“Get it into your head, Jack,” Sharon had said in the ER. “We all have a secret life, not just you.” Now Jack knew the real truth of her words. His daughter was living a secret life right under his nose. It was as if he’d never known her at all—which was, of course, a deficiency that Sharon had accused him of repeatedly. But, given what she’d said to him, he determined that he had to know whether or not she knew about Emma’s radicalization, her secret life.
“If she felt so strongly about the blurring of religion and government,” Jack said, “why didn’t she join a peaceful organization like the First American Secular Revivalists?”
“Because she was Emma,” Alli said. “Because she never did things halfway, because she was strong and sure of herself. Above all, because she felt that the pack of evangelicals who had invaded the federal government were warmongers, that the only way to get their attention, to attack them, to expose them was with a radical response.”
“She hated the warmongers so she became one herself?” Jack shook his head. “Isn’t that counterintuitive?”
“The philosophers say fighting fire with fire is a legitimate response as old as time.”
They were walking in the tangle of trees and underbrush behind the house. The sky was turning black, as if with soot, and a cold wind shivered the tallest branches. Jack was turning over what Alli had said because there was something about it that stuck in his mind, that seemed to loom large on the playing field he’d been thrust onto.
He stopped them at the bole of a gigantic oak. “Let’s back this up a minute. Emma knew that your father would win the election, or at least that this current administration was on its last legs. Why not simply wait until the new regime came in?”
Alli shook her head. “I don’t know, but there was an urgency in what she had to do.”
“All right, let’s put that aside for the moment. You said that she wanted to expose the Administration with a radical response.”
“That’s right.”
“Did she tell you what she meant by that?”
“Sure. E-Two wants to provoke an extreme response from the Administration.”
“But there’s sure to be bloodshed.”
“That’s the whole point.” Alli licked her lips. “See, the bloodier, the more militant, the more brutal the response, the better. Because E-Two is out to show the entire country what this Administration really is. They won’t be able to round up the E-Two members easily. From what Emma said, they’re all young people our age—no one over thirty. When there’s blood on the streets, when America sees their own sons and daughters slaughtered, they’ll finally understand the nature of the people who are exporting war and death to the world.”
Jack was rocked to his core. “They’re planning to be martyrs.”
“They’re soldiers,” Alli said. “They’re laying down their lives for what they believe in.”
“But what they’re planning is monstrous, insane.”
“As our foreign policy has been for eight years.”
“But this isn’t the way.”
“Why not? Sitting on their hands hasn’t worked so well, has it? Anyone who has said or tried to do anything to protest faith-based initiatives has been ridiculed or, worse, branded a traitor by the talking heads controlled by the Administration. God, look at what wimps members of the opposite party have been through an illegal war, scandals, evidence that the government muzzles its scientists and specialists on the topics of WMDs and global warming. If the parties were reversed, you can bet this president would’ve been impeached by now.”
Why was it, Jack thought, that he felt as if he were listening to Emma and not Alli? A strange thing was happening to him. It had begun when he and Alli entered the house and now had continued as they moved out into woods. There was the very curious sensation of the world finally starting to make sense to him—well, if not the whole world, then his world, the one he’d kept hidden from others and which kept him apart from them. Like his ability to sense Emma, though she was no longer in this world, at least by the limited understanding of man-made science, he felt as if his world and the one that had always been closed to him were beginning to overlap. Hope rose, completely unfamiliar to him, that one day he might even be able to straddle both, that he might live in one without giving up the other.
This gift he very badly wanted to bestow on Alli. To this end, he said, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Alli regarded him with skepticism. “Not another shrink. I’ve had my fill of probing and prodding.”
“Not another shrink,” Jack promised.
Rather than return to the front of the house where he’d parked, he took her through the underbrush. On the other side was parked Gus’s white Continental, which Jack kept in pristine condition.
Alli laughed in delight as she climbed into it. Behind the wheel, Jack turned the key in the ignition, and the huge engine purred to life. With the lights extinguished, he rolled away without the Secret Service detail parked on Westmoreland being any the wiser.
He turned on the tape player, and James Brown took up “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World” in midsong.
