Riptide

“He was a spy,” Sherlock said. “Maybe he was a con-victed felon, too. It’s just possible he’s done bad stuff other places and got nabbed. If that’s so, then there’ll be a match and just maybe there’ll be more information available on Krimakov.”

“It’s a long shot, but what the hell,” Adam said. “Good work, you guys.” Adam paused a moment, then cleared his throat. “Maybe it wasn’t such a lame idea for Thomas to bring you guys on board. Hey, you’ve even got a cute kid.”

The tension eased when they heard Sean sucking his fingers. Sherlock said as she lightly rubbed her son’s back, “Hey, Becca, I like your hair back to its natural color.”

“I don’t think it’s quite the right color,” Adam said, stroking his fingers thoughtfully over his chin. “It still looks a little fake, a bit on the brassy side.”

Becca got him in the belly with her fist, not hard, since he’d eaten at least four slices of pizza covered with olives and artichokes. Of course he was right and she just laughed now. “It will grow out. At least it’s not a muddy brown anymore.”

Thomas thought she looked beautiful, her hair, just like Allison’s, straight and shiny to her shoulders, held back from her face with two gold clips.

Becca cleared her throat and said in a short lull in the conversation, “Does anyone know how Krimakov found me?”

The chewing continued, but she could nearly feel the strength of all that IQ power, all that experience, turned to her question.

Her father took a drink of Pellegrino, then set the bottle down on the Japanese coaster at his elbow. “I can’t be certain,” he said. “But you’re more in the public view now, Becca, what with your speech writing for Governor Bledsoe. I remember several articles about you. Maybe Krimakov read the articles. Naturally he knows the name Matlock very well. He must have checked into it, found out about your mother, seen her travel plans to Washington. He’s a very smart man, very focused when he wants to be.”

“It makes sense,” Sherlock said. “I don’t have another more likely scenario.”

Sherlock was looking very serious, but one eye was on her small son. Becca remembered Adam saying something about Sherlock taking down an insane psychopath in some sort of maze. It was hard to imagine until she remembered Sherlock clipping Tyler on the jaw with no fuss at all.

“No matter how he finally managed to find out who she was,” Adam said, “he did find out and then he set up this elaborate scheme.”

“Krimakov was always so straightforward,” Thomas said, “back then. No deep, murky games for him.” Then he sighed. “People change. It’s frightening in this case. He’s taken more turns than a byzantine maze.”

Hatch, just a bit of mozzarella cheese clinging to his chin, rose and said, “I’m going to go out and see what our guys are doing. They were eating their way through three large pizzas the last time I saw them.” His pepperoni pizza box was empty, not even a cold thread of cheese left.

“If you smoke out there, Hatch, I’ll smell it on you and I’ll fire your butt. I don’t care what you’ve found out, your butt’s on the line here.”

“No, Adam, I swear I won’t smoke.” Then Hatch sighed and sat down again.

Adam, satisfied, turned to Becca. “As for you, Becca, eat. Here’s my last piece of pizza. I even left three olives on it. I didn’t want to, but I looked at your skinny little neck and restrained myself. Eat.”

She took the pizza slice and sat there holding it, even as the cheese cooled and hardened. She picked off an olive.

Savich said, smiling at everyone, perhaps preening a bit, “Oh, yeah, I’ve got something that’s not supposition. MAX found Krimakov’s apartment. It’s just a small place in Iráklion. Mr. Woodhouse knows about it. He’s sent agents in.”

Everyone stared at him a moment, gape-mouthed.

Savich laughed. He was still laughing when the phone rang minutes later. “That’s on my public line,” Thomas said as he rose. “The tape recorder will automatically kick on and it will tell me who’s calling.” He saw Becca blink and smiled. “Just habit,” he said as he picked up the phone.

He didn’t say a word, just stood there, listening. He was pale as death when he nodded and said to the person on the other end of the line, “Thank you for calling.” Becca jumped to her feet to go to him. He held up a hand and said in a very low, contained voice, “The two agents guarding Becca’s room are dead. Agent Marlane is dead. The agent posing as me is dead, shot through the head, three times. I shot Krimakov’s wife through the head,” he added unemotionally. “The security cameras are smashed. There’s pandemonium at the hospital. He got away.”