Unacceptable Risk

Chapter 22

Trotsky nearly dislocated Benoit's shoulder when he dragged her out of the bathroom.

"You've probably killed me," Gaudet said in an even tone that chilled her more than the most hysterical cry. "The French have held up fifty million dollars. Now they'll hunt you and me both, you fucking bitch."

"We've got to go," said Trotsky. His pragmatism immedi ately affected Gaudet, who turned away without another word.

Trotsky pushed a hidden button in the library and a panel opened. They entered a sizable room with vanity photos of the apartment's owner and all manner of memorabilia: books, wine, signed baseballs, various sabers, as well as cigar humidors by the dozen, each carefully labeled. Trotsky closed the panel just as they heard a crash at the front door of the apartment. In one corner of the room there was a solid wood panel. Trotsky pushed another hidden button and a spiral staircase appeared. On the floor below was a large wine cellar with wine in glass cases and adjoining the wine a large room full of old books. Obviously, the man who owned the place was a wealthy collector. Quickly the two put on white hazmat uniforms. There was a very large cart labeled hazardous materials. When they opened the bin, it was full of white material that had the appearance of old ban dages. However, when they lifted up a wooden piece, the bin was actually empty, the bandagelike material having been affixed to the wood. Inside the small compartment Benoit recognized a scuba tank and regulator. They handcuffed her hands in front of her.

"One word and I will kill you instantly." Gaudet showed her a pen. "It shoots a pellet of ricin that is instantly lethal. I promise you, Benoit, one small sound and I won't hesitate."

They put the oxygen regulator in her mouth and closed the lid.

Despite nearly overwhelming panic, Benoit felt the cart rolling forward and imagined they left the room and entered a hallway. After a minute or two they stopped; she supposed to wait for an elevator.

"Hey, would you mind showing me your credentials?" a voice said.

"Hey, why don't you show us yours?" Gaudet said with unflappable confidence.

"We asked you first."

There was silence and she couldn't discern what was happening. Perhaps Gaudet was showing them something.

"Can we look in there?"

"Hell no. Can't you read? It's asbestos shavings. You wanna die?" That was Trotsky, his accentless voice sounding absolutely authoritative.

More silence.

"I think we'll just take a look."

The board didn't move, so they were obviously deterred by the white stuff.

"You are breaking the law." Trotsky paused and clicked open a cell phone. "We are a hazmat team, contractor's license number 9859432d, and we need a squad car at the Trump International. We are being accosted by civilians who are endangering themselves and everyone in the vicinity…"

"Keep your shirt on and hang up the phone. You can go. We just had to check."

They clicked over the metal threshold of an elevator. She heard the doors close and they were going down. When the elevator opened, there were more men. The same procedure was repeated, only this time Trotsky was even more indig nant and she didn't hear him purporting to call the police. With a heavy sigh she resigned herself to the fact that they were leaving the building. She felt and heard the lift on the back of a truck and soon she felt the vehicle moving slowly ahead in New York traffic.

Desperate, she pushed up on the lid. It wouldn't move. They had somehow locked it. In a way that was good. They obviously didn't expect her to get out, so they might leave her alone. The container was heavy plastic. She lay on her back and used her feet to push on the lid, but even with all her strength she couldn't budge it.

"Only a few people have left the building. We found one room off the library hidden behind a panel, but it goes no place. One way in and one way out. On the floor below there was a hazmat team with asbestos. We saw credentials and looked in their hamper and it was full of asbestos. They left in a truck. Just to make sure we have somebody on their tail."

"How do you know the hamper was full of asbestos?"

"I see what you mean. The guys said they took off the lid. But I don't know if they reached down inside."

"After being told it's hazardous? Give me a break. They're not gonna put their hand in that stuff if it looks offi cial. They wouldn't know that it's not that easy to get mesothelioma."

"I'll check already."

"Fine. Get me to that truck. I think they're in it."

"But it was the floor below."

"Tear the walls apart."

"We pretty much have."

"The walls of the secret room?"

"Jeez, it's got display cases."

"Keep looking. You'll find a way to the lower floor. How about windows?"

"Shit, Sam. You can imagine anything… but okay."

