Necessary evil, p.25
Necessary Evil, page 25
"I don't agree. I think you understand stir the oatmeal as a no-risk deal. To understand that, you've got to understand the possibility of something else."
Kier shrugged and touched her face. She didn't pull away.
"At this point I nod and you talk," he said.
She laughed hard.
"You're attractive when you're demanding telephones."
"You think you can sidetrack me with secret eyes?" she asked. "What do you take me for?"
"Who gets the bed?" Kier asked, abruptly sliding back his chair slightly as if to stand up.
"You. I can fit on the couch," she said.
As before, Kier wore only jockey shorts, she his T-shirt with her panties, while the rest of their clothes dried. She glanced at him as she sipped the cup of instant coffee they had borrowed along with the ham and peaches. She wasn't going to badger him any further. She was tired of badgering men. This time Kier did not try to make love to her with his gaze. He sat circling his coffee mug with a finger.
"Well, we should sleep for a few hours before I take off."
"Meeting's not until nine a.m. the day after tomorrow."
"I'm arriving before daybreak."
"Really. And why are we arriving before daylight?"
"I am arriving before daybreak to take Tillman hostage. It's the only way to find out what is going on."
This engendered a thirty-minute argument in which neither of them made a single new point.
"Well, at least you can't win the debate by locking me in a hole," she said finally.
"Wine cellar. But forget it. You wanna come, you come."
Now she could feel herself squinting, suspicious that she was being tricked.
"When you do that, it makes each little line in your face get deeper," he told her.
They smiled, and she inexplicably knew that he wouldn't trick her again. She held his gaze for as long as she dared. In his eyes she found a knowing strength that reached to her core. On the kitchen table his large brown hand contrasted with the whiteness of hers. She wished to feel his rough hand moving over hers. Such a simple thing, she imagined, would be so pleasurable. But she felt guilty for the wish. Each move they made toward one another, each little intertwining of emotion and personality, would in the end be undone, leaving neither the better for it.
''Frank Bilotti,'' she blurted out without really having made up her mind to do so.
"Who?" he asked.
"My boss."
"Yes," he said after a long pause in which she struggled to gather her thoughts.
''And Grail is my best friend from way back. I would have trusted either of them with my life. No question. You gotta understand. Frank was my mentor. We never crossed the line, but we felt deeply about each other-or I thought we did. After I introduced them, Gail had an affair with him. He's married to Eva. First big mistake."
Kier's eyes scrutinized her.
"Got your attention, didn't I?"
He nodded slowly.
"It had been going on for months. Frank is rich, by the way. Frank inherited lots of money, and unlike most of us, he doesn't need to work. The Bureau was an interesting hobby in more ways than one. He was bringing her travel brochures and talking honeymoon when there wasn't even a divorce in sight. He said they could take their honeymoon even before they were married. I begged Gail, pleaded with her to forget him."
Kier's eyes were somber, intent. She could feel herself about to cry, and tried to hold everything still from her stomach to her lips. "Gail, my dearest friend, was such a schmuck." Now tears were running hot down her cheeks. She paused to catch her breath. "She just ignored the facts. He was never going to leave his wife. She actually began thinking I was jealous. And maybe I was, but not the way she thought.
"See, I couldn't work with him like I used to. All his help, all his insight, the coaching about how to deal with the bureaucracy.. it was gone, dried up. I suppose my disapproval about the whole situation was just oozing out of me. My respect for him disappeared, and he could feel it.
"I was supposed to meet Frank and two other agents at his summer home for a brainstorming session on a tough case. They were going to raid a place I had identified electronically. Anyway, I show up unexpectedly early by several hours, and even from the patio I can see that Frank and these two guys are watching this video.
"I'm a little quiet, wanting to surprise them, and they're so busy watching the TV they don't even see me. The window is cracked an inch and I can hear them. At first I think it's like an X-rated film or something. I'm embarrassed. Then I'm horrified. It's a video of Gail having sex with Frank, and these three guys are watching. And get this-Frank is commenting on it, and it's sick. All of a sudden I realize he's this cold detached bastard who's just using Gail in the crudest possible way. Frank's face is conveniently blurred on the tape, some special effect, but Gail's isn't. And believe me, from Frank's commentary for the boys you know it's Frank. And you knew Gail never had a clue about this."
Jessie had finished her coffee long ago, but she held the empty cup in a death-grip.
"I blew sky-high, barged in and told them what I thought of them." She stopped for a moment. "Frank turned on me. Just like that. My mentor, this man I would have trusted with my life, says that if three top agents say it didn't happen, it didn't happen. Then he threatens me. He actually threatens me if I say anything."
"What did he threaten you with?"
"You know this case we were supposed to be meeting about?"
Kier nodded.
"I had done some sweeps on the computer that required permission from above. Frank had given me the authorization. It's like a wiretap sort of, only with respect to a hacker's computer. I didn't do much of it, but another gal in our section did, and he was going to say it was all my doing. That I was trying to get ahead and it was all unauthorized. He said I'd get a failing performance review because of it. He would tell everyone that I had concocted this crazy story about the tape when all they were doing was watching an adult movie to pass the time."
