The Tower

Chapter 51

Wotan pivoted his great black leather chair as he surveyed the files spread on the desk before him. Picking carefully through photographs and notes from headquarters and from Agent Travers, he assessed Marlow's progress, glad to see that Travers had come to recognize the former agent's utility.

It had been difficult, but he had managed to hold the case together for Marlow. He kept the FBI's resources open to him, and he had ordered the squad's full cooperation. Stifling some of the press and police complaints hadn't been quite as easy, since they fell outside his normal jurisdiction, but he had managed.

Wotan never once doubted the wisdom of bringing Marlow in early to handle the situation. Atlasia was worse than a time bomb; he was a disease. He had to be either captured or killed before the damage got out of control.

Wotan's task was to keep the world stitched shut around both of them, to keep Marlow in the chase and in the fight. It wouldn't be so hard now that Atlasia had struck blood within the FBI.

For obvious reasons, Wotan had to find a replacement for McGuire, and had selected Fredericks, one of his senior agents. The other agents understood and no doubt shared the pain felt by McGuire; it was every man's nightmare that his vocation would put his family in harm's way. They wouldn't object to cooperating with Marlow now. Marlow's involvement promised Atlasia's delivery. It virtually guaranteed it. Nobody knew that as well as Wotan.

Wotan shuttled the bullet slug across the tops of his knuckles. It was a holy fight. He had learned that the hard way.

Jade and Travers were exhausted. The dark circles beneath their eyes that usually came and went had taken on a look of permanence.

The enthusiasm Jade had felt at McGuire's house had faded. They had a start on locating Allander, but it was definitely a long shot. Jade had taken to counting all the dark-green houses he drove past. So far, he was up to twenty-three.

Travers pointed to the bold white letters on an exit sign. "Could get off here to eat. There's a great restaurant a ways back. A little French cafe."

Jade was quiet.

"I have my beeper in case anyone needs to reach us," she added.

"They won't," he said. "If we're dead-ended, it doesn't bode well for everyone else."

He flipped on the radio as he took the exit, and clicked through the channels, trying to find a good station. His search ended when he heard jazz pouring through his speakers. Abruptly, he pulled his head to the side and cracked his neck.

Travers directed him through some back streets to the restaurant she had in mind. It sat by itself at the edge of a yellow field that curled around the base of the Woodside hills like a sleeping cat. A rare summer storm was brewing in the heavy air, and dark clouds drifted overhead, blocking the late-afternoon sun.

As Jade pulled into the parking lot, the disk jockey started his wind-down. "That's right. We've got the golden sounds of Joshua Redman to carry us into evening. Don't forget we have a busy weekend coming up, with the Cantab Singers rocking Saturday night at the House of Jazz in downtown San Jose. And for you more sophisticated listeners, there's the annual symphony hall fund-raiser at Singspiel's Restaurant up in the city tomorrow night, followed by Haydn's Drum Roll and-"

Jade turned the radio off. "Joshua Redman. Great young performer."

"I didn't know you liked jazz," Travers said, genuinely impressed.

"You mean I might not be all bad?" He smiled quickly, holding her eyes with his until she looked away. They got out of the car simultaneously.

Twenty minutes later, they faced each other across a table laden with food. Jade was quiet, leaning over his plate and inhaling deeply as the smell of chicken and brie rose to his nose. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the food arrived, and he began to eat in large, slow bites, finishing his meal before Travers was halfway through.

The waiter asked if they wanted wine, but Jade waved him off without even looking at him. He looked instead at the woman seated across from him. Jennifer Travers. She wore her hair down around her neck, and it fell in radiant, blond strokes. Her collarbone was just visible beneath the neckline of her shirt, and Jade watched it move slightly as she breathed.

Meanwhile, his mind was filled with details from the case. He didn't like the way it felt right now, as if he was chasing and not getting any closer. The leads had dried up and he didn't have much to show for them. It had been nine days since Allander's escape. With the entire state of California watching him, he was standing by while the body count rose.

"I feel terrible for McGuire," Travers said.

Jade shrugged.

"I mean, imagine. A wife dead and both children permanently impaired."

He shrugged again.

"Jade, for Christ's sake, his sons' eardrums got blown out. I mean, we should really try to do something for him."

"Why don't we get him tickets for the symphony?" he suggested coldly, looking down at his meal again.

Travers's jaw tightened, and there was a long silence.

"I don't get why he doesn't fuck them," Jade finally said, his voice loud in the relative quiet of the restaurant. A couple of people at nearby tables turned to stare.

Travers cleared her throat. "Fuck… them, Jade?" she repeated quietly after the waiter dropped off the check.

"The kids. I mean, he's a victim of child abuse himself, and an early sexual offender. Why would he stop now when he's got ample opportunity?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. Sexual insecurity, maybe even impotence."

