“That we know of,” Canney said.

“Right. But he’s still not the sort I expected to run into. Maybe the cartel isn’t involved. But with the President checking into Bethesda today, whoever’s behind it must figure Vanduyne’s done their dirty work. That makes him and his kid expendable.”

“More than expendable,” Canney said. “They’re loose ends. Dicastro was probably a loose end, and look what they did to him.”

“Yeah,” Bob said, wishing Vanduyne didn’t know him. He’d love to be up there, loitering around the Maryland House himself. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

23

Poppy drove past Doc’s Pharmacy three times before she was satisfied that the streets were empty. She didn’t even know the name of the town, but, hell, it was only 11:30 and it looked like everyone was asleep.

She parked the panel truck in the shadows around the corner from the store and gathered the “tools” she’d picked up earlier from a hardware store: a flashlight, two bricks, and a baseball bat. She left the sack of spray paint cans on the floor. Twisting in the seat, she shrugged into Mac’s Orioles jacket and stuffed a brick in one pocket, the flashlight in the other. She pulled the leg she’d cut from a pair of pantyhose over her head, slipped into a pair of striped work gloves, then clutched the remaining brick in one hand and the bat in the other.

Ready.

But she couldn’t move. Her heart was racing so fast it made her whole body feel like it was vibrating. She wished she was smarter; then she might be able to figure out a better way to do this. But hey, like what could she do? You make do with what you got.

Can’t turn back now, she thought. Got to get in, get out, and back to Katie.

Poor Katie. Poppy had found her a Yoo-Hoo and crushed up a Valium in it.

The little thing was sound asleep back at the motel. She hated leaving her alone like that, but she was locked in and safe… if anywhere was safe with Mac hunting them.

Katie would wake up dopey in the morning, and Poppy would have to lie and say she’d slept through the time she was supposed to go back to her daddy, but that was okay because soon they’d arrange another time.

Right. Soon. Poppy just wouldn’t say like how soon.

At least she’d have Tegretol for her. She hoped.

Do it now, she told herself.

Leaving the car running, she jumped out and ran around to the front of Doc’s Pharmacy. Speed was everything.

She hurled the first brick at the lower half of the display window, putting everything she had behind the toss. The glass shattered, leaving a gaping hole and setting off a deafening alarm bell. She had to fight the urge to run. Instead she pulled out the second brick. The first hole was big enough to crouch through, but just her luck, the rest of that glass would fall on her as she was going through. Probably cut her head off. So she tossed the next brick higher, and that brought down most of the center of the pane. She used the bat to knock off a couple of daggerlike pieces, then leaped through the opening.

Flashlight glowing ahead of her, she jumped to the floor, ran to the back, vaulted the counter, and fond the bottle of Tegretol right where “Doc” had left it. Just to confuse things, she knocked everything she could reach off the drug shelves, then dashed back toward the window.

She hit the sidewalk running, jumped into the truck and glided away with her lights out.

She was breathing hard, sweating, shaking with fear and excitement as she kept watch ahead and behind, looking for flashing red lights.

None.

So far, so good. Just give me a couple of minutes more before— Red-and-blue flashing lights appeared way down the road ahead. She swung to the curb and ducked out of sight, trembling as she waited.

She began a mantra: He didn’t see me… he didn’t see me…

Seconds later a squad car roared by, no siren. As soon as it passed, she popped up and waited till it screeched around the corner to Doc’s. Then Poppy started moving again, lights still out, accelerating slowly so as not to attract any attention. Cruising.

Soon she was a mile, then two miles from the store. She put her headlights on.

How long had the whole thing took—from first brick to driving away? Like ninety seconds?

Paulie would of done it better, smoother, but what really mattered sat beside her on the seat: a whole stock bottle of Tegretol.

“Wasn’t pretty,” she said aloud, “but it worked.” She pounded on the dashboard and laughed. “It worked!” We’re in business, Katie, she thought as she picked up speed back to the motel. We can stay together as long as we want now.

24

“Here he comes,” Canney said.

Bob Decker looked at his watch: 1:28. He shifted in his seat to relieve the stiffness in his joints and watched Vanduyne shuffle down the ramp from the Maryland House. A different man from the one who’d trotted past them five hours ago.

“Poor bastard,” Bob said.

“Yeah. I tell you, I’m glad I wasn’t up there. Don’t know if I could stand watching him wait all those hours for a call that’s not coming. Rips your heart out.”

Bob stared at him. “Identifying with him, Gerry?”

“How can I help it? If that was me and it was Martha I was waiting to hear about…” He shook his head. “And you know what’s worse? We may be the reason he didn’t get his daughter back.”

Bob nodded. He’d already thought of that. “You think we were made?”

“Possible. Maybe whoever was returning the kid saw something and got spooked.”

“Or maybe the hit team got spooked.” Canney didn’t answer right away.

They both watched Vanduyne’s car pull out of the lot and head for 95 south.

“That’s a good thought,” Canney said. “I’ll keep telling myself that.

Over and over. Soon I may actually believe it.“ Bob knew the feeling.

For the past hour he’d been telling himself that they might have saved Vanduyne’s life tonight.

So why did he still feel like a bum?

Sunday

1

“Another hidden cost of the war on drugs has been the accelerated spread of AIDS. Because we don’t allow IV drug users to buy clean needles legally, they reuse old needles. That’s why forty-four percent of newly reported AIDS cases last year were drug related. ‘Serves ’em right,‘ some might say, but these people pass the virus on to their sexual contacts, who then spread H IV further into the heterosexual community, and on to any children resulting from these contacts. AIDS babies are the civilian casualties of the War on Drugs.”

Look at us, John thought. We’re a Hopper painting.

He imagined himself a stranger standing in the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene. Nana sat at one end of the rectangular table, half turned away from him, her eyes fixed on the TV. Meet the Press was on but he doubted she saw Tim Russert or heard a word Heather Brent was saying.

John sat at the other end, staring out at the backyard as the morning sun poured through the windows, enveloping him without warming him. Two people in the same room, connected by ties of blood and nothing else.

Bright light and estrangement. Edward Hopper would have jumped on the scene.

But that was only the surface.

In truth, he and his mother had commiserated for so long into the night, shared so much pain, that sheer emotional and physical exhaustion demanded they withdraw into themselves for a while.

Down time.

What had been the purpose of making him go to the Maryland House last night? A cruel joke? This whole nightmare had started out seeming purely political—get Tom out of the White House—but now it had taken on an almost personal tone. What had they accomplished besides torturing him?