F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“Yeah. And he’s got a right to be.” Bob turned to Harris. “Anything on the trace?”

Harris said. “A cell phone. Used an Absecon tower, which means she’s inland from here.” He shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t have time to get closer than that.”

“Heading for those Pine Barrens, I bet,” Canney said.

“If we only knew what she was driving, we—” He snapped his fingers.

“Vanduyne’s ex! She must have seen Poppy Mulliner. Maybe she saw her car too.”

“Good thought,” Bob said. “But let me ask you something. I’m a little bothered by this ‘Mac’ guy showing up here. How the hell did he know Vanduyne or Poppy or Katie was going to be in Atlantic City?”

Canney shrugged. “We know he wasn’t tapping Vanduyne’s phone—our equipment would have registered someone else on the line. Probably followed him here. Just like his ex.”

“Yeah? That’s possible, but somehow it doesn’t sit right. I get this picture of Vanduyne being tailed by our mystery man as well as by his ex, and then your man tailing the ex… half the people on Ninety-five North are following Vanduyne to Atlantic City. I don’t know, Gerry…”

“Let me check with Trevor. He was on the road. We’ll see what he says. But that has to be it. What else can it be? Only four people on our end knew what was going on.”

“Three,” Bob said. “Jim Lewis is in the U.K. I never got around to telling him about Atlantic City.”

“There you go. Three of us. You didn’t talk, I didn’t talk, and Dan Keane sure as hell didn’t. Vanduyne was followed.”

“I guess you’re right.” He rose. “Okay. Time to face Dr. Vanduyne.”

“Good luck.” Canney glanced at his watch. “I’m going to take everyone off the boards and get them looking for Mamie Vanduyne. She may be the break we’ve been looking for.”

“I hope so. We need one.”

17

John didn’t have to look through the peephole in his hotel room door to know who’d knocked. As he reached for the handle he made a promise to himself that he’d keep his rage in check. Yes, he was furious, but he was a grown man, a rational human being—a physician, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t do anything violent.

But when he yanked the door open and saw Decker standing there, confirming all his suspicions, he snapped. He heard a small cry—his own voice as he’d never heard it—and suddenly his right hand was balled into a fist and swinging at Decker’s face.

The Secret Service agent jerked his head to the side and John hit only air. When Decker grabbed his right wrist, John swung at him with his left. Decker caught that too.

“I know you’re hurting. Doc,” he said levelly as John glared at him. “But you’re out of your league.”

John knew he was right. He wasn’t a fighter. He couldn’t recall ever hurting another creature in his entire life. He dropped his gaze, pulled back, and Decker released him.

Feeling utterly miserable—impotent, useless, helpless— he turned and stumbled back into the room. He had an urge to grab a lamp and smash it through the big picture window with its wide-angle view of the Atlantic. At least he’d have an effect on something, even if it was only a pane of glass.

“She’s taken Katie,” he said, trying desperately to keep his voice from breaking—not in front of Decker; please. God, he couldn’t crack up in front of this man.

“And it’s your fault.” He heard the door click closed before Decker spoke.

“Not fair. We’ve kept this tightly confined. We—”

John whirled and jabbed a finger at him. “You tapped my phones! You knew all my plans, every move I was going to make. And so did the bastard who kidnapped Katie. He was here, dammit! Right here in town, waiting to get my Katie. You’ve got a leak. Decker! You’ve got a mole!”

Decker didn’t flinch. “Did our mole tell your ex-wife too?”

The question jolted John. Decker had a point. How had Mamie found out?

“You were supposed to be watching her.”

“We were,” Decker said. “We watched her follow you on your trip to the Maryland House. We cut her out of that so she couldn’t mess up the transfer.”

“She followed me?” He’d had no idea…

“And she followed you to A.C. An accident on the interstate prevented us from diverting her. So who’s to say this Snake couldn’t have done the same thing?”

John stared out the window at the surf. He was right, dammit.

“Dear God. How many people have been watching me?”

When Decker hesitated, John turned and looked at him. His brow was furrowed, his expression troubled… as if he’d just thought of something. Whatever it was, it passed.

“Your house is under surveillance right now,” Decker said. “Just in case somebody targets your mother.” John dropped onto the edge of the bed, staring up at Decker. The horror of what he’d just said… Nana?

“My God! I never even imagined…”

“But we did. And truth is. Doc, you should have told us about those calls.”

“Why?” John said, his anger flaring again. “You don’t care about Katie. I know what your primary objective is and it’s not getting Katie back. Is it?”

For the first time, Decker’s eyes broke contact. And John felt a tiny surge of triumph.

Gotcha, you son of a bitch.

“I want to get her back, believe me. But no, you’re right. My primary directive is to safeguard the President and bring in the people behind this plot. But don’t ever say I don’t care about your daughter. That isn’t true.”

John stared at Decker. Somehow, for some reason, he believed him.

The phone rang. John leapt to it. Could it be? Had Poppy had a change of heart?

But no… a male voice, asking for Decker. John handed it to him and went back to the window. Behind him he heard Decker say, “Tell you what. Come up here and tell me. Yeah, he’s here, but I see no reason why he shouldn’t know.”

John turned as he hung up. “Shouldn’t know what?”

“New information on Poppy and Snake. We’ll both find out at the same time.” John realized Decker was making a gesture.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I appreciate that.” While they were waiting for the caller to ride up from the lobby. Decker filled him in on what they knew about Poppy Mulliner and their theory about the violence at the Falls Church house.

A blond-haired man who looked like he’d just come off the beach arrived and was introduced as Supervising Special Agent Gerry Canney of the FBI. He seemed hesitant about speaking in front of John, but finally relented at Decker’s insistence.

“Okay,” he said, looking at John. “We got this call from the A.C. Medical Center emergency room about some woman saying she was beaten up in a parking garage and her daughter kidnapped. We checked it out and guess who it was?”

“Mamie,” John said.

“Right. Says she found her daughter wandering around alone in a souvenir shop.” John remembered a big souvenir shop north of the pay phone where he’d spent the better part of the afternoon.

“Not the one—?”

Canney nodded. “Yeah. Peanut World. About fifty yards from where you were standing.”

“Aw, no.” He felt sick. Katie had been so close.

“She said she was taking Katie to her car when this twenty-something woman with spiked hair starts beating on her. Broke her nose, knocked her out.”

John closed his eyes. Yes! How many times had he wanted to do that? Give Mamie a taste of what she’d done to Katie. But he’d never raised a hand to her. Kept telling himself she was sick, couldn’t help herself.

Thank you once again, Poppy Mulliner…

“The fallout from all of this is we have a good description of Poppy—a lot different from her three-year-old mug shot, believe me—and the changes she made in Katie.”