Body of Lies

  She stood up and moved over to the window. It had started to rain; the distant swamp looked gloomy and menacing in the early dusk.

  "Did you reach Galen?"

  Eve turned to see Joe standing in the doorway. "Yes, Jane's fine." She smiled faintly. "He wanted to come and help us. He says he's good in swamps. I told him we didn't need him."

  "Thank God. In my present mood I don't think I could handle Galen's humor. As it is, I may have to drown Dufour before this is over."

  "Did you find out anything from the department about Jennings?"

  He shook his head. "Not yet. The FBI took the forensic testing away from them, but the chief is pushing hard to get all the reports as soon as they come out of the FBI labs. I asked Carol to call me as soon as the reports hit any desk in the precinct." He made a face. "And Rusk isn't at all pleased about our disappearing before his team got down to Georgia. He's raising hell."

  "Tough."

  "That's what I said." Joe paused. "I don't suppose you'd let me go alone to see Dufour's cousin?"

  "No."

  "I'm pretty good in the swamps myself. I learned a lot on assignment in Nicaragua when I was a SEAL."

  "I bet you did. And you can't wait to use it."

  "No." He held her gaze with a searing intensity that caused her eyes to widen with shock. "You're not the only one who's mad as hell. I almost lost you. He's got to pay."

  Jesus.

  She finally managed to tear her gaze away. "I'm going."

  "Just thought I'd try." He turned away. "I'll see you in the morning. I've got the room next door. If you need me, call."

  Eve stood staring at the door that had closed behind Joe before finally forcing herself to turn back to the window.

  If you need me, call.

  Her hand clenched on the drape. She did not need him.

  But, God, she wanted him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  1:10 p.m. October 26

  "HOW CLOSE ARE WE?" EVE ASKED. "IT SEEMS AS IF we've been in this boat for days."

  "Only four hours." Dufour maneuvered the motorboat around a huge mangrove branch jutting out of the water. "These bayous wind around like eels. You're lucky you have me to guide you." He darted a glance at Joe. "Maybe you pay me more money to take you back."

  Joe didn't look at him. "You're pushing it." "It's a terrible thing to be lost in the swamp." "I'm not lost." Joe's gaze shifted to Dufour's face. "I memorized every turn you've taken from the time we left the dock. Do you want me to repeat them back to you?"

  Dufour blinked, disconcerted. "No." He quickly looked back at the muddy water ahead. "Can't you take a joke? A deal is a deal."

  Joe smiled without mirth. "That's my philosophy."

  Eve didn't doubt that Joe had told the truth about knowing where they were, but she didn't see how. The weather was chilly and damp, and ever since they had left the dock, it had been like being in an alien world. Scraggly cypress trees formed a dark canopy over the narrow, muddy waterway. Brown-black snakes occasionally glided by the boat, and skeletal trees clung with desperation to the bottom of the bayou, fighting for life in this hostile environment. And the vegetation was not the only thing fighting for life.

  "What are those shacks on those little islands? Do people actually live there?" Eve asked.

  "My cousin, Jean, would not be pleased to hear you call his home a shack. His place is very like those houses. Though most of the places we've passed are used primarily as camps by hunters and fishermen," Dufour said. "But as you go deeper you find Cajuns who live as well as hunt in the swamps and marshes. I told you the people were poor here; they don't have the guts to get out and earn real money like I do. So they're lucky to have a roof over their head."

  "Sometimes overcoming poverty isn't a matter of guts."

  He shrugged. "Guts or stupidity."

  "Why are the houses built on stilts? The ground comes up to the front door."

  "That's not the ground, it's mud. This area is close to the ocean and, when the tide comes in, it brings the mud with it. When the tide goes out, the houses would sink below the water if they weren't on pilings."

  "What a precarious way to live," Eve murmured. Precarious and sad. "How deep is that mud?"

  "Sometimes five or six feet." Dufour grinned. "Not good if you're a sleepwalker. You drop off the porch and you have a mouthful of slime." He pointed to a shack several yards ahead. "That's Jean's place."