"Have the guys on the truck's ass call me."

It wasn't a minute until Sam's phone rang. It was nearly dark.

"They're headed down Wall Street toward the water."

"I'm Jack. I'll be with you as fast as I can."

"Roger that, you with Whalen?"

"No. Whalen sent me to assist."

"We're doing fine."

"Talk to Whalen. I just follow orders." Sam stayed on the line and moved through traffic as fast as he could.

"Hey, Jack. You're not gonna believe this. They just drove onto State Street down to the new construction at the ferry terminal, crashed the barricades, and then went plunging into the river."

"I believe it."

"What do we do?"

"Watch me."

Sam drove up to the smashed barricades, then followed the course of the truck on foot, stopping at the end. The truck was a bit downstream, sixty or seventy feet out from the pier-sinking fast. A boat was coming up the river. Taking off his shoes and overcoat, Sam dived in and felt the full force of 50 degree Fahrenheit water. The shock was so great it was a clamp on his chest and it stung his face and put an ache in his bones. When he surfaced, he swam hard to ward the truck. Just as he arrived, the truck went under with a large burst of bubbles. He descended and could see noth ing in the murk. When he surfaced, he found a trail of scuba bubbles headed downstream. Swimming just ahead of the bubbles, he dived and swam down hard. The boat was ap proaching. After dropping, perhaps twenty feet, he hit bodies. One of them erupted in a flurry of activity, grabbing for his throat. To even the odds, he reached about the person's head and grabbed for the regulator hose, ripping it from the diver's mouth. Sam's foe made for the surface and Sam fol lowed, but not before he yanked on the regulator hose. It broke free in an incredible stream of bubbles. Just as he broke the surface, Sam saw the gun. The man was ten feet away and coughing badly. As the first shot went wild, Sam went under. The boat propellers screamed. If the shooter hadn't been half drowned, Sam knew he would be dead. Swimming toward the man, but deep, he made a guess as to his exact location. When he came up, he was behind and to the left. With two strokes he managed to grab the gun.

As he fought for the gun, Sam saw the boat and two people being pulled over the gunwales.

The man who fought him was strong and determined. Grappling, they went under. Both of Sam's hands were on the gun. It went off, but the bullet bit no flesh. Sam flipped head down and frog-kicked toward the bottom. He sensed his adversary yearning for the surface and kicked harder. When he felt the man start to weaken, Sam increased his de termination and told himself he would swim to hell. Above, the boat props wound up and the boat went screaming away. Sam's lungs began to burn and he felt woozy from the cold and the lack of oxygen. Thoughts became jumbled. They rolled under the water, and up became almost indistinguish able from down. Finally the man released and was gone. Sam had the gun. He started up and suddenly realized his lethargy. It was hard to kick. Shoving the gun in his pants, he tried to swim. His arms were rubber. With great effort he thought his way through each stroke. When at last he took a breath of air, he was too weary to lift the gun. It didn't matter; the man was nowhere to be seen. Sam took great gasps of air, trying to recover, trying to survive the cold. He turned and the man appeared facedown. Grabbing the man by the hair, he lifted his face, rolled him over, and breathed into his lungs.

The shore was far off. There were large boats passing, but none close enough. He tried to pull the unconscious man to ward shore, but it was too much. Sam could barely move his arms and feet. He knew to be still and not to thrash. He bobbed and breathed and then made gentle strokes. Someone was swimming toward him. They were trying to help but obviously didn't know how. Soon his rescuer was sputtering.

"Lie on your back," Sam said. "Put your legs around my waist." The man did it. "Now you do the backstroke." When the man complied, Sam did the breaststroke and they moved together, with Sam on his stomach and the man on his back, held together by the man's legs. It wasn't clear who was sav ing whom, but they made steady progress toward the dock. Another couple of men jumped in and helped them the last fifty feet to the ladder, where there were several hands to help them up. Sam lay on the dock, staring at the sky, wondering whose body was floating in the river, but knowing in his gut it wasn't Devan Gaudet's.

Sam sat down for just a moment to escape the frenetic phone calls of the last few hours. Resting was not, however, what it was cracked up to be. It was all too easy to sink back into the gloom he felt over Anna, when he wasn't obsessed with Gaudet and Benoit. Anna remained in a coma, no real changes.

