Джеффри Дивер - The Final Twist

“It is. But I’m hoping to find another UIP drop-off point, and the Bureau can get eyes and ears there in time.”

“What system are you using?”

“MicroTrace.”

“It’s a good one. We use it. Send me the number of that unit. I’ll have Karin keep eyes on him too.”

Shaw sent the text to Russell’s phone.

Both men watched the dot.

Then Shaw noted his brother’s duffel bag and backpack sitting near the stairs.

Why the hell the Oakland A’s?...

“Come back to the Compound. Victoria and I are driving down there. Until I can get some evidence on Devereux, I want to keep an eye on Mary Dove. Maybe have Dorie come too.”

“Can’t. There’s that problem in Alaska. I told you about it.”

Shaw said, “You can’t be the only one with a beard and a SIG Sauer.”

He thought this might, at last, raise a smile. No. His brother shook his head.

“Mary Dove’d love it.” He hesitated then added, “Been forever.”

Another pause. “Just can’t.”

“Sure.”

You make a good team...

Well, after a rocky start, they had. He was thinking of Russell’s enthusiastic embrace of his brother’s plan to finally nail the BlackBridge crew at San Bruno park.

Which made his brother’s abrupt departure now all the more painful.

Shaw was looking down at the floor. There was a black scuff mark in the shape of a crescent moon. Had it been left by Shaw or Russell? Maybe Droon or one of the ops when they’d assaulted the safe house in search of the tally. Maybe by Ashton Shaw himself, if the mark was indelible enough to survive polishings over the years.

“Better go.”

When it came to his brother there was no true north, there was not even a constellation to help Colter Shaw navigate through the words he wanted to say. He and Russell had never had serious conversations. They talked about how to cure pike for longest storage or which caliber and load were best for charging mountain lions. And for human intruders, armed and with intent. But never words about themselves.

That wasn’t acceptable to Colter Shaw, not after all that had happened over the past few days. “Wait.”

His brother turned back.

“Why... Why’d you disappear? All these years. We’re blood. I’ve got a right to know.”

A long moment passed. “What Ash taught us: survival.”

Shaw could only shake his head.

“Survival for you, for everyone in the family. You have an idea of my job. I do bad things. I was afraid I’d put everybody at risk. There’re prices on my head — sort of like a reward, if you think about it.”

Just last week, in the cult in Washington State, one of the self-help gurus had told Shaw much the same.

I think he didn’t want to leave. He felt he had no choice. If you pursue him now, and find him, he’s just going to keep running... A protector sometimes protects best by leaving those in his care. The way a bird leads predators away from their young.

“Russell, we all know how to handle risks. It’s what Ashton taught us. From day one in the Compound.”

“All right.” His brother inhaled twice before continuing: “It was survival for me too.” The white noise roared like a deadly wave. “You really believed I’d hurt Ash?”

So we get to it. At last.

“I looked at the facts — the fight you two had about Dorie, the knife. Then you lied, you said you were in L.A. when he died. You were near the Compound.”

“It was one of my first assignments. An op near Fresno. They gave it to me because I knew the territory. Nobody could know about it. Okay, Ashton taught us to look at facts. ‘Never make decisions based on emotion.’ But who somebody is, that’s a fact too, isn’t it? What you thought, what you accused me of... That was tough. It was easier to go away.”

“I was wrong.”

Was this a transgression that could be remedied by apology? Colter Shaw simply couldn’t tell.

Russell’s eyes went to the statue of the soaring eagle.

“Remember that?” Shaw asked, nodding at it. “Do you have the bear?”

“No.”

Had he thrown it away because Ashton’s ritual gave first prize to Colter? Russell’s was for the supporting role.

His brother surprised him by saying, “I’d been meaning to send it back. Never got around to it.”

Shaw considered this. “ You had it, not Ash?”

“I took it, after the funeral.”

“Why?”

Russell was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Keep it,” Shaw said.

“No, it’s yours.”

Silence flowed and within it, this thought: the words he’d rehearsed for so long had finally been spoken... but had done nothing to bridge the chasm between them.

“Okay. Got to get the team up north. I’m glad this reward thing’s working out. It suits you. The Restless Man.”

“You were right. This BlackBridge operation, it wasn’t what I do. I needed you.”

A nod. There was no question of a handshake, much less an embrace. With backpack on his shoulder and duffel bag in hand, his older brother was out the door.

At ten that evening, Shaw and Victoria were returning to the Alvarez Street safe house from a fine Italian dinner in the Embarcadero. The day had been rainy and the streets slick, so they had taken her rental, the car that had been at the scene of the takedown in San Bruno park. They both were curious what Avis would make of the bullet hole in the fender. At least she’d bought the loss-damage waiver, so she would not be charged, though Shaw wondered if gunfire invalidated the coverage.

They paused outside.

“Anything?” Victoria asked.

Shaw was looking at the security app on his phone. Russell had left several cameras in the house. With Devereux still a wild card, and with him knowing where the safe house was located, they were being cautious, though Shaw believed the man would play the long game. Nothing would happen to Shaw or the family just yet. That would be too suspicious. The descendant of the beheaded member of English royalty was dangerous, greedy and narcissistic, but not stupid.

“Clear.” Shaw put the phone away.

They went inside, set the security system to at-home mode and opened wine and beer. “Think the fireplace works?” she asked.

“I checked. It’s sealed. My father and his colleagues? Didn’t want any surprise packages dropping in.”

“Your mother and I had a conversation about him. He had a reputation for being paranoid,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“But I guess after all this, he was just being cautious.”

“Russell said some of his concerns were smoke. That was true. But what he really was? A survivalist before anything else. That’s how I think of him now.”

Shaw had some beer and called up the tracking program on his laptop. The red dot that was Devereux pulsed, but didn’t move. Shaw panned in and saw that he was in a developed area off Highway 1, south of the city. He’d probably stopped off for a meal at one of the many seafood places along that sidewinding road. Perhaps he was on his way to Carmel, the magical kingdom on the Monterey Peninsula — it was the sort of place where he would have one of his mansions. And if so, was he accompanied by a tall, picturesque woman?

It was then that he heard Victoria’s alarmed voice, “Well.”

He noted her attention was on her phone.

“You have a news feed?”

Shaw asked, “Which one?”

“ Any of them.”

He picked one at random. And read.

BILLIONAIRE BUSINESSMAN JONATHAN STUART DEVEREUX, CEO OF BANYAN TREE HOLDINGS, WAS SHOT AND KILLED TONIGHT IN THE TOWN OF HALF MOON BAY, SOUTH OF SAN FRANCISCO.