  It was another small cypress shack, built on stilts and linked to the bayou by a narrow pier. A woman came out onto the porch and stood staring unsmilingly at them. She was small, thin, and very pregnant. Two small boys garbed only in dirty T-shirts and underpants were clinging to her skirts.

  "Don't stand there gawping at us, Marguerite," Dufour said as he guided the boat close to the makeshift pier. "Tell Jean he has guests."

  "We don't want the kind of guests you bring us. We've no use for tourists." She glanced at Eve. "If you want to see how we Cajuns live, then go somewhere else. Leave us alone."

  "Such rudeness." Dufour clucked reprovingly. "I'll have to tell Jean to beat you more often." He tied the boat and jumped out on the pier. "Is he here?"

  She nodded. "He won't want to see you."

  "Yes, he will. There's money to be had." He glanced at the woman's swollen belly. "And you can obviously use money right now. Two children under five years and another mouth to feed on the way?"

  She hesitated, then turned on her heel. "Bring them."

  "Stay here, Eve." Joe jumped out of the boat and strode toward the shack. "I'll just take a little look around."

  Eve stiffened as he disappeared into the house. Joe was obviously in protective mode. The hell she'd stay here.

  She scrambled out of the boat, but was only halfway up the wooden dock when Joe came to the door and waved for her to come in. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  They were safe.

  For now.

  -------------------

  "I might know of such a place," Jean Pierdu said slowly. "How much?"

  "Five hundred to take us there," Joe said. "And another five hundred if you can tell us anything that might be of interest to us about it."

  Jean gazed at him impassively. "I know nothing about shells."

  "What do you know about graves?" Eve asked.

  His expression didn't change. "We keep to ourselves here."

  "But that doesn't mean you don't know exactly what's going on," Dufour said. "I heard rumors there were outsiders here a few years ago. We don't care about outsiders, Jean. Why not get a little money for yourself?"

  "We need it, Jean," Marguerite said quietly. "He's right, why should we care about outsiders?"

  "Don't interfere, Marguerite." Jean was silent a moment, and then slowly nodded. "A thousand."

  "I can tell you and Dufour are related," Joe said dryly. "Seven hundred."

  "Give him the thousand, Joe." Eve's gaze was fixed on Marguerite and the two children.

  Joe smiled faintly. "Okay." He turned back to Jean. "Where is it?"

  "The money."

  Joe reached for his wallet and counted out the cash. "Satisfied?"

  Jean nodded and stuffed the money in his pocket. "There are two islands about four miles from here. They're in a little natural pocket of the swamp, and they caught the bulk of the shells when the floods came. That might be what you're looking for."

  "They're little mud islands like this one?" Eve asked.

  Jean nodded. "I've lived here all my life and I've never run across anywhere else that had that many shells."

  "Are the islands close together?"

  "Yes." He paused. "But you'll only be interested in the second one. There's nothing on the other."

  Joe stiffened. "And what's on the second one?"

  "You won't find your grave. It's not there anymore."

  "But it was there?"

  "Get more money," Marguerite said.

  Jean gave her an annoyed glance. "I was going to do that."

/>   Joe peeled off another five hundred. "Was there a grave?"

  Jean nodded. "Two. Not marked. But they were there. I saw Etienne digging them. He was having a hard time. He said he had to anchor the bodies to the pilings because he didn't want to chance the bodies being washed out and found."

  "Etienne Hebert? You knew him?"

  Jean nodded again. "He came about the time the other two came. But he wasn't like them. He was Cajun like us."

  "What other two? When?"

  "About two years ago. Two men came and hired some of us to build them a house on the island and then forget they were there." He shrugged. "The money was good. Why should we care what they were doing? As long as they didn't sell their drugs to our children, they could make all the powders they wanted. It wasn't our business."

  "You thought they were into drugs?"