Jill had come to New York, to their temporary offices, and had moved from her table over to his and he welcomed the company.

Harry lay in the middle of Sam's table, looking generally depressed despite their reunion.

"I swear, if I wanna know what you're thinking, all I have to do is look at Harry."

For the first time he noticed Jill watching him.

"I found out today that when Anna recovers, we won't have a baby. How do you think about anything, even saving the lives of millions, when you find out your baby died? I know it was a fetus, but to me, in my mind, it was a baby that I was ready to welcome into the world. I guess I was already planning trips to the zoo and wondering what it would be like to be a regular person with an identity and a child in a stroller. It's like I've been holding her on my knee. For some reason I thought it was a girl. Isn't that insane?" Sam got up from his desk, feeling that he was going to weep.

"I'll be back. I have to use the restroom."

He had lost Bud, and now this. After about fifteen minutes he called his mother.

"As we feared, we have lost our baby."

"It is a great loss for all of us. I am sorry that now is not a time for you to make your peace with this."

"No, it isn't. I don't know if I can go on."

"I wish your grandfather were here."

"What would he say?"

"Catching his mind is like trying to take a handful of wind. I'm afraid I don't know. Besides, words were different when he said them."

"That is so true."

"There might be another child, but the other can never make up for the loss of the one. We love the one, even though it was a soul that we never knew. Perhaps our love is both our pain and our consolation. When next you come home, we will express our love for this one. I will think about that and I will put flowers at Universe Rock and tell this child of my love."

"I will too."

It took thirty minutes before he felt ready to go back. He knew that Jill would say nothing. She understood him. In order to enable himself to function, he imagined how many children might die if he didn't get Gaudet; he imagined then- parents and their trips to the zoo. It was sobering and it allowed him to give himself permission to put off grieving. It was even more effective than the other emotion that he felt-anger and the desire for revenge.

There was nothing to do but swing back into action on all fronts. Grogg and the government people were still trying to pry something out of Gaudet's laptop or get into his main server. Now that Gaudet had driven a truck off a pier and damaged the pier, the cops were looking for him. They would have had a better chance finding Jimmy Hoffa. The Feds were examining every helicopter in the pertinent cities, looking for atomizer equipment.

"You remember that new program for homeland security, where we screen the incoming passengers on the interna tional flights?" Jill asked. It was a kindness that she went on with business as usual.

"Uh-huh."

"I think we've got something."

"Great. What is it?"

"Well, we struck out on the rental-car front."

"Too bad. It was a guess. So where are you now?"

"We performed a query on flight reservations, national and international, using a certain mileage-plus number."

"What number?"

"The number once assigned to one Benoit Moreau."

"So?"

"Well, everyone who worked for Chellis had a lot of mileage-plus miles. Benoit used some of hers to fly one Gustave Flaubert to Malaysia."

"Author of Madame Bovary? Obviously, somebody play ing a game with an alias."

"Obviously. That's dangerous. Talk about a name that doesn't blend. By itself it wouldn't mean much, but Jean Valjean is using the same mileage number now. I still can't imagine Gaudet would risk the connection with Grace."

"Could be Gaudet. Could be one of his henchmen using the names and number," Sam speculated. "Gaudet using the name offends me. Jean Valjean epitomized a man of great character and I was moved when I read the story."

"This morning Jean Valjean left New York for Eureka, California. Bought his ticket at the gate."

"Oh, crap. I knew I shouldn't have let Grady go."

"Remember, we don't know that Valjean is Gaudet himself. Could be an accomplice."

"No point in thinking that way. I gotta get there fast!" Harry looked startled. Sam petted him. "Tell Grogg and the investigators good work."

"How would Gaudet know where Michael Bowden is?" Jill wondered.

"I don't know. But consider this. The French government is in this up to their eyeballs. If Gaudet didn't have Raval followed, or didn't have Bowden followed, then maybe the French did or maybe Gaudet found him by getting a tip and then calling the realtors in five counties. Right now the French need Raval, and telling Gaudet where to get him wouldn't be beyond belief."

