Riptide

on the lookout for you. They were just beginning
    to track you from New York, just like I did, but then--a
    wonderful thing happened. They became convinced that you'd
    climbed on a Greyhound bus and had gone all the way down to
    North Carolina, probably disguised in a black wig, maybe even
    brown contacts. All they had to work on was your driver's license
    and that was pretty scary. They searched your mom's apartment, but
    you'd cleaned it out really well. They're still looking for a storage facility for more information about you, photos and stuff like that.
    I assume you rented a storage locker. Where?"
    "In the Bronx. Under an assumed name. To be honest, I didn't
    have time to go through my mother's stuff. I just piled everything
    into boxes and hauled the stuff to the Bronx. Now, Adam, where
    would they come up with the idea that I'd be in North Carolina?"
    He smiled sweetly at her. "Fiddling. I enjoy it and I'm good
    at it."

    "By 'fiddling' you mean you scammed them?"

"Right. Sometimes con men use it to express that they got
    something over on their marks. Ah, sometimes law enforcement
    uses it, too."
    She shook her head at him. "I don't want to know which you
    are. You're kidding about this, right? You yourself didn't feed them
    that information, did you?"
    "No. I got one of their best snitches to feed it to them. That way
    they wouldn't have any doubts at all. I even planted some evidence
    in your apartment in Albany to show that you knew all about
    North Carolina, that you'd even vacationed on the Outer Banks,
    your favorite town, Duck. Agents were swarming all over Duck
    within four hours of the FBI getting the information."
    "I have been to Duck. I've stayed at the Sanderling Inn."
    "I know, that's why I selected it."
    "But I don't think I kept any souvenirs or books or anything like
    that."
    "Oh yeah, sure you had souvenirs. There were a couple of
    T-shirts, some shells with 'Duck' etched on them, a couple of Duck
    pens, and a cute little candy dish showing ducks marching. Now the
    Feebs will scour the Outer Banks all the way down to Ocracoke.
    Did you hear about the Cape Hatteras lighthouse being moved?"
    "Yes. Do you want more coffee?"
    "Please. Oh, yes, Becca, give me the name of the storage locker
    and the assumed name. I'll get all your stuff out of there and to a
    safe place."
    She snapped her fingers at him. "You can get things accomplished
    just like that?"
    "I can but try." He tried to look modest, maybe even humble,
    but he couldn't pull it off. "What's the name you used and what's
    the storage locker name?"
    "P and F Storage in the Bronx, and the name is Connie Pearl."

"I don't think I want to know where you got that name."
    He watched her walk to the sink with the empty coffeepot and
    rinse it out. When she turned to reach for the coffee, her head
    slanted in a certain way. He blinked. He knew that certain set of
    the head very well. He'd seen her father do that not six days before.
    He watched her closely and saw that her movements were economical,
    graceful. He liked the way she moved. She'd inherited that from her father, too, one of the smoothest, most elegant men
    Adam had ever known. He clasped his hands behind his head,
    closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Thomas Matlock clearly in
    his mind's eye, and thought back to that meeting between the two
    of them on June 24.

    Washington, D.C.

    The Suffer Building

    "She still believes you're dead."
    He nodded. "Of course. Even when Allison knew she was dying,
    we decided not to tell Becca about me, it was just too dangerous."
    At least, Adam thought, Thomas had been in close contact with
    his wife since e-mail had come along. They were online every
    night, until his wife had gone into the hospital. Adam said, "I don't
    agree with that, Thomas. You should have contacted her when her
    mother fell into a coma. She needed you then, and the good Lord
    knows, she needs you now."
    "You know it's still too risky. I haven't known where Krimakov
    is since right after I shot his wife. I realized soon enough that I
    would have to kill him to protect my family, but he simply disap

peared, with the help of the KGB, no doubt. No, I can't take the
    risk that Krimakov could find out about her. He would slit her
    throat and laugh and then call me and laugh some more. No. I've
    been dead to her for twenty-four years. It stays that way. Allison
    agreed with me that until I know for certain that Krimakov is
    dead, I stay dead to my daughter." Thomas sighed