  "We knew they were. Etienne told us. He would come and bring a bottle of wine and sit in that very chair and tell us about all the supplies that he brought down the bayou from Houma to the island."

  "He was a nice man," Marguerite said. "You're not going to get him into trouble? He wasn't to blame."

  "No, I promise Etienne won't get into trouble," Eve said.

  "He always said that those crazy men would blow themselves up with all those chemicals they had him bring," Marguerite said. "He was sad. I think he liked them."

  "And what happened to them?"

  "What Etienne said would happen. One night there was a big explosion. When we went to see what happened, we found Etienne digging two graves. He told us to go away and forget what had happened. He said the police mustn't know, or they would think we were all criminals, too."

  "And that's what you did?"

  "We're not fools. The police think we're scum. Etienne was right."

  "And what were the two men's names?" Joe asked.

  "What do you think?" Jean's tone dripped sarcasm. "Smith and Jones. Do you think they'd give us their real names?"

  "How long were they on the island before the explosion?" Eve asked.

  "Four months, maybe. They came to us two months before that, but we wasted a little time because we started building on the first island. Then they decided it would be better to go a little deeper into the swamp, and we had to start again on the second."

  "How far apart are they?"

  "About a mile. But a mile can make a big difference in the swamp."

  "You said you knew the grave wasn't there anymore. How do you know that?"

  "Etienne came back. He told us that the police were asking questions and he had to get rid of the skeletons." Jean grimaced. "Trust the police to worry about dirt like that and try to cause us trouble. It wasn't our fault they blew themselves up."

  "What do you know about Etienne's brother?"

  Jean frowned. "He has a brother?"

  "He didn't talk about him?"

  Jean shook his head.

  "That's enough," Dufour said. "Don't tell them anything else unless they give you more money, Jean." He smiled. "And a little bonus for me for bringing them to you."

  "You've probably squeezed enough out of them without dipping into my pockets," Jean said. "And I'll need all my money if me and my family have to disappear for a while."

  "Why do you have to do that?"

  "You think I trust you or these people?" He looked at Joe. "We did nothing. We're not responsible for how those crackheads died. They did it to themselves."

  "We're not blaming you," Eve said. "You don't have to run away."

  Jean ignored her. "Pack up, Marguerite."

  "We need you to take us to this island," Joe said.

  "Why? I told you, there's nothing there."

  "There may be more than you think."

  Jean gave an exasperated exclamation. "Waste of time." He stood up and headed for the door. "You want to see the place? You have a guide. I'm through with this." He motioned to Dufour. "Come on, Jacques. I'll walk you to the boat and tell you where it is."

  Joe moved after them. "I think I'll tag along and listen in. I want to make sure we're heading in the right direction."

  Eve was about to follow Joe out of the house, but stopped beside Marguerite, who was pulling out clothes from a scratched, shabby pine bureau. "Where will you go?"

  "That's none of your business."

  "We really mean you no harm."

  "Go away."

  Eve started for the door.

  "Wait." Marguerite was silent a moment. "We'll be all right. We'll go stay with friends for awhile until we're sure it's safe to come back. No one can find us in this swamp unless we want to be found."

  "If you knew you'd have to run away like this, why did you take the money?"

  Marguerite looked at her in wonder. "We needed it. It may not seem like a lot to you, but that much money will keep my children fed for months." She pulled out a faded duffel bag from beneath the bed. "It's worth the risk."

  "Eve," Joe called from outside.

  "Coming."

  Joe's gaze raked her face as she came down the pier. "Did you convince her that we don't mean to toss her family in jail?"

  "No, she wouldn't believe me. But she said the money was worth the risk. Those two little boys ... I wonder if they get enough to eat. Poverty sucks, Joe."

  Joe nodded, his gaze on Jean. "That's not all it does."

  She went still. "What do you mean?"

  "It was a little too easy. It should have been harder to dig that information out of him."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "And it was a little odd that they didn't know Etienne had a brother. From what we've heard, Etienne wasn't the most discreet person in the world."