“Wow!” Alli said.
Yeah, thought Jack. Wow.
Ten minutes later, when they arrived at Kansas Avenue NE, they couldn’t get near the old Renaissance Mission Church building. Barriers had been erected on the street and sidewalks on either side of it. There must have been more than a dozen unmarked cars and anti-terrorist vans drawn up on the street within the barriers.
Jack’s heart seemed to plummet in his chest. Telling Alli to wait in the car, he got out, flashed his credentials to one of the twenty or so suits milling around. Then he saw Hugh Garner, who was spearheading the operation, and put away his ID.
“Hello, McClure,” Garner said. “What brings you here?”
“I have an appointment with Chris Armitage of FASR,” Jack lied.
Garner pulled a face. “So do we, McClure. Trouble is, we can’t find him, or his pal Peter Link.” Garner inclined his head. “You wouldn’t know where they’ve got to?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here talking to you,” Jack said. “I’d like to speak to someone else in the FASR offices.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Garner looked smug. Hailed by one of his detail, he turned, gave a couple of orders, turned back to Jack. “No one’s here. This office has been shut down.”
Jack thought of all the busy, dedicated men and women he’d seen on his way into Armitage’s office. “Where is everyone else?”
“In federal custody.” Garner grinned. “They’ve forfeited their rights to due process. They’ll be held as long as necessary. Neither you nor anyone else can see them without a written order signed by the National Security Advisor himself.”
Jack rocked back on his heels as if struck a blow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The president went on the air an hour ago with evidence supplied by the Russian president himself that the FASR and E-Two are being funded by Beijing.” Garner’s grin widened. “Under the Anti-Terrorism Act of December 2001, they’ve all been charged with treason.”
Just south of where the sawhorses blocked off the avenue was an alleyway. Jack drove the car around to Chillum Place, parked in a deserted lot. Alli said nothing; he knew she understood perfectly well what had happened.
“Why are we here?” Alli said at last. “Sitting in the dark with the lights out and the engine off?”
“We’re moving to the edge of the world,” Jack said quite seriously. “We’re heading off the grid.”
“What’ll happen when we get there?”
“Tell me more about Emma.”
Alli felt a familiar terror clutch her heart. Ever since Jack and Nina had rescued her, she had felt as if she had a fever, racked by bouts of anxiety, cold sweats, dreams of menacing shadows whispering horrible things to her. She saw Kray everywhere, as if he were stalking her, monitoring her every move, every word she said, every breath she took. Often, alone, she shook, chilled to her bones. Kray had become the sun, the moon, the clouds in the sky, moving as she moved, the wind rattling through the trees. He was always with her, his threats mingling with his ideas, the strange and powerful openness and freedom she had felt with him. These contradictory feelings confused and terrified her all the more. She no longer knew who she was, or more accurately, she no longer felt in control of herself. Something eerie and horribly frightening had happened to her in that room with him. Truth to tell, there were moments she couldn’t recall, which was a relief. She so didn’t want to probe beneath the unfamiliar surface of that vague unease at not remembering. Something had slipped away from her, she felt, and something else had been slipped into its place. She no longer was the Alli Carson who had lain sleeping in her dormitory room.
On the other hand, there was now, there was Jack. She liked him immensely, and this led to a certain sense of trust. He made her feel safe as no other human being—armed or otherwise—ever had. She envied Emma now, having this man for a father and then, realizing all over again that Emma was dead, shook a little, felt ill with shame for even having the thought. Even so, the thought of talking to him about Kray, about what had happened, set off a panicky feeling she was unable to understand, never mind try to control.
“Emma once said to me that we never really see ourselves,” she said in an attempt to calm herself as well as to answer him. She felt that as long as she continued to speak about Emma, her friend wasn’t truly dead, that a part of her—the part of Emma they saw and heard—would remain. “She said all we ever see of ourselves is our reflection—in mirrors, in water. But that isn’t how we appear at all. So we had this game we played at night. We’d sit on the bed facing each other and we’d take turns describing each other’s faces in the most minute detail—first the forehead and brow, then the eyes, the nose, the cheeks, the mouth. And Emma was right. We got to know ourselves in a different way.”