"You're right," she said. "Shit."

"Devan Gaudet is beyond any redemption in this life."

"Sam," she called behind him as he walked out.

"Yeah?"

"Take the part of you that is your grandfather and let it loose. See what happens."

"Yeah, well, while I'm getting in touch with my spiritual side, you move heaven and earth to find Benoit Moreau. She could be in one of those warehouses along the waterfront."

The canyon descent had been difficult, to say the least. It had appeared so formidable late the first afternoon that she slept in the car to get an early start in the morning. Near the highway the trail had begun fairly benignly in a mixed conifer forest with oaks and madrona under the evergreen canopy. From there it quickly changed into steep, rocky ter rain. In places Grady found sheer faces, but most of it was slightly less than vertical, with rock protrusions, manzanita, and scrub oak passing for handholds. Every step of the way the wind rushed through the canyon, making a background murmur like the sound in a seashell, the river with its tumul tuous stepladder falls adding its own ghostly rush.

Nothing looked touched by the hand of man and most of it looked like the work of a furiously creative God who loved drama and vast plunges and steep pinnacled rises interrupted by vibrant splashes trailing down mountains. It had a kind of awe that glass and steel could never put in human imagina tion. But it was also a foreign and inhospitable place. Even a frightening place.

The trail had been narrow and full of switchbacks and had traversed cliffs, where the drop-offs were deadly. Halfway down the slope to the river, occasional, light snow flurries started in and Grady began to chill. Here the trail became less steep and she could walk upright most of the time. The next major obstacle was a steep stretch, where she had to turn and crawl facing the hillside while grabbing exposed roots. She noticed hoofprints and couldn't imagine someone taking a horse down this trail. She'd have to ask Michael about that. Below her the river roared, mostly churning white water with occasional pools. Wind-whipped sleet pounded her poncho and soaked her pant legs from the thighs down. It was cold, but the vigorous climb, even going down, kept her from chilling completely through.

The mountain on the far side of the river directly opposite was laden with conifers all the way up, except for deep scars of raw earth where she supposed water ran and pushed the loose rocky soil down the hill. When she got to the bottom and the cable car, it felt like a full-blown storm, the clouds wrapping madly around the mountain peaks.

Grady wondered how long she would have to sit under her poncho, staring across the chasm at the little car on the other side. Smoke still curled cheerily up from the log house.

As they pulled her across, they watched the opposite hill side with guns at the ready. Nobody showed and the crossing was uneventful.

Grady hopped off the cable car, scarcely looking like her self. Her face was shadowed under the hoods of the poncho and overcoat. From beneath the hoods her blond hair hung sopping wet, and was surprising brunette. Amazingly, the blue eyes had turned brown. Her face had its usual life, but at the same time she seemed tentative. Nervous maybe.

Her lips were curved in a soft but sensuous smile; Michael wanted to kiss them, and nearly did so before catch ing himself.

He hugged her instead.

"You probably didn't expect to see me so soon." Grady gave him a smile that made him stand a little straighter without meaning to. She was shaking a bit from the cold, but she seemed to find something amusing in her own plight. "I needed to borrow some detergent. And I needed a lot, so I brought my suitcase."

They began the walk to the cabin, Yodo lagging behind.

"You look great. Different, though, I think."

"Natural hair color. For some reason I wanted it natural."

"Then previously you did an amazing job of dying it. I'd have never known. I don't get the eyes."

"I wore colored contacts to turn them blue."

In the log house they hung their ponchos in a vestibule. Under her poncho Grady had worn a distinctive long brown coat that was apparently made of softened cowhide. She unbuttoned it and hung the drenched garment on a hook, where it could drip harmlessly onto some plastic. With her hood off, Michael could see that she wore earrings and a matching choker, the choker having a wooden emblem about the size of a quarter; it looked Native American. He liked the style and mood of the jewelry and of the leather coat, and now he definitely felt a different side of Grady emerging, a side even more pleasing than any he'd seen so far.

The next layer of her clothing was a sweater, which was suds white, and had the look of something made by hand. She seemed content to leave it on.

