Джеффри Дивер - The Final Twist

“Ash told us ‘Never go to Echo Ridge. Terrain’s not so kind.’ But it wasn’t any worse than anywhere else in the high country. Maybe he didn’t want us going there because it was a dead-drop for him and his circle.” Russell glanced at Shaw, who nodded his understanding of the spy term. His brother continued, “The letter was meant for one of his colleagues. How’d you find it?”

“Long story. Came across some clues that led me there.”

“Any of the friends still around?”

“Maybe, but most are dead or in hiding. BlackBridge is good at arranging accidents.”

Shaw didn’t tell his brother that he believed the letter had been left not for a colleague but for him. It was he who had been given, and who deciphered, the clues that led to Echo Ridge — and ultimately to the safe house. It wouldn’t have been impossible for a colleague of Ashton’s to deduce where the letter and map had been hidden. But why situate a dead-drop three hundred miles from San Francisco, where most of their father’s associates were?

“And BlackBridge, they’re behind Ash’s death?” Russell eyed Shaw closely. “At the funeral, the word was ‘accident.’ But back then I got the feeling you didn’t think so.”

Was there something in his brother’s tone? Did he or did he not know Shaw had silently accused him of murdering their father?

A chill flowed through him. “No, I didn’t.” He hesitated. “Some things didn’t add up. His shotgun, the Benelli, was nowhere near where he fell. And did you ever know him to lose his footing on rock, ice, snow, sand, gravel?” He was speaking quickly. Did he sound defensive as he threw out some of the reasons why he’d formulated the theory of patricide?

He felt Russell’s eyes on him still, and he chose to meet the man’s gaze. Shaw said, “A couple of weeks ago I learned for sure it was BlackBridge.” He explained what Ebbitt Droon had told him about the company’s operative coming to the Compound to “talk” with their father. “That is, torture him and get him to tell them where the evidence was hidden. Ashton tipped to the op and ambushed him. But he was no match for the BlackBridge man.”

“Hmm.”

Shaw wanted so badly to grab his brother by the shoulders and shout: I was young, you were secretive. I saw the fight you and Ash had. And you were evasive about where you were on the night he was killed. I was wrong. But was what I did reason enough for you to vanish from the family altogether? Do you know what that did to our mother, our sister?

To me...

But of course, Colter Shaw couldn’t ask that question because the answer might very well be what he feared: Because I can’t forgive you.

Before he could stop himself he said, “The Reclusive One.” Was it a subconscious jab at his brother’s disappearance?

“What?”

“Looks like your profession, whatever it is, it’s kept you true to your name.”

Russell squinted. “The nicknames. When we were kids. Reclusive. You were restless. Dorie was clever.”

“You’re using the house for some kind of operation. How did you know about it?”

“I was in San Francisco for some training, long time ago, and Ash said there was a house he used when he was in town. We met here. He gave me a key. My group has operations here from time to time, so I use it as a command post.”

“Group?”

Russell said nothing.

It would handle government security of some kind, he guessed. But out of the mainstream. The FBI, CIA, DoD, NSA and most of the rest of the alphabet soup of government entities couldn’t get away with shooting someone with a silenced pistol and making the body and accessories go away as if you were cleaning up a broken jar of pickles dropped on a kitchen tile floor.

Shaw said, “I looked at the paperwork in the secure room. It’s classified?”

“Not anymore, I guess.”

“That a problem?”

A pause. “Not really.”

“You speak Chinese, Russian?”

He didn’t answer, but obviously he did. Russell had had years to learn quite a few skills since Shaw had seen him last.

“We have a full security setup when we’re active but we closed the file on that op early this morning. All the cameras and mics were packed up and gone.”

Shaw could only laugh. “That was smooth. The assault outside. Karin and Ty.”

“When the device went off I got a message. The secure room was compromised. And we had to find out who.”

“You, Karin and Ty, you put the whole set together in minutes? The costumes, makeup.”

Russell lifted an eyebrow. “What we do. We train for things like that. Improvise. And they were nearby. She was wearing a body cam. She started to run your picture through our facial recognition database, but...” He shrugged. “I saw the image. After, I put together a surveillance package on you.”

Why? Shaw wondered.

A moment later, Russell asked, “So you’re here because of Ashton and BlackBridge? There’s no reward?”

Shaw must’ve reacted.

“You’re in the news some.”

So he was curious about me. But not curious enough to pick up the phone and give me or our mother a call.

“No reward. It’s all about BlackBridge.”

Russell’s look conveyed a question: But why?

Shaw: “I know what Ashton said. ‘Never pursue revenge. It goes against the grain of survivalism.’”

“Was thinking that, yes.”

“Well, this isn’t revenge. It’s finishing what he started. His mission.”

There was really nothing more to add.

Russell sent a text on his elaborate phone. It was a brand that Shaw had never seen before.

He regarded his brother’s luxurious beard. You’d think it would be a problem in clandestine work, if that’s what Russell engaged in. He’d be instantly recognizable. Maybe he was famous in his field, though, and he sported the facial hair as a trademark.

His brother’s phone hummed.

“Nothing in our system about Urban Improvement Plan or Amos Gahl,” said Russell. He put the phone away. “Basic information about BlackBridge but they’re not flagged with any red notices.”

Shaw imagined his brother had access to a database that was exceedingly robust.

“Appreciate you checking. This group of yours... can you tell me?”

“No.”

“Just ‘group’ with a lowercase ‘g.’”

“What we go by.” After a pause Russell asked, “You always use the Yamaha in your work?”

Shaw explained about living in the Winnebago but renting cars on his jobs to stay unobtrusive. Much of the rewards business is surveillance and questioning witnesses, and nothing blended better than a black Avis or Hertz (he picked that color because it gave the impression he was law enforcement, though he never said he was). “Still might rent a car here. Depends on the weather.”

Russell took a call. He listened for a moment. He said, “That’s right. Tell them it’s closed permanently.” He disconnected.

Silence drifted between them.

Shaw asked, “You have a family? Anyone in your life?”

“No. You?”

He thought of Victoria. “No.”

“I heard you were married.”

He thought of Margot. “No.”

Roiling silence. Russell checked his phone once more.

“Dorion’s good,” Shaw told him.

“I know. I saw her and the girls last month.”

“ Saw them?” Shaw couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“I saw them . They didn’t see me.”

“Last I heard, at the funeral, you were in L.A.”

“Based there. Near there.”

The chitchat depressed Shaw and appeared to bore Russell.

All these years they hadn’t seen each other, and this was the best they could do?