Rogue Oracle (24 page)

The boat’s interior was actually much nicer than it looked on the outside. Below deck was a living area with a bar and a bedroom and bathroom, while upstairs was the main control room. The décor—wood paneling and maize-colored shag carpet, a couple of curling travel agency posters of beaches with palm trees—hadn’t been updated since the 1970s. Cassie set her backpack down and unzipped it. Oscar squirmed out of the sack and zipped behind the bar.

“It’s like a houseboat,” Cassie said.

“Yeah. Steve lives here most of the year, until it gets cold. I think he’s taken it as far south as Mexico. It’s his retirement plan, heading to the Yucatan.”

“Stars are real pretty out there,” the Cowboy offered. He stationed himself at the wheel, cranked the engine, and began to back the boat out of the slip.

“You guys keep surprising me,” Cassie said.

“You like to fish?” the Kahuna asked. He opened the cooler, which Cassie had assumed was full of beer. Instead, it was full of ice, sodas, and white plastic containers. The Kahuna ripped the top off one of the cartons. “Mmmm. Nightcrawlers.”

Cassie peered in at the seething mass of dirt and wrinkled her nose. “Um. I’ve never been fishing.”

“We’ll teach you. C’mon, this is the best time of day for it.” The Kahuna clomped to the deck. He paused to grasp the binoculars dangling around his neck, scanned the receding marina as the
Starry Night
tooled out of the harbor and into the river. By Cassie’s eye, they were heading south and east on the Potomac, toward the Chesapeake Bay. The Kahuna seemed to be checking to make sure they weren’t being followed, but Cassie didn’t ask.

The Kahuna spent the next couple of hours teaching Cassie how to operate a fishing pole, choose lures, and attach bait to the hook. Cassie had a hard time learning how to cast, but the Kahuna was a patient teacher. His only warning was to remember to look behind her before she cast, because he’d accidentally hooked the Cowboy’s lip one time while inebriated. The Cowboy had not been pleased.

Determined not to repeat the mistake, Cassie practiced casting until her arm ached and she could pretty much put the bobber where she wanted to in the water. It was a peaceful thing, she thought, feeling the sun hot against her skin and the motion of the waves lapping against the boat. Morning sun glistened on the waves, and it seemed like there was nothing on Earth but the water and blue sky.

She clumsily jammed a squirming segment of worm on her hook and cast the line out. The Cowboy had set anchor, and was busy feeding Maggie and Oscar bits of lunch meat from the mini-fridge under the bar. Cassie closed her eyes and felt the warm breeze skimming across her face. For the first time in days, she was beginning to feel like herself again.

But that illusion was shattered when the Kahuna spoke: “Why is your crazy aunt chasing you?”

Cassie’s grip on the pole tightened, and she reeled the line in. She cast it out twice more before answering. “I did something pretty awful,” she said. “I didn’t intend to, but things went pretty wrong.”

The Kahuna nodded. He didn’t look at her. He just waited, watching his line.

“My crazy aunt wanted to toughen me up. She hired some guy to break into the house, to see what I would do. Problem was, I had a gun handy.”

The Kahuna nodded again. He reeled his line back in and cast it out. “Mind if I tell you a story?”

Cassie blew her breath out, relieved that he was no longer focusing on her. “Sure.”

“First time I killed somebody was on my first assignment as a Marshal.” He said it as if he was talking about going to the store to pick up some milk. “I was supposed to be picking up a prisoner, Gordy Cohen. Sixty-five-year-old man with fake teeth. He lived out in the boonies, had been cooking up PCP for fun and profit for years. DEA had nailed him on federal racketeering charges. He served time, got out, and violated the terms of his parole. They wanted him brought back in to prove a point.

“So, I knocked on his door to serve his papers. He seemed like a perfectly harmless, if crazy, old motherfucker. I felt kinda sorry for him. His wife and kids were back in the kitchen, scared of me. I didn’t want to scare ’em any further, so I was trying to play things nice. Gordy asked if he could get his coat and shoes, since it was cold out.

