"We don't have any real names for these people?" Atticus asked.
Zheng produced another artist sketch with a Polaroid attached. Atticus recognized him as the driver of the Honda. The photograph was of the man's dead body on the coroner's table. "We've identified him as John Pender, originally of New Hampshire. He joined the cult two years ago, breaking ties with his parents."
"I would think," Ru said, "that he's a total dead end."
Zheng's full mouth curved into her Mona Lisa smile and her eyes softened—there was warmth under that cool exterior. When not hard as steel, her gray eyes were surprisingly beautiful. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."
Atticus realized his paranoia was slipping and hugged it a little closer. Until he knew more about Zheng, he had to keep in mind that they weren't necessarily on the same side. "So far, you've not given us much to go on."
"Socket also gave us this list." Zheng shuffled through papers in her briefcase. What wasn't she showing them? Atticus controlled the urge to snatch up her briefcase and dump it out. "Through dummy corporations, the cult bought a good deal of property in New England. The only one they openly owned was a farm in New Hampshire, and they used it as a front for anyone investigating them." Zheng found the paper she was looking for and laid it on the table between them. "The top addresses were the ones that Socket knew about. I had the records pulled on these sites, and then found other property bought from the same bank accounts."
There were two dozen addresses listed scattered throughout New England. The first had notes after them: Farm— sold? Warehouse. Safe house. Offices. Burn site.Atticus compared the last with his photographic memory of the police report Kyle had found on the crime scenes of cremated bodies. Same place.
"So you think they might be at one of these locations?"
"One can hope," Zheng said. "The turnpike basically splits the state in half. Your team can take north or south, and I'll cover the other."
"By yourself?" Atticus said as Ru said, "Without backup?"
"I have backup." Zheng didn't explain further. "Because you look like your brother, Atticus, you're going to have to approach the cult with caution. They hunt Ontongard—they have gotten ambushing someone with your talents down to an art."
Atticus considered the list. Ascii had said that she and the other three cultists were taking Ukiah to Salem, which was north of Boston. None of the addresses were in the town famous for witch-hunts, not that that signified much. While the train station might have been a convenient meeting site, Ascii could have been lying about their destination, or the cult had a place that Zheng hadn't found, or Zheng herself was lying. Still, it was someplace to start. "We'll take north."
"Then I'll take south." Zheng glanced over what that left her. "It will take the rest of the day to do these. We should meet tomorrow and compare what we find." Zheng consulted her PDA. "I've arranged to meet with the NSA to discuss the cult at nine-thirty. What about eight?"
Mark up one basic difference between DEA and FBI: Atticus's team mostly worked evening and night hours. Drug dealers tended to be night owls.
Ru made a noise of disgust at the early hour. "Then it should involve coffee."
"And real food," Atticus added.
"Fine. Breakfast. Where?"
The trouble with two out-of-town teams: Neither knew of the good, cheap places to eat. At least it could be expensed.
"Our base—Boston Harbor Hotel."
"Fine." She made note of it in her PDA.
***
The rain had passed, leaving behind a gray sky filled with ominous clouds and bitter cold wind. They walked out together and paused beside Zheng's rental.
"Call me if you find anything." Zheng handed Atticus her business card, lightly perfumed with her scent.
Atticus glanced at it and handed it to Ru. "The Pack killed my phone last night."
"That sounds like them," Zheng said as Ru offered up one of his own carefully worded cards that they used while they were undercover. She tucked it away without glancing at it.
They watched her drive away.
"Indigo Zheng," Ru read off her card. "I wouldn't have guessed Indigo, but I don't know; it suits her."
"She still creeps you out?"
"Oh, yeah."
A sound like baying hounds made Atticus look up; Canada geese went overhead, flying in a ragged V formation, honking loudly. He wondered if they were the same ones they had seen earlier, resting on the prison's pond.
When he looked down, Ru was grinning at him from the other side of the Jaguar.
"What?"
"Gabble Ratchet."
"What's that?"
"The sound of wild geese supposedly heralds the arrival of the archangel Gabriel."
"I am not an angel—nor is my brother."
"If you say so."
He got in, started up the Jaguar, and dialed Kyle. "What did you find out about Agent Zheng?"
"Nothing," Kyle said with disgust. "Sumpter pulled me off it to"—he paused to make a noise of irritation and tap something into his computer—"look into something else. Someone did a deep sweep on you and Ru. Credit history. Priors. The works."
"We know." Atticus growled. "Agent Zheng did."
"Oooh, sexy woman," Kyle said. "The first hit was on Ru's phone about nine o'clock last night, and went from there. I'm getting trip-wire reports off everything here. She probably knows how deep his belly-button lint is at this point."
"I feel vaguely violated here," Ru complained.
"Your Agent Zheng is versatile. She hammered on Ru until well past midnight, and this morning she chewed into Atticus. No hits on me, though."
" You originally came on my radar screen as drug dealers. It wasn't until this morning that I learned you were actually undercover agents."
"Kyle, check Ru's call log," Atticus said.
"What am I looking for?"
"My brother had Ru's phone last night." And most likely still had it.
"A couple unanswered calls in, and one outgoing call," Kyle said, and then read out the number. It matched the cell phone number listed on Agent Zheng's business card.
"The bitch." Atticus searched back through his memories and found Zheng's scent tainting the basement's air. "She was at the beach house with the Dog Warriors before we arrived. She's working with them."
"She's dirty?" Kyle asked.
Unsure, Atticus glanced to Ru, who shrugged. "I don't know if it's that straight-forward. See what you can find on her, and anything you can dig up on a group called the Ontongard."
"How do you spell that?"
"I have not a clue."
"Ooooooookay. Do you have a first name yet for Miss Sexy Agent?"
Atticus found himself thinking of her Mona Lisa smile, her compact body, and the tantalizing flashes of camisole under the sheer white of her silk blouse. He shifted uneasily, slightly aroused by the memories. Where the hell did that come from?
"Indigo, like the color blue," Ru reported.
"And what do I tell Sumpter?" Kyle asked.
"Tell him that the FBI tripped over us." Atticus saw no reason not to stick to the truth.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cape Cod Campground, Massachusetts
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Ukiah woke, naked and bundled against the cold. He lay under a lean-to, deep in rain-soaked woods of stunted oaks and maples, night cloaked tight around him. Beside the sturdily built shelter a small fire burned, hissing when water dripped from leaves overhead. The ocean was somewhere nearby, pounding on the earth, filling the air with salt and the faint aftertaste of fish. Harley motorcycles growled counter to the ocean's rumble, and headlights swept through trees. While Ukiah was alone by a small fire, he felt the Dog Warriors scattered in the darkness. He found Rennie's familiar presence, just beyond the shifting light thrown by the flames. " Is it the Iron Horses?"