Hunting the Hunter Page 5

  Come on, bro. Where are you?

  He finally turned up around four-thirty with a small parcel and a grim expression.

  “Radio Shack?” Meg read the label. “I hope it’s a Game Boy. I’ve been losing my mind in this place!”

  He opened the bag and took out a tiny metal box about the size of a credit card.

  Meg stared. “What’s that?”

  “A voice-activated tape recorder,” her brother informed her. “Listen — last night proved one thing. We are never going to capture Frank Lindenauer. The only way to catch him is to kill him, and we can’t do that because he’s the person who can prove Mom and Dad are innocent.”

  She stuck out her jaw. “You sound like you’re giving up. There’s no giving up in this.”

  “Right,” he agreed. “But we have to try something different.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like getting him to confess on tape how he framed Mom and Dad.”

  She was growing exasperated. “Why would he do that?”

  “He won’t know that he’s being recorded,” her brother explained patiently. “We’ll set up another meeting, and I’ll wear this under my shirt. I’ll talk to him, get him to admit what he did. And he will — because he thinks he’s going to kill me.”

  Meg was alarmed. “He is going to kill you!”

  Aiden nodded reluctantly. “Maybe. But even if I’m dead, you’ll still have the tape to take to the FBI.”

  In eleven years of sometimes stormy relations, Meg could not remember being so angry with her brother. Words welled up inside her — screaming words that would have drowned out the nail gun. But she had to be quiet. So she pounded on his shoulders with balled-up fists and hissed out her rage.

  “Who do you think you are? There are no suicide missions in this family! What would Mom and Dad say if they knew you were trying to buy their freedom with your life?”

  “They won’t say anything,” Aiden replied tersely, “because I’m not asking them. Listen to what happened to me today.” He told her about the near miss with the deputy sheriff.

  “So what?” she snapped. “We’ve had closer calls than that!”

  “You think so?” Aiden retorted. “We’re talking about a cop who knows where to find me, who might show up anytime and ask to see my driver’s license. And don’t forget that Holyfield guy, who has a real interest in making trouble for Mr. Turnbull. He knows about you. Do you think he’s going to let that lie? He’ll keep snooping and snooping until he finds out something we don’t want him to know. Our days here are numbered, Meg.”

  “Then we’ll move on!” she pleaded. “We’ve done it a dozen times! We’ll start over! It isn’t fun, but it’s more fun than being dead!”

  “We’re too famous to be out there,” Aiden said flatly. “You think everybody’s like Mr. Turnbull, who never reads the paper or turns on the TV? We’ll be captured, and soon. And even if we stay free, what if Hairless Frank disappears again? It’s a miracle we found him the first time. No more running. This is where we make our stand!”

  “He’ll kill you!” she repeated tearfully. “And there’s no guarantee that you’ll get the evidence we need!”

  “Remember what he said when we had him locked up?” Aiden reminded her. “‘I’m going to kill you like I should have killed your parents before the feds got them.’ He’s a talker. In the Mac Mulvey books the bad guy always spills his guts because he doesn’t think it can hurt him.”

  Meg thought her head would explode from the effort of holding back a shriek of frustration. “You don’t bet your life on Mac Mulvey!”

  “I’m betting on Dad,” Aiden said stubbornly. “The criminal mind is his life’s work — Mom’s, too. People like Hairless Frank can’t resist bragging when they think they’ve won. I know I can get him to admit he framed our parents!”

  Meg felt a new depth of despair. I should have seen it coming. He’s been winding himself tighter and tighter every day. I should have known something awful was going to happen.

  Aloud, she said, “I can’t let you do it, Aiden. You’re not thinking straight.”

  “My thinking is fine. It’s time for all this to be over. One way or another, it has to end.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” she told him. “I’d rather it went on forever than have you dead. I’d rather be in jail with you than free without you. Don’t leave me — please!”

