Riptide

thinking she's there,
    perhaps believing that I'm there with her, under guard, for just
    twenty-four hours, it'll give us time to try to come up with some
    sort of strategy."
    Adam nodded and said, "If he doesn't go down in New York,
    then he'll go down here." He sighed. "Strategy is all well and good,
    Thomas, but I can't think of anything at the moment that isn't already
    being done."
    Thomas said, "I keep wondering if the agents playing our parts
    should be told that it's a former KGB agent who might come
    there. Maybe it would make them sharper."
    "No, knowing that a killer is coming is all they need," Adam
    said. "Besides, they'll know who they're dealing with quick
    enough. I believe that Krimakov will make a move real soon now.
    Maybe he'll even make a mistake." Adam looked at Becca, whose
    hands were fisted in her lap. She was too pale and he didn't like it,
    but there was nothing he could do about it.
    She said, more to herself than to either of them, "If they don't
    get him, then how do you come up with a strategy to catch a
    shadow?"
    Thirty minutes later, their driver pulled up in front of a white
    two-story colonial house, set back from the street on a gently slop

ing grass-covered yard, right in the middle of Bricker Road in the
    heart of Chevy Chase. It looked like many of its neighbors in this
    upper-middle-class neighborhood, lots of surrounding land, lots of
    oak and elm trees, and beautifully landscaped lawns.
    "Your house, sir. No one followed us."
    "Thank you, Mr. Simms. You took excellent evasive action."
    "Yes, sir."
    Thomas turned to Becca, who was staring out the car window.
    He took her hand. "I've lived here for many years. Adam probably
    told you no one knows about this house. It's a closely guarded secret
    to protect me. Given Krimakov's actions, he hasn't discovered
    this house. Don't worry. We'll be safe here." Thomas looked over
    at the oak tree just to the side of the house. He and Allison had
    planted it sixteen years before. It was now twenty feet taller than
    the house, its branches full and laden with green leaves.
    "It's lovely," Becca said. "I hope it does all end in New York. I
    don't ever want him to find out where you live. I don't want him
    to hurt this house."
    "No, I would prefer that he didn't, either," Thomas said. He
    gently took her hand to help her out of the car.
    "Mom and I always lived in an apartment or condo," she said,
    walking beside her father up the redbrick steps to the wide front
    porch. "She never wanted a house. I know there was enough
    money, but she'd always just shake her head."
    "When your mother and I were able to meet, she usually came
    here. This was her house, Becca. You'll see her touch everywhere,
    and I'm sure you'll recognize it as hers."
    His voice was low, so filled with pain, with regret, that Adam
    turned away to focus on the rosebushes that were blooming wildly
    beside the brick stairs up to the front porch. He saw two agents in a car half a block down the street. He wondered if Thomas would

tell his daughter that this house might look like just a home-sweet-home,
    but the security in and around the place was state-ofthe-art.
    "It'll be dark in about three hours," Adam said, looking up from
    his watch. "Let's make our phone calls, talk to the guys in New
    York, get the status on everything, make sure they stay alert. I have
    this gut feeling that Krimakov is going to try to get into NYU
    Hospital soon. Now -we can tell them exactly who they're up
    against. As you said,Thomas, there are always leaks. Detective Gordon,
    for example. I can see her telling everyone in sight. If he
    doesn't act in the next twenty-four hours, then he won't, because
    he'll know it's a trap."
    Adam looked down at Becca, who was staring intently at the
    house. He knew she was trying to visualize her mother there, perhaps
    standing next to her father, smiling at him, laughing. Only she
    wasn't there, had never been a part of the two of them. He said,
    "Get rid of that ridiculous hair dye, will you, Becca?"
    Thomas turned at his words. "That's right. Your hair is very
    blond, just like your mother's."
    "Mom's was more blond than mine," she said. "But all right,
    Adam, but I'll have to go to the store. Who wants to go with me?"
    "Me and about three other guys," Adam said. The look on her
    face had changed, lightened, and he was pleased.
    At seven o'clock that evening, Savich and Sherlock,Tommy the
    Pipe, and Hatch arrived at Thomas's house for pizza and