Дэвид Балдаччи - The Collectors

“They took my phone,” Stone said, gasping for extra oxygen. “And by the way, I’m way too old for this shit. I seriously mean it.”

“Mine too... and me too,” she answered in halting breaths. “Oliver, I saw Trent in the house. His reflection in the mirror.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “It was definitely him.”

Stone glanced around. “We have to get in touch with Caleb or Milton.”

“After what happened to us, do you think they’re okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said shakily. He lurched to his feet, held out a hand and pulled her up.

As they started walking fast down the street, she slowed and said quietly, “Is that how Jonathan died?”

He stopped and turned to her. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged noncommittally but wiped a tear from her eye. “My God.” Her voice shook.

“Yes, my God,” Stone agreed. “Look, Susan, I never should have let you get involved in this.”

“First of all, my name’s not Susan.”

“Okay.”

“Second of all... tell me your real name and I’ll tell you mine.”

Stone hesitated just for a second. “Franklin, but my friends call me Frank. You?”

“Eleanor, my friends call me Ellie.”

“Franklin and Eleanor?” he said, looking bemused.

“You started it.” She smiled even as her eyes filled with tears and her body began to shake. “Oh, Jonathan.”

Stone reached out and gripped her shoulder, steadying the woman.

“I can’t believe this,” she said. “I haven’t even seen the man in forever.”

“It’s okay if you still care about him.”

“I wasn’t sure I did until right now.”

“There’s no law against it.”

“I’ll be okay. Believe me, I’ve been through far worse.” As soon as Annabelle said that, she started to sob uncontrollably. Stone pulled her close as her legs failed. They both sank to the cement, and Stone kept holding her as her fingers dug into him, her tears dampening his shirt and his skin.

Five minutes later she stopped except for a couple of last heaves. Pushing away from him, Annabelle rubbed her swollen eyes and her runny nose with her sleeve.

She said, “I’m sorry. I never, and I mean never, lose control like that.”

“Crying because you lost someone you love isn’t exactly unusual.”

“It’s just not... I mean... You never—”

Stone put his hand against her mouth and said quietly, “My real name is John. John Carr.”

Annabelle tensed for an instant and then relaxed. “I’m Annabelle Conroy. It’s nice to meet you, John.” She exhaled a deep breath. “Whoa, that’s not something I do very often.”

“Use your real name? I can sympathize. The last person I told tried to kill me.”

He stood and helped her up. As he turned, she kept ahold of his hand.

“Thank you, John, for... everything.”

He was clearly embarrassed by her gratitude, but she came to the rescue. “Let’s go and see if Milton and Caleb need saving. Okay?” Annabelle said.

A moment later they were jogging down the road.

Annabelle and Stone made a phone call from a service station, reaching Caleb. He had not yet fully recovered from finding Norman Janklow’s body but was able to relay some of what had happened. Stone called Reuben, and all arranged to meet back at Stone’s safe house. An hour later they were reassembled, and Stone and Annabelle reported their experience first.

“Damn,” Reuben said. “Good thing you thought of the oxygen, Oliver.”

Caleb and Milton told their story next.

Caleb added, “We called the police from a pay phone. Only took about an hour to find one in our cell-happy world. Thank goodness I remembered to take the candleholder; it has my fingerprints on it.”

“Did you touch anything else?” Stone asked.

Caleb looked worried. “I grabbed the handrail on the outside stoop.” He glared at Milton. “Because gadget boy here decided to scare the crap out of me. And I might have touched something else inside the house, I don’t remember. I’ve actually tried to block it out of my memory.”

“Your prints are in the federal database?” Stone said.

“Of course.” Caleb gave a resigned sigh. “Well, it won’t be the first time the coppers have come for me, and I doubt it’ll be the last.”

“What connection could this Norman Janklow have to all this?” Reuben asked.

Stone answered, “Janklow could’ve been a spy, like English. That means the books he looked at could’ve been secretly coded too.”

“They must’ve only pretended to dislike each other,” Caleb said. “To help maintain their cover.”

“Okay, but why kill Janklow?” Reuben persisted.

“If he was a spy, once we exposed English, maybe the whole thing started to unravel, and they had to start tying up loose ends,” Annabelle ventured. “They might have gotten English out of the way and left Janklow there dead to confuse things.”

“I’d say they accomplished their goal, then,” Caleb pointed out.

“We should go to the police now,” Milton said anxiously.

“And tell them what?” Stone argued. “The marks in the book have disappeared. And if we explain that we were almost killed tonight, we’d have to admit to having broken into Albert Trent’s home. I’m sure he’s already called the police to report the burglary.”

He glanced at Annabelle. “And even though you saw him, it’s your word against his. And I didn’t call the police about what happened at Fire Control, Inc., because I felt sure by the time they got there, the two men I attacked would’ve disappeared.” He looked at Caleb. “And since Caleb was at Jewell English’s home and his prints might be found there, if we go to the police, he’ll instantly become a suspect. Couple that with the fact that the authorities already have Caleb and Reuben on their radar, it’s all far too complicated for the police to believe.”

“Well, hell,” was Reuben’s sole comment to that analysis.

Annabelle said, “So what do we do? Wait for them to come after us again?”

Stone shook his head. “No. Caleb will go to work tomorrow as if nothing’s happened. The library will be in an uproar having lost a director and a patron in such a short time. Caleb, find out what you can. The news will give us some hint as to what the police think. And if they’ve killed English too, the body might turn up.”

Milton said, “I’ll keep my eye peeled on the Net for any of that. That’s where it’ll break first.”

Stone continued, “Bob Bradley, Jonathan DeHaven, Cornelius Behan and now Norman Janklow have been murdered. I believe Bradley died because he was forcing Albert Trent to leave the intelligence committee staff. Trent couldn’t do that, because if I’m right, Trent was using that position to pass secrets. DeHaven was killed either because he was involved in the reading room being used to convey these stolen secrets or he stumbled on the scheme and had to be silenced. That might be the same for Norman Janklow, or else he was also a spy like English. Behan was killed because he figured out that one of his companies’ equipment was used to murder DeHaven and would no doubt have investigated further. Trent had a mole at Fire Control who probably tipped him off about Behan’s suspicions, and he had to be eliminated.”

Caleb said, “But how could Jonathan, Jewell English or Norman Janklow become involved in a spy ring? Who would think to use the Rare Books reading room to communicate stolen secrets through coded letters in the first place?”

Stone said, “Well, because one wouldn’t logically think of it makes it a good plan. And remember, most spies are captured because they’re placed under surveillance for some reason, and then they’re observed making the drop of information, usually in a public place. Instead, we have coded letters in rare books. There’s no surveillance possible. Old people read old books and go home. No one would even consider them remotely suspicious.”