Double Jeopardy

48

7:25 P.M.

CAVANAUGH DOVE INTO THE passenger seat and slammed the door behind her. “Drive like hell, Byrne.”

“Got it.” He threw the stick into first and zoomed out of the parking lot.

Cavanaugh didn’t speak for several minutes. Then, finally: “You saw the belt he was wearing?”

Travis nodded.

“I can’t be sure,” Cavanaugh said, “but I think that’s what some of my military clients call a Sam Browne belt.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s specially designed for people going into combat situations. Soldiers, spies, terrorists. It holds a lot of ammo and assault gizmos.”

“I saw a bulge under his jacket, too,” he said. “A holster with a gun in it?”

“I think that’s a safe assumption.”

“Did you recognize any of the gadgets on his belt?”

“I only got a quick look, but I’ve seen some of it before, usually in narcotics cases. He had an infrared nightscope, for instance. High-powered, compact binoculars. What the pros call a Puukko knife—specially designed for quick, clean kills.”

“Who would carry lethal crap like that?”

“Anyone who wants to. It’s available. Pawnshops, soldier-of-fortune mail-order houses, wherever.” She paused. “But you know who really loves this stuff?”

“Who?”

“Spooks. CIA agents.”

“CIA?” Travis felt a sudden catching in his throat. In addition to the mob? On top of the police and the FBI? Who wasn’t involved in this? Who didn’t want a piece of Travis Byrne?

“Why the CIA?”

“Beats me. But of course I don’t really understand why anyone is involved, or what it is they’re involved in.”

“Good point.”

“Maybe the guy just has connections to the CIA. Or the military. Access to their equipment.”

“An unpleasant possibility.”

“Yeah.” Cavanaugh looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her fingers. “I wanted to thank you, Byrne. For … you know. Bailing me out of that.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, I want to mention it. The truth is, I’ve been kind of … well, I’ve been kind of crappy to you. Maybe it’s because you play hardball in the courtroom and you’ve screwed up my win-loss record. Maybe it’s … something else.” She gazed out the window. “You could’ve just driven away. But you didn’t. So—thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he said quietly.

She pounded her fist against her hand. “I can’t believe I was so … helpless.”

“That spook was obviously well trained. He would’ve clobbered me if he’d had half a chance.”

“I hate being so … vulnerable.”

“We’re way outmatched. You shouldn’t have gone by yourself.”

“I didn’t think he would try anything in the middle of the library. How did I know he was some trained super-killer?”

“From now on, assume the worst about everything and everyone.” Travis wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Cavanaugh shudder. “Did you recognize him?”

“No. You?”

“I never got a good look at his face.”

“Ditto. For a moment I thought there was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.”

“Well, give it some thought.” Travis reentered the highway, merged into the fast lane, and zoomed into the darkness.

“Do you think he’s following us?”

“If he isn’t, he will be soon.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. How did he find us at the library? How do these people keep finding us wherever we go?”

“I’m not tipping anyone off, Travis.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that you were. It’s just mysterious, that’s all. Christ!” His muscles tightened in frustration. “Get that blue box out. I’m going to make some phone calls.”

The librarian found the man pounding on the door of the reading room. First she insisted on asking idiotic questions, then she took forever to move the stupid carrel out of the doorway. As soon as the path was clear, he pushed her aside and raced out of the library.

He started his Jeep and activated the monitor, trying to pick up the signal of the tracing device he had placed in the briefcase. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He bashed his head against the steering column. What was wrong with him? First he let Byrne sneak up on him, then he let him get beyond the tracer’s radius. A simple mission, and he had blown it.

He bit down on his lower lip till it bled. It was starting all over again. The screwups. The headstrong craziness. The failure to observe procedures. This is what had gotten him kicked out, and now, when it really mattered, he was doing it all over again.

He would never get Byrne at this rate. He’d be lucky now if he even found him again. All he could do was drive around the city, all night long if necessary, hoping to stumble within twenty miles of wherever Byrne was now. Barely better than a needle in a haystack, but it was all he had.

He removed a city map from the glove compartment. He would cover the city systematically, one section at a time, picking the roads that would eventually bring him within twenty miles of almost everything. With luck, they would stop somewhere for the night and he’d have a chance to zero in on them. And if he didn’t get them the first time, he’d start all over again. And again, and again, and again. He would drive forever if necessary. He would ignore the fatigue, the despair, the pain. He would regain what he had lost.

And by God, the next time Travis Byrne would not get away from him.