Max Collins - Before the Dawn

Henderson was saying, “Remington died in nineteen-oh-nine, Russell in nineteen-twenty-six, Wyeth died in nineteen forty-five, Pollock in ’fifty-six, and Rockwell in ’seventy-eight... Yet these canvases were all painted in the last three to five years.”

Seth seemed to fold in on himself a little, hunkering over the counter; he looked as if he might be sick.

Henderson finished and set his cup on the counter. “Sorry I didn’t have better news, gentlemen — it would have been a kick to be in the same room with the real paintings.” The expert climbed off the stool and tipped an imaginary hat to his host. “I’ll get my stuff together.”

Now the X5 and the cyberjournalist were again alone in the kitchen. They could hear Henderson rustling around in the living room, so Logan kept his voice low: “Seth, those paintings were a bonus — they weren’t what we went in for. You got what we went in for...”

Seth looked up, his eyes dull, lifeless. “Huh?”

“The computer disc — remember?”

The X5 said nothing.

Logan smiled tightly, and tried to keep it upbeat: “You stole the paintings as a distraction — so that Sterling would think the only reason for your break-in was to steal art. He probably has no idea that we have that computer disc.”

Nodding, though rather listlessly, Seth managed, “Probably not.”

“And,” Logan said, “if I can break that code, we might learn something that will help us bring him — and Kafelnikov — down.”

“Like what?”

Logan shrugged. “Could be anything on that disc — financial records, a tally of where the original paintings have gone, who knows?... Maybe even the link to Lydecker and Manticore.”

Out in the living room, Henderson called, “I’m ready to take off, Logan,” and Logan raised a hold-that-thought finger to Seth, then met the art expert at the door.

He shook hands with Henderson, saying, “I’ll give you a call later.”

Henderson, very softly, said, “You okay, alone with that kid?”

“Fine.”

“I don’t know, Loge... seems kinda dangerous to me.”

“That’s because he is.”

Henderson rolled his eyes and hauled himself and the small black carrying case out of there.

When Logan returned, he said, “You’ll be glad to learn all the paintings are still in the living room.”

“Great. And what are a buncha freakin’ forgeries worth?”

Logan stood next to the seated boy. “That’s what I’m trying to explain, Seth — in terms of what we’re trying to accomplish, a hell of a lot.”

“Does it help me get rich?”

Logan shrugged. “Probably not. But you will have helped to stop Kafelnikov, and possibly Sterling, who is looking pretty damn dirty now.”

None of this seemed to console Seth.

“Look,” the X5 said, “my life comes down to this... Current scenario: I’m on the run, hiding my ass, needing money all the time to do that. Worst-case scenario: Lydecker and Manticore catch up with me... and, since there’s no way in hell I’m goin’ back to Manticore alive, they kill me. Best-case scenario: I get enough money to disappear, I mean really disappear... only then can I stop lookin’ over my goddamn shoulder. These paintings coulda been my ticket. ”

Logan asked, “Are you through?”

Seth glared at him. “What do you mean, am I through?”

“With the self-pity routine? What the hell happened to the rebel who wanted me to help him take Manticore down? Manticore exposed, destroyed, Lydecker out of your life permanently... that’s your ‘best-case scenario.’ ”

Now Seth was just staring at him.

Logan met the boy’s gaze, steadily, knowing he had just jumped the ass of a killing machine who could reach out and snap his neck like a twig. And, if anything had been established thus far about Seth, it was the X5’s ability to perform homicide without a twinge of conscience.

Finally the silence was so terrible, Logan had to fill some of it.

He said, “You help me close down Kafelnikov, and find out where Sterling figures in this... and I promise, even if this lead is a cold one, you and I will find a way... either we’ll banish Manticore from the face of this earth, or I will call on all my powers and resources to relocate you safely, in a new life.”

Seth drew a deep breath, expelled it, and said, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Sorry I was such a whiny candyass brat... what can I say...” The boy shrugged. “... shitty upbringing.”

Logan risked a smile. “Yeah — somebody really spoiled you.”

Suddenly Seth exploded in laughter, and Logan laughed, too; the boy extended his hand.

“It’s a deal, partner,” Seth said.

“It’s a deal,” Logan echoed.

The two men shook hands.

“Okay,” Seth said, after a sip of coffee, “what about this famous computer disc?”

Logan sat down again. “Well, I’ve got my best cryptology program working on it. Could take ten minutes, ten hours, or ten days. There’s no way to know. But it will work. It’s never failed me yet.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I haven’t slept in four days.” Seth followed this with a world-class yawn. “Can I crash on the couch?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Take the guest room.”

“Rad. Point the way.”

Logan showed his guest to the bedroom.

Seth flopped onto the bed, saying, “Call me when your computer has good news for us.”

“Will do.”

“And why don’t you catch some z’s? You look like shit, partner.”

Half a smile dimpled Logan’s lightly bearded cheek. “Manticore wasn’t big on tact, either, I see.”

“Isn’t that something you put on the teacher’s chair?”

The two smiled at each other... and, for the first time, felt like friends.

Donald Lydecker was livid.

Normally a man whose emotions were held in tight check, Lydecker — in a gray zippered jacket, black T-shirt and black jeans — stood in an FBI office in the Federal Building at Second and Madison, his temper taxed to its limits.

“You’re not going to help,” he said, “with a matter of national security?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Special Agent in Charge Gino Arcotta, seated behind a desk piled with work. “Not exactly.”

Arcotta was a thin, fit man of thirty-eight, his short hair black and curly, his angular face cleanly shaven, his brown eyes alert and sharp.

“What I said,” he continued, “is that I don’t have any men available to assist you, right now.”

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” Lydecker said. “This is a matter of...”

“National security,” Arcotta said wearily, with just a touch of temper, himself. “Colonel, let me be perfectly clear...”

Richard Nixon, 1968, Lydecker thought.

“This office is manned by six agents, three on days, three on nights. That’s all the manpower Washington has allotted us... and even with that small a staff, we can’t stay within our budget.”

“My budget is tight, too. That doesn’t mean we shirk our responsibilities.”

Arcotta continued on, as if Lydecker hadn’t even spoken: “Now, of the three day-shift agents, two are investigating a bank robbery across town. All three night-shift agents are investigating a kidnapping and are at this moment...” He checked his watch. “... in the sixteenth hour of their tour.”

“Even one man would be helpful, Agent Arcotta.”

“Colonel, the last day-shift agent is me... and this desk does not go unmanned; that’s policy. Tell me, sir... where do you suppose I’m going to find agents to assign to you?”