Blood List(74)

Adams didn't say anything for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was cold and authoritarian. "Agent Goldman, my hands are tied, and so are yours. I'm ordering you to place Gene Palomini into FBI custody and transport him to the San José International Airport, where you will turn him over to Department of Homeland Security for processing. Agent Brent will assist you." Carl shook his head.

Doug didn't even try to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "I don't think that sounds like a good idea, Director. He's probably armed and dangerous."

"Of course he's armed and dangerous!" Adams hollered.

Now Doug was sure of it. Adams was born in Texas and had moved to northern Ohio when he was young, but had never fully outgrown his Southern accent. The man on the phone had emphasized the "r" in armed, and hadn't drawled the "a" like Adams would have.

"I'm not negotiating with you, Agent Goldman. Go relieve Agent Palomini of his weapons and place him under arrest."

"I don't think so, Director," Doug said. He flipped the phone closed before the man on the other end could protest. Gene sat on the bed and put his head in his hands.

Carl smirked at Doug. "That could've gone better."

Doug sat next to his boss and clapped him on the back. "I think we're in deep shit, Gene. That wasn't Director Adams."

"I suspected it," Gene said, "but your behavior confirmed it."

"Going dark, are we?" Carl asked. Doug and Gene locked eyes, leaving the agreement unspoken. "Then we've got to keep our phones off. Sam always tracks us with them. If she can, they can. You can bet they already know what cell tower's covering us, and they've got men not too far away. If we move, we're just going to help them pinpoint us."

As if on cue Carl's phone rang. He looked at it, then at Gene. "It's Adams' office." He turned it off and pulled out the batteries.

"Good idea," Gene said. They followed suit. Doug stuffed their phones in the backpack they'd bought the night before. When he looked up from the bag, Gene was looking at him. "Look, guys, you don't have to do this."

Doug rolled his eyes. Carl grinned. "Skip the crap about cutting you loose, Gene. We've got your back. What's the plan?"

Gene smiled back. "You realize we're all getting arrested, if not killed, right?"

Carl spoke. "Get to the point. What's the plan?"

"Okay, here it is. All we need to do is beat Renner to Gabrielle's, find our way off the peninsula through legions of military personnel, get across the country while evading a massive manhunt and million-dollar bounty on my head, find Sam, get her to figure out who this Shelley guy is, arrest him, and get him to confess to the whole thing, leading to the downfall of the bad guys."

Doug put his hands to his head. With eyes closed he asked, "Is that all?" A faint grin betrayed his amusement.

"Nope. We do it without using an ATM or our FBI expense accounts, and without being able to coordinate anything through Sam. And we do it before Renner, who has a head start, gets to Shelley and kills him."

Nobody said anything for a few minutes.

Finally, Carl stood, clapped his hands together, and rubbed them in anticipation. "Well, better get moving then. But first things first." He walked into the bathroom and closed the door.





Chapter 28





February 3rd, 7:00 AM PST; Paul Renner's cabin; Lake Tahoe, Nevada.



Paul pulled up to an authentic log cabin nestled deep in the woods below Lake Tahoe on the Nevada side. Towering pines cast the driveway in shadow, but the house basked in early morning sunshine. He got out, slammed the door, and walked up the porch steps. He didn't have a chance to knock.

His dad opened the door, a worried look on his face. "Hey, Steve. You look stressed."

Paul shrugged. "Not really. I've got a lot on my mind, but that's pretty normal." His dad let him in, and he walked straight to the couch and sat. He looked up at the hart mounted on the wall, admiring the structure of the giant antlers.

"You get that one yourself?" his dad asked.

"It came with the cabin," Paul said. "I think it's older than you are. They aren't even indigenous to the United States."

"Oh." His dad sat on the couch next to Paul, his hands in his lap. "You want some coffee?"

Paul shook his head again.

"Okay," his dad said. They sat in silence for a while. Finally, his dad spoke. "Been reading the paper lately?"

Paul nodded. "Yup."

"It's kind of quiet up here. I don't watch much TV. But I do run into town to get the paper now and then. So you've seen the headlines?"

Paul nodded again.

"The pictures?"