“I told him yes. That was my first mistake. Gordy disappears into the back of the house. I wait for him a good couple of minutes, yelled for him. No answer. Then I know I’ve been had.” The Kahuna paused to lick his lips. “I radioed for backup, charged through the kitchen at the back of the house to the garage. I figured he was getting his car ready to make an escape.

“But Gordy wasn’t keeping his car in his garage. He had his shiny new PCP lab in there. I remember seeing glass and tubes, knew instantly what it was. But I didn’t know that Gordy had booby-trapped his lab. Soon as I opened that door, it blew up like a bomb.”

The Kahuna scratched his beard. In the sunlight, Cassie could see pink scars underneath it. “I was lucky, though I would’ve sworn I was the unluckiest bastard who ever walked the face of the Earth for quite some time after. The explosion knocked me through the kitchen, out through a window. But the blast killed Gordy, his wife, and one of his kids. The other two were crispy critters.”

Cassie closed her eyes. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

“I thought about quitting after that.” The Kahuna’s gaze was distant, unfocused in memory. “But then I thought: if I quit, I’d never have the chance to make a positive change in the world. I would just have gone back to selling entertainment centers at my parents’ furniture store. I could do that every day for the rest of my life, or I could choose to keep on the path, to make a dent in the world, despite the obstacles. Took me years to get over it, though, to realize that things had to happen the way that they did. If it hadn’t been me, it would’ve been someone else who made a mistake. I really had no choice in it.”

Cassie looked sidelong at him. “You’re saying you were fated to be there, destined to continue to be a Marshal?”

“Yeah. I guess you could say that I believe in destiny. There are some things that are immutable, and just have to be accepted. Gordy was a bad guy, who was gonna cause collateral damage no matter what.” The Kahuna shrugged. “Doesn’t mean that I don’t feel bad about it. I figure I’m supposed to. That means I still have a conscience. But I realize my responsibility in the situation was limited.”

Cassie stared out at the water. “I wish I could feel that way.”

“You’re still operating under the illusion of free will in all situations. I didn’t have a choice when I tripped Gordy’s bomb. But I had a choice in deciding whether to throw in the towel. You think you had a choice, in shooting that burglar. But did you, really?”

Cassie was silent.

“Would you have let him attack you, hurt your dog and your cat? Lay in wait for others to come home and hurt them, too?”

“No.”

“Then there was no other rational decision. Accept it, and look to the future. Look for the things you can change, where you can do the most good.”

Cassie felt a tug on her line, and her bobber disappeared.

“Set your hook with a good, firm jerk,” the Kahuna said. “Then reel ’em in.”

Cassie cranked the reel to draw the fish in. Her heart was hammering ridiculously fast at the excitement of catching a fish. She reeled the heavy weight at the end of the line in to the side of the boat. The Kahuna leaned over and caught up the line, hauling her prize up for her to see.

The fish squirmed green and yellow in the sunlight, flapping, almost a foot long. Cassie blinked at it, while Maggie trotted over to sniff. “What is it?”

“Could be dinner. Or you could throw it back. But it’s a nice perch.”

Cassie reached out to catch the line and looked at the fish.

The Kahuna beamed at her. “Life’s like the fish. We all have the illusion of choice, thinking we have the power of life and death, every minute of every day. But in all actuality, there’s only one answer. One path out of any given situation.”

Cassie regarded the twisting fish. “You’re saying I don’t have a choice as to whether the fish becomes dinner or whether I throw him back?”

“You think you do. But not really.” The Kahuna grinned.

“That’s kind of a … helpless way to look at things.”

“Not really. It doesn’t mean you don’t make an effort, that you don’t struggle. But Philosophy According to Steve means you don’t agonize over things you couldn’t foresee, that you can’t go back and change.”

Cassie peered at the fish. “How do I get the hook out of him?”

“Like this.” The Kahuna grabbed the fish, yanked the hook from the perch’s mouth. The perch seemed to gasp, and a chunk of red flesh was removed from its lip. He handed the slimy, flipping fish back to Cassie.

