A computer tone startled him, and Houston spun around. “Seems that Fred already left a message.” She opened a new window on the screen, and it filled quickly with text. Lopez read silently beside her.
Hope that you can get this, girl. They’ve released the Kraken on you two, if you haven’t noticed yet. You’re beyond salvage now, toxic. You’re cut off, and they’re tightening the screws on all of us here that would try to help you. But they’re royally pissing me off. I don’t think I’ve been this mad in decades. This stinks to high heaven. Something very dirty is at the bottom of it. Hang in there, baby. I’ve got some loyal assets, and they’re on the lookout. You fell off all the maps today, or I’d have them down to you tomorrow. I hope you’re ok. When you surface — and you better — we’ll get them to you. Attached is an encrypted file: codes to several bank accounts they don’t know about. You’ll need the resources. Might not be enough, but it’s all I can do at this juncture. But they’ll have me pushing up daisies before I let this one go. Cancer’s got to be cut out. — FS
“He really cares about you,” Lopez said.
“Yeah. He’s got a daughter complex. Always wants to protect us young girls in the Agency.”
“Well, I’m glad for that. Someone on our side.”
Houston turned away from her computer and stared at Lopez. Her face was lined, tense, today’s trauma still breaking through. “We’re totally isolated. Radioactive. Moral support, even material support, is nice. But I don’t know if it’s going to be enough on this one, Francisco.”
Lopez nodded and walked to the window, staring out at the storm. The rain was angry, beating wildly against the glass, the blurred forms of swaying trees lit like dancers at a rave to a strobe light. The events of the last few months raced through his mind, ending violently today in the Alabama woods.
The bastards. How dare they ruin so many lives, break so many laws, and seek in the end only to protect their own hides? He burned to do more than merely survive. These monsters had to be stopped, and the world had to know what crimes had been committed. Fred Simon was right: the cancer had to be cut out. In an instant, a firm resolution seemed to settle deep within him.
He spun around and faced Houston, a cold tone in his voice. “I’m sick of running. Let’s take the fight to them.”
Her left eyebrow arched. “What are you thinking?”
Lopez strode over purposefully to the laptop and gestured at the screen. “The names. We know who was involved now.”
“We only have the agent’s names, remember, Francisco? The other names are codes. From the agents, only Jason Miller was listed as still living. He could be dead by now.”
“Then Miller! The records list an address. We go there first.”
“Good plan, I agree. Only we’ll have to get to upstate New York through a national dragnet with our names on it.”
Lopez tugged at his beard, the skin in the ripped patches painful. Unlike his brother’s masculine jaw, he had never developed a mature face, a man’s face. Without the beard, he looked ten years younger. That was why he had grown it in the first place more than a decade ago. To gain authority and respect. He shook his head. It was simple vanity.
Wait a minute! Without the beard! “You said he was a chameleon, this killer,” Lopez mused, his tone leading.
Houston stood up and stretched like a yoga instructor, her curved form seductive in the dim light. “So it seems. Surgery, contact lenses to alter eye color, perhaps even skin color alteration. Paranoid.”
“Well, I’m feeling pretty paranoid right now, after all this.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling. “So, time to play them at the same game?”
“Time to change our colors.”
40
They woke up together in the same bed.
The breaking light of dawn streamed over her ivory skin, and Lopez listened to the soft rise and fall of her breath. He was surprised to find her hand in his, to feel the warmth of her body pressed close to his own; it rose as an ache inside him. He knew his body longed for greater intimacy than he allowed, and it was a form of torture to be so close to her and yet refrain.
He turned his head to see her more clearly and was momentarily shocked by her appearance. The long locks of gold were gone, shorn the evening before, decorating the bathroom tiles like curled necklaces. Instead, she had a short mop of black hair, the smell of the dye still lingering in the room. The remodeling of her features with this simple change was stunning. The addition of sunglasses and a wardrobe switch literally made her look like a different woman.
He realized that his appearance had drastically altered as well. Without the beard, he had lost a decade, his youthful face dominating any impression of his features. He had cut his longish hair nearly military style, the combination making him seem better suited for a recruitment poster than a confessional. They had thrown out his priestly garments — modern-style black pants, shirts, and the collars. He now would sport unremarkable clothes from second-hand stores. Side by side in the mirror last night, they appeared to be anything except the CIA agent and priest the country was now looking for.
“Well, we slept together after all.” Her voice lilted.
Lopez snapped out of his daydream and focused on her across from him on the bed. Houston was smiling softly, her sapphire eyes staring into his own. He felt her hand tighten on his.
“Well, it’s a good thing we wore protection,” she said, gesturing to their fully clothed forms. “You never know what you priests might have caught.”
For a moment, her banter was like a warm light, but a tension ran back into his body as thoughts rushed forward. “So now what, Sara?”
Houston leaned up and scratched her fingers energetically through her short hair. “God, this feels weird.” She hopped out of bed and began packing. Lopez noticed that her collection of firearms had tripled since yesterday: she had picked their captors clean on the way out. “What now? We use Fred’s accounts at several banks, load up on cash. Then we buy a car from someone around here — smartphone will map us some ‘for-sales.’ Then some local gun stores and express our Second Amendment rights to arm ourselves to the teeth. Find ourselves some loose dealers to get us all the good stuff, including police scanners and the like. Next, map out the most convoluted way to get back northeast, monitor every police band known to man, coordinate with Fred if possible, and find Jason Miller.”
Lopez chuckled. “Sounds simple. When do we get food in all this?”
Houston laughed. “What do you need food for when you’ve got bullets? They’re high in iron. Some in uranium.”
“Some grits on the way?” he offered.
“Sounds good.” Her expression turned serious. “But what are grits, exactly?”
They packed quickly and were out of the motel within thirty minutes, the air still cool near daybreak. They couldn’t keep the dead agents’ car for long, but they’d need it to find another one. Houston drove again, the speedometer spinning clockwise. Lopez noticed that it didn’t unnerve him anymore. The roads were poorly patched, and they rocked back and forth as they sped toward the Tennessee border. His stomach lurched.
Maybe better to wait for food.
The wraith steered the pickup truck roughly as it rattled down the mountain road in Tennessee. His back still hurt, and it was especially noticeable on such a rough route that pounded the vehicle mercilessly. After another fifteen miles, he would leave the mountains and cross onto the interstate. He needed to make up time. He needed to plan the next mission. His quarry had been given months to prepare, to flee, to investigate. How much did they know? What precautions had they taken? How much harder would it be to dig them out of their holes?