The Black Silent (14 page)

They hadn't shot him.

Ben didn't expect that they would until they got their information. They seemed unsure of themselves, which gave him the advantage, since he was completely sure of himself.

No one was going to get a whiff of ARCLES, unless and until proper safeguards for the public were in place.

They could try torture, but he had a glass capsule up beside his molars and it was filled with enough ricin to kill ten people almost instantly, and there was no known antidote.

Game, set, match—or checkmate, if one preferred chess to tennis.

Ben should have been grateful to be tied up in a chair and not tortured for what he knew. Instead, he sat there wondering why they weren't hurting him, or at least shouting questions at him.

There has to be a reason.

They already have the information? Impossible.

The drugs and torture were still to come? Most likely. And soon.

His heart beat faster and he could hear it and didn't like it. He listened for sounds but heard nothing except the faint blare of bluegrass music in the distance. It sounded obscene in the face of his impending doom.

He needed to urinate, and that bothered him as well. It had been many decades since he'd peed his britches and he was probably about due for diapers in another decade or two, but he hadn't been planning on it this weekend. Sons of bitches were being downright uncivilized.

His sole comfort was that old man Sanker would by now be hysterical with frustration.

Unless Sanker himself was behind Ben's current imprisonment. If so, it wouldn't take long to discover that Ben's secrets would not be easily won.

Despite the jocular thought of Sanker, Ben was seriously frightened. If Sanker weren't behind this abduction, then at least two well-resourced parties were after him and ARCLES. At this point he had lost control of his life except to end it, which was not the sort of choice he wanted.

For mental exercise he went through the possible identities of his captors: Sanker; Frick independently; federal agents, renegade or not; foreign oil interests or other nationals; even American Bayou, which could have gone around Nelson Gempshorn and taken him. Then the chilling thought occurred to him that Nelson could be in on it. Nelson was a bit of an odd man and never completely revealed himself, or so it seemed. The possibilities were nearly endless and there was no use speculating.

All the while, Ben had been working hard on the arm restraints and intermittent effort seemed to be loosening the duct tape. He began twisting an arm, and although it was painful, he continued in the effort, stripping the hair from his skin and no doubt turning them lobster red. He figured he was now stretching the tape and getting his arms a good half-inch from the leather of the chair. Now he rolled his arms and rocked them, to and fro.

The music grew suddenly louder, as if someone had opened a door. Ben heard someone fiddling with a lock. He wished he weren't wearing the damned blindfold.

"I don't understand why we have to move him," someone was saying. It sounded like Stu.

The door swung open.

"Okay, old man, we gotta go." Definitely Stu Farley.

"Before we go, I want you to listen to me." This was another voice entirely, with a heavy accent. Ben imagined an Arabic speaker. His gut tightened down as he realized he really did not want to die. "If you would answer the questions thoroughly"—the voice was measured and calm, but there was not the slightest hint of humanity in it—"we would not need to strap you to a table and jolt your body with electricity with large probes in your rectum and smaller probes in your bladder. And if that does not loosen your tongue, to inject you with a paralytic and slowly dissect you while you watch in mirrors and feel the pain. I do not need to dramatize this kind of agony. Consider what I've said while we move you. Consider whether you will talk."

Ben felt the glass capsule with his tongue.

A heavy hand grabbed his jaw and someone shoved rubber between his teeth. In a panic he tried to feel for the glass. Pliers grabbed his tongue and the pain was excruciating.

Fingers slipped inside his mouth and suddenly the glass capsule was gone.

The Arabic speaker grunted. "He thinks we're amateurs."

Ben realized why they had left him alone. They had been watching on video, noting the slight movements of his jaw and tongue as he played with the capsule. Now even that choice had been taken from him.

Sam kept a Kevlar vest in the Corvette and after a brief argument, convinced Haley to put it on. She thought he should wear it because, so far, he'd taken most of the physical risks. They climbed in the Corvette, ready to visit Lattimer Gibbons.

First, though, Sam intended to stop at Rachael's house.

"She'll freak," Haley said. "I thought the next stop was Lattimer Gibbons's."

