Let me ask you a question. How often does Ms. Brutran work around the clock at her desk?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sitting outside your building. I’ve been here all night and she’s never gone home.”
“That’s weird.”
“I take it this is weird even for her?”
“As far as I know. When the day is done, she usually goes home with the rest of us. At least as far as I could tell. I didn’t keep close track of her schedule.”
It is as I fear. Ms. Brutran is staying at work because of me.
“I’ll give her another night, see what she does,” I say.
“What are you going to do? Kidnap her the way you kidnapped me?”
“There’s no use whining, Lisa. I gave you plenty of cash. You can go home if you like. But I wouldn’t want to bet on your odds of being alive next week.”
Lisa’s tone softens. “I do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. It’s just hard, you know, to be here all alone, not knowing what’s going on. Without Jeff.”
“I understand. I promise to call you tonight and give you an update. But for now, try not to use the phone to call anyone other than me. Okay?”
“I hear ya,” Lisa says.
We exchange good-byes and I stretch out and wait.
TEN
That night, finally, not long after sunset, Brutran leaves her office and heads for her car. I run for mine. It’s a mile away, but I set a world record getting to it. I’m not unduly worried about losing her in traffic. My ears are acutely attuned to every sound in IIC’s basement, where the firm stows their cars. Fortunately, the garage isn’t equipped with vacuum-plated glass, and I’m able to hear Brutran not only start her car, but say good night to the garage attendant.
To my surprise, Brutran heads north on Pacific Coast Highway, not south into Los Angeles. The road is winding, the traffic sparse. I hang back a mile. The woman drives a white BMW, one of the six brands of cars I sacrificed to the sniper and his Gatling gun. As I follow, I try to envision what type of security I will find at her home, and what I’ll have to do to defeat it. My heart beats with anticipation, and I realize how anxious I am to get my hands on her, to get to the truth of IIC and its mysterious Array.
The woman has a remarkable ability to control her mind, but I’m confident I can break her. There’s a limit to how much pain any human being can stand. Plus her cavalier attitude toward assassinating innocent people angers me, and when I’m angry, my behavior knows no limits.
Brutran drives north along the coast until there’s a break in the hills on our right and she’s able to take a country road across vast farmland. From there she accelerates and races into the hills overlooking Ventura. I’m not surprised to see her turn up a long driveway that leads to a mansion sitting atop its own peak. The architectural style of the residence is the opposite of her workplace. This house belongs on an old Spanish plantation. Although technically one story, it’s spread over an acre of shifting terrain, giving it a half dozen different levels.
The view is beautiful: the glittering lights of the city below, the dark expanse of the far-off ocean. But what strikes me most as I sit in my car down the hill from her driveway is the silence of the spot. I hear a garage door open and close. Brutran turns off her engine and enters her home. Yet she talks to no one, because no one’s there. For the moment I’m bewildered. There’s no husband present, no children, no security guards.