The Woman (28 page)

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to tell me your real name?”

“Ryan Testler is just fine. Consider it my real name, I do.”

“May I ask you something else?”

“No guarantee I’ll answer, but ask.”

“Last night, when you were telling me of your metamorphosis from a young man joining the military to a strong-arm man for Alistair Webster, you said, ‘all the reasons
we
started our military careers.’ Who’s the
we
?”

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“I try not to, particularly when my life’s on the line.”

“I was including my best friend growing up. We went to the same elementary school and remained best friends through prep school, college, and into the Marines.”

“What was his name?”

“Gene.”

“Where did you and Gene live?”

“Not important. An American small town, Norman Rockwell you’d call it. I would, too. It was a fabulous place in a fabulous time. Our parents bought summer houses on the opposite sides of a small lake. For our first Christmas there, our parents bought us walkie talkies that worked between our two houses. We usually fell asleep talking. Imagining Special Forces work behind enemy lines. Snipers. Whatever. We grew up wanting to be heroes. We pledged that our lives would not be ordinary. No way. We grew up sharing books like the
Corsican Brothers
, and
The Three Musketeers
, and Louis L’Amour’s stories about the Sackett brothers.”

Linda rose up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Two boys who grew up dragging their youthful imaginations.”

“Something like that,” Ryan said.

“What happened to Gene?”

“He died.”

“How?”

“On a covert action in the Middle East, under my command. After that, I left the military. The records were fixed to show Gene and I died together.”

“How could you get the records to show that?”

“Not important.”

“And you figured you were at fault?”

“I was.”

“And that’s part of why you quit? Why you chose money over patriotism? Why you soured on yourself?”

“I caused Gene’s death.”

“I’ll bet Gene wouldn’t agree.”

“Well, enough about all that. It doesn’t change anything. Besides, we need to get started. As I recall, you’ve got to get into one of your other identities and do some banking. While you get ready, I’ll go find us some good coffee and a newspaper. I hate this hotel room stuff. Black?”

“Artificial sweetener,” Linda said, “and a little cream, please.”

“Lock up behind me.” Ryan said before leaving the room.

* * *

“This is Testler, thought I’d check in.”

“Where are you?” Webster asked.

“In Vegas, where you sent me.” Testler said, while standing outside the Kokopelli Inn in Sedona, Arizona.

“Have you found what you went there to find?”

“I found her. But I don’t have her yet. There were too many people around. I’m waiting for her hotel room number, then I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

“Here’s your coffee,” Ryan said as he came back into their room in Sedona.

“Thanks,” Linda said coming out of the bathroom, a towel cinched under her armpits. “Despite our big dinner last night, I’m famished.” She smiled. “I wondered how we worked up such an appetite.”

He smiled. “Working up an appetite is good, not to mention fun.”

Linda hugged Ryan.

Through her towel, he felt her squish against his chest. “There’s an interesting place just up the road,” he said. “The Coffee Pot Restaurant, the place serves over one-hundred different omelettes. I also got this touristy book about the red rock formations around here. There’s a rock shaped like Batman, another like a bell, even a Snoopy rock. Up the road from the omelette place there’s a tall rock shaped like a coffee pot. Why don’t we hang around an extra day and see the sights? I got a brochure on jeep trips up into the red rocks.”

“Sounds like fun. I can finish getting ready out here if you want in there.”

He grabbed his dopp kit and headed for the bathroom while talking. “I’ll be ready when you get back from the bank. Come pick me up and we’ll go eat. Sound okay?”

“Do they serve omelettes after breakfast hours?”

“They do. I checked with the front desk.”

Linda leaned on the bathroom door jamb to say she was leaving.

“Now you’re coming back for me, aren’t you?” Ryan asked.

“I might as well. You’d only find me again, and I don’t think I want you for an enemy.”

“No, you don’t.”

Chapter 43

“Everything go okay at the bank?” Ryan asked while getting into the car after Linda pulled into the lot at the Kokopelli Inn.

“Yeah. Easy. I may have discovered a new career, impersonations.”

“They’re easy” Ryan said. “Mostly people accept who and what you say you are. When they request an ID, they see it as a necessary formality. They’re pre-conditioned to take a cursory glance, and if it checks you become who you say you are. The hardest part is learning to relax and play the role. There it is on your left, next block. See it, The Coffee Pot Restaurant.”

They had ordered and were sipping coffee when Linda turned the conversation serious.

“Tell me more about this Alistair Webster?”

“You got it last night. He subverts the American government by arranging for people to be compromised, blackmailed. He orders assassinations when he determines them necessary.”

“Tell me about him in a more personal context. Health? Family? Like that.”

“Why is it women like to know that stuff? He’s in his early sixties and, as far as I know, his health is fine. His wife died some years ago. No children. He likes young girls.”

“Young girls? Children?”

“Not kids,” Ryan said, “but very young.”

“The guy’s a real upstanding citizen.”

“I wouldn’t piss on ‘im,” Ryan said, “if he were on fire.”

“That’s certainly graphic.”

“Its how I feel.”

“How can you work for a man like that?”

“For the first few years I found working for Webster peaceful. That’s not the right word, but sort of. No causes. No sides. No defeating the wicked or saving the world. I could just focus on the
how
and
where
. Let Webster decide the
who
. Do the deed. Take the money. Move on.”