"It is, but we have to remember that we're on a small island that Frick pretty much controls at the moment. We could use a convincing messenger to get to the state attorney general and the state police. Remember the FBI memo?"

"Okay. But what's Rachael going to do?"

"We need someone to go to a main state police office, like in Seattle. That's where Rachael can help. There is nothing like someone in the flesh pleading for justice.

Rachael's family is connected. The rich always know people."

"I can hardly wait to hear this," said Haley.

"You're about to," he said.

"Maybe you should call first. You know how she is. She doesn't always wear clothes,"

Haley said.

"No time."

It was 4:50 p.m. and Ben had been missing for over six hours.

Rachael answered her door in a somewhat sheer bathrobe, seemingly unself-conscious about her obvious nudity beneath.

Rachael was blond, beautiful, and fit. Her even teeth and Nordic face, with the astonishingly blue-green eyes, would normally leave an impression. Sam made it a point not to notice the slim threads or the natural beauty. For all the effect it had on his demeanor, she could have been a seventy-year-old farmer in overalls.

Naturally she didn't recognize Sam in the makeup, but she squinted at Haley and figured it out. Then she gestured for them to enter.

"Come in quick," she said, looking over their shoulders. "The news says you're wanted for the murder of a police officer and that you're armed and dangerous. They say you killed a lab tech—slit his throat. They say —Ben's missing too, in case you don't know."

"We know," Haley said. "We know."

"We also have some huge favors to ask of you," Sam said.

"Will I be an accessory to murder?"

"Eventually no. Initially maybe," Sam said. "You will be risking your life to do the right thing. But you'll be running to the police, not away from them—"

"Please believe me," Haley cut in. "A deputy named Frick is framing us. He's working for the Sanker Corporation, which is trying to steal Ben's work the way they stole mine."

Rachael looked from one to the other as the gravity of their request sank in.

Haley explained in short hand what they knew and suspected about Frick. She told Rachael about their fears for Ben and about the shooting of the second officer.

"That was the undersheriff," Rachael said. "They'll think you tried to murder him as well, won't they?"

"You mean he's not dead?" Haley asked.

Rachael explained that the news said that he had been taken by medivac helicopter to the Harborview trauma center on the mainland and was expected to recover.

"To answer your question, yes, that's Frick's plan," said Sam. "He's using my gun and covering his tracks."

Rachael nodded, still uncertain.

"This won't get sorted out quickly," he said.

Rachael put on a brave smile. "I suppose I always wanted to be a hero. What can I do?"

Sam explained his plan to use her as a messenger.

"This may help you." Sam held out the fax from Ernie. "It's an internal memo of the FBI. Parts of it have been excised, but you can see for yourself, they are suspicious that Mr. Frick has done bad things. When you get to the mainland, drive all the way to Seattle or Olympia. Find the highest-level state police officer you can find. Ask him to talk with someone from the attorney general's office. Show him this paper." Sam went on to explain what she should say and how to get Ernie on the phone. "But remember that Ernie could be bureaucratically castrated for this. There's only so much he can do."

"I got it. He's a bureaucrat."

"With big cojones, big heart, good brain, but yeah he's still a G-man."

"Okay, I'll try."

"I need some tools," Sam said. "And I need a dress for Haley, and a stocking cap."

"That's easy."

It took only a couple minutes to get the things together and put them in a large duffel bag that Sam put in the trunk of the car.

"I'm recalling that you have relatives on Orcas," Sam said to Rachael. "If we got you there, could you make it to Anacortes from there without the ferry?"

"Tonight?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I believe I could. My uncle has a boat at a private dock."

"Where?"

"Near Poll Pass."

Sam thought for a minute.

"Is it a fast boat?"

"Yeah, the
Inevitable.
A custom express cruiser. But why not the ferry?"

"They may try to stop the ferry. You wait for our call. We'll figure how to get you to Orcas. It'll probably be an experience you won't forget."

"This will help you?" Rachael asked.

"Trust me," Haley said. "It's to save Ben's life. And ours."

