The Assassin's Wife Page 18

  She read more about Dillinger and how the man could spot, exploit, and extend whatever potentials a man possessed for good or evil.

  Officially while living in São Paulo he exported coffee. He had many contacts in America, and his exports to the North had made him a fortune. He was so good at making deals that sometimes politicians called on him for his expertise. Behind the high walls of aristocratic estates, people said that he brokered a nuclear deal between Russia and Venezuela, and that sometimes when he went on vacation, local politicians met sudden and violent deaths.

  Eventually, he left Brazil, or rather just disappeared. Some said he was dead, fallen to some disease. Others said that he was living on a huge estate in Argentina. They said that he owned over a hundred horses and he’d married a beautiful woman who was thirty years younger than he was. Still others thought that he’d bought a small island in the Caribbean and was hiding out there.

  In Washington D.C., there were rumors about him too. He had been betrayed by American politicians. In Washington powerful people were nervous.

  Meg remembered seeing in Eric’s files that he had once gone to São Paulo. Why did he go there? Did he know Dillinger? Had he gone to São Paulo to meet with him? The thought of Eric attending lavish parties without her filled her with anger. She slapped the file down onto the seat next to her and ignored Lomax when he asked her what was wrong.

  What did Meg expect to find if she found Dillinger?

  She dreaded meeting him.

  She dreaded the truth. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

  Maybe she didn’t care anymore.

  ***

  A jet boat entered the river at Pittsburg Landing and cruised upriver in the early morning. Most big game hunters in the canyon talked, but the five shooters in this boat said little. Clinging to their assault rifles, they watched the river unwind before them. One of them held a printout of the FBI’s #1 most wanted fugitive—Meg Coles. The shooter looked at her lovely face and pondered Marcel’s orders: “Dead, not alive.”

  CHAPTER 59

  After camping out on the shore of the river bank, Meg and John packed up and boarded the mail boat. Meg didn’t bother to disguise herself this morning. Bob Wagner questioned her change of looks but she convinced him that it wouldn’t be wise to ask any more questions. After everything that she’d been through she didn’t want to be bothered with heavy make-up and a hot wig. Not in this hell-hole. Anyway, she figured where they were going was so remote that if anyone did recognize her, she would be able to deal with them.

  At first, the going was smooth and easy and the aluminum skiff passed several cement foundations where, according to Bob Wagner, old steamers used to pick up wheat. Occasionally they passed a sand bar that Wagner said had been “inhabited at various times and even farmed by pioneers.” What was left now of these homesteads lay mostly in ruins.

  Later on, the rapids returned and Meg became unnerved by how Wagner drove too close to the rocks. Once she couldn’t control herself. She grabbed his shoulder.

  “Watch out,” Meg said.

  “Just relax. I know what the current will do. I am a master of this river.” Wagner talked loudly enough to be heard over the engine and the river. “For over forty miles, the average depth of the canyon is more than 5,500 feet. Over large areas, the river runs a mile and a half below the rim. That’s more than a third of a mile deeper than the deepest place in the Grand Canyon.”

  As Meg listened, she noticed that Wagner always ran the boat hard with constant torque. The river wound on for miles and threw up peril after peril. Sharp rocks that could rip open the hulls of boats sliced the surface of churning rapids. The river moved deeper and deeper into more and more isolated areas. Far up beyond the cliffs and at the top of steep slopes, a stair-stepped wall of basalt rim-rock, from hundreds to thousands of feet high, created battlements at and below the skyline. Looking up further, Meg saw that the rim rock itself was capped for miles by saw-toothed peaks. The tips of these mountains were so far up that Meg began to feel as if she had been sucked deep down into the marrow of the earth.

  She felt hemmed in by the canyon and didn’t want to think about its ominous geography.

  “Do you know him well?” Meg said.

  “Who?”

  “Dillinger.”

  “Oh, right.” He gave her an odd look. “I don’t talk about other men’s business.”

  “Seems like he’s afraid of the world out here.”

  “What would he have to be afraid of? Maybe the world should be afraid of him.”

  Meg stared at him. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’ll see.” Wagner eased the tiller bar to the right, causing the boat to shift left. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into, lady.”

  “Oh, I think I do.”

  Wagner sneered. “There’s a lot more to this world than meets the eye. Most people, all they can see is what’s right in front of them. They don’t realize the evil and ugliness lurking below.” Wagner bore down on the throttle.

  Up ahead, a set of rapids spilled down the gorge. A rooster tale of water shot into the air behind them. When they hit the whitewater, her sense of enclosing doom intensified. It was as if they were pounding the river in slow motion. She felt the river drawing them into a vortex of turmoil.

