Body of Lies

  "I'm not giving the skull to Jules Hebert and his crew." She met his gaze. "I don't know how much of your story is true and how much is speculative bullshit, but I don't want to have to deal with it. I'm turning it over to the authorities."

  "You can't trust the authorities," Nathan said. "You can't trust anyone."

  "You sound like a character in a bad movie," Joe told him. "Eve, I talked to Jennings and he's promised to keep the problem absolutely confidential. But he'd like to come and see you at ten tomorrow morning."

  Eve frowned. "You told him where we were?"

  "No, I wouldn't do that without checking with you. I told him I'd call him back."

  She thought about it. "Tell him I'll see him. Then maybe Victor will be off my hands when Jennings leaves here."

  Galen smiled. "You'll be sorry to see him go."

  That was an understatement. She was always sorry when she failed to bring a subject home, and Victor had become close to an obsession with her. But she mustn't think about that now. She had fought the battle on the trip here.

  "Did you tell him that you got the information about the Cabal from me, Quinn?" Nathan asked.

  "No, I thought you'd prefer I didn't. Though he was pushing pretty hard. As you reporters term it, I quoted a confidential source."

  "Good. Because you may be making a big mistake." Nathan stood and threw down his napkin. "I'm not going to be there when you meet Jennings. I've kept my neck intact so far by not letting anyone know I'm involved. I intend to keep on doing that."

  Galen watched Nathan leave the room before he turned back to Eve. "By the way, I did some checking on Bill Nathan. He's a freelance columnist on the Times Picayune, and pretty well known for advocating various environmental reforms." He took a fax out of his pocket and tossed it to her. "The picture in the newspaper isn't great, but it's definitely him."

  She glanced at the fax. Galen was right; the photo was bad but recognizable. "Then maybe you should get off his back."

  Galen looked at her in surprise. "Why? It's so much fun."

  "I've had enough." Joe turned to Eve. "I want to talk to you."

  She stiffened.

  "Yes, you two run along." Galen stood and started stacking the dishes. "I have to get these in the dishwasher. A housekeeper's job is never done—"

  "I don't need your permission, Galen," Joe said.

  "It's that ringmaster syndrome I have," Galen started carrying the dishes into the kitchen. "And I believe you can use any help you can get."

  Joe watched the door swing closed behind him. "He's pushing it. I wonder if he knows how close I am to—" He turned and moved toward the French doors that led to the veranda. "Let's get out of here." He glanced over his shoulder. "Don't say no to me, Eve. I'm too close to exploding, thanks to that son of a bitch."

  "Galen's been very kind to me."

  "Yeah, he told me. Are you coming?"

  The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with Joe, but she wasn't going to be able to bear any more of this tension. Get it over with. She stood up. "I'm coming."

  The autumn night was cold; the breeze from the lake sent a shiver through her.

  "Even the weather's against me." Joe took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

  The jacket was warm from his body and smelled of his favorite cologne. "I don't want this."

  "And I don't want to give you an excuse to run inside and away from me." He leaned against the stone balustrade and looked out at the lake. "I like our lake better. This is too ... pretty."

  She knew what he meant. This place had none of the wildness and rough earthy beauty of the lake cottage terrain. "It doesn't look like Galen's scene either, but he said—"

  "We're not talking about Galen," he cut in. "We're talking about us and our life together. Galen doesn't belong in it."

  "Joe, this is too soon. I can't—"

  "Don't you think I know it's too soon? I was going to give you time. It was killing me, but I would have done it. Then everything blew up. You could get yourself killed. I can't not be with you now." He drew a ragged breath. "And I can't stand you flinching away from me. So we have to come to terms."

  "What kind of terms?"

  "You let me stay with you, protect you, and I won't ask anything else. I won't bother you. I won't back you into a corner. I won't remind you of how damn good we were together." He paused and then said through gritted teeth, "I'll even stand by and let you sleep with Galen if that's what you want."

