94

Alcatraz

“You ready?”

San Francisco’s famous fog had unfurled itself like a blanket over the sky. Sleet fell, and the air smelled like tidewater. Salem couldn’t spot the water from where they stood, but she could feel it, just on the other side of Pier 33, a big wet maw waiting to pull her down, and she could hear its crashing waves.

They stood a block away from the dungeonlike stone archway marking the pier. Salem knew the building had been a bomb factory in WWII, and that’s exactly what it looked like. She did her best to ignore the smell of the sea, and the scent of boiling Dungeness crab just up the pier, and the angry honk of sea lions, all of it warning her of the ocean. The three of them did their best to blend in with the masses jostling for a photograph of Senator Hayes.

“No cold feet now!” Lu said, cackling. “You won’t believe who I had to blow to get those press passes.”

She pointed at the IDs that hung around Salem and Bel’s necks, the photos expertly glued on to match the modified appearance of both women. In fact, Bel was no longer even female. Her laminated press pass read John Shaw, and she wore a dark brown mustache to match her hair along with round, wire-rimmed glasses. With colored contacts and expertly applied eye makeup, Salem passed for Asian, her head covered with a sleek black pageboy wig. Her press pass read Elizabeth Cho.

The documents they’d obtained in Beale’s vault were tucked in a leather messenger bag that Salem carried crossways across her chest. The knives they’d taken off the killer in Virginia had been mailed along with an anonymous note to Agent Lucan Stone. Lu, who’d been almost as excited to see the locket as she’d been to see the treaty and code, had packed the necklace carefully away. She’d immediately sent a security detail to guard Vida in the hospital.

“For real,” Lu said, her laughter melting. “You no look so good.”

“She’s afraid of water.” Bel was using the gravelly voice she’d practiced. “At least old Salem was. New Salem isn’t afraid of anything.” She smiled reassuringly.

“I might have nightmares about that mustache.” Salem raised an eyebrow, trying for humor. Her stomach felt sour, though, the earth shifty slidy under feet. After not leaving Minnesota for twenty-six years, she’d now traveled cross-country three times in a single week. Despite that, she couldn’t think of the ocean on the other side of the archway without going jelly from the neck down.

Bel squeezed her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay. Look at how much we’ve survived. Hell, look at how we’ve thrived. My mom and yours did a good job training us.”

Bel’s proud smile unnerved Salem. “How can you look so happy? Mom and Grace threw us to the wolves.”

They’d already had a version of this talk in the airplane ride. Bel’s perspective was completely opposite of Salem’s. Bel had found her calling and was grateful to their moms for that. “We’re part of something important now, Salem. And we’re good at it. I get that you’re mad at Vida, but you have to get over it. What’s done is done.”

Salem dropped her eyes. Strong, street-smart Bel felt like she’d been handed a gift. She couldn’t understand Salem’s feeling of betrayal. Salem stared in the direction of the water. Hundreds of people stood between it and her, but she could feel its pulse.

“No time for fear,” Lu said, studying her, her voice grim. “Your dad never let fear get him.”

A laugh shocked Salem. She pulled her attention back to Lu. “He killed himself. I’d say that’s something like fear.”

Lu’s eyes grew comically round. “Daniel Wiley didn’t kill himself. He murdered!”

Every lick of moisture in Salem dried up. “I was there. He killed himself.”

Lu turned her around, toward the pier, and patted her on the back. “Your mom let you believe that to protect you.”