  CHAPTER 60

  Several hours later, the river widened, and the canyon spread out. Meg saw a sprawling meadow at the foot of rock cliffs. An orchard and behind it the metal roof of an enormous cabin sat in the meadow. The orchard covered around ten acres and was caged in by a wall of towering poplar trees. The poplars themselves were dwarfed by the steep canyon, which rose thousands of feet in the background.

  After Bob shut off the boat and Lomax secured the lines to the dock bollards, a thick silence descended upon the whole spread. The air was rich with the scent of fruit from heavy limbs holding apples, apricots, and cherries. Several rows of grapes stretched across the meadow for more than a hundred yards. Meg felt like she was in an impressionist painting that had come to life. As she walked down the well-worn path along the edge of the orchard, Meg felt pain in her calf where only days before she had been stabbed.

  Lomax caught up with her, and she felt his hand on her shoulder. He whispered to her: “Slow down. You don’t want to spook Dillinger. No telling how he’ll react.”

  “Dillinger,” Meg called out.

  There was no response although Meg thought she heard sounds of movement in the cabin.

  Meg tried again. “Mr. Dillinger. I need to talk to you. I’m Meg Coles. Tom Sikes sent me.”

  Again, no response.

  Meg stepped forward and motioned for Lomax to follow.

  Before she took another step, the sharp crack of a gunshot sent her diving to the dirt. The report came from behind some blackberry bushes only a few yards away. When Meg looked up, a tall, wrinkled, sun-tanned man stood over them, a pistol in his hand.

  Lomax reached for his own gun, but the tall stranger shook his head and grunted in a way intended to warn Lomax not to try it.

  Lomax gave up the effort.

  The stranger motioned for Meg and Lomax to stand up.

  Meg gained her feet and said, “You can put your gun down. I just came here to talk to you.”

  He did not respond. He motioned with the gun for them to move toward the cabin.

  “Don’t point that gun at me,” Meg said.

  The stranger grunted again and motioned toward the cabin with his pistol.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Meg said. “I need to talk to you. Now put down—”

  Lomax cut her off. “Better do what he says. This guy’s not playing around.”

  “Neither am I,” Meg said, staring at him. “Why don’t you say something? Haven’t you got the guts?”

  Lomax shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good id—”

  “Quiet.” She cut him off and glared at the stranger. “I have questions I need answered.”

 
; She paused for a response but got none. The man gestured vigorously toward the cabin.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Meg said. She stepped toward him, but stopped when she saw the muscles on his gun arm ripple.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” somebody behind her said.

  Meg started from the unfamiliar voice. She jerked her head around and saw a small lean man in his early sixties holding a shotgun in his hands. He wore tan pants and boots, a tan button-down shirt and a tan sun hat. He was so small that he looked like a kid holding a toy gun. Only his large experienced hands firmly planted on the shotgun showed that he meant business.

  “Russell is mute,” the gunman said, “and doesn’t hear too well either. If he feels threatened in the slightest, he will shoot you both.” The gunman used sign language to communicate something to the mute.

  “Russell,” Meg said, looking at the tall stranger. “I thought he was a man named Michael Dillinger.”

  “You thought wrong. He may be mute, but he’s also a crack shot and one of the most skillful hunters in the world. He comes from a long line of Basque sheepherders who’ve inhabited these parts for a long time.”

  Meg froze. She realized that her assumption that the man could communicate with her could have just gotten her killed.

  Meg shot her gaze back at the new man. As he came closer, Meg narrowed her eyes and for a moment thought that it was Eric walking towards her. She wiped her wet hands on her jeans. The heat in the canyon was oppressive and she felt lightheaded. This man was much smaller than Eric, but something in his face looked similar. Her imagination was obviously playing tricks on her, and she felt irritation.

  “Russell is going to search you,” he said. With his free hand, he signed something to Russell. Russell responded immediately. He patted Lomax down and removed his handgun, stuffing it under his own belt.

  “He can keep his hands off me,” Meg said.

  “He will do his job.”

  “Just let him,” Lomax said.

  Russell patted Meg down quickly.

  When he was done, Meg said, “I’m here to see Michael Dillinger.”

  The stranger nodded at Lomax. “And who is he?”

  “He’s a friend of my husband’s.”

  “I see.”