He reminded himself of her figure and how it pleased him-slender and solid, with a little muscle on her frame. They stood gazing at one another long enough to be noticeable, and intensely enough that Yodo remained absolutely still.

"Maybe you would like to unpack your bag and freshen up. I could show you to your room."

Michael picked up her suitcase and directed her ahead to the hallway at the far end of the great room. The hall was about six feet wide and twenty feet long, with replica medieval tapestries and gargoyles left over from the prior owner. On a pine table lay an old bear skull. Michael cringed. He'd been meaning to remove it.

"This stuff's not mine," he said. "Last guy left it."

"Likely story," she teased.

They turned to the right, where the hallway formed a T. There were two bedrooms to the right and two to the left.

"I'm sure you'll want to take a shower and warm up. We have a power plant on the Wintoon that gives us electricity. But we also have a wood-fired boiler that makes very hot water, so we have great showers. You can soak in it as long as you want."

"Sounds good," she said.

"Turn right through that door and we're at your room."

"Great. I came for a little laundry detergent and now I have a room." As they walked through the door of what was to be her room, he glanced around, hoping that it was in order, and he was reassured. There was handmade wood fur niture: a couch made of an oak frame, with cushions in greens and browns, a coffee table, two chairs matching the sofa in design and materials, and a small writing desk with a wooden chair. When she was about five feet inside the door, she turned and looked down at her clothing, the black jeans, the handmade sweater, and the soggy tennis shoes.

"I guess you noticed my clothes. No time to pack and frankly I thought rural was like the Dixie Chicks. Out here is like… you know

… National Geographic. I understood that we were leaving the civilized world when we went to the Amazon, but across this river, man, this place is right out of Edgar Rice Burroughs. GORE-TEX would have…"

"Don't worry about it."

She had a half smile that was delicious and it asked all sorts of questions that only a poet could define, and in the smile was mischief and secret knowledge and sexual stirrings too deep to describe. Michael's throat caught and he knew she was made for him. It was in the sound of her voice, in the bow of her lips before she laughed, the quiet mirth in her eyes, the way she took a small breath before she started a sentence. It was found in the way her body was formed to fit some strange hollowness that was a need he couldn't put in words, the way her eyebrows curved, the way her lips formed words and the way her mind strung them together. It dwelled in her sense of humor, her essence, the things that formed her soul. He wanted to inhale her through every pore. Her eyes looked larger than before, but also delicate, and he knew her intent could be easily dissuaded if he returned passion with uncertainty, and so he took great care to meet her stare with equal boldness, daring her to continue.

She glanced away, then back at his eyes, as if testing him. He tried not to waver.

"What are you thinking?"

"Sometimes in the jungle, where there is a very dark canopy, a single tree falls to make a perfect hole. Right after a heavy rain, when the sun first breaks out and shines down through that hole, it pours in and lights the droplets all around and there are rainbow colors everywhere, and it gives you a feeling like you are in a magic place made for just that moment. Right now I feel like I'm in one of those moments." Michael could be devastatingly poetic.

She stepped forward and took his hand. He kissed the back of it and moved into her.

"Uhm, I would like to say that just as a for instance, I wouldn't mind going to the Amazon sometimes. I mean to visit you."

Michael knew that she was getting at something more than the Amazon. He tried to think over the top of his desire. Then it struck him.

"You know I would not have to be in the Amazon all the time."

"Like if you had kids or something?"

"Yes. That is a good example. But I would have to make a lot of trips to Peru and Brazil."

"Sure, and I imagine that kids with the proper shots and everything could go to the Amazon."

"You know, I have been told that I could get a position at a university."

"You have? Just as a for instance, do you think you could fall in love again?"

"I think I already have. Is it the custom to talk about everything? Do we need to go out for dinner or something? The nearest restaurant-"

"No. No, Michael, are you joking?"

"Will you ever stop planning world history before it hap pens?"

"Okay. Okay. But there is one more thing that is impor tant."

"Yes?"

"I was what some people call a stripper. I did it for a liv ing."

"In Brazil there is lots of sex like that."

"Not sex. Basically you take off your clothes and get naked while men watch, and then you dance for them and you touch them. They have their clothes on, but you tease them."

"Why did you strip?"

"For money."

