Douglas Preston - Gideon's Corpse

The struggling stopped. She stared at him.

“That’s right. I know it.”

“Bullshit. You’re the one that tried to arrest him.” But she said this with a little less conviction.

“Whether bullshit or not, I’ve got a gun trained on you, so you’re going to goddamn well listen to me. You got that?”

She was quiet.

“All right.” And Fordyce briefly explained the arc of his reasoning. But in doing so he didn’t mention Novak’s name or go into any details—the last thing he needed was more freelancing on the part of Gideon. Or her.

“So you see,” he said, “I know both of you are innocent. But no one will listen to me, the investigation is completely off-base—and it’s up to us to pursue this line on our own.”

“Let me up,” she said. “I can’t think with you lying on top of me.”

He cautiously let her up. She stood, slapping away the pine needles and dust. “Let’s go into the house,” she said.

“Is Gideon inside?”

“No. He’s not on the ranch.”

He followed her into the house, into a large rustic living room with Navajo rugs on the walls, a bearskin on the floor, and an elk skull over the mantelpiece of a big stone fireplace.

“Want anything?” she asked. “Coffee?”

“Coffee. And a Band-Aid.”

“Coming up.”

The coffee tasted wonderful. He looked at her discreetly as she rummaged for a bandage. This was one hell of a woman. Like Gideon: formidable.

“What do you want?” she asked as she tossed him a Band-Aid box.

“I need to find Gideon. We took on this assignment together and I intend to complete it—with him, partners.”

She thought about this, but only for a moment. “Fair enough. I’m in.”

“No, you’re not in. You have no idea how dangerous this is going to be. We’re professionals—you’re not. You’d be a serious hindrance and a danger to us both—not to mention yourself.”

A long silence.

“Well,” she finally said, “I guess I can accept that. You and Gideon can use the ranch as your base.”

“Can’t do that, either. This ranch is likely to be raided—not today, maybe, but soon. It’s just a matter of time. You’ve got to get the hell out of here. And I’ve got to find Gideon. Now.”

More silence. She was thinking it through, and he was pretty confident she’d understand what she had to do.

Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Gideon’s taken the Jeep and he’s headed up to the Paiute Creek Ranch to confront Willis. Because sure as hell, he and his weirdo cult are behind this.”

Fordyce managed to cover up his surprise. Gideon had already confronted Willis—the day before.

“He went up to Paiute Creek… this morning?”

“Right. Left at dawn.”

So Gideon was lying to her, too. What the hell was the man really up to? He was on the track of someone, Fordyce was sure of that—and he had some reason for not sharing the information with her.

“All right,” he said. “Give me the plate number and a description of the vehicle, and I’ll take it from there.”

She gave him the info, while he wrote it down.

He rose. “Miss Blaine? May I offer you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“You need to go to ground. Now. Because it’s as I said: sooner rather than later, they’re going to raid this ranch—and with the mentality of this investigation, you might not survive it. Understand? Until we find out who’s really behind this, your life is not safe.”

She nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Thanks for your cooperation. I’m outta here.”

Gideon had reached Tucumcari, and he pulled into a Stuckey’s to fill up on gas. It was about one in the afternoon and he’d been making excellent time. He felt a certain relief. He’d made a clean getaway and he was driving a vehicle unknown to law enforcement. He had twenty-three more hours of driving ahead of him, more or less. Alida’s money might not be enough to get him all the way, but if he had to raid a cash register or two he’d deal with that when the time came.

After filling up, he went into the Stuckey’s, in full disguise as Mr. Touchy-Feely-Middle-Aged-Divorced-Man-on-a-Road-Trip-of-Self-Discovery, and stocked up on beef jerky, Cheetos, Twinkies, and Ring Dings, along with a case of Coke and a box of NoDoz. He found a plastic hospital urinal and—after a momentary hesitation—added it to his basket. That would shave some time off his run. He brought everything to the counter, purchased it, and carried the bulging bag to his car. He got in and was about to start the engine when he felt something cold against the nape of his neck.

“Don’t fucking move,” came the low, hoarse voice.

Gideon froze. He glanced at the glove compartment, where he’d stashed the Python.

“I’ve already got your .357,” came the voice.

Now Gideon recognized the voice as Fordyce’s. Unbelievable. How had this happened? This was a disaster—the ultimate disaster.

“Listen to me well, Gideon. I know now you’re innocent. I know you were framed. And I also know the security director, Novak, was in on it.”

Gideon wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He struggled with disbelief. Was this some kind of gambit? What was Fordyce up to?

“The investigation is seriously off-track. I need you. We need to partner together, just like before, and finish this assignment. Gideon, you’re a foxy son of a bitch, and I don’t know if I trust you any farther than I could throw you, but I swear to God we’re the only ones who can prevent that nuke from going off.”

This was becoming more convincing. “How did you find me?” he asked.

“I put out a routine ‘Attempt to Locate’ on the Jeep’s plate, got a report you were headed east on I-40, drove like hell, and found you here.” There was a pause. “Look, I know it’s hard to wrap your head around. Like everyone else, I was fooled. I thought you were guilty. But now I know different. I don’t know where you’re headed, what lead you’re following up, but I damn well know you’re going to need help.”

Gideon looked at him in the rearview mirror. “How’d you get the plate number?”

“I—I figured, since you were on the run with Alida Blaine, that you might be using one of her family cars.”

Gideon said nothing. So the vehicle wasn’t unknown to law enforcement, after all.

“Here’s your Python.” Fordyce handed it back to him. Gideon could see it was still loaded. “To show my good faith.”

Gideon glanced into the rearview mirror again, looked into Fordyce’s eyes, and saw sincerity. The man was telling the truth.

“Let’s go. We’re racing against the clock.” Gideon started the Jeep.

“Wait. We can take my pool car. I’ve got a siren, the works.”

“You’re AWOL from the investigation—?”

“They put me on leave.”

“This car’s marginally safer. They might come looking for you first.”

Fordyce paused. “Makes sense.”

Gideon pulled out of the Stuckey’s, back onto the interstate. “While we drive,” he said, “I’m going to tell you what I’ve learned. And you tell me what you know. And then I’ve got a laptop in the back that needs to be broken into. You once said you worked in the FBI’s decryption section. Think you can help?”

“I can try.”

Gideon set the cruise control at seventy-nine. Then, with the car humming along the interstate, he began to tell Fordyce everything.

After crossing the Texas Panhandle, they stopped near the Oklahoma border so Fordyce could pick up a cigarette-lighter converter for the laptop’s AC adapter. On the long trip across Texas, Gideon had explained to the agent how he’d deduced that Blaine was the one behind the terrorist plot, and in turn Fordyce told him how he’d figured out that Gideon was innocent and the security director, Novak, was involved.