Germ

She thought back to her last conversation with Goody. He'd reminded her that their communication was not secure. He'd said he was injured. She'd warned him of the compromised SATD signal. He'd said he'd turned off the tracking device. Wait. First he had said he was in a phone booth. But why would he have said that? She'd thought he was reiterating the unsecured status of the line, but it wasn't like Goody to state the obvious. And it had come at an odd time, after she informed him of the SATD problem. He'd told her to hold on, had left her hanging for half a minute, then came back with that cryptic message about the phone booth.

That was it! It was cryptic.

I'm in a phone booth.

No. I'm in the phone booth. Okay. That phone booth.

Then he had said it again. Emphasizing the sentence's importance? Yes, but something else . . . something . . .

He had not repeated the first sentence verbatim. No I'm the second time . . .

I'm in the phone booth. In the phone booth.

He'd meant "It—the evidence—is in the phone booth, the one you will know about if I don't make it back to retrieve the evidence myself."

That had to be what Goody wanted to say. She knew how his mind worked. Everything fit. Some kind of evidence was in that phone booth, and she was going to get it—as Goody had intended her to— right now. She dashed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Atropos fumed. He stood in a thick copse outside Parker's

house and watched two cops pound on the door. The cruiser had been pulling into the drive as he came around the house after coming back up the hill, where he'd lost his quarry. He had ducked into the trees just as the headlamps swung past his position. After a long moment, they tried the knob. One cop, a woman, stepped off the tiled stoop and shined a beam around the grounds. It panned over Atropos's hiding place. He didn't budge. The other officer joined her. They surveyed the home's huge facade, whispering. Another flashlight snapped on. The two moved away from Atropos's position and rounded the far corner, sweeping their lights across windows, bushes, the yard.

Parker had reacted much more quickly than he'd expected. The man's survival instinct was calibrated high. Atropos liked that, the challenge of it.

He looked down at the pistol in his left hand and unscrewed the silencer from the gun's barrel. The sound-suppressing coils inside had absorbed too many shots already to remain effective. He dropped it on the ground, pulled another one from his jacket pocket, and attached it. Then he tucked the massive gun into a custom nylon holster under his left arm, where he hoped it would stay. Perhaps now that Parker had escaped, he still had a chance to use the gauntlet on him.

He flexed his gauntleted fist. Chick-chu, chick-chu.

He looked at his watch, then back up at the house. Parker was long gone, at least for now. But a guy like that, living in a place like this by himself—he loved his stuff. He'd be back, probably later tonight. Atropos would be waiting.

For now, he had another target to pursue. No current location, but he had some ideas, some places to check.

Moving out into the yard, he turned to make sure the police officers hadn't reconsidered their plan to circumnavigate Parker's residence. A faint glow of flashlights played against the trees on the far side of the house, growing fainter, moving away. He walked along the hedge, following the drive back to the street, where he'd stowed his rental between other cars a few blocks away.

twenty-five

"Hello?"

"This is the BellSouth automated operator. Will you accept a collect call from—"

"It's Allen! Pick up!"

"Press 1 to accept. Press 2 to deny."

"Hello?"

"Press 1 to accept. Press 2—connecting now."

"Stephen! It's Allen . . . Hello? Stephen?"

"I'm here. Just a little surprised."

"It's that kind of night. I need you to—"

"Where are you? Why'd you call collect?"

"I'm in town, but I don't have any money."

"That's a first."

"Listen—"

"Allen. Is this about Mom and Dad? Dad? Is he okay, man?"

"Dad's fine. Mom's fine. Everybody in the whole world is fine except me. Just shut up a second and listen, will you?"

"That's the Allen I know. Go ahead."

"I need you to come get me. Right away."

"You need me? Never thought I'd hear that. Are you hurt? You sound—"

"Whoa! You're moving your mouth again . . . Sorry. Look, physically, I've suffered a few lacerations, bruises, but I'm not seriously injured . . . yet."

"Yet?"

"I'll explain later. You need to come get me right now. This very minute. Pick me up at the Texaco at the corner of McCallie and Dodds. You have a running car, don't you?"

"Yes, Allen. I have managed to purchase a car and actually keep it running."

"What kind?"

"What?"

"What kind of car!"