The Final Twist by Jeffery Deaver (free ebooks romance novels txt) 📕

and make sure he got the right meds and monitored his behavior and he’d soon return to his animated, witty self.

One of the hardest parts of the move from the Bay Area to the Compound was the severing of social contacts. This was true for Colter and, particularly, his older brother; Dorion was just a toddler. Looking back, Shaw was sure it had been tough on Ashton and his wife too. They had both been professors and she had had the additional job of university principal investigator. Those vocations were callings that came with daily contact with colleagues, administrators, corporate executives and students. All of that vanished abruptly when he took the family to the Sierra Nevadas.

He would, however, encourage a few, select colleagues from the Bay Area to come for visits. Young Colter could recall men and women sitting in the living room in front of the huge fireplace, talking far into the night. Like all children, he paid little attention to the words but from time to time he would note the adults’ animation, and feel, rather than hear, the laughter. As a child he didn’t grasp all the nuances, but he enjoyed the animated talk about political science, law, government, American history and—Ashton’s odd hobby—advanced physics.

Though invariably as the night grew later, the restless boy would become bored and head outside to listen to owls and wolves and gaze at the radiant canopy of stars.

Sometimes he’d take short nighttime hikes.

Often, with Russell.

His brother now asked, “You think Field was part of Ash’s circle—to take on BlackBridge?”

Shaw had wondered that himself. Then, considering the matter, he said, “Doubt it. Those people’re all gone now. I’d say they were just friends, fellow professors.”

Earlier, Shaw had called Field and arranged to meet him in the privacy of his home.

But with a stipulation.

“We’d like to come in through your back door, off the alley.”

The man’s cheerful voice had said, “You must be a Shaw. You sound just like your father. He was always going on: They’re watching me.” Then he paused and laughed. “I was going to give you my address but if you know there’s an alley—I won’t even ask how you found that out—I guess you don’t need it.”

Shaw was aware of an urgency—the attack on the SP family was now a little more than twenty-four hours away. But they had to be careful and were taking a long route to Field’s house, looking out for any sign of Droon or Braxton, as well as the mysterious green Honda.

They registered no threats, and Russell turned onto the street that would take them to the professor’s home.

He found they had to divert, though. A protest was underway and the street was blocked.

Ashton had read his children plenty of fiction as bedtime approached in the Compound, but he also read them the news and history too—among those the rich history of demonstrations at the university and in the town itself. Civil rights, the Vietnam War and free speech were the main topics in the mid-sixties protests. Recently there’d been a series of violent clashes, mostly political and often involving free speech.

Shaw caught a glimpse of one of the signs.

Corporate Sellouts—No!

That seemed to be the theme of the past few days.

Russell parked the SUV on the street two blocks from Field’s house, standard procedure within his group, Shaw guessed. The huge vehicle was a sore thumb at the curb. Most of the modes of transportation here were hybrids, electric or human powered. Shaw even noted a few of the now-discontinued Smart cars.

Berkeley. Say no more.

The men proceeded into the alley. They continued along the pebbly lane for about fifty yards and then slipped through the gate in the picket fence into Field’s backyard, where they followed a gently curving, moss-dotted flagstone path to the back door. The house might have been transplanted from a small English Midlands village. Clapboard siding in brown, forest-green windows, trim and doors. The garden was more lush and meticulously tended than the garden of Eleanor Nadler—Amos Gahl’s mother.

Goateed Steven Field invited them into the kitchen, fragrant with the scents of baking. He was thin, balding and of grayish pallor—though he didn’t seem unhealthy. He probably didn’t get outside very much. He certainly had plenty to occupy him here. There must have been five thousand books neatly arranged on shelves in all the visible rooms—which didn’t include the bedrooms. Even the kitchen was filled with reading matter.

Field wore pressed gray wool slacks, a white shirt and tie and a gray cardigan sweater. Shaw had a sense that he dressed this way every day, whether he was teaching or staying home.

He was sorry they couldn’t meet his wife. She was teaching a class.

“Gertie’s a professor at Cal too.” His eyes crinkled. “Last year, I got married. A younger woman . . . One month younger!” He chuckled.

The three men sat in overstuffed chairs in the library, Field, against a dark wood-paneled wall, on which were mounted delft blue plates, pastoral scenes of Dutch farmhouses, windmills and level countryside.

Shaw and Russell opted out of any offered refreshments. Field was drinking tea from a cup that still had the bags—two of them—inside. The aroma was of herbs.

He looked them over. Now came the resemblance comment, how each brother bore some characteristics of his father, and how they differed. “I was so sorry to hear about Ash. An accident of some kind?”

“That’s right.” There was no time for details. To explain what had happened at Echo Ridge could take hours, and the clock was ticking down on SP and their family.

“Unfortunate. And Mary Dove, and Dorion?”

“They’re doing well.”

As well as can be expected while hunkering down in survival mode.

“Dorion’s married and has two girls.”

“Ah, wonderful.” He looked them over carefully. “Now what can I do you gentlemen for?”

Shaw explained that they’d found a document, an old one. “A lot of people want to get their hands on it. I remember you and Ashton would spend hours talking political science and law and government. We thought