“And each other,” Jack said.
Alli stared out the windshield into the emptiness of the lot. “We already knew each other better than if we’d been sisters. We’d found each other; we loved each other. We shared the night with all its loneliness, its subversiveness, its secrets.”
All at once, it was as if Emma were sitting there beside her, and with a sob, she began to cry. She should be here, Alli thought. She’d understand what happened to me, she’d be able to tell me why I’m feeling so strange, why everything feels threatening. Everything except Jack.
“Secrets like who Emma met under the oak trees outside Langley Fields?”
There was a silence for a moment as Alli squirmed in her seat. Inside her mind, a pitched battle was in progress between what she wanted to say and what she felt compelled to hold back. “Okay, I lied to you about that, but it was only to protect Emma, the part of her life she’d entrusted to me.”
“So you know who she met?”
Alli bit her lip. As a cloud skims across the moon, a shadow came over her, her eyes lost their focus, her gaze seeming fixed on a distant shore. Her stomach was tied in knots; she could feel the cold sweat breaking out under her arms, at the small of her back. She couldn’t backtrack now, and yet she knew she mustn’t tell Jack Kray’s name. If she kept to what Emma had told her, she thought she’d be all right. Talking about her friend, feeling closer to her was just about the only thing that calmed her. So she continued the process already begun by Kray himself of cleaving her thoughts in two: talking about the acceptable, pushing down the forbidden.
“Emma said his name was Ronnie Kray.”
Until this moment Jack had thought the phrase “made his blood run cold” was merely a literary one. Now he experienced it literally. Emma had met with a serial killer, the man who had abducted Alli. Did Alli know that? He judged that now, as she was just beginning to open up, was not the time to tell her.
“But she suspected from the get-go Ronnie Kray might not be his real name,” Alli said.
Every strangely wired synapse in Jack’s brain was singing now. “Why would she question that?”
“Emma had done a lot of reading on the pathology of being an Outsider. In fact, she’d practically memorized a book called The Outsider, by Colin Wilson. That’s where she got the term, that’s how she knew she was one. She also read another book of Wilson’s called A Criminal History of Mankind, I think. Anyway, she’d heard that name Ronnie Kray and looked it up. He was one of a pair of murderous twins in the East End of London. Their pathology fascinated her, and I think that was one of the reasons she even listened to this guy in the first place.”
“They shared E-Two’s point of view.”
She nodded.
Jack felt the tug of his daughter. This important history had happened while he was obliviously going about his job. His daughter’s life had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. “Didn’t she understand the potential for danger?”
“Of course she did,” Alli said. “That was the lure, that was why she wouldn’t back off. Then she began to suspect that Ronnie Kray was keeping secrets, so she set out to discover what they were.”
“I can’t believe this,” Jack said, because he truly couldn’t.
“Why not?” Alli said. “It sounds just like what you’d do.”
There was no point mentioning that he was an adult with years of training. “I knew she didn’t follow Kray blindly.”
“Emma never did anything blindly.”
“Not even drugs?”
“Especially not drugs. For Emma, taking them was a kind of, I don’t know, social experiment.”
“How d’you mean?”
“She wondered whether being stoned would allow her to approach another level of being an Outsider. To touch—I don’t know—the infinite.”
“And did it?”
“Uh-uh. It disappointed her. She was so sure there was something just out of reach, but so far out there, it was beyond our comprehension.”
“I’ve had the exact same feeling,” Jack said.
Alli nodded. “So have I.”
He had a thought. “So did she really want to join E-Two or did she want to find out more about Ronnie Kray?”
Alli shrugged. “Emma’s motives were never simple. One thing I do know: She was far too smart simply to follow the pied piper. Her bullshit alarm was totally scary.”
Jack thought of the times she’d busted him on his screaming matches with Sharon, how he’d let her words go in one ear and out the other. Why had he done that? Why had he devalued her opinion? Or was the truth of what she was saying too difficult to face?
“There’s something else,” Alli said. “I got the feeling that because she knew how dangerous her being with Kray was, she kept a journal.”
This interested Jack immensely. “I searched everything after her accident,” he said. “I couldn’t find anything.”
