“Okay,” Tanner said. “You win. But we’re coming with you.”
“We?”
“Bear’s with me.”
“I should have guessed,” she said. “No. Forget it.”
“Either we’re coming with you or I’ll burn you.”
“What?”
“We found a conduit to Litzman — a supplier,” Briggs lied. “One phone call and he’ll know who and what you are.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would and I will. I’m not sending you back alone, Susanna.”
“So that’s your plan? You’re going to follow me around and play bodyguard?”
“More or less.”
“Christ,” she grumbled. Behind her anger Tanner saw a hint of a smile on her face. In that instant, she looked like the old Susanna. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. You’re my goddaughter; it’d be bad karma for me not to watch over you.”
“I’ve done pretty well without you so far.”
“True, but now you need help. If it makes you feel any better, when I’m old and gray I’ll let you come over and cook and clean for me.”
Susanna laughed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Is my dad … Is he okay?”
“He’s worried about you, but he’s okay. He’ll be better once he hears you’re alive.”
“I couldn’t tell him, Briggs. If he’d known what I was doing …”
“I know. You can explain it all when you’re home.”
She exhaled and nodded. “I guess I better fill you in. We haven’t got much time.”
Wary of being seen together, they followed Cahil’s hand signals to an unlocked fire ladder and climbed up to the roof. Susanna and Cahil hugged. Tanner asked him, “Anybody around?”
“No.”
Tanner explained Susanna’s suspicions about Litzman, then said, “We’ve decided on a compromise. We’re tagging along with her.”
“Good.”
Tanner turned to Susanna. “First, I need the wheres and whats of what Litzman’s been doing since you met him. Do you have any idea what he’s up to?”
“No, but it’s coming. In the last week they’ve been busy. He’s made a few trips to Marseilles in the last month. I overheard a name…” She paused for a moment. “Zukic, I think. Yeah, that’s it: Fikret Zukic. Hard name to forget, actually. I don’t know if it’s real or an alias.”
“What about stateside?” Cahil asked. “Any trips there? New York, Pennsylvania …?”
“No, not that I know of.”
Tanner asked, “Where is he now?”
“Here. A couple days ago he chartered a ship — a small freighter called the Sorgia. She’s anchored off Port Louis right now. I told him I was seasick, so he told me to take the launch ashore and kill some time. I have to be back in …” She glanced at her watch. “Forty minutes.”
“Why?”
“We’re leaving, I assume. Where or why, I don’t know, but he was adamant about the time. He’s on some kind of schedule, that’s for certain.”
Susanna’s information warranted a change in plans. They would split up. Cahil would go to Marseilles in search of Fikret Zukic. Tanner would stick close to Susanna, either as a stowaway aboard the Sorgia, or by shadowing her movements along the freighter’s course, whatever that might be. Of these two options, Briggs preferred the former. If Susanna were right about Litzman’s job nearing its final phase, the German would be ramping up his security measures, which might make communication problematic. Having finally found her, Tanner was reluctant to let her go again.
He and Bear divided their gear and money between them, said their goodbyes, then parted company. Susanna led Tanner to the end of Quai Bellevue, then down a set of old stone steps. At the bottom was an outboard runabout. They climbed aboard and Tanner cast off the bow line. Susanna cranked the engine to life. Through patches in the fog Tanner could see lights twinkling across the harbor. “How far to the anchorage?”
“About two miles.”
“You can find it in this soup?”
“Haven’t you heard? Women make the best navigators. It’s the whole intuition thing.”
“I’ll remember that next time I need directions,” Tanner replied. “When we’re about a quarter mile from the ship, I’ll go over the side.”
“The water’s pretty cold.”
“Better cold than shot. I doubt they’ll invite me aboard. I’ll have to find my own way.”
“Have it your way. Hold on.” She shoved the throttle forward.
Fifteen minutes later she throttled back. The runabout coasted to a stop and began wallowing. Crouched beneath the dashboard, Tanner could hear the waves lapping against the hull.
Susanna said, “We’re almost there. I can see her mast light.”
“Coast forward until you can see the decks.”
She eased the throttle forward, guiding the boat through the fog for half a minute. “Okay.”
“Anyone on deck?”
“Not that I can see.”
Tanner peeked through the windshield. As Susanna had described it, the Sorgia was a squat coastal freighter about eighty feet in length. A loading crane sat perched on the forecastle. Above it, the bridge windows were lit from within. He could see men moving around inside. The afterdeck was stacked high with crates of varying sizes.
The freighter’s size and layout left him little choice. It was neither complex enough to offer many hiding places, nor big enough to allow any freedom of movement. His best chance was to stay topside. Not only would contact with Susanna be easier, but if discovered he didn’t want to find himself trapped belowdecks.
He explained his plan to her and they settled on a recognition signal. “I’ll try to find out where we’re headed then come find you,” she said.
“Don’t push him too hard. If you’re right about the timeline, he’s going to be on edge. Try to get a look at the navigation charts; chat up the bridge crew.”
“Got it.”
Tanner crawled to the gunwale, rolled his legs over the side, and lowered himself into the water. He felt the cold envelope him. He gritted his teeth against it.
“Cold?” Susanna asked.
“Not too bad.”
She placed her hands over his. “I almost hate to admit it, but I’m glad you’re here. I guess I didn’t realize … Sometimes I thought I was going crazy — I’d try to remember things from before all this started and it was … fuzzy. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. You’re not going crazy. Hang in there. I’ll get you home.”
“Right now, that sounds pretty good.”
Tanner released the gunwale and pushed off the hull. “Get going. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Okay.” She settled into the driver’s seat, engaged the throttle, and started forward. The runabout faded into the fog. Tanner started swimming.
23
McBride would have been perfectly happy to forget his suspicions about Root’s reaction at the morgue, but they continued to haunt him — on the highway from Pennsylvania; as he sat through the debriefing at FBI headquarters; on his way home; and now, in the middle of the night as he stared at his bedroom ceiling.