  "What?"

  His gaze narrowed on her face. "You're not sleeping with Galen?"

  "Are you nuts? After all these years of knowing me, do you believe I could just jump into someone else's bed without a second thought?"

  Joe slowly let his breath out. "I'm definitely going to kill him."

  "He told you I was sleeping with him?"

  "Not exactly." He changed the subject. "Will you go along with me on this? After all this is over, I'll step out of the picture and let you go back to pondering my sins. Since you've called in Jennings, it shouldn't be that long. I just can't leave you now."

  Eve didn't answer.

  "You listen to me." He grasped her shoulders and shook her. "I deserve this. You may think I'm a bastard, but after all the years and all we've gone through together, you can't close me out. How would you feel if it were me? You care about me. You can't turn it off and on just because you think I did something unforgivable."

  "It was terrible." And standing here close to him being bombarded by his intensity and her own feelings was terrible, too. "And you're tearing me apart, dammit."

  "Answer me. How would you feel if I was the one who might get knifed in the gullet by some scum-ball?"

  A world without Joe? Pain. Agonizing loss. Emptiness.

  "You see? Now give me what I want. Be fair to me. Let me stay and help you."

  Eve was silent a moment before nodding jerkily. "Okay. But it may only make everything worse."

  "I'm prepared for that." Joe's lips twisted. "Though God knows how they could be any worse than they are." His hands moved yearningly on her shoulders before he slowly released her. "Do you know I haven't touched you in days? It hurts...." He turned on his heel. "But I'm not supposed to talk about that. It's against the damn rules." He disappeared inside the house.

  Jesus, she was going crazy. She could still feel the weight of his hands on her shoulders although they were no longer there. She was surrounded by his scent and the warmth of his jacket and the sound of his voice, and his words lingered.

  What if it was me?

  It was the one question that would have broken through any wall she could erect. She remembered how devastated she'd been when Joe had been shot a few years ago; they had grown still closer since then. Don't think about it. Try to run on automatic when you're around him. She had given in because she had recognized she was being unfair, but to dwell on Joe and their life together would be masochistic.

  She took off Joe's jacket. Cold and loneliness immediately assaulted her. It was only a coat, dammit. She carried it inside and laid it on a dining room chair. Let him get it later. She couldn't face him again right now. He had said he would stay out of her way, but just by being in the same house he disturbed her. She would go upstairs and go to bed. She glanced longingly at the scullery door as she passed it. She was too disturbed to sleep well tonight. If she had Victor to work on, it would give her both distraction and release. She could go find the skull and...

  No, she mustn't fall into that temptation. The decision had been made. Tomorrow that FBI man would be here and both the threat and the emotional upheaval would be over.

  -------------------

  "Thank you for agreeing to see me." Bart Jennings smiled at Eve. "Logan explained that your attitude toward government agencies isn't entirely cordial." He grimaced. "I have a few problems with bureaucracies myself."

  "A man of judgment," Galen murmured. "I think I like him, Eve."

  She knew what he meant. From the m
oment Jennings had appeared at the front door a short time ago, she had been impressed. Jennings was a man in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair that had an unruly cowlick. His manner was straightforward, his demeanor frank and open. "Logan told you that we didn't want Senator Melton involved in this?"

  "I've no problem with that. The senator has some pretty heavy connections in Washington, but I've seen power figures come and go in my years with the Bureau. From now on, he's out of the loop."

  "Really?" Joe's gaze narrowed on Jennings's face. "You sound very definite about that."

  "Let's say, I don't trust him. He may be a stooge, or he may be up to his neck. Either way, we need to be careful."

  "You believe this grand conspiracy theory?"

  "I can't dismiss it until I prove it's not true." Jennings paused. "I've heard scraps of information that suggest there's some substance to the story. Some of it's pretty hard to believe, but it could be damn serious if even a tenth of the things we've been told are true. You say this Etienne thought something big was happening in Boca Raton?"

