Page 8 of In Too Deep

“I take you somewhere safe. Get you squared away, out of sight. Bring in a guy I know, a medic, who you can trust. He’ll take care of your wrist. Then I’ll get you some food. Some books, magazines, movies, whatever you want to pass the time until we need to move.”

“That could work. But I still need the full nine on Fletcher. And whatever kind of operation he’s got going on.”

“I’ll give you chapter and verse. But not here, OK?” Vidic pointed at the screen. “We’ve pushed our luck far enough. The cops are bound to show up anytime now.”

Reacher nodded and took a step toward the door, but Vidic didn’t follow right away. He leaned down, took hold of the mouse, and started fiddling with it again. The screen switched back to its original twelve rectangles. Vidic selected the image of the driveway and then a box appeared, demanding a password. Vidic hit a bunch of keys—four letters, eight numbers, then four more letters—and the screen filled with tiny versions of the same scene. Each had a time and a date under it. Vidic selected the most recent, did something else with the mouse, and a cartoon trash can appeared. He did another thing and the mini picture vanished.

“People say you can’t erase history.” Vidic turned and flashed a smile. “Maybe that was true before we had computers.”

Vidic took out his phone and tapped away at its screen for a moment. Reacher couldn’t focus well enough to see exactly what he was doing. Vidic caught his eye and said, “Don’t worry. Just sending a message to the medic.” Then he moved the pointer to the top of thescreen and a list of options appeared. He pickedEngage Privacy Modeand selectedFifteen Minutes.“Now I was never here,” he said. “And we can leave together without being seen.”

Reacher said, “What about the kitchen? And the hallway? There are cameras there, too, right?”

“Right. But the internal ones only record when the system is armed, and the system is only armed when no one is here. The external cameras are live all the time, in case anyone comes snooping around. Unless they’re paused, like they are now, for another few minutes. So don’t worry. We can go and there’ll be no trace.”

—

Vidic locked theheavy front door behind them and ushered Reacher over to the Jeep. It had protective mesh cages fixed over its rear lights, and a wide bull bar covering the whole of the front. Its bodywork was gleaming white but its hood was finished with some kind of matte black coating. Reacher had seen vehicles set up that way before. In the desert. So that the sun wouldn’t reflect off the shiny paint and dazzle the driver. He was no expert but judging by the tires he guessed the Jeep had never been anywhere more challenging than a parking lot. He shrugged to himself. He was never going to understand car people.

Vidic drove fast but he had the vehicle well under control. The road was twisty and rough, with trees on both sides. They were tall and close together with few branches within reach of the ground. All the action was up high where the leaves had to compete for the sunlight. The air in the Jeep was set low and the stereo was playing acoustic rock uncomfortably loud until Vidic switched it off and said, “The place we were just in was built in the seventies by a guy named Arthur Grumann. He was a real estate developer from Manhattan. Crime was bad in the city back then, I guess, so he figured rich folkcould be lured down here to the Ozarks, where it was safe and beautiful. He completed half a dozen mansions. All are within a couple of square miles of one another. They did OK at first. The idea didn’t stick in the long term, though. By the two thousands people could hardly give the places away. We got ours for a song in ’09, after the crash. Turned it into our studio.”

“You’re musicians?”

“Artists. Started out with four of us. Paris, Bowery, O’Connell, and Gibson. I joined later. Paris is great with computers so she handled the payments, that kind of thing. O’Connell dealt with the logistics. Art isn’t easy to transport. You need special crates, things like that. They just did copies at first. Legitimate stuff. For collectors, mainly. People who don’t want the real thing on their walls while they’re on vacation or when they’re having family with young kids to visit. But that morphed over time. They did a forgery for a gallery owner they met. Then they did a couple more. Then a lot more, until that was all they were doing.”

“Enough to get the Feds on your case?”

“Not at all. They were discreet. And careful who they sold to. There were no real victims. The buyers were all crooks themselves. No. The problems started when Fletcher came on board. He wanted contacts in the art world. But not so he could sell to them. So he could steal from them. He was aggressive. Pushed us in a whole new direction. Got us involved in disputes. Violence. O’Connell got killed. So did some old dude. A retired cop working security at a place they hit. That’s when he brought in Kane, as muscle. Now Bowery’s gone missing and Gibson turned out to be a Fed. What a fiasco. It’s not the organization I joined. Not even close. You can see why I’m jumping ship.”

“You joined, when?”

“I kind of replaced O’Connell. So around the same time Kanejoined. Only I’m not crazy and I’m not beholden to Fletcher. You can see why I’m leaving. It’s not safe anymore.”

“You’re sure Gibson was a Fed? Those guys generally don’t advertise.”

“I’m sure.”

“How come?”

“Kind of a fluke, I guess. He always used to disappear for a few hours, one day a week. I didn’t think much about it, at first. But when Bowery disappeared, I don’t know, I got suspicious. So when I saw Gibson sneaking off today, I followed him. He went to a motel just off a highway exit. A big place with a gas station and a diner. I saw him go to one of the motel rooms. He knocked on the door, kind of in a funky rhythm, then went in. I caught sight of a woman, waiting inside. I was relieved at first. I thought he was there to see a hooker. But I crept up close and listened at the door. It felt a bit dirty but I needed to be sure. And that’s when I heard her say it.”

“What?”

“Albatross.”

“Like the bird?”

“Right. Albatross.”

“So why’s that such a big deal?”

“Because it’s what she called him.Albatross.NotGibson.It was a cover name, obviously. And who uses a cover name? An agent, when he’s undercover. That’s how those guys work.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“A hundred percent. Everyone knows.”

“If you say so. And how did I end up in Agent Albatross’s car?”

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