  He hugged her, but all he would say was, “I’ll get the cows.” And out he went, leaving her trembling and emotionally exhausted.

  He was going to do it! He was actually going to do this insane thing! Her wimpy brother, who once dialed 9-1-1 because he saw a bat in their attic, was about to embark on a kamikaze mission. From his manner, she just knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  After the evening milking, when Meg was back inside her prison for the night, Aiden went to the residence to “help” Mr. Turnbull with his computer. She knew exactly what that meant. Aiden was e-mailing Hairless Frank to reestablish contact. He was putting his plan into action.

  It’s like watching a car slide off an icy road. You can see it happening, even predict its course, but you can’t change the final result.

  When he returned, she asked, “Did you send it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any answer?”

  “Not yet.”

  But there would be an answer, she knew. And it would come soon. Hairless Frank would not pass up the opportunity for an easy kill.

  Later that night, she tossed and turned on the sitting room couch, tormented by terrifying pictures: her brother, dead; her parents, devastated; herself, alone. A few feet away, Aiden slept like a baby in the single bed, serene and undisturbed. Aiden, the most fidgety sleeper in the world, sawing logs like he hadn’t a care.

  He’s made up his mind.

  The die was cast. This was definitely going to happen. No force in the universe could change it.

  She took a deep cleansing breath. Well, if I can’t stop him, at least I can do everything in my power to make sure Frank Lindenauer doesn’t kill him.

  And there was only one way to accomplish that.

  The crowing of the rooster woke Aiden at exactly 4:51 A.M. God, he hated that lousy bird! What idiot said roosters crow at sunup? This thing went off like an alarm clock when the sun was still two time zones away. Leave it to Mr. Turnbull to have an East Coast rooster disturbing people on Colorado time!

  It drove him crazy that Meg always slept through it. The fact that little aggravations never seemed to touch Meg was, in itself, a little aggravation for her brother.

  “Pssst,” he whispered. “You awake?”

  No answer.

  “Meg?”

  He knew instantly that something was wrong. The tone of the room was off. He felt — alone. He jumped out of bed and went over to the couch. No Meg. The blanket she used was neatly folded. On top of it lay a piece of paper, which read:

  I know you’re going to be mad at me, but I can’t let you throw your life away. One day you’ll see this is the best thing.

  Love,

  Meg

  P.S. If I ever had to go on the run again, I’d pick you to run with me.

  He read and reread the note, the blood pounding in his ears. She was gone! Gone! Worse, she’d run out on him just when things were coming to a head. If she had been standing there, he would have cheerfully strangled her.

  How could she do this to him? How? After all they’d been through together — the near misses, the narrow escapes, the rescues! Both he and Meg had risked their lives for each other at least a dozen times! He had run through smoke and flame to bust her out of a burning building! She had allowed herself to be hit by a pickup truck just for a ride to the hospital where she knew he was being held! How could she walk away from that kind of loyalty? How could she walk away from him? How could she walk away from Mom and Dad and their one chance to save the family?

  He stood there in the middle of the room, chest
heaving with anger and hurt. He knew exactly what she was up to. She thought he couldn’t pull this off without her, that he didn’t have the guts to go through with it alone!

  Well, she was seriously wrong about that!

  Not that he relished the idea of taking on Hairless Frank solo. But Meg wouldn’t be directly involved in that anyway. Her part was to stay hidden from the killer, and then make sure the assassin’s taped confession was delivered to the FBI. After all, there was a pretty good chance that Aiden himself would not be in any condition to make that delivery.

  I might be dead.

  A wave of dread rolled over him, washed out by an undertow of self-pity. These could be his final days — his final hours, even. How could she leave him to spend them alone?

  Oh, grow up! he told himself. These are the cards you’ve been dealt; this is the hand you play.

  It would work without Meg. Even if the worst happened and he did not survive, the police would find the recorder on his body and play the confession that would clear his parents. It wouldn’t be easy for Mom and Dad to lose their son, but at least they’d be free.