Alli’s fear returned full force. “Maybe I’m wrong. It’s only a hunch. I mean she never said anything to me directly.”
Still, it was something to ponder, Jack thought. Maybe he’d overlooked something.
“C’mon, let’s go,” he said, getting out of the car. When she’d joined him, he took her down the alleyway and around behind the buildings on Kansas Avenue. They had to be careful as they approached the rear of the FASR building, as it was lit up like an airport runway, crisscrossed by federal agents in flak jackets, riot helmets, and assault rifles loaded with rubber bullets.
Jack moved them back into the shadows of the hulking warehouses on their right, crouched down, making their way past the activity. As they moved farther down, the light continued to fade until they were once again engulfed in deepest shadow. At the back of the building that used to house the Hi-Line, they crept along until they reached what looked like a windowless wall. Jack moved his fingertips along the wall until he found the join he was looking for, the outline of the door Gus’s detective clients used to come and go without being seen.
Slipping a credit card out of his wallet, he slid it into the join on the left side. A moment later, though Alli heard no sound at all, he gripped the join with the tips of his fingers and the door opened outward.
They slipped in together and Jack immediately closed the door behind them. They were in almost complete darkness. Ahead of them was a thin line of warm light coming through the crack between an inner door and the floor.
Stepping up to the door, Jack turned the knob and, opening it, crossed the threshold. Chris Armitage whirled around, grabbing for a length of pipe.
Jack said, “Down, boy. You could get yourself killed that way.”
Armitage had the look and posture of a hunted animal. “How the hell did you find us?”
As he said this, Jack looked behind him at Peter Link, asleep on the sofa. “Let’s just say that I know these buildings were the haunts of bootleggers in the thirties, complete with escape routes to outwit the police.”
Armitage’s mouth twitched sardonically. “Seems nothing much has changed since then.” He sighed, put aside the pipe. “I suppose they enlisted you to take us in.”
“I had to dodge a Secret Service detail to get in here unnoticed,” Jack said. Then he turned and beckoned.
Armitage’s eyes opened wide. “Good God.”
“Chris Armitage, this is Alli Carson, the soon-to-be First Daughter. Alli, Chris is the co-head of the First American Secular Revivalists.
“What’s left of it,” Armitage said. “Hey, Alli.” Then, to Jack: “Why on earth did you bring her here?”
Jack smiled. “I thought you and she ought to meet.”
“My organization has just been smeared by the President of the United States with the help of the Russian president.” Armitage let go a bitter laugh. “This is hardly the time for a get-together.”
“I don’t see that you have anything better to do,” Jack said.
Armitage nodded. “I can’t argue there.” He lifted an arm. “Sorry I don’t have much in the way of conveniences to offer you.” He pointed at a half fridge. “There’re Cokes in there, a couple of cartons of juice. And frozen food.”
Jack and Alli shook their heads as they sat on facing chairs. Armitage perched on the edge of the sofa.
“How’s Link?” Jack asked.
“Out like a light, as you can see.” Armitage ran a hand through his hair. “He’ll be okay. Thanks for asking. Thanks for everything.”
Jack waved away his words. “I’d like to ask you about a former member of FASR. A man you know as Ronnie Kray.”
“Oh, him.” Armitage rubbed his chin. “Interesting guy, actually. Very smart, very intense. And he’d done his homework—he knew all the ins and outs of every argument we’re propounding. He was so well versed, in fact, that Peter and I wanted him to make some personal appearances with us, you know, to get the word out.”
Armitage opened the half refrigerator. After offering them a drink, he took out a can of Coke, popped the top. “Above all, Kray had a quality about him—he was quite charismatic. That was another reason we wanted him to take a more active role. But he turned us down.” He gulped down some soda. “He told us he could only spare us a couple of days a week. Plus, he said he was strictly a behind-the-scenes type of guy.”
“Did you believe him?” Jack said.
“Interesting question. In a funny way, I did. He had trouble interacting with the other FASR members. He lacked—what?—for want of a better phrase, social graces.”
“In what way?”