"Usually the truth comes out."
"Oh yeah, right. Sure it does. But you've got no idea how somebody as powerful as Frank, with as many friends as he has, can screw up your career. And in the end I didn't have the tape. When I grabbed it, they took me down. Beat the shit out of me."
Jessie pushed the coffee cup aside and looked away.
"So what did you do?"
"It got bad, Kier. I had to use my gun to get out of Frank's summer home. Then I just walked out of the New York office, took a leave of absence, and came up here, but not without telling Frank's boss, Grady White. He's the head of the region. I told him the whole thing-off the record. He's sweating like hell. He believes me, but he says I gotta make up my mind: Do I want to leave this for Gail to deal with or file a formal report?"
"What does he think you should do?"
"I think he just feels sick, and trapped, and he probably thinks I should come forward and nail the bastards. Either destroy their careers or let them destroy mine. Without me, there probably won't be anything official. I'm not sure Gail would or could do it alone. If I talk, a holy war's gonna break out in the ranks of the Bureau. We can't all survive, but we could sure all go down."
Kier leaned back in his seat. ''After all that, you think there's no way the government could have sold out to Tillman?"
"I promise you, Kier, this is different. This is three guys and their twisted sex lives. It's hormones. It's not bribery. It's just not the same. And Frank Bilotti is not the institution."
Kier nodded as if he understood. "So when I met you on the road, when we were in the barn, all this time you've had this inside you. And you've kept it there."
''Yeah. Until now.'' She let herself begin to cry, completely weary of containing it. The fear, the anxiety, the heartache, the lost affection for Frank, it all wanted to squeeze its way out through her eyes.
She knew that Kier's hand would not move. At the other cabin he had rebuked himself; he would not allow himself to be drawn to her again. Sorrow and depression had replaced desire and settled over her. But now there was something worse than Frank Bilotti and his betrayal. Jessie could see the disappointment in all of her tomorrows: the mornings she would awake and wonder if she were in bed with the wrong person. Of course, she realized, that would be the lucky result. Just as likely, she would die-die missing this last opportunity to finally connect with this man, this guileless man. And outlive her cynicism, if not her singleness. She did not know how to begin.
In his fingers Tillman held the picture of Jessie, and his eyes periodically darted to it. A great pressure was building in his mind. Outside he saw a faint movement in the blackness. It was the llama wandering across the front porch. A man went quickly by the table, obviously trying to avoid him.
"When's somebody gonna butcher that damn llama?" Tillman asked. "Walking around like that gets the sentries used to movement. It's dangerous."
"I'll see that she's put in the barn, sir."
Tillman grunted as if he was half satisfied. Obviously the man had developed some ridiculous attachment to the animal.
Ready at last to talk, he called for Doyle, who came immediately with his mug of coffee. Doyle sat heavily as though the struggle were equally his.
"So what will he do?"
"I think he'll come." Doyle spoke without hesitation. "You've got his family and he's smart enough to know it. But I don't think he'll come when he says. And he won't come peacefully, that's sure. He'll come to take you."
"When do you think he'll get here?"
"Tonight sometime."
Tillman leaned back in the chair and poured himself another cup of coffee from the Donahues' pot. Only Doyle knew that Tillman had been on the mountain. The others thought he had just returned from Johnson City. He hadn't even told Brennan.
"I don't think we dare do anything until he arrives here. These men aren't smart enough to ambush him without being detected," Tillman said.
"With a chap like this who knows the terrain, it's nearly impossible to move on that mountain without tipping him off. Especially when we don't know where he's going to leave that cavern."
"I'm going to go out by myself tonight."
"I have an idea," Doyle said.
"Go ahead." Tillman took another sip and let his stare test the man.
"I'd like to talk to Kier and the woman alone. I'd like them to think I'm an undercover FBI agent."
Tillman lowered his chair to the floor, intent on Doyle's every word. "I'm listening."
"When I worked for Her Majesty's government, one of the things they taught us was FBI procedure. Even went to Quantico for a fortnight. Their antiterrorist course was supposed to be the finest in the world. If I could get with the FBI woman, talk to her, I believe I could convince her that I'm on her team. Maybe I could convince Kier. If either of them believed me, it would be over quickly."
Tillman reappraised Doyle. "Why does a man with your background go to work as a mercenary?"
"Had a run-in with my supervisor. He had strong feelings about my taking some favors from some rich business types. Just vacations. They were recruiting for private security. It was the one really thick thing I did, but believe me, it was enough. Got demoted very quietly. At first I thought it was a disaster. Until I learnt the private money was a lot better, if you don't count the lost pension."
Tillman was silent while he thought about it. Something made him slightly uncomfortable, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was the way Doyle told the story so easily, as if he'd never lived it.
"How do you propose to do this?"
''Tonight we leave the greenest men in the house. You and I get on the most likely trails. We put a few more men, the best ones, in the woods around the house. We try to capture him or her-either one. Preferably the bird. But we've got no control over that. If anybody gets either of them at gunpoint, I come along and promise to save them when I can. Then I pitch them."
"You turn them loose?"
"Certainly not. But if I convince them I'm on their side- maybe I can get the sixth volume."