S
am drove the Vette down Cattle Point, hoping to get to Argyle without a roadblock on Mullis, one of four main thoroughfares into town.

"Are we gonna walk?" she asked.

"No. We're gonna make like baby kangaroos." They stopped next to a dilapidated barbed-wire fence in a second-growth forest. Sam called and talked Don, the tow truck mechanic, into coming over to Cattle Point to pick up the Vette. Don arrived in only six minutes. He looked like a fullback but acted about as cheerful and friendly as anyone Sam could recall, a lot like a big black Lab puppy.

It was tough to get Don started hooking up and towing because he was dying to look under the hood. Sam promised Don could play with it when he got them back to the service station in Friday Harbor.

They joined Don in the cab of his tow truck, and when they turned onto Mullis, just as Sam feared, they found a police cruiser waiting.

Don pulled up slowly and saluted.

"How goes it, Deke? What the hell you doin'?"

"Don't you watch the news?"

"Not if there's football, I don't. What do you think, I'm metrosexual?"

"Who are your friends here?" the officer asked.

"This is Mr. and Mrs. Raimes."

The officer nodded and moved on to the next car.

At the service station Don got out, and Haley whispered to Sam. "How are we going to get Rachael to Orcas any time soon?"

"I have some ideas. Before we get into that, I need to know: any reason you can't fly Ben's plane tonight?"

"His plane's in the shop for its annual tune-up. Other than that, if I can get to it, I can fly like hell. I fly more than Ben does. You know that."

"Is Grant working on it?"

"Yeah."

"You got his number?"

"Yes."

"Does he like you?" Sam asked. "I mean, a lot?"

"Yeah. Known me most of my life."

"Did he believe Sanker's story about you?"

"Hell no. I'm sure Ben told him I'm innocent."

"Can we trust him?"

"As much as anybody," she said.

Haley got Grant Landon on the line and approached him in the same way that they had approached Rachael. Then she put Sam on the phone.

"You can make that plane fly this evening?"

"For Ben Anderson? Maybe. It won't be according to the book."

"That'll be just fine."

When he got off the line, Sam told Haley what he had in mind. Haley looked shocked about the danger but pleased with his trust. Before they made a final decision to risk both their lives, they would talk to Lattimer and see what they could learn.

Sam got his duffel out of the Vette's trunk, and Haley joined him.

Don was giving the car a close look.

"I see why you don't mind paying for a tow truck," he said. "This is beautiful. But there's nothing stock on it. You've even done a lot to the body."

Sam didn't tell him about the Kevlar. "I'd let you drive it, but I think she's got a blown head gasket. Small leak. It's got a bored-out four twenty-seven with an adjustable boost twin turbo L eighty-eight that brings it up to seven-fifty to-the-wheel horsepower. We put in a six-speed transmission and reworked the suspension with hardened axels, Eibach springs, and Bilstein adjustable shocks. We added the roll bar and put in the Brembo brakes. There were some other goodies too."

"I'm gonna go over this thing with a fine-tooth comb." Don knew instinctively to look for a custom pull knob on the driver's side and opened the hood.

"Go ahead," said Sam, "just be sure you're on the eight p.m. ferry with my car hooked to your tow truck. I'll be a walk-on. I don't want to wait in the vehicle line."

Sam gave Haley a wink, and together they walked away.

Nervous about leaving Haley alone, even for a few minutes, Sam picked up his duffel bag and beckoned Haley to follow him into the men's room of the service station. She watched as he changed his disguise entirely. He began by applying women's cosmetics over the existing base with an extremely heavy hand.

"Let's talk about long life," Sam said.

Haley shrugged. "Okay."

"I've been thinking about the concept, and I see some problems with it. Do you think Ben's figured out what a mess it would be if all of a sudden, people lived an extra twenty or thirty years or longer?"

"Ben is meticulous. He thinks of everything. The question is whether he would have solutions."

Then he took off his trousers and heard Haley suck in her breath.

"The legs aren't as bad as they look," he said. His boxer shorts covered most of the thighs, but the calf area was well-tattooed with suture lines. "They'll try some more plastic surgery soon."