  Eve nodded. "At first, he thought it might be a meeting of the Cabal, but there was no event taking place that would give the members an excuse to come. It had to be something else."

  "I need the name of your informant."

  Joe shook his head. "I told you, I promised to keep it confidential."

  "You're making my job harder." Jennings turned to Eve. "Which leads me to you. When do you expect to complete the reconstruction?"

  "Three, maybe four more days would finish it." She stiffened. "But I'm not going to finish it. That's why you're here. You're going to take him off my hands. I want out."

  He nodded sympathetically. "I understand perfectly. I'd feel the same way. And if I were you I'd want to throw the request I'm going to make back in my face. But I've got to make it anyway: Give us those four days. Finish the reconstruction."

  "The hell she will," Joe said.

  "No way," Eve said.

  "Just listen. Hebert and Melton are obviously desperate to have that skull finished, and they must have a reason. Why?"

  "Bently?"

  "But why do they need to know he's dead? And what connection does it have to whatever is going to happen in Boca Raton?" He paused. "We need to know, too. We were involved in the investigation of Bently's disappearance, and we uncovered a few intriguing little morsels of information. Bently had some hush-hush dealings with a bank in Grand Cayman right before he disappeared."

  "Money laundering?" Galen asked.

  Jennings shrugged. "Why? Bently's personal fortune was enormous. His grandfather was in oil—that was one of the reasons Bently became an environmentalist. Payback. But huge transfers were going on in that bank in Grand Cayman. It was a joint account with a Thomas Simmons, who was allowed to withdraw any amount he chose. Then the account was closed, and the money disappeared."

  "Who was Thomas Simmons?"

  "We questioned Bently's wife and business associates and came up with a blank. No one knew anything about Simmons." He paused. "But another lead surfaced that guided us down a possible path. We ran a nationwide computer search on think tanks and university personnel, and came up with a Professor Thomas Randall Simmons at Cal Tech. He took a sabbatical about the time Bently disappeared. We couldn't find any other link until we checked with Grand Cayman and got a sample of his handwriting. It was a match."

  "A con game?" Joe suggested. "Maybe you should look a little harder for the elusive Mr. Simmons. It could be that Bently found out he was being taken, and Simmons decided to get rid of him."

  "We have been looking for him, dammit," Jennings said. "We came up with zilch. But Bently was very intelligent. It would have taken someone pretty sharp to put anything over on him."

  "Then we go back to whether Bently was a crook himself. Some people never have enough money."

  Jennings shook his head. "We don't think so. Bently was an idealist and squeaky clean, but there were signs he might have been channeling his money into a secret project."

  "What project?"

  "Something he believed in enough to stake his personal fortune on it. That was the lead that sent us scurrying to every think tank in the country to find Simmons. He was up to his eyebrows in some very interesting research." He paused. "What do you know about fuel cells?"

  "Not much. It's supposed to be one of the alternatives to using oil and gas to fuel cars. Some of the auto companies have experimented extensively with the cells, but it's never gotten off the ground. Too expensive."

  "Their energy potential goes far beyond the automotive field. Everything from power plants, to homes, to space stations could be operated by fuel cells. At a fraction of the present cost and no environmental side effects. There's hardly a person on the planet that wouldn't benefit if fuel cells became a viable alternative. Scientists are very close to making it a reality. Yet most people have never heard of the technology. Don't you find that curious?"

  "What does this have to do with—" Eve stopped. "You think Bently was funding research to develop a workable fuel cell."

  Jennings nodded. "Simmons was deep in research on the cells. And we've been able to follow the money trail to a source in Detroit. Bently was being sold several key components for the development of fuel cells. He wasn't a fool. He wouldn't invest that kind of money unless he was pretty sure he was onto something."

  "Why keep it secret?" Eve asked. "If this fuel cell is going to be so beneficial, why not go to the government and persuade them to sink a billion or two into the research?"

