very quietly, very discreetly, always out of sight, always in the background,
and frankly, do things that aren’t sanctioned or publicized
or even recognized. Results are seen, but not any of us.”
“You mean like the ‘Mission Impossible’ team?”
“Nothing so perfectly orchestrated as all that. No, I’ve never
burned a tape in my life.” He smiled then and it was an attractive
smile, Sherlock thought. He was a handsome man, well built, took
care of himself. A bit younger than her father, but not much. Ah,
but his eyes. They were filled with bleak, dark shadows, with secrets
huddled deep, and there was pain there as well, pain there for so
very long that it was now a part of him, burrowed deep. He was a
complex man, but most important, he was alone, so very alone–
now she saw that clearly–and he was afraid of something that
went as deep as his soul. She didn’t think that being a Shadow Man
was the reason for all that bleakness in his eyes.
She said, “It sounds like cloak-and-dagger stuff, sir, like it should
have gone out of business when the Cold War ended.”
Thomas said, “Perhaps there’s a bit of cloak-and-dagger still in
the mix. Actually, before the end of the Cold War things were a lot
simpler. We knew the enemy. We knew exactly how the enemy
operated, what to expect. However, now the projects we’re involved
in are rarely so clean, so splendidly satisfying and clear-cut
as that ‘Mission Impossible’ TV show.
“In my area, there is rarely an obvious and clean line between us
and the bad guys, although Saddam and Gaddafi look like they’re
going to be long-timers. An enemy of yesterday is a confederate of
today. Unfortunately, the opposite is also true.
“This is more true today, of course. So many petty tyrants and
greedy despots who want to rule, if not the world, then a larger
portion of it than they do currently. China is the giant fist, more
frightening than the USSR ever was. So many people, so many
natural resources, such endless potential. Somehow we have to deal
with all of them.”
Thomas looked off over Sherlock’s left shoulder, seeing into the
past, into the future, she didn’t know. Then he said quietly, “There
are always failures, mistakes, lives lost needlessly. But we try, Mrs.
Savich. More often than not, thank God, we do succeed and perhaps
make the world a bit safer. For the most part we re not allowed
to be nice people, so your husband is smart not to trust me.
However, this is something entirely different. This isn’t business.
This is entirely personal. I need help badly.”
She lowered her head and began weaving a packet of Equal
through her fingers. Finally, she looked straight at him, picked up
her iced tea glass, raised it toward him, and said, “Why don’t you
call me Sherlock.”
Thomas clicked his glass to hers. Somehow, he knew, she and
her husband had communicated, had agreed to hear him out.
“Sherlock. It is a charming name. It goes very well with Savich.”
Savich sat forward then. “Let’s cut to the chase, Mr. Matlock. We
give you our word that nothing you tell us today will go beyond
this booth. We will accept the possibility of a conflict of interest, at
least for the moment.”
Thomas felt the same sort of loosening in his gut that he’d felt
when Adam had told him he’d already begun to protect Becca. He
smiled at the two of them and said, “Why don’t you call me
Thomas.”
Chapter 13
Sheriff Gaffney said, “Well now, what we got was an anonymous
tip, Mr. Carruthers.”
“That’s rather odd, don’t you think, Sheriff?”Adam had his arms
folded over his chest and was leaning against Jacob Marley’s
screened front porch. Sheriff Gaffney looked tired, he thought, a
bit pasty in the face. He wanted to tell the sheriff to lose fifty
pounds and start walking the treadmill.
“No, sir, not odd at all. Folk don’t like to get involved. They’d
rather tattle in secret than come smartly forward and tell you what
they know. Sometimes, truth be told, folk are just shits, Mr. Carruthers.”