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

They disconnected.

Russell asked, “How did it go with Devereux?”

“He had an idea we’d found the tally. But he wasn’t sure. He might think Gahl hid it somewhere else. He offered to pay us a little money for it.”

“Little? Six figures?”

Silence.

“Seven?”

“More.”

“Hmm.” Russell’s go-to response. The accompanying facial expression was: easy come, easy go.

“He suggested that Braxton and Droon were going to step up to bat again.”

“Used a baseball analogy?”

“No, that was mine. He collects money. Devereux.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“No. I mean, he’s a real collector. Old coins and bills. Ancient. A hobby. Does that make him a numismatist?”

“Couldn’t tell you.” Russell walked close to the frame and examined his brother’s sketch.

It was only then that Shaw realized that it might be titled View from Echo Ridge. Which was, of course, the very spot where Colter had believed his brother had murdered Ashton. What had subconsciously motivated him to pick that scene for the drawing?

His brother studied it closely.

Would he remark on Shaw’s choice?

“You can’t see the typewriting on the other side” was all he offered. He turned away.

“They used thick paper back then.”

Shaw was about to say something but then tensed, cocking his head.

“Colt?” Russell asked.

Shaw held up a finger. He rose and stepped to the front door. He peered through the peephole.

He stepped outside, hand on his gun. He noticed a woman in a maid’s uniform, sorting towels on a cart, facing away. He returned a moment later and closed the door. “Maid.”

It was then that a brilliant white flash from outside filled the room and an instant later the staccato crack of an explosion rattled windows. Car alarms were wailing.

Both brothers drew their guns and looked out.

Two men in tactical black and ski masks had blown open the door of Russell’s SUV. Apparently the vehicle had extra reinforcement and the bang had not completely breached the vehicle. One of them was trying to pull the door open all the way.

Russell muttered, “You flank, the alley.”

Shaw nodded.

His brother didn’t bother with the subtle approach. He went for a frontal assault. He stepped out the window and balanced briefly on a ledge. He then judged angles and leapt onto the roof of the one-story building below.

Hiding his gun under his jacket, so as not to startle residents in the building and earn a 911 report, Shaw closed and locked the window his brother had just climbed through and then walked into the hallway, now empty. He was in a hurry, yes, but took the time to double-lock the door. He jogged to the stairwell that would take him to the exit in the basement.

—

On the street it was soon obvious that a firefight was not forthcoming.

The two tactical ops were gone.

Shaw joined Russell, standing beside the car and examining the damage, which was considerable. A six-inch hole had been blown in the door near the lock. It seemed like an efficient, if messy, way to enter a vehicle, but they hadn’t known about the extra steel plates. The door held.

“What happened?” Shaw asked.

“They saw me and my weapon and decided not to engage. They had a van waiting up the street.”

“BlackBridge? Or one of your customers from the Oakland operation?” Shaw was thinking of the hidden room in the safe house and his brother’s maps of the docks across the Bay—which had a decidedly tactical theme about them.

“BlackBridge or Devereux. My other project? No one is a risk anymore.”

“How’d they make us?” Shaw asked.

“I’ve got some thoughts on that.”

But he didn’t explain just now. He tilted his head, listening.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

“I’ll have to talk to the cops.” Russell was the epitome of calm.

“You have weapons inside?”

“Won’t be a problem.”

“Who’s it registered to?” The smoke was acrid, Shaw’s eyes burned. The breaching charge involved manganese or phosphorus.

“A company. Offshore. Done this before. Go back upstairs.”

Shaw nodded.

He turned and left, walking back to the front door of the residence. The back one, through which he’d exited, was self-locking. And while he could jimmy it, there was no reason to. Shaw entered the building and climbed the stairs. Survivalists tended to avoid elevators. For one thing, he recalled his father’s rule:

Never miss the opportunity to strengthen limbs in everyday life.

For another, in an elevator you’re subject to someone else’s control.

On the second floor, he walked to their unit and undid both locks.

He stepped in and closed the door behind him. He was only three or four feet inside when he glanced up to where he’d hung the Davis & Sons frame, containing the halfway decent sketch of the stark view from Echo Ridge.

The wall was now bare.

56

They’d tagged him.

That’s how Droon and Braxton had found the new safe house.

Tagging.

“Got the back of your jacket.” Russell scanned the garment with a handheld device that looked like a noncontact thermometer. The display lit up with little yellow dots.

“How?”

“Where were you when you met with Devereux?”

“The backseat of the Rolls.”

“They coated it. RFID dust.”

Radio frequency identification.

In the Compound, where there was no high-tech, the three children were not exposed to the basic internet, much less the universe of other digital esoterica. In the years since he’d been out in the real world, as a reward-seeker, Shaw had embraced much that was electronic and he’d heard of RFID dust. It was a common technique used by security and military forces—those from countries with sophisticated SIGINT—signals intelligence—operations, and sizable budgets. Radio frequency tracking systems were complicated and worked only with state-of-the-art equipment. Satellites and drones were involved.

Once tagged, you could be trailed even when you ducked out of sight and moved via underground passages. Algorithms compared geographic mapping systems to predict where you would emerge. When you did, another sensor would pick you up again, then hand off to others.

Really remarkable.

“There was a passenger in the seat before me, one of Devereux’s dates.”

“She got tagged too but there was plenty to go around.” Russell added, “He maybe brought her along so you wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“You’ll have to