  "Maybe he wanted a finished product, or maybe he didn't trust Congress to pass a bill that wouldn't antagonize every energy lobby in the country," Joe said.

  "Or maybe there really is a Cabal," Galen said slowly. "Maybe he knew about it and was afraid that they'd put all their power behind an effort to stop him."

  Jennings nodded. "Well, he was stopped cold. Now we need to know what happened, and why it matters to Hebert and Melton."

  She gazed at him in frustration. "And I'm supposed to stay involved in this godawful mess?"

  "Please. Four days." Jennings's expression was sober. "I'm not going to give you any bullshit about duty. Everyone has to make their own decision about that. But there's a good chance Bently was killed because he was trying to do something good for all of us. I will tell you that you could make a difference. It's important."

  "It's important for me and the people I care about to stay safe."

  "We'll give you security." He paused. "Only four days."

  "You don't have to do this, Eve," Joe said.

  "I know that." She went over to the window and stared out at the garden. "How safe are we here, Galen?"

  "Pretty safe. I made damn sure we weren't tailed. And, as I said, it will take time to locate us. And neither Quinn nor I is a slouch at this kind of business."

  She turned to Joe. "Are my mother and Jane safe?"

  "Of course. I called the department and saw to it last night. There will be squad cars cruising by the condo several times a day, and I've asked a detail of several plainclothesmen to keep them under constant surveillance. And I called your mother and told her about the surveillance and not to let Jane go anywhere alone." His gaze narrowed on her face. "That being said, I don't like where this is going."

  Neither did Eve. It was difficult enough to fight her desire to finish Victor without Jennings giving her the excuse she needed. She was torn between desperately wanting to be free and clear of all the ugliness connected with this reconstruction and bringing Victor home. She didn't want to be influenced by Jennings. She should tell him to go to hell.

  But wouldn't it still be hanging over her? As long as Victor remained unfinished, she would be nagged by both her own desire to finish it and the knowledge that Jennings or some other official might appear and try to pressure her into doing it. There was only one way to put an end to it.

  She whirled to face Jennings. "Oh, for God's sake, okay. I'll do it. But I want it o
ut of my hands the minute it's done. I want it over."

  "Agreed." Jennings smiled. "Whew. That's a relief." His tone became businesslike. "Is there anything you need? Anything we can do?"

  "Just keep my child and my mother safe. And try to be unobtrusive. I don't want them scared."

  "No problem."

  "There had better not be."

  "And I'll send agents up here from New Orleans to protect you and—"

  "No," Galen interrupted. "I allowed Quinn to tell you about my little home-away-from-home because you said it would be absolutely confidential. No one else is to know about it. Quinn and I will handle the security here."

  Jennings looked at Eve. "You trust them?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, if you change your mind, let me know." Jennings turned to go. "I'll be in touch. Thank you, Ms. Duncan."

  "Don't thank me. Just be on my doorstep the second I've finished him."

  He smiled. "Let me know and I'll be here."

  She whirled on Joe the minute the door had closed behind Jennings. "No arguments?"

  He shook his head. "I don't like it, but I know better than to argue with you once you've made up your mind. I'll have to call the department and tell them that there will be some FBI agents showing up on the scene. They're not going to be happy."

  "Shall I set up Victor and your equipment in the scullery?" Galen asked.

  "Yes. Right away. If I have to go back to this blasted reconstruction I'm going to get it done as quickly as I can."

  "Yeah, sure," Joe said. "Admit it, you've gotten a reprieve. You can't wait to get your hands on Victor again."

  He was right. She could feel a tingling in her hands and the familiar eagerness flowing through her. "That doesn't mean I won't get him done quickly."

  "I don't doubt it. You'll be working every minute of every day. But then, what's new?"

  "It's different this time."

  "It's different every time." He smiled. "Go ahead. Get to work. I'll keep the world away."

  "I don't want you to—"

  He was gone.

  Chapter Eleven