The senator nodded.
“They have found a part of the trigger that set off the explosion in Gerrit’s house. Russian made. And we started picking up other chatter about the dead gang leader’s members. It seems this was clearly retaliation for that gang leader getting killed in San Diego. The shooting Gerrit was involved with just before you met him at the airport in D.C. Marilynn and the others are all tied to this one case.”
John Summers drew himself up, pointing a finger at Richard. “Find those responsible and take them out. I do not want them to wiggle out of it in court someday. Find them. Kill them.”
Richard stared back. “If that is what you want, John. Consider it done.”
Standing up, Summers seemed to gather himself, gaining back composure that eluded him earlier. “Tell me when it is finished. I want to know every detail.”
Richard nodded and watched the senator turn and exit as if the matter was settled. As his assistant stumbled after the senator toward the elevator, Richard thought back over the whole investigation since Gerrit returned from Vienna. And what do I tell the good senator if Gerrit rises from the dead?
An encrypted message appeared on his computer. He glanced at the code and sucked in his breath. The message he had been waiting for since the explosion.
Gerrit is alive. Everything under control. No one is suspicious. Soon, I can hand the whole team over to you. Make sure that money gets to my account.
Richard stared at the message and saw the coded name that signed off. A slow smile crossed his face. Got you, Gerrit! You and your uncle will soon join the rest of your family beyond the grave. He could not risk having this Lazarus talking to the world. Only death would keep Richard’s secret safe.
He reached for a phone and dialed a number in Seattle. When a man’s voice came on the line, Richard almost whispered his message. “Make my boy out to be dirty. Then have him killed.”
“But I thought-”
“You’re not paid to think. Just obey. Gerrit is alive.” Richard killed the connection.
Chapter 28
San Francisco, California
Gerrit watched the jet taxi into a private hangar like a hawk returning to its nest. Once the engines whined down, Redneck climbed out of the cockpit, lowered the stairs to the ground, and clambered out, marching toward the hangar doors. The giant hit a power switch on the far wall, forcing the door to slowly close.
As Joe emerged from the cockpit, Gerrit and Alena made their way to the stairway. Willy was already down the stairs before they got to the opening. Gerrit cocked his head. “Where do we go from here?”
Joe rubbed his jaw. “Willy and I are flying out tonight. We’ll drop Redneck in Chicago on our way home. You,” he looked at Alena before turning back to Gerrit, “stay with Alena while she gets you set up. San Francisco, for now, is your new home.”
Gerrit caught Joe and Alena sharing a look. “I’ve always liked this city. Never thought I’d settle here, though.”
“Don’t get used to it,” his uncle said. “In our business, we learn to leave everything at a moment’s notice and start new somewhere else. That’s how we stay alive.”
“I survive by attacking the enemy. Not hiding somewhere until the war’s over.”
“If you live long enough, you’ll have plenty of time to fight. Right now, we need to make sure you can survive in this war. That’s what Alena can give you.”
Gerrit looked at both of them and shrugged. “Fair enough. But I need to be able to move soon, Joe. I’m going after Kane.”
Joe rested a hand on his shoulder. “I know. And we’ll help you. But we must work together like a team. Otherwise, they divide and conquer.”
Alena and Joe left the aircraft. Gerrit followed them toward an exit door leading to a small parking lot. Outside, they climbed into a red Toyota Sienna, the van easily accommodating everyone except Redneck. The giant squeezed into the front passenger seat, pushing it all the way back. The man looked uncomfortable. Gerrit slid the van door open, climbed in, and took the backseat, allowing Joe and Alena the middle section. Willy drove, weaving across acres of asphalt before finally leaving the airport and reaching the on-ramp to westbound 380.
As Gerrit looked back toward the Bay, the sky painted a golden haze as he tried to make out the East Bay Hills. Ahead, the highway abruptly ended, forcing drivers to go either north or south. Willy merged onto northbound 280 until they reached 19th Avenue’s stop-and-go traffic.
Gerrit leaned forward, watching them approach Golden Gate Park. “What part of the city are we headed for?”
Alena smiled back at him. “Remember the Haight-Ashbury?”
He nodded, watching Willy cut off a car as he punched the accelerator, swerving across two lanes of traffic to get to the right-hand turn lane.
“I have a place near The Panhandle. I commute to…where I do my job.”
“And what is that?”
“I repair old books and documents.”
Joe leaned back. “She is also very good at creating documents-like driver’s licenses, passports, whatever we need. She’s an artist.”
Gerrit raised an eyebrow. “And where did you develop these skills?”
Alena looked away. “In a past life.”
Midway down The Panhandle, Willy pulled over and parked in front of a fire hydrant. “You guys bail out here and I’ll go find a parking space. Hope I can find one between here and the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Always whining,” Redneck said, peeling himself out of the car. He stood and stretched. “Try not to get lost, Buckwheat.”
Willy stuck his head out the window. “Don’t call me that, Hillbilly. This is my town. I know every inch of this city. Only hicks like you get lost.”
Alena stepped forward. “Hey, settle down you two. This is my neighborhood. Try to keep it to a dull roar.”
Gerrit watched the exchange between Willy and Redneck, with Alena intervening like some kind of mother hen. Joe looked on in bemusement. As Willy drove off, Gerrit wondered how this oddly matched group ever got anything done. They would be matching wits with people like Richard Kane, Senator Summers, and those working in the shadows. How could Joe have any confidence in this crew?
Gerrit shook his head as he followed them toward a white Victorian, metal bars across the first-level windows. Alena looked at him. “This is home, Gerrit. At least for now.”
“And where do you work?”
“Down near the water. I’ve got a place along the Embarcadero. Take you there in the morning.”
She climbed broad steps leading to the front door, wooden stairs painted the color of naval ships. The building, however, was brightly painted in an off-white, with windows, cornices, and trim delicately etched in muted reds, sea green, and dark blues, like a painting where the artist fills in shadows and darkness to bring forward the lighter sections. At the top of the stairway, under a deeply recessed overhang, three doors led to individual entryways for each level of the building.
Alena opened the door on the left, leading to the ground floor, and gestured them inside. Speaking to Gerrit, she said, “I have this floor, and the landlord leases the other two floors to others-very quiet, very considerate neighbors.” She eyed Redneck for emphasis. “Very quiet.”
Redneck shrugged and lumbered inside. All three gathered in a sitting room off to the right, which overlooked the park.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll start some tea for anyone who might want some.”
Redneck grimaced. “You know I never touch the stuff, Al. Got a beer?”
Gerrit looked at Alena, silently mouthing the name Al. He raised his eyebrows.
“Redneck and Willy shorten everyone’s name. Willy started it, and now Redneck has picked it up. They call me Al.” She gave the giant a look that made Redneck grin. “And he affectionately calls Willy Pea brain — although, come to think of it, that really does not shorten anything.”