The waiter came up in his white starched shirt and rubbed his hands together. "Can I take that?" he asked, pointing delicately at the brown check folder.

"Uh, we're not quite ready yet," Travers answered.

"Could be he's just waiting to direct all his sexual energy toward his mother. Building up for the rape, you know." His last remark drew another stare from a woman at the next table.

"We have to prevent it. We just have to stop it."

"Well, no shit, Travers. I think we're doing everything we can." Jade picked up his water glass and looked into it with one eye.

The waiter returned with a half bow. "Hello again, do you think I could-"

Jade didn't even look over at him. "I believe we said WE'RE NOT READY YET!" The waiter blinked several times, backing away.

Travers took a deep breath, trying to contain her anger. "You know, Marlow, I don't get you."

"And that's a news flash?"

"You act like no one should care about the people affected by this case, no one should care about the victims. Like it's not okay to feel badly about this. To get upset." Her voice was rising and her cheeks were flushed. People in the restaurant were again glancing at their table. "Like it's all a big fucking game. We can't ever talk like we give a shit about anyone, let's just use them as bait." She pushed her hair off her forehead. "We have a responsibility to these people, Jade."

"Responsibility?" Jade said. "You want to talk to me about responsibility?" The veins in his neck were bulging, though he was speaking softly. His upper lip peeled back in a grimace. "You think I don't care about these people? You don't think it's hard for me to make a decision to put people in the line of fire? Well grow up, Travers. I do these things because they have to be done. I make these decisions because no one else will. So don't you second guess me, and don't you talk to me about responsibility."

Travers took a sip of water. "Nice speech."

Jade looked away for a long time. "It's like you think I enjoy it. Putting people like Thomas and Darby at risk. And the kids, Christ, the kids…" His voice trailed off again. "I just can't deal with that if I'm gonna do my job." He drew a line on the table with his hand. "It's too much. It's all too much."

Travers leaned forward and laid her hand across Jade's. "Jade. I didn't… it doesn't seem… I guess the only thing I've seen you give off is anger."

The tension eased from his face, and he raised his eyes to Travers's. "Maybe guilt turns to anger if you hold on to it long enough," he said. For one awful instant, Travers thought he was going to spill tears. Seeing his face now, she realized what it was about Jade that made him so committed, so intense.

He stood suddenly, pulling money from his pocket and tossing it on the table. Then, without speaking, he turned and walked out of the restaurant. Travers closed her eyes for a moment before rising and following him.

It was raining, a thick downpour, but instead of walking to the car, he headed across the field toward the hill behind the restaurant, ignoring Travers when she called after him. She caught up with him behind the cafe.

Grabbing him by the arm, she spun him around, planting him firmly against the back wall. Water dripped off the roof and ran over his face, dripping from his hair to his forehead and down off his lips.

"I'm talking to you," she said.

"What?"

"I wanted to fucking apologize, all right?"

Jade's eyes glinted as Travers raised her hand and traced the scar on his cheek down to the thin stream of rainwater dripping off his lips. Grabbing his head with both hands, she banged it against the wall, seizing his lower lip in her mouth and feeling the water run from his mouth into her own. Her hands were at his belt and then he was out and in her hands and her mouth went to his neck.

He lowered her onto the damp field, holding an arm in the small of her back to break her fall. His knees sank in the ooze and mud between her legs, and the water stood out in beads on their bare skin as buttons and material gave way. Travers's shirt was soaked and torn, her hair matted with mud, her elbows buried in mounds of soil. Thrusting forward, Jade entered her.

He froze. "Holy shit," he said.

Travers's nails stopped tracing their red paths up his back. "What?"

"The radio. The disk jockey. He said the symphony fund-raiser dinner was tomorrow night. Darby said they always used to go as a family. Allander will be expecting them to be there."

Both seemed to have forgotten that Jade was still inside her. Without hesitation, he pulled himself out, quickly stood, and ran for his car. Travers immediately dug herself from the mud and followed, yanking together the ripped remains of her clothing. The car was moving when she got there and she had barely jumped in before Jade sped away.

Once they were on the freeway, he looked over at her mudtangled hair, her tattered garments, her smeared face, and started laughing. She tried not to smile but couldn't resist, and then they were both laughing, almost uncontrollably. Travers reached over and painted a line of mud on Jade's cheek with her finger. Her smile faded, her lips pursing ever so slightly, just enough to betray her thoughts.

Jade took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her. "Jennifer, huh?" he said gently.

She nodded.

He glanced at the clock and the softness faded from his face. He took 85 to 17 and exited in San Jose, racing over curbs and through red lights.

