Several blocks to the north, an ugly column of smoke rose into the twilight sky from what was left of Tina’s house, roiling, night-black, the upper reaches tinted around the edges by the last pinkish rays of the setting sun.
As he drove from one residential street to another, steadily heading away from the smoke, working toward a major thoroughfare, Elliot expected to encounter the black van at every intersection.
Tina appeared to be no less pessimistic about their hope of escape than he was. Each time he glanced at her, she was either crouched forward, squinting at every new street they entered, or twisted halfway around in her seat, looking out the rear window. Her face was drawn, and she was biting her lower lip.
However, by the time they reached Charleston Boulevard—via Maryland Parkway, Sahara Avenue, and Las Vegas Boulevard—they began to relax. They were far from Tina’s neighborhood now. No matter who was searching for them, no matter how large the organization pitted against them, this city was too big to harbor danger for them in every nook and crevice. With more than a million full-time residents, with more than twenty million tourists a year, and with a vast desert on which to sprawl, Vegas offered thousands of dark, quiet corners where two people on the run could safely stop to catch their breath and settle upon a course of action.
At least that was what Elliot wanted to believe.
“Where to?” Tina asked as Elliot turned west on Charleston Boulevard.
“Let’s ride out this way for a few miles and talk. We’ve got a lot to discuss. Plans to make.”
“What plans?” “How to stay alive.”
20
WHILE ELLIOT DROVE, HE TOLD TINA WHAT HAD happened at his house: the two thugs, their interest in the possibility of Danny’s grave being reopened, their admission that they worked for some government agency, the hypodermic syringes. . . .
She said, “Maybe we should go back to your place. If this Vince is still there, we should use those drugs on him. Even if he really doesn’t know why his organization is interested in the exhumation, he’ll at least know who his bosses are. We’ll get names. There’s bound to be a lot we can learn from him.”
They stopped at a red traffic light. Elliot took her hand. The contact gave him strength. “I’d sure like to interrogate Vince, but we can’t. He probably isn’t at my place anymore. He’ll have come to his senses and scrammed by now. And even if he was deeper under than I thought, some of his people probably went in there and pulled him out while I was rushing off to you. Besides, if we go back to my house, we’ll just be walking into the dragon’s jaws. They’ll be watching the place.”
The traffic light changed to green, and Elliot reluctantly let go of her hand.
“The only way these people are going to get us,” he said, “is if we just give ourselves over to them. No matter who they are, they’re not omniscient. We can hide from them for a long time if we have to. If they can’t find us, they can’t kill us.”
As they continued west on Charleston Boulevard, Tina said, “Earlier you told me we couldn’t go to the police with this.”
“Right.”
“Why can’t we?”
“The cops might be a part of it, at least to the extent that Vince’s bosses can put pressure on them. Besides, we’re dealing with a government agency, and government agencies tend to cooperate with one another.”
“It’s all so paranoid.”
“Eyes everywhere. If they have a judge in their pocket, why not a few cops?” “But you told me you respected Kennebeck. You said he was a good judge.” “He is. He’s well versed in the law, and he’s fair.”
“Why would he cooperate with these killers? Why would he violate his oath of office?” “Once an agent, always an agent,” Elliot said. “That’s the wisdom of the service, not mine, but in many cases it’s true. For some of them, it’s the only loyalty they’ll ever be capable of. Kennebeck held several jobs in different intelligence organizations. He was deeply involved in that world for thirty years. After he retired about ten years ago, he was still a young man, fifty-three, and he needed something else to occupy his time. He had his law degree, but he didn’t want the hassle of a day-to-day legal practice. So he ran for an elective position on the court, and he won. I think he takes his job seriously. Nevertheless, he was an intelligence agent a hell of a lot longer than he’s been a judge, and I guess breeding tells. Or maybe he never actually retired at all. Maybe he’s still on the payroll of some spook shop, and maybe the whole plan was for him to pretend to retire and then get elected as a judge here in Vegas, so his bosses would have a friendly courtroom in town.”
“Is that likely? I mean, how could they be sure he’d win the election?” “Maybe they fixed it.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93