  He reread his sister’s note, and almost choked on the P.S. How could she do this? On top of everything else he had to contend with, now he had to worry about an eleven-year-old girl, out there alone in the big bad world.

  Aw, come on, Meg! Where are you?

  * * *

  The bus rolled into Denver’s central terminal at seven-thirty A.M. Out stepped a few day-trippers, a dozen commuters, and a young girl with her dark hair cut so short that she could easily have passed for a boy.

  Although it was early, she had been on the go for a very long time. She had stolen out of the hired hand’s apartment at four in the morning, taking with her nothing but the clothes on her back and a little money. Her escape had gone unnoticed by everyone except Bernard. So it was that a three-hundred-pound attack pig had received the farewell hug she hadn’t dared give her brother.

  “Go easy on Aiden,” she’d whispered, stroking the creature’s massive flank. “He’s a good guy — even if he’s gone completely nuts.”

  Next had come a four-mile walk to town along deserted roads, through suffocating darkness. Sunrise and the arrival of the bus had improved her mood a little. But the burden of what she was about to do still hung heavy on her heart.

  During this whole nightmare, stretching back to Mom and Dad’s arrest, through foster homes, juvenile detention, and these weeks on the run — in all that time, the lone bright spot had been the fact that Aiden and Meg had managed to stay together. True, they had gotten separated a few times. But in those cases, they had fought tooth and nail to be reunited.

  Now here she was, running away from him — on purpose. Every single cell in her body screamed out against what she was doing. How could she betray her brother?

  I’m not betraying him. I’m trying to save his life.

  Well, at least she knew exactly where she was going. She found a bank of pay phones and looked up the address she wanted. The fact that she was planning to go there was enough to make her laugh and cry at the same time. It was the last place on Earth she’d ever expected to visit of her own free will.

  A short taxi ride later, she found herself standing in front of the Denver office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  She stared at the doors as if they were ringed with jagged teeth. Her fugitive instincts were sharp. Police were to be avoided at all costs. FBI headquarters would be like walking into the belly of the beast.

  She stopped halfway up the walkway and looked around, searching for a reason not to go inside.

  Don’t be a baby. You’re doing the right thing.

  And then she spotted the Starbucks across the street. A parade of images marched through her mind, all of them six feet seven inches tall. Agent Emmanuel Harris. Every time she had seen the hated J. Edgar Giraffe, he had been toting an extra-large cup of coffee. Even on CNN, the man who had arrested John and Louise Falconer always seemed to have the Starbucks logo on a hot cup in his meaty hand.

  Through the tinted windows of the coffee shop, she could see a number of patrons seated at café tables. One of them was a foot taller in the saddle than all the others.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, she crossed the street and paused in front of the door.

  For Aiden, she reminded herself, and entered.

  There he was, not ten feet away, the destroyer of the Falconer family.

  He looked up and took in the sight of one of the young fugitives he had been tracking for seven thousand miles. The shock tightened his grip on the hot cup, and a geyser of coffee shot straight up through the spout, splattering the ceiling.

  He leaped to his feet and put an iron grip on her wrist.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Where’s your brother?” he demanded.

  “He’s safe,” she replied. “For now.”

  “What does that mean? Is he safe or isn’t he?”

  All at once, the tension pressed down on her, turning her legs to jelly. Abruptly, she collapsed into the chair opposite the big FBI man.

  “We need to talk.”

  “How can I help Aiden if you won’t tell me where he is?”

  Agent Harris was nearly purple in the face. The interrogation of Margaret Falconer had been going on all morning and into the afternoon. And like all his dealings with the two young fugitives, it was fruitless, and frustrating to the point of pain.

  She reclined on a swivel chair in his tiny office, her arms folded resolutely in front of her. “You expect me to rat on my own brother?”