He berated himself for not thinking of the fund-raiser earlier. Closing his eyes, he remembered the drum roll opening the classical piece he'd heard when he'd interviewed Thomas in the living room. Darby's story about the fund-raiser dinners. Charity. Our road back to sanity.

The shower had ended by the time the BMW squealed to a halt at the Atlasias' home. The FBI agents down the block were out of their cars before they recognized Jade.

The door swung open to reveal Darby's startled face. She looked at Jade's clothes and the mud shot through his hair, and then at Travers's ripped shirt.

"Oh. No thank you. We didn't order a stripper," she said, and feigned shutting the door.

"Are you going to the symphony dinner tomorrow night?" Jade asked.

"Of course we are."

Jade put his hand on the door and pushed it open. "Then we have to talk." He brushed past Darby and into the house. Travers waited outside, a procedure they had discussed.

"Well, Jade Marlow, before you floor me again with your plans and calculations, there's something you need to see." Darby pointed to the kitchen.

On the kitchen table was a second envelope. Same block print. Jade reached inside and pulled out a lipstick container.

"We got the mail about a half hour ago," Darby said from the doorway. "I just left a message on your machine."

"Speak no evil," Jade said softly.

Darby raised her hand and let it clap to her thigh. "What's next?" she said, her voice cracking in a mock laugh.

Jade looked up at her, holding her eyes for a moment. "Probably an earring," he said.

"How…" Her words trailed off into a silent sob before she regained her composure and continued in a horrified whisper. "How can you stand this? Day in, day out." Her voice rose angrily. "How can you deal with it all day, every day? When you don't even have to?"

"Because that's what I do, all right?" Jade replied sharply. His voice rang around the room. He looked down at the floor sadly, tracing the pattern of the tiles. "That's what I am," he said softly.

When he raised his eyes to meet Darby's, he was surprised by how suddenly pale she was. She staggered to the side as if she were about to faint, leaning on the table for support. Pulling herself erect, she squared her shoulders, her eyes lit with their familiar determination.

"Darby. Are you all right?" Jade asked, genuine concern in his voice.

She nodded, then turned and left the room.

Jade started to follow her, but stopped when he got to the doorway. Although time was of the essence, he could give her a few minutes. He sat down and turned his eyes to the clock on the microwave. Five minutes. He could give her five minutes.

She was standing at the edge of the square lawn with her back to the house. She appeared to be gazing at the neat rows of flowers and plants that constituted her garden. Jade approached her cautiously and halted next to, but slightly behind, her.

"I'm sorry," she said, still not turning to look at him. Then she laughed her sad laugh, and Jade realized how accustomed to it he had grown. He wondered how often she had laughed like that before she'd met him.

"It feels like I'm doing that all the time now," she said. "Apologizing. More than I ever have." She finally turned to look at Jade. "Believe it or not, I usually have a difficult time with it."

"I can empathize," Jade said.

"I can imagine." She laughed and he joined her.

The garden was small, but extremely well cultivated. Two rosebushes flanked the smaller plants like monoliths, one on each side of the bed of rich soil. Jade slowly became aware of a loud buzzing sound.

"What's that noise?" he asked.

Darby pointed to a tube hanging from the larger of the two rosebushes. About the size of a tennis-ball can, the tube appeared to have an inverted funnel at its base. Through the clear plastic, Jade noticed at least a dozen bees flying nearly in place, trapped inside the device. The buzz of their wings vibrated inside the tube, giving off an eerie hum.

"Thomas is allergic to bees, and this keeps them out of the backyard. There's a nectar scent that attracts them," Darby said. "They fly up through the funnel at the bottom and can't figure out how to fly down out of it."

They watched the bees fight against the plastic for a few moments, their buzzing amplified by the container. Though it was not easy for him, Jade raised his hand and placed it on Darby's shoulder. She swayed a bit toward him, but didn't turn her head.

"I will protect you," he said. The words came with such conviction that his uneasiness departed. "On my life, I will protect you."

His hand rose with her shoulder as she breathed deeply. Darby squeezed his hand briefly before lifting it off. "Well, I've had my wounded moment," she said. "Let the planning commence."

She walked back to the house without waiting to see if Jade was following. She was not wearing shoes, and Jade found something distressing and wonderful about watching her bare feet on the grass.

Placing one shoe delicately between two rows of pansies, Jade moved closer to the rosebush and looked down into the bee trap. A piece of yellow plastic plugged the tube around the funnel, and Jade noticed the dead bees that it ordinarily hid from view, their shell-like bodies forming a grotesque bottom layer. As he watched, a bumblebee that had been struggling against the clear plastic fell to the pile, exhausted, fanning its wings in ineffective short bursts. Jade watched until the wings no longer blurred, then headed back toward the house.