and we’ll never get him. Yes, he’s laughing his head off.”
Chapter 28
Gaylan Woodhouse sat at an angle across from Thomas’s desk with
his face in the shadows, as was his wont, and said,”I don’t want you
to worry about your daughter,Thomas. Your whereabouts will not be leaked. As you know, the media is still in a frenzy over the shooting
of poor Jabbers. The country is primarily amused at his audacity,
titillated, glued to their TVs. Everyone wants to know about
Krimakov, this man who swore to kill you twenty-some years ago.
By shooting that damned dog, he’s turned up the heat. He wants
the media to find you for him and then he’ll come after you.”
“No,” Thomas said slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t think that
was his motive at all. You see, Gaylan, he had me in Riptide. He had to know I would never allow Becca to go up there alone. He could
have easily shot me. He proved he was an excellent distance
shooter when he shot the governor of New York. From that kind
of distance, he could have nailed me with little effort. But he didn’t
force anything after he kidnapped Sam McBride, except to shoot
Becca in the shoulder with a dart that had a piece of paper rolled
around the shaft. No, Gaylan, he shot the governor’s dog because
he wanted to give me the finger, show me again that it was his
decision not to kill me and Becca in Riptide. He wants to show
me that he doesn’t have to do anything until he decides he wants
to do it. He wants to prove to me over and over that he’s superior
to me, that he’s the one in control here, that he’s the one calling all
the shots. It’s a cat-and-mouse game and he’s proving again and
again that he’s the cat. Damnation, he is the cat. Adam’s right. During
all of this, we’ve only been able to react to what he does.”
Gaylan said slowly, “One of my people pointed out that Kriakov
certainly managed to get from one place to the next with
no difficulty at all, suggested that maybe he has a private plane
stashed somewhere. What do you think?”
Thomas said,”Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Heaven knows you
can’t have much faith in the commercial airlines. But you know,
Gaylan, shooting that dog wasn’t on a set timetable. You can check
it out, but I doubt it.”
Gaylan sighed. “We still don’t have any leads in New York. His
disguise must have been something. The security tapes showed old
folk, pregnant women, children–do we track all of them down to
question? Still no witnesses. Damnation, four good agents dead because
of that maniac.”
Thomas said, “I’ve been thinking about that. I’m coming to
believe that Krimakov wants Becca and me together, to torment us
together, prolong our deaths. But yet he went right to New York
University Hospital, shot everyone, then ran. What if Krimakov
somehow found out it was a trap? What if he still did it, in fact
made a big production of it, all to tell us that he knew about our
plan and it didn’t matter. Yes, he knew, and he thumbed his nose
at us.”
“You’re making him sound wilier than the Devil,” Gaylan said, a
brow arched. “More evil, too.”
“I would say certifiably insane,” Thomas said. “But it doesn’t
make him stupid. It doesn’t really matter what the truth of his motives
was, four agents are still dead. Yet it fits into all the things he’s
done since then. Over the top, frightening as hell.”
“Yes,” Gaylan said. He looked toward Thomas’s bookshelves for
a moment. He seemed to shake himself, then took a sip of his cof
fee. He carefully set the cup back into the saucer. He crossed his
legs, then said, “There’s another reason I came here, Thomas. The
fact is that the president isn’t going to sit still much longer. He
called me over, paced in front of me for ten minutes, told me that
all this mess had to come to a close, that the media are totally focused
on it to the detriment of what he’s trying to accomplish.