  “Yes!” he exploded. Because of the close quarters, he was interviewing her from halfway out into the hall. “You’re here, aren’t you? You gave yourself up to protect him. But I can’t keep him safe if I can’t get to him!”

  She stuck out her jaw. “The minute I tell you where he is, you’ll arrest him.”

  “That’s what protect means,” the agent insisted. “We have to bring him in so your hairless friend can’t get at him. Listen, Margaret — ”

  “It’s Meg.”

  “All right — Meg. Aiden’s in more danger than you know. That bald assassin who’s after you — I have reason to believe he’s the man you call Frank Lindenauer!”

  “Duh,” she taunted. “We figured that out already. Now tell me something I don’t know.” She looked around scornfully. “Nice office, by the way. The size of a closet. Oh, excuse me, it is a closet.”

  Harris regarded her warily. It was obvious Meg’s arrogant toughness was an act. Under her bravado, she was terrified. And why not, after all she’d been through? But the game had clearly changed. These past weeks, the Falconer kids had moved mountains to avoid capture, in an unlikely mix of desperation and daring brilliance. For this girl to turn herself in now meant that something big must have happened.

  What that might be, Agent Harris could only guess. But his instincts told him it had something to do with the reason Meg suddenly believed her brother needed protection.

  The agent took a deep breath. “All right — you don’t have to tell me where he is. Give me a hint. Is he lost? Hurt? Sick?”

  “Yeah,” Meg snorted. “Sick in the head would be more like it.”

  Harris pounced on the clue. “He’s going to try something crazy — and you can’t stop him on your own?”

  He could actually see the girl tuning him out, her eyes glazing over as she retreated inside herself. She had come here ready to cooperate in order to save her brother — Harris was certain of that. But in the presence of the agent who had upended her world, she had shut down.

  Harris almost understood. He was the one who had sent John and Louise Falconer to prison for life. Of course, she blamed him for everything that had happened to her family. The truth was, Harris blamed himself. Every day he was becoming more convinced that John and Louise Falconer really had been framed, and that Frank Lindenauer was trying to murder Aiden and Meg t
o keep it a secret.

  It wasn’t too late to put a stop to this madness before the ultimate tragedy — the death of fifteen-year-old Aiden Falconer. But first Harris had to get through to this scared and bitter girl who had every reason to hate him.

  “Margaret — Meg — I believe you, and that’s the truth. We found a fingerprint proving that Frank Lindenauer is an alias for a man named Terence McKenzie. He’s an ex-CIA operative with terrorist ties and a big beef against the government. I think he might have misled your parents into working for HORUS. Don’t you see? Things are finally starting to work out for your family! But none of that’s going to matter if Aiden gets killed. You have to trust me!”

  “I’ll trust you when Mom and Dad go free,” she said stubbornly.

  “The system doesn’t work that way!” he pleaded. “I can’t prove anything yet. But once you and your brother are safe, I’m sure — ”

  She swiveled away from him, staring stonily into the mountains of old court documents that had once sealed her parents’ fate.

  Harris wanted to howl his vexation through the halls of FBI Denver. She would never trust him. He had caused her family too much suffering.

  He had to find another way to get her to give up her brother’s location.

  But how?

  There are no new messages in your inbox.

  Aiden stared at the sentence as if he believed he could change it through the force of his brain waves.

  No new messages. No word from Frank Lindenauer.

  It didn’t make sense. This was a man who had pursued them relentlessly across thousands of miles. A man determined to see them dead.

  Why would he stop now?

  How many hours had Aiden tossed and turned, sleepless, praying for the terrifying bald assassin to leave them alone? Well, now it was happening —

  Just when I need him to come after me!

  Aiden’s stomach churned, raw and painful. He was afraid of Hairless Frank, but he was even more afraid that the man had disappeared again, the way he had during Mom and Dad’s trial. He was the only person on earth who could prove their innocence. It would be the end of all hope for John and Louise Falconer.