  He smiled. "I thought you were so concerned about those two little kids that you weren't paying attention."

  "I'm sympathetic, not blind. You think Hebert got to Jean and set up a trap?"

  "It's possible."

  "Then his story is all a lie?"

  "Not necessarily. The best lies are always the ones founded on truth." He gazed thoughtfully out at the bayou. "Etienne probably did spin them a tale about a drug lab, and Jean and his neighbors did turn a blind eye. That doesn't mean that Jules Hebert didn't pop in last night and offer them enough money to make our bribe seem piddling."

  A chill went through her. "Then he'll be waiting at the island."

  "That's my guess."

  She drew a deep breath. "Good. Now how do we find a—"

  "Later." He turned and helped her into the boat. "Leave it to me."

  Like she'd left it to him when he'd dumped her by the road outside New Orleans?

  No way.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Here's the first island." Dufour pointed to the mound of mud looming ahead. "The one that your drug-dealing friends were afraid was too out in the open and decided to abandon. My cousin didn't get much done on it, did he?" A narrow pier weathered by water and time led to an equally weathered platform that must have been meant to be the foundation of the research facility. "According to Jean, the next island should be the one where you'll find your grave." He grinned. "Or lack of one. You sure you want to go on?"

  "We want to go on," Joe said. "But pull over to this island first. I want to make sure cousin Jean wasn't lying about the shell content."

  Eve looked at him in surprise.

  Dufour shrugged. "Why not wait until you get to the right island?"

  "Pull over."

  Dufour hesitated and then guided the boat close to the pier. "You're wasting time."

  "It's our time, and you've been well paid for it."

  Joe jumped out of the boat before helping Eve. "We'll be back in a minute, Dufour."

  "What the hell are you doing?" Eve asked in a low voice as she followed him onto the platform.

  "I saw Dufour press a button on his cell phone right before we turned the last bend in the bayou. It was probably a signal to Hebert. I'd bet he's waiting for us up ahead."

  "And why are we here?"

  "I'm getting rid o
f an encumbrance." Joe stood gazing out at the bayou. "You."

  Eve stiffened. "Encumbrance?"

  "You don't like the word. But I'm not going to be polite. You'll be in my way. You're staying here."

  "The hell I am. You pushed me out of that car in New Orleans. You're not going to do it again."

  "Yes, I am." He turned to face her and a ripple of shock went through her. His expression was colder and harder than she had ever seen it. "I'm not going to let either one of us die because you don't want to be left out. This is my job, not yours. I don't interfere when you're doing the work on your skulls. Don't interfere with me now."

  "I'm just supposed to let you go out and maybe get yourself killed?"

  "I'd be more likely to be killed if I had to worry about you getting in my way. That's not going to happen."

  "And how are you going to stop me from going with you?"

  "I'll put you down for a little nap if I have to. Don't make me do it, Eve."

  And he would do it. She could see it in his expression. Joe had been heading in this direction since they had entered the swamp. The subdued excitement she had sensed had now broken free. Eve had never seen him more alive ... or more dangerous. He was the hunter, the stalker, the warrior. "You can't wait to dive in and go after him."

  He nodded. "I'm not like you. You want Hebert to be taken out because he's a danger, because it's necessary."

  "And you're happy as hell to get the opportunity."

  "You're learning a lot about me that you didn't know before." He smiled crookedly. "For instance, I never told you why I left the SEALs. You didn't want to know about that part of my life. It was too violent for you."

  "Why did you leave the SEALs?"

  "Because I liked it too much," he said simply. "And I was getting too close to the line no one should cross, I was a killing machine."

  "That's not true. That's not you."

  "It was me. It could be me again. It could be me now."

  "No way. You couldn't—"

  "Hey, Quinn," Dufour shouted from the boat. "Are you going to be all day?"

  "He's getting impatient." Joe smiled. "Or maybe Hebert is impatient. We mustn't keep him waiting." He reached in his jacket pocket and handed her his gun. "Just in case."