"Sounds like a long shot. Might work."
"To make it work I need something."
"What's that?"
"I need to know whatever Kier would know if he read Volume Six. If I were the FBI and investigating, you see, I'd know why the hell I'm investigating. Only way to be convincing is tell them some seemingly secret stuff."
It was a seductive pitch. Doyle was the brightest of his men. The subterfuge would be elegant if it worked. Tillman wanted to trust him.
"In short, I need to know what's going on or I won't be effective."
Tillman wanted a drink and rose to pour one.
"You like a Scotch?"
"Please."
Tillman had discovered that the Donahues had no liquor cabinet. An oversize kitchen drawer held the libations. He removed a bottle of Glenlivet, amazed that the Donahues would have a single malt.
As he returned to the table and poured them two Scotches, neat, he decided to begin by giving Doyle a rundown of the Marty Rawlins diary, then observe his reaction before deciding how much more he would disclose.
He might even tell Doyle just how far ahead of the rest of the world he really was.
Chapter 27
One sunset with a maiden surpasses ten Tilok feasts.
— Tilok Proverb
It didn't matter in what light he saw her, the clothing she wore, composed or unkempt, perspiring or chilled-he found her beautiful.
Kier wanted her.
Jessie seemed resigned to losing him, judging from her sigh, from the sadness in her eyes, from her frown. The gulf between them measured mere inches, but added to that separation were the expectations of his family, friends, and, even though he had not proposed marriage, the innocent expectations of Willow. Once Kier reached across to Jessie, would it be the beginning of a betrayal or the end of one?
He could not think of what to say or how to speak what he felt.
"I never asked you about the mare. What were you doing with the pointing and the chanting?" she asked.
''Body language that a horse would understand. The chanting really just underscores the body language… helps get their attention with the changes in volume and tone."
Finally he managed to move his hand so that it was touching hers. Every millimeter that separated them was closed by him. She gave him no help. But the feeling was heady.
"Body language is important with horses too, huh?"
"The most important by far. They're herd animals. In the wild, horses have a pecking order in their band. The lead mare enforces behavioral norms. When she runs a horse out of the herd to enforce discipline, certain things have to happen for the horse to be accepted back. At first the dominant horse squares off, looking the outcast in the eye-challenging. When the subservient horse turns broadside and cocks an ear, it's a half-apology, so to speak. If the lead horse is satisfied, it also turns broadside, takes its eye off the bad horse, and ignores it. If the half-apology doesn't work, the outcast may have to drop its head to get back in-that's a sure sign it wants to come back.
''I was using the two horses as a herd; I was the lead mare. I got her thinking about joining the herd. It's a natural thing for a horse in trouble. I just followed the pattern."
"How did you learn all this?"
"Here and there. A little from Grandfather. Mostly though from horse trainers-even books." He chuckled. "And vet experience. It's not genetic. We Tiloks walked around the mountains. My ancestors didn't have horses nearly as early as the plains Indians. Only the chant was Tilok, and it's a medicine chant to ward off evil spirits and promote healing. I don't know if it works, I just prefer it to humming or yelling."
''I read that people sometimes use body language more than they use words," she said.
''Yeah. First, they square off, like this.'' He looked into her eyes. "But with people it's more of an invitation."
"And how does a person accept this invitation?"
"Prolonged eye contact," he replied while she continued returning his gaze.
"Will that do?"
"That will do. Then you come closer to me."
In response she came around the table. He rose and she pulled him tight. "Like so?"
''You pick up on this very well. Now you get heavy-lidded and half close your eyes. Then you turn your face up just slightly."
Before she finished he covered her lips with his, silencing her next line.
She finished it in her mind: Should I put my head down now? The kiss was better than good. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw the trouble there.
"I'm not sure what we're doing," he said.
"I think," she said, her voice husky, "I think you're asking the wrong person."
She let her eyes meet his. Slowly, as if each millimeter were a separate and painful deliberation, he reached for her again. In him she saw a quiet desperation that he could never voice. They stood wrapped in each other's arms as the flicker of the dying lantern lengthened the shadows and the darkness enfolded them.
She felt no constraint but her fear. His hands moved over her back as if they were at worship, relaxing her, comforting her, making her want more of him. Having once touched, neither wanted to pull away lest good sense intervene. After the failing lantern died and they were bathed only in the soft glow of the remaining one, his searching eyes met hers. In them the pieces of her dreams fit seamlessly together. The touch of his finger across her lips was real, like the rough boards under their feet.
Taking his first finger between her teeth, she tasted his skin and nibbled at his knuckle. Then they pulled each other closer so that her breasts were pressed against his chest, and her lips wandered over his face, placing kisses on his light beard and weather-toughened skin. She learned the nuances of his body. Her hands moved first at the back of his neck, then to his shoulders and the mass of his frame. She ran her hands over his smooth chest, following the contour of a giant pectoral muscle, then teased his nipples between her fingers. On his belly she felt the coarse hairs. Then she cupped the bow of his erection through his cotton shorts. Trailing her fingers along its length, she felt the shudder run through his body. Looking him in the eye, as if daring him to flinch, she reached beneath his shorts and took hold of him.
