Hidden Prey

okay.”
    “See you in an hour,” Lucas said.
     
    T ERRY PROMISED TO have every bar in Hibbing checked by morning. Lucas gave him a cell-phone number, and he and Nadya headed for Duluth.
    “What they’re doing is, they’re taking testimony on the shooting to make sure nothing illegal happened, and that all proper procedures were being followed,” Lucas told her on the way, explaining the board. “If Reasons was assigned to guard you, then your, mmm, emotional involvement becomes irrelevant. He was killed in the line of duty.”
    “He wasn’t exactly . . .”
    “Shhh . . .” Lucas said.

     24 
    G RANDPA FUSSED AROUND the rest of the day—shuffled out to put a bill in the mailbox, raised the red flag for the mailman, saw that the van was still there. Went out to the garage, threw a shovel in the back of the car, unscrewed the automatic light in the garage-door opener, shuffled back to the house, and didn’t look at the van, still there halfway up the block. Would it ever leave? And if it did, would it be replaced by another? He saw nothing at all on the backside of the block . . .
    He couldn’t help watching, but he was afraid he’d be spotted if he did. Eventually, he spent a few minutes vacuuming, pushing back and forth in front of the picture window. When he was done, he propped open one of Melodie’s old compact cases in the corner of the window, among a group of plants, adjusted the mirror so he could see the van, then sat on a couch opposite the television and watched the mirror.
    An hour or so after the cops left, Jan Walther called, panicked about being interviewed by the police. “They think Roger is a spy. They thinkhe was spying with the Spivaks and the Svobodas and some people named Witold. They’re crazy ,” she said.
    “They are crazy,” Grandpa agreed. “There’s nothing we can do but cooperate. Maybe we should get a lawyer.”
    “Not yet; I can’t afford a lawyer.”
    She gave him everything the cops had asked her about, but in the context of a protest to a relative. Excellent. Janet had been told a little bit, back when she was still in love with Roger, had been told that the spying was a heritage thing that the families were trying to work out of . . . but that was it. If the phones were bugged, her protests would sound normal and innocent. If the tapes ever got into court, they might help influence a jury.
    He watched the van the rest of the afternoon; watched as a mostly cloudy day turned gloomy and dark, and little spits of rain began trickling down the window. At a little after five o’clock, the van pulled away. The movement was so quick, and unexpected, that Grandpa almost missed it—and he knew for certain, from watching all afternoon, that nobody had gotten into it. Whoever was driving had been inside all morning and afternoon.
    This was not paranoia; he was being watched.
     
    A T SEVEN O ’ CLOCK , with a steady drizzle darkening the streets, he drove slowly down to the supermarket, and then back to the house, going out one way, coming back on the other side of the block. He saw no one following, and he knew all the cars still on the street. So the watch was sporadic—the state cop and the Russian must have wanted to see if he’d panic after they talked to him. Grandpa smiled as he pulled back into the garage, just thinking about it. He’d sold them, all right.
    There was, he thought as he went into the house, just the slightest possibility that they were watching from a neighbor’s house . . . but then, why would they watch from the van at all? Still . . .
     
    I NSIDE , THINKING of bugs and phone taps, he said to Grandma, “Let’s eat.” He banged around the kitchen, heating up some spaghetti, fed her and then himself. When she was done, he cleaned her up for the fourth time that day, and parked her in front of the TV again. The History Channel had a show about World War II, the landings at Normandy. They watched it together, and he talked to his wife, and then they watched a show about ice dancing, then the local news, and finally he said, “Let’s get you off to bed, sweetheart. Let’s get you off to bed, okay?”
     
    A T TEN THIRTY , he flushed the toilet and said into the walkie-talkie as the water rushed around the bowl, “Exactly at eight.”
    Three words. He got back two burps of static. Good. He got the silenced pistol and put it in the pocket of a black jacket, and pulled on the jacket.
    At ten fifty-five, he