The professor didn't seem surprised by her sudden appearance. He offered condolences about Gant's death and explained that Gant had written him a few months ago telling him he was very sick and saying the Neeley would probably be coming soon. Gant had also included a letter for her.
Neeley felt herself growing dizzy. She grabbed the envelope, issued a quick thanks and hurried back around the house. She could hear the water running from Hannah's shower stop as she sat down and stared at the envelope. It took her several moments to muster the energy to open it.
"You all right?" Hannah had a towel wrapped around her.
Neeley reluctantly looked up from the letter in her hand. "What?"
“Hey," Hannah said, looking closer, "you look terrible. What's wrong?"
"Gant left a letter downstairs." Neeley was in a daze, fingering the edges of the paper. She showed it to Hannah.
Hannah began gathering her clothes. "I don't know about this Gant guy," she said. "Pardon me for saying, but any allusion to him seems to bring you down."
Neeley looked at the single sheet of paper from Gant's letter. Her eyes burned for a moment at the sight of the familiar writing. She read it to herself and tears slowly escaped her blinking eyes.
"Well?" Hannah asked.
Neeley shook her head and stuffed the paper in her breast pocket. "It just says that I made him very happy and that he loved me. Says to remember the rules."
Hannah was already dressed and tying her shoelaces. "What rules?"
Neeley shot her a weary look. "Oh, just a bunch of rules to live by."
Hannah got up and moved toward the bathroom. "So, nothing about a tape? I don't get it. If this guy loved you so much, why didn't he just give you this tape that the Cellar seems willing to kill you for?"
Neeley watched her disappear into the bathroom. "Actually, Hannah, I think he told me where it was before he died."
Hannah's head popped out from behind the door. "When were you going to let me in on this?"
Neeley was silent as she went to one of the bedroom closets.
“Well?” Hannah demanded. “Are we going to start working together? Combining our brain power?”
"Rule number seven. One man who thinks can beat ten men who don't."
"Rule number seven is Shaw," Hannah said. “And it doesn’t apply here, because I can think.”
Neeley paused with the door open. "What?"
"Gant’s rule seven is a paraphrase of George Bernard Shaw. I read it." Hannah noticed Neeley's dismayed look. "Hey, cheer up. So far it seems to be the only thing we both know. That means something right?"
Neeley started pulling gear out of its neatly packed recesses.
Hannah came over to help. "What are you doing now?"
"We're going to find the tape."
Hannah stepped toward the pile of ropes and slings. "What's this for?"
"It looks like we're going on a little climb."
Hannah shook her head. "Wait a minute. What do you mean we? I can barely climb out of bed. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be tired? You mean like climb a mountain?"
Neeley kept pulling gear from shelves and stacking it neatly around Hannah's feet. "A rock, Hannah. We're going to climb a rock."
Hannah stared at the ropes and belts and helmets piled around her feet. "This is a stupid question I know, but why couldn't he hide the tape here in this closet with all this stuff?"
Neeley's look was what Hannah expected. Neeley grabbed one of Hannah's hands. "You're going to have to cut off these nails." Her thumb rubbed the surface of Hannah's long perfectly shaped red nail.
Hannah looked at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. “They're fiberglass. Do you have any idea what these cost?"
"Hannah, get them off. Do you have any idea what it feels like to rip your nail out at the root?"
Hannah picked up one of the harnesses from the floor, looking at it. “I don’t care about the fingernails, Neeley. It was just an observation. You’ve got to calm down. This has not been easy and I’ve done my best so far.”
Neeley sat down with an exhausted look on her face. "I'm sorry. I know I've been hard on you. I feel like I'm all alone and I'm not up to this. Can you understand that? Gant was always there and now he's not."
Hannah dropped the harness. "I'm hungry and tired." She rubbed a hand across her face. “My husband got shot the other night. I know he ran out on me and left me in a bad place, but we spent a lot of years together and some of those were decent years. At least no one was trying to kill me all the time. That’s looking pretty good right now.
“In the past couple of days I’ve been stabbed, shot at and crashed a plane. Geez, what else?” Hannah looked at Neeley. “I try to be observant and pick strange things to talk about sometimes to protect myself, OK? Because I don’t want to feel what I’m supposed to feel about the real shit in my life. At least that’s what my shrink said once.”
Neeley nodded. "I understand. Let's get this stuff together and we'll eat, OK? Then get some sleep. I know this has been hard but we have to keep pushing. We have to find that tape Hannah, or we're dead. We climb first thing in the morning. You'll do fine. I promise. We'll take turns standing watch tonight."
Hannah focused on one part. "Eat?"
"Yes."
"Great," Hannah pulled herself and the look was back in her eyes. "I can fall off a cliff for breakfast tomorrow. That's how they'll find me. Splattered on a rock with nubby fingernails."
Racine wanted to congratulate himself. His instinct had been to fly to Boulder, wade in and blow the bitches off the face of the planet. But the rational part of him knew that would not have been acceptable to Nero and much as he hated the old bastard, he knew he couldn’t afford to make him an outright enemy — not yet at least.
The whispers were out that Nero’s reign was coming to an end. You’d think the old fart’s lungs would have given in like his throat had. Some said Bailey would take his place, but Racine couldn’t see Bailey sitting in that room day after day reading reports and thinking. Bailey was an action man. From what Racine had heard, Bailey was the son of some Brit that had gone into France with Nero during the last Great War. Bailey was ex-SAS, Special Air Service, who’d cut his teeth doing the nasty stuff in Ireland and somehow crossed the pond to work for Nero. Bailey did grant that the SAS were some hard-ass dudes, so he gave Bailey some space.
Racine took the elevator from the second floor to the first and went to the bar. He ordered some food and looked around. A sparse crowd of losers was his summation. A bleached blond two stools down gave him a quick once over.
A stewardess, Racine figured. Or an office manager who had to fuck her boss to keep her job. Sliding into middle age and not happy at all about it. Just perfect for what he needed tonight. He turned to her and smiled.
Neeley stood on the small deck in the back of the house and looked up at the stars. She remembered being in this exact same spot with Gant. She heard Hannah come out.
“Memories?” Hannah asked.
Neeley nodded.
“Good ones?”
“I don’t know now.” Neeley tensed, waiting for Hannah to probe with more questions but there was only silence. They stood silent, staring at the stars.
“Do you have something to drink?”
Racine shut the door, bolted it and slid the chain on. If he concentrated he could make her look like the blonde, Masterson’s wife. She turned toward him, a quizzical look on her face as she heard the chain rattle.
“What are you—“
Racine hit her with his the knife edge of his right hand directly across her throat. Not full power, just enough to smash her larynx and keep her from saying another Goddamned word.