"Ah." His mind sought to focus. "You did not have sex with them for money?"

"No. No. Not what I think of as sex. I undressed while I danced. Sometimes I sat in their lap, but they couldn't touch me."

"So you just get naked and men pay you money?"

"I used to. Now I work for Sam and I've left that behind. But I wanted you to know, in case it matters."

"Did they pay you a lot of money?"

"You are very beautiful. It is worth it I suppose."

"No. No. You and me… that's not about money."

"You want laundry soap instead?"

She punched him. "Now you're teasing me."

"Yes. I know about strippers. I don't care."

He put his hand in the small of her back, as if they were going to dance. The slight smile increased and they began kissing, and he put both his arms around her middle and pulled her to him. There was a rush in his mind and body, and they began pressing themselves together and he could feel the energy in her body and the strength of her supple back. They kissed deeply and hard, and their tongues ex plored without hesitation.

Michael closed the door with his foot. Grady began to unbutton his shirt. Taking her pullover sweater by the bottom, he pulled it up and she allowed it to slip over her head by ex tending her arms. Michael tossed it on the bed. Her blouse was a reddish orange, the color of a jungle vromillius. It was far from wilderness clothing, but he liked it.

Putting his fingers at the top of her neck, he began a mas sage and, at the same time, looked in her eyes.

"You are beautiful," he said.

Concentrating on her neck muscles at the base of her skull, he worked his fingers while he smiled at her.

"That feels so good."

"I have wanted to touch you."

And he tugged her to the bed, where she fell down, and he with her, and he continued on her neck and after a moment her shoulders.

She kissed him again and wrapped her leg around the outside of his thigh to draw him closer.

In order to facilitate the work of his fingers, he began with the buttons on her blouse while they each played with the ways of kissing. He succeeded with most of the buttons but popped one when pushing the blouse back over her shoul ders and then down over her arms. Her skin was smooth and slightly browned and there were a few light freckles like cinnamon sprinkles above her white satin bra. Her cleavage was noticeable and inviting, but he moved his fingers back to her shoulders as they kissed.

It did not seem possible that he could ever tire of putting his hands on her. She moaned, as if reading his mind. Gently he ran his fingers over her shoulders, neck, and chin, as one might feel the texture of silk or touch an object of veneration. He kissed the freckles on her back and slid his fingers lower, feeling a tightness unwind in her. Soon he sensed that the small of her back had some connection of sensation to her thighs, and he pressed in as she pressed herself to him. He could feel her start to breathe heavily as if finding a subtle rhythm. Her thighs wrapped around the meat of his leg while his fingers pushed in smaller circles.

She wanted to kiss again and they played with their tongues. When he left her lower back, they unzipped the front of the pants so that he could work his hands over her buttocks. He sank his hands into the flesh of her bottom and pressed her close and she breathed deeply in his ear and he knew it was good for her. He kissed her above her breasts and waited until she moved the bra to expose her nipples. Her breasts were brown in the areola and slightly rounded in their shape, and for him they were perfect.

Kissing her breasts, he let his lips feel the texture of them and of her nipples. She didn't finish with his shirt before moving to his belt.

As she loosened it, he willed her to slow down, playing his tongue over her ears. She shivered and laughed and he stroked her scalp, kneading it with a gentle touch, then smoothing her hair.

"You make love like you know me," she whispered.

"I make love like a student," he said, and she drew him in.

"I want to talk to you," Grady said as she lay with Michael in the quiet after their lovemaking.

"Yes. I want to talk to you too, but when you are naked like this for the first time… well…"

"I know. I know. You are ready for more. This will just take a minute. Do you think that you would be open to actu ally getting married?"

"I thought we just discussed that. I'm getting a job at a university and you're going to make babies."

"You're supposed to ask me."

"Okay. How many babies do you want?"

"Are you teasing me again?"

"Yes. But I'm not going to ask you until we go to the restaurant."

"You don't care about my dancing?"

"Is there some disease associated with dancing naked?"

"Will you be serious?"

"Okay. I will be very serious." And he rolled on top of her and began kissing her again.

"I want to show you something the shaman taught me."

"If you do that other thing again with the panties, I may need a shaman."