Armitage rolled the soda can between his palms. “He had no tolerance for people who didn’t do things his way—and at the speed of light. He pissed off more than his share of coworkers because he didn’t seem to have an inhibitor switch. Whatever was on his mind, no matter how harsh, he’d just say it. I recall one time, I brought him into the office to talk to him about the effect he was having on the people he had to interact with. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Maybe they’ll get their act together.’”
“I’d like to fill out my mental picture of him,” Jack said. “Would you mind describing him to me?”
“Not at all.” Armitage thought a moment. “To begin with, he was a good-looking guy, but in an interesting way. Dark, smoldering—and charismatic, as I said. He was tall and slim. He was in good shape. He looked like he was in his late forties, but I got the feeling he was older than that, certainly in his mid-fifties.”
Jack’s mind was engaged on two levels. While he was using Armitage’s description to build a mental picture of Kray, he was watching Alli for signs of anxiety or nervousness. After all, the man Armitage was describing had abducted her and held her captive for a week. But she seemed oddly detached, as if her mind was far away.
Armitage swallowed the last of the Coke, set the can aside. “I think he was actually popular with the women. The men felt they had to defend themselves against him.”
“Did you know,” Jack said, “that Ronnie Kray also goes by the name of Charles Whitman?”
“What? No. Of course not.” Armitage looked and sounded genuinely shocked.
“Do you vet people—do background checks?”
“Sure. We don’t want anyone with a record to be on our rolls. But frankly, it’s rudimentary at best; we’re all chronically overworked.”
Jack nodded in sympathy. “I imagine he was counting on that. I doubt those two names are the end of Kray’s deception.” He turned to Alli. “What d’you think?”
“Alli,” Armitage said, “you know this man?”
Panic gripped her with such force that for a moment she could scarcely catch her breath. “A friend of mine did,” she squeaked. “Jack’s daughter, Emma.”
“I wonder,” Jack said in a perfectly neutral voice, “whether you don’t know him, as well.”
Alli’s panic escalated to an almost intolerable pitch. It was all she could do not to jump up and run out of the room. “Me?” He knows, she thought. He knows Kray took me. “I never met him.”
“Haven’t you recently been with someone who fits Chris’s description of Ronnie Kray?”
Alli said nothing, but Jack observed a certain tension take hold of her like an invisible hand.
Jack shrugged. “Perhaps I’m mistaken.” He turned his attention to Armitage, who had been following that byplay with a certain confused interest. “We’d best decide what to do with you and Peter. You two can’t stay holed up here forever.”
Alli was thrust back into the midst of her mental battlefield. On one side was Ronnie Kray, terrifying in his omniscience; on the other was Jack, her savior, who understood her in the same way Emma had. And thinking of Emma, she felt her friend’s great strength and courage flow into her. Would Emma lie to Jack? Alli knew she wouldn’t, so how could she herself do it?
“I was,” she said faintly.
“Have you thought about how to get yourself out of this prison?” Jack said to Armitage.
Alli’s guts were churning. “That was the man who took me from Langley Fields,” she persisted.
Jack turned to her. “You don’t say?”
Alli’s expression was stricken. “I … I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you sooner.”
“I’m curious why you didn’t.” Jack knew it was crucial to keep any admonition out of his voice. He could see the terror shimmering in the faint sweat on her face.
Alli put her head down. “I was keeping Emma’s secret. I thought if I said one thing, it would lead to the rest.”
“But then you told me about Emma wanting to join E-Two. You could’ve told me about Ronnie Kray any time after that.”
Alli wedged her hands beneath her thighs, her arms as straight as boards. “He said if I told anyone about him, he’d come after me and kill me.”
Alli was crying again; she simply couldn’t stop. “I don’t know, but he knew everything about me, right down to what I did with a boyfriend, my doctors, what hospital I was born in.”
Jack wanted to take her in his arms, but he intuited this was the wrong time, the wrong place. He’d read that victims of abduction or rape often react negatively to being touched, even when that’s what they really want.
Alli panted as if she’d just finished a hundred-meter sprint. Emma, she thought wildly, please help me be strong. Then, with a start, she realized that she had Jack. In many of the important ways, Jack and Emma were alike, which was why she trusted him as much as she did, why she could talk to him on some level about her very private dread. “He’s in my dreams. He’s always there.”