Their omelettes came. Ryan added ketchup to his guacamole and green chilies omelette. Linda did nothing to enhance her turkey, avocado, bell pepper and cheese concoction.

Then she said, “What you just said will likely never make sense to me. Our worlds are so different. Still, we should be able to do something to stop this parasite.”

“You can’t end evil. It exists. All you can do is stop evil people, one at a time.”

“Isn’t this Webster answerable to the law?”

“In theory, sure, but America is currently taking its two major overlapping principles way too seriously: law and individual rights. Guys like Webster, crooked and wealthy and politically connected, live in the seams of that overlap. Webster keeps himself insulated. He uses men like me, men who would never go to the authorities because of, if for no other reason, their training and self interest. The Webster types of the world use us, our special talents. The targets of men like Webster are others vulnerable because of their own weaknesses. Their forte is crime against individuals. Men like Webster stay away from societal crimes such as bank robbery and embezzlement. Bottom line: the self interests of their employees and their victims prevent both groups from going to the authorities. And these men have the wealth and high-priced lawyers to provide an additional layer of protection.”

“That can’t always work,” Linda said. “I mean, some victims must experience a pang of conscience.”

“Rarely. But sometimes and when that happens men like me arrange accidents. And no one ever knows for certain. Look at the death of President Kennedy. Then there’s that recent death of the former defense department big shot whose body was found in a landfill. Also that congressman a few decades back, the one killed in the explosion of an airplane near Russian airspace. Were these accidents or assassinations? Who knows? One side claims conspiracy while the other side laughs it off and accuses them of being nut cases. There are always opinions both ways. The point is, no definite answers are found and no one of sufficient power is ever held accountable.”

“You mean, if they were not accidents to begin with?”

“That’s how it works, yes.”

Ryan picked up the carafe on the table. “Can I warm up your coffee?” Linda nodded and he refilled both cups.

“How does it feel to plan and carry out a killing?”

“You should know. You put Blue down in the surf.”

“That’s not the same. He came after me. I was defending myself. I didn’t plan it.”

“Yes you did. You planned on the run. You improvised.”

“I mean to coldly plan a killing over a period of time, without an imminent threat.”

“It’s really the same whether the threat is immediate or not. If someone wants to kill you, you defend yourself. The major difference is where you have time you can plan. With a good plan you gain the upper hand. In table tennis they call it, ‘your add.’ ”

“This isn’t a game!”

“That’s exactly what it is. The stakes are life and death. The better your plan and tactics, the more likely you’ll win. This isn’t some two-out-of-three wager. This is the quintessential sudden death playoff. The prize is staying alive.”

“If you’re sick of all of it, why don’t you just kill Webster?” Linda’s face showed the shock she felt. “Oh, my God, I said it.”

“It’s been under consideration. You want in?”

“What?” Linda asked.

“You heard me. He’s trying to kill you, after first torturing you to find out what else you might have learned and to whom you might have repeated it. As you said, you have a right to defend yourself. He sees you as a threat to his grand scheme. He won’t stop coming. You have only one decision to make: will you pick the time and place, or will you leave it for him to pick? If you let him, it’s his ‘add.’ ”

“But he won’t come himself. Will he?”

“That’s no real difference. Whether he comes or orders someone else who comes. You’re still dead. He still caused it.”

“Why can’t we just go to the authorities? With what you know, he’d be arrested.”

“You think so? It would be his word against the word of a former mercenary, and a woman who has never seen him or spoken to him. You learned of him only through Cynthia Leclair’s letters and me.”

“You know many of his victims. They’ll corroborate what you say.”

“We already covered that. They’re not going to step forward and admit they’ve been blackmailed or circumvented government regulations. Why would they confess to having done that? To having taken bribes or had a mistress compliments of Alistair Webster. Why would they do that?”

“Like you said before, they wouldn’t, their self interest.”

“In the end,” Ryan said, “Webster’s victims would stand with him, not us. His high-priced lawyers would dismiss our accusations with little effort. Forget the fairy tales. On this level, justice is rarely found in a courtroom.”

“But to kill someone, to just . . .” Linda’s words drifted away, unfinished.

“Some people deserve to die. It’s that simple.”

“Okay. Okay. I accept that. The world would have been better off without Adolph Hitler. Charles Manson. Sure. But who gets to decide?”

“The folks who pay.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Linda said.

“But that’s how it is.”

“Buying someone’s death? No. You can’t justify that.”

“What about the people who will continue to die if Webster doesn’t? Last week it was your friend, Cynthia Leclair and her coworkers. This week, he wants it to be you, missy. Tomorrow, someone else, after that other people in other matters of which we are unaware.”

Linda nodded slowly. “I’m convinced. How do we do it?”

Chapter 44

Ryan and Linda drove out of Sedona under a cold blue sky swept clean by the wind. The sun was still low and the red rock crags to the east, still draped in shadows, looked like shading in a pencil drawing.

Ryan had put together a rough plan, subject to improvisation, and with it came a strong sense of urgency to put it into play.

After driving north a relatively short distance on I-17, they picked up I-40 out of Flagstaff, Arizona, and headed east.

“So,” Linda said, after a few miles, “you told me Webster had five Special Forces types in his small private army. We’ve accounted for you, Charles and Blue. What about the other two he uses as bodyguards?”

“To understand the other two requires a bit of backstory: Their names are Victor and Mark. They have a third brother, Fabian. Their mother named the three of them after ancient Catholic popes. She—”