Andrew Gross - The Dark Tide

It had rained heavily during the night. A few puffy clouds still loitered in the crisp blue sky. He sat on the deck of his boat with a mug of coffee and fired up his Bloomberg account, his early-morning ritual. Checked his overnight positions, just as he’d been doing for twenty years, though now he traded only for himself. Soon he’d have to stop that as well. Maybe they could trace his activity-his investment signature was on every trade. Still, it was all he could do to keep sane. Now he would lose that, too.

His laptop came to life. His server announced that he had four new messages.

He didn’t receive many e-mails under his new account. Mostly just spam that managed to reach him-mortgage solicitations and Viagra ads. An occasional electronic trading update. He didn’t dare draw attention to his new identity. That’s the way it had to be.

And that’s what he was thinking, spam, as, sipping his coffee, he scanned the list of messages.

Until his eyes stopped.

Not stopped-crashed was more like it, his stomach seizing, into the address of the sender of the third one down.

KFried111.

Charles’s feet fell off the gunwales. His spine arched, as if a jolt of high voltage had been shot through it. He focused on the name again, blinking, as if his eyes were somehow playing tricks on him.

Karen.

Heart pounding, he double-checked, just to make sure he hadn’t managed to log on to his old e-mail address, which he knew was impossible. But what else could it be?

No, it was all correct. Oilman.

His throat went dry. Worse, then came the bowel-tightening realization that in a flash everything had just caught up with him. His past. His deceptions. What he had done. How was this possible? How could she have found his name? His address? No, he realized those weren’t even the right questions.

How was it possible she even knew he was alive?

A year had passed. He had covered his tracks perfectly. He had no connection to his old life. He had never once run into anyone they knew-always his greatest fear. Charles’s fingers were shaking. KFried111. Karen. How would she have been able to track him there?

A mix of emotions swept over him: panic, fear, longing. Memory. Seeing all their faces, missing them in this moment as much as he had missed them all so terribly those first months.

Finally Charles summoned the nerve. He clicked on the name. All that was there were two sparse words. He read them, the color draining from his face, his eyes welling up, stinging with guilt and shame.

Hello, Charlie.

When the call found him, Saul Lennick had just climbed into bed in his silk Sulka pajamas. He was glancing over a financial prospectus for a meeting he had in the morning, his attention diverted by the late TV news.

Mimi, who was in the midst of an Alan Furst novel next to him, sighed crossly, glancing at the cell phone. “Saul, it’s after eleven.”

Lennick fumbled for his phone on the night table. He didn’t recognize the number, but it was from out of the country. Barbados. His heart picked up. “Sorry, dear.”

He removed his reading glasses and flipped it open. “Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“If it could, I would’ve,” the caller, Dietz, replied. “Relax, I’m on a phone card. It can’t be traced.”

Lennick sat up and put on his slippers. He uttered a guilty sigh to his wife, pretending that it was business. He took the phone into the bathroom and shut the door. “All right, go ahead.”

“We’ve got problems,” Dietz announced. “There’s a homicide detective in Greenwich who handled that thing we did up there. The one who interrogated me. I may have mentioned him before.”

“So…?”

“He knows.”

“He knows what?” Lennick stood in front of the mirror, picking at a pore on the side of his face.

“He knows about the accident. He also knows about that other thing in New Jersey. He somehow broke into my house. He’s linked me with one of the other witnesses. You beginning to get an idea what I’m talking about now?”

Under his breath Lennick gasped, “Jesus Christ!” He was no longer staring at the pore but at his face, which had turned white.

“Sit down. It gets worse.”

“How the hell can it get worse, Dietz?”

“You remember Hodges? One of my men.”

“Go on.”

“He’s been shot.”

Lennick’s chest began to feel like he was having a heart attack. Dietz told him how Hodges had gone to Dietz’s house and found the cop. Inside. How the two of them had tussled.

“Now, listen, before you bust an artery, Saul, there’s some good news.”

“What can be good about this?” Lennick sat down.

“He has no grounds. The Greenwich detective. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it alone. It’s not part of any official investigation. He broke into my house. He brought a gun in there and used it. He didn’t make a move to arrest Hodges. You see what this means?”

“No,” Lennick said, panicked, “I don’t see what this means.”

“It means he’s completely out of his jurisdiction, Saul. He was simply sneaking around. Before I called you, I called up his station up in Greenwich. The guy’s on fucking leave! He’s freelancing, Saul. He’s not even on active duty. If it came out what he did, they’d take his badge. They’d arrest him, not me.”

A dull pain flared up in Lennick’s chest. He ran a hand through his white hair, sweat building up underneath his pajama top. He immediately retraced the steps of what anyone could have known that could have led back to him.

He exhaled. It was all Dietz.

“Here’s the kicker,” Dietz went on. “I had someone I know up there keep an eye on him. At night he’s been watching over a house in Greenwich in his own car.”

“Whose?”

“A woman. Someone you know well, Saul.”

Lennick blanched. “Karen?”

He tried to piece it together. Did Karen somehow know? Even if she had found out about the incident with Lauer, how would she possibly have connected it with the other? A year ago. She had found the safe-deposit box, the passport, the cash.

Did Karen somehow know that Charles was alive?

Lennick moistened his lips. They had to speed this up. He pressed Dietz. “How are things going down there?”

“We’re making progress. I’ve had to do some ‘off-road’ stuff, if you know what I mean. But that never seemed to bother you before. I think he’s on a boat somewhere. But somewhere close. I’ve traced him through three of his banks. He’ll need money. I’ll have him soon. I’m closing in.

“But, listen,” Dietz said, “regarding the detective, he may have found certain things in my office…related to what I’m doing here. Maybe even about you. I can’t be sure.”

A police detective? Things were growing deeper than Lennick was comfortable with. That was surely crossing the line. Still, what choice did he have?

“You know how to handle these things, Phil. I’ve got to go.”

“One more thing,” Dietz said. “If the detective knows, there’s always the chance that she knows, too. I realize you’re friendly. That you have something to do with her kids.”

“Yes,” Lennick muttered blankly. He was fond of Karen. And, having been like an uncle to them since they were small, in charge of their family trusts, you could say he did have something to do with the kids.

But it was business. Lauer had been business, the Raymond kid had been business, too. The furrows on his face were carved deep and hard. They made him seem older-older than he’d felt in years.

“Just do whatever it is you have to do.”

Lennick clicked off. He splashed some water on his face, smoothed back his hair. Shuffling in his slippers, he trudged back to bed.