Jack felt his stomach contract. “What does he say? What does he want?”
She sobbed. “I can’t remember.” A tremor went through her like an earthquake. “Whatever he wanted, you got to me first—you saved me.”
He could see how terrified Alli was of this man. How could she not be? He had held her entire life in his hands. Suddenly, he had a vivid mental image of the photos taken of her with a telephoto lens that had hung in the Marmoset’s house, especially the one of her and Emma walking across the Langley Fields campus.
How, he asked himself, had Ronnie Kray—or whoever the hell he was—come to have all that info? Some of it, like the hospitals and doctors, was a matter of public record, but other things, like intimate details of her personal relationships, certainly weren’t. If this guy was a spook, Jack could see it. But a civilian? He’d have to be psychic.
In the back of Jack’s mind, his oddly aligned synapses had been playing with the 3-D puzzle he was assembling in his head. Now the puzzle turned in a different direction, and he saw the shape of a missing piece.
“Alli,” he said with his heart pounding in his chest, “do you recognize the name Ian Brady?”
“Sure.” She nodded. “He and his partner, Myra Hindley, were responsible for what were known as the Moors murders. They went on a two-year killing spree from, I think, sixty-three to sixty-five.”
Ka-thunk! Jack could hear the missing piece fall into place. Proof that the man who abducted Alli, who killed her Secret Service detail, was the same man who, twenty-five years ago, had murdered the two unnamed men at McMillan Reservoir and, shortly thereafter, the Marmoset and Gus.
Jack had gone after the wrong man; Cyril Tolkan had been responsible for many crimes, but murdering Gus wasn’t one of them. So how clever was Kray/Whitman/Brady to have used a hand-honed paletta to kill, knowing full well that it would lead investigators to the wrong man?
Come to think of it, didn’t this serial killer use the same MO now, twenty-five years later? He’d left clues to lead investigators to FASR and E-2 and away from himself. Everyone had taken the bait—except Jack, whose mind was already hard at work fitting pieces of the puzzle together. At first, it simply hadn’t felt right, and then, little by little, as more pieces of the puzzle appeared for him to manipulate like a Rubik’s Cube, he had started to gain an inkling of his quarry.
Now he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt: This man was his personal nemesis. Kray had played him for a fool once; Jack would track him down this time, or die trying.
At that moment, his cell phone buzzed. He’d set it on vibrate before they’d left the house. He was getting a text message, just three letters: WRU. It was from Nina, but what the hell? Jack never texted, had no idea of shortcuts.
He showed the phone’s screen to Alli. “What does this mean?”
“‘Where are you?’” Alli looked at him. “She needs to see you.”
Jack thought a minute. Having slipped the Secret Service detail, it wouldn’t do to show up at a meet with Nina with Alli in tow, and he certainly wasn’t going to drop her off at the house, SS detail or no SS detail. They’d blown their coverage once; he couldn’t afford to take the chance they’d do it again.
What location could he give Nina that wouldn’t seem suspicious? He was about to ask Alli to text Nina back, but then reconsidered. It was odd for Nina to be texting him, rather than phoning. Given the specter of the Dark Car, Jack wasn’t in any frame of mind to take a chance. He logged on to the Web, called up Google Maps. He already had several saved. Choosing the one he wanted, he sent it to Nina. It wouldn’t show up as anything useful to potential eavesdroppers.
“Okay, we gotta go.” He and Alli rose. “For the time being, sit tight. You have enough food for a week?”
“I think so, yeah.” Armitage crouched down, opened the half fridge. “Plus, when the Coke and juice run out, we’ve got plenty of water.” He glanced up. “But that’s really all academic, isn’t it? The minute the people who run this place return in the morning, we’ll be screwed.”
“No, you won’t. I know them.” Jack still owned the building; because he charged his tenants way under the going rate, they’d do anything for him. “Trust me, they won’t bother you.” Jack shook Armitage’s hand. “I’ll get you out of this, Chris.”
Armitage nodded, but he looked less than sure.