"Really?" Allie studied the painting, as if trying to see it with different eyes. "Do you agree with that?"
"Not at all."
She turned from the painting to look at his face. Demanski suddenly looked older now that he wasn't trying to be glib. His eyebrows were no longer raised as impish arches, and his jaw wasn't set as firmly.
Not older, she decided. More mature. Grounded. And yes, dammit, fascinating.
"What do you think I'm saying?" she asked.
"This figure on the landscape isn't overwhelmed by anything. It's taking in the majesty of it all, enjoying the infinite possibilities. It's a big world out there, but that's what makes it so wonderful. There's a feeling of excitement, not dread. I see hope."
Allie smiled.
He turned toward her. "So who's right? Me or the gallery owner?"
"Artists shouldn't impose their thoughts on the people who experience their work."
"Don't give me that. What is this about? Hope or dread?"
"It doesn't matter what I think."
"It matters to me."
She looked away for a moment. "It's exactly as you said. Hope."
"I knew it. But I'm glad to hear you say it."
"I only get afraid when options are taken away. In my mind, there's nothing overwhelming about a world of possibilities. This is a celebration, not a requiem. I'm surprised at that gallery owner."
"It says more about her outlook on life than yours. Or mine."
He picked up the painting, but Allie raised her hands to stop him. "Would you mind… leaving it here for a while?"
He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Sure. I'll prop it up down here on the floor. I'd hate for it to get knocked around by turbulence."
"Thank you."
He carefully positioned the painting. "There. But don't get used to having it around. I'm very fond of this piece, and it's not for sale."
FIFTEEN
RIVER OAKS COUNTRY CLUB
HOUSTON, TEXAS
"Gentlemen. How nice to see you. I didn't know you played golf." Carlos Dobal smiled at Finley and Gonzalez as they approached him on the fairway. He was a tall, good-looking man who spoke with only a trace of a Spanish accent.
"We don't play golf," Finley said.
"You should. Did you know that your police chief's promotion was decided somewhere between here and that hill over there?"
"Damn," Gonzalez said. "And here I thought it was because he was a decent cop."
Dobal shrugged. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"
"We're investigating the campus shooting. You've heard about it?"
"Of course. Your suspect was found dead, wasn't he?"
"Yes," Finley said. "But we still don't know who he is or who he was working for."
"Fingerprints?"
"We have a complete set, but no match. No match on the facial scans, either. But we have reason to believe that the NSA knows who he is. They seized the corpse and the weapon just a few hours ago."
"Interesting. Did they offer an explanation?"
"No. And we're still trying to work this case. Can you help us?"
"What help do you think I can be?"
"I believe we both know what you can do for us." Finley paused. "If you'd be so kind, Mr. Dobal."
Dobal looked down and away from them.
Finley studied him as he waited for his answer. Dobal looked remarkably the same as he had when they first met four years before. The man's wife and child had been kidnapped by an old enemy from his days as a Spanish intelligence agent, and Finley and his then-partner had succeeded in bringing them back unharmed.
But at a terrible cost.
"How is Detective Pace's family?" Dobal asked.
"Her husband got remarried last year, and they moved to Oregon. I think her two girls are doing well."
Dobal nodded. "Such a tragedy. I think of her often."
"Me too."
"Whatever happiness I have in my life, I owe to her." He looked up at Finley. "And to you, Detective. What do you need?"
"Since our own intelligence agencies seem to be stonewalling us, I wondered if you might go to your own sources. Maybe some of your old colleagues will be more forthcoming."
"What do you have?"
Gonzalez handed him a large manila envelope. "This is everything we have on the corpse. Prints, photographs, dental X-rays, body scans, the works. Something in here triggered the NSA to swing into action. We'd like to know what it is."
Dobal placed the envelope on the seat of his golf cart. "You know, of course, I'm now just a dull, ordinary investment counselor. I don't have direct access to any of the databases you probably require."
"But you know people who do, right?"
"Possibly." Dobal reached into his golf bag and selected an iron. "But I know from personal experience that the NSA agents may have a good reason for keeping you in the dark."
"Even if it means that we can't do our jobs?"
"Yes. This may not be only for the sake of their interests, but for your sakes as well."
"We'll take our chances," Gonzalez said.
"Once you start down this path, there may be no going back. I daresay those NSA agents have a much better idea what awaits you than you do. Are you sure you want to venture into this territory?"
Finley nodded. "We wouldn't be here if we weren't. Rachel Kirby is an innocent victim of Whatever is going on. She deserves to be protected. I don't want this case buried in a NSA TOP SECRET BOX somewhere."
"Very well." Dobal walked toward his ball on the green. "And do consider taking up golf, gentlemen. It's a very relaxing game."
CHICAGO-WAUKEGAN REGIONAL AIRPORT
WAUKEGAN, ILLINOIS
Rachel frowned as she watched the fire red Maserati speed away from the aircraft hangar. Demanski and Allie never looked back as they roared through the complex's main gate.
"I wish she'd stayed with us," Rachel said.
"Splitting up the dual surveillance on Wiley made sense. Demanski said he needed to pick up a report on Wiley in person."
"He didn't have to take Allie."
"As I recall, she volunteered."
Rachel grimaced. "Yeah. That Maserati may have had something to do with it. Allie loves fine cars." For the major part of the journey, she had watched Allie and Demanski talking and joking together like old friends. "But I think she likes him."
"I understand he has a certain appeal to some people." Tavak slung his travel bag over his shoulder. "To tell the truth, I'm glad your sister is there to keep an eye on Demanski."
"You don't trust him?"
"I do. Sort of. But he's an opportunist, and I feel better knowing that Allie can report back on what he's doing."
"Do you think they'll come up with anything?"
"Demanski says he already has someone monitoring Dr. Wiley's telephone and e-mail communications, just in case Dawson tries to make contact."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that part."
Tavak laughed. "Dawson tried to kill me, and I do believe those were real bullets whizzing by your head at Hearst Castle the other night. You're upset by somebody reading his e-mail?"