Cassie leaned over the boat and tossed the fish back. It hit the water with a smack, then disappeared under the murky blue. Maggie put her paws up on the railing and stared over it, dejected.

“So, I didn’t make a decision just then?”

“I don’t think so.” The Kahuna rearranged himself on his plaid lawn chair and cast his line over the rail. “I think you are what you are. And there’s no changing that.”

Cassie stared out at the water, where the fish had vanished. She wished she could vanish like the fish, disappear off the radar of destiny.

The Cowboy clomped around the deck and began to fiddle with the rope that held the anchor.

The Kahuna glanced at him. “You moving to a better fishing hole?”

The Cowboy shook his head. “Just someplace less crowded.” He gestured with his chin to a sleek yacht bobbing along the horizon. “That boat’s been following us at a distance for the last two hours. Might be a coincidence. Might not be.”

The Kahuna reeled back his pole and grabbed his binoculars. He peered through them. “They’re not fishing over there, whatever they’re doing.” He nodded at Cassie. “Take the animals and get below deck.”

Cassie whistled for Maggie, and the dog bounded behind her below deck, to the world of shag carpet. Oscar was stretched out on the bar, giving himself a bath. He looked up at her with an expression of annoyance.

The motor rattled to life. Feeling the pitch and yaw of the boat as it turned, Cassie adjusted her footing. Oscar slid right off the top of the highly polished bar top and landed behind the bar with an aggrieved yowl. Maggie ran to check on him. Cassie didn’t get the impression that the
Starry Night
was a craft built for speed. If the boat on the horizon was really a pursuing craft, she didn’t hold out much hope the
Starry Night
would escape.

Over the whine of the engine, Cassie could hear the Steves plotting in the wheelhouse cabin: “She still behind us?”

“Yeah. She’s pulled anchor and is on our ass. She’s faster, and will catch us soon.”

“I’ll get the guns.”

Cassie scrambled for her backpack. She’d had enough of guns, enough of killing. She fished her cell phone out of one of the zippered pockets and dialed the number for the farmhouse.

“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice answered. “Get me the Pythia.” Cassie was surprised at the amount of steel that reverberated in her voice, like a piano wire.

“Just a moment.” There was the sound of steps retreating. Cassie imagined the kitchen phone set on the counter while one of Delphi’s Daughters interrupted the Pythia’s smoke break.

“Hello.” The Pythia’s voice sounded thin over this long distance.

“You promised not to come after me.” Cassie’s voice sounded cold, though she sat down on the floor to keep her knees from knocking.

“I promised not to bring you back. I never promised not to watch over you.”

“Is that what you’re doing—surveillance?”

“It’s in your best interest for me to make sure you’re safe,” the Pythia continued, in a soothing purr. “With Tara out of the country, Delphi’s Daughters are simply watching—”

“Stop it,” Cassie snapped. “You’ve done enough.”

“I can’t. You’re the future of Delphi’s Daughters.” The Pythia sounded uncharacteristically helpless.

“Leave me alone. Leave me alone,
right now.
Or I promise you that I will never come back to you. Delphi’s Daughters will be without a Pythia. And they will die out.”

The threat hung in silence. Cassie’s fingers tightened on the phone. She had the trump card, and she’d use it.

“Now, back off. Back off, unless you want more blood on your hands.”

Cassie switched off the phone, hand shaking. She climbed up the steps to the wheelhouse. Footing was treacherous as the boat bumped along the waves. The Cowboy sat behind the wheel, while the Kahuna stood with what looked like one of the Pythia’s machine guns in his hands.

“They’re dropping back,” the Cowboy said, glancing behind them.

The Kahuna’s grip relaxed a fraction on the machine gun. His sunglass-covered gaze scraped at the sleek boat on the horizon that was falling farther and farther back beyond the waves.

“Good thing,” the Kahuna said. “I wasn’t much in the mood to play pirate battles on the high seas.”

Cassie cracked a wan smile, shaded her eyes with her hand, and stared at the horizon. She was safe for now. But she knew that she couldn’t keep running. Eventually, she’d have to confront the Pythia and her own curious destiny.