  The stranger signaled to Russell again, and the big man escorted Meg and John to the cabin. The sprawling cabin was more like a lodge. It was constructed of river rock, as were the barn and the outbuildings. Inside, elk, moose, and goat heads stared down at them. Bear and cougar pelts littered the floor. The stranger motioned for them to sit in the great room where a grouping of chairs filled the spacious area. On the floor by one chair, Meg saw a mound of books. She spotted titles by Plutarch and Machiavelli, Nietzsche and Homer. She also saw stacks of yellow pads filled with notes.

  The room was dominated by a massive fireplace big enough for a person to stand in. Meg focused her attention to the right of the fireplace. Hanging on the wall was a picture. When she saw it she could hardly move, but she forced herself to go closer. She studied the picture. Her breathing became shallow and her throat contracted. Meg immediately knew when and where the picture was taken. It was a photo of her and Eric on their wedding day. She spun around and stared at the stranger.

  “What is this?” She pointed at the photo.

  The man said nothing.

  “How did you get this picture, Mr. Dillinger?”

  “Some call me that, but please, not you. I am Michael Coles, Eric’s father.”

  She couldn’t speak. Eric had— “That’s a lie. His father died thirty years ago.”

  “Meg, I am so sorry for the deception. Eric loved you, my dear, and the deception was absolutely necessary to protect you both.”

  Meg stepped toward him and realized that the slight facial similarities she’d noticed before were no coincidence. “Another lie,” she said. “Another damn lie.” She reached out and slapped him. She slapped him on the other side of his face. Then she went in for a punch to his gut.

  Dillinger dodged her fist, and Meg found her arm twisted around her back. “Enough of that,” Dillinger said. He let her arm go and wrapped his own arms around her, holding her tight. “Just calm down.”

  Meg realized that he was not attempting to restrain her, but was hugging her. As anger flooded her brain, she stripped his arms off of her and moved away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” Dillinger said. “You’re all I have left in the world now that I’ve lost my boy.”

  Meg couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “My whole marriage was a lie. I don’t even know who I was married to for ten years. I don’t even know him. All I know is the face of a man who lied to me for ten years.” Meg’s whole body began to shake and she fought to hold back the tears. “I hate him,” she said. “I hate you—because you both robbed me of my life.” Emotions flooded through her that she could neither understand nor contain.

  Dillinger moved to her and once again put his arms around her.

  “No,” she said, struggling. “No.” But her struggling was only momentary. She wanted to be held in spite of her outrage. She put her arms around him and rolled her face on his shoulder.

  Dillinger released his hug and smiled at her warmly. “Would you like some coffee? Please sit down.”

  CHAPTER 61

  Meg sat in an over-sized chair and looked out over the valley. Through the large plate glass window she watched Lomax, Russell, and Wagner inspecting the spread.

  Dillinger walked in with a mug of coffee. “It was hard on him, you know.”

  “Hard on him? What do you think my life is like? He never had to live on the run like me.”

  “I know you’re angry over the deception. He was tormented over it because he loved you. He wanted no secrets, but that couldn’t be. Once he came to me because he was thinking about telling you everything. It would have been a great relief to him. I convinced him not to do it. It would have put you both in more danger, and Eric was well aware of that.”

  “You knew what he did for a living? How could you condone that? He told me that you were dead, that you died thirty years ago.”

  “It’s all part of the survival game. Most men in Eric’s business—”

  “Business?” Meg cut in. “You call assassination a business?”

  “In Eric’s case, it was a noble one.”

  “Noble? Really?”

  “The price of freedom. He served his country, so that people like you can have the freedom to criticize people like him.”

  “He never bothered to explain any of this to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dillinger said. “I am his father. I loved him—and I love you, too.”

  “You don’t even know me. You! I’ve never even seen you before. Eric didn’t even have a picture of you.”

  “I foiled two plots to kill you and your husband. If you’d have known the truth, you’d never have been able to wake up in the morning without wondering if you’d live till dinner. Eric spared you that.”

  “Yeah, until now. Now I get to suffer alone. He never gave me the choice.”

  “We’re family, Meg.”

  “I’m not related to you.”

  “We live in the greatest country in the world,” Dillinger said. “We have this privilege because of those who have sacrificed everything for our freedom. You have no idea how ignorant you are—”

  “I will not listen to this.”

  “The hell you won’t. I grew up in Russia. I know what it means when the police raid the churches and arrest everyone. I have seen what it’s like when the people live in constant suspicion of every neighbor. I’ve seen fear eat people alive like a disease. Life is hell for millions, and tyranny is very real. You’ve never left this country once in your life. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “They’re trying to kill me right now, Dillinger. I’m on the run for my life.”

  Dillinger nodded. “Yes, you do know. You have suffered. You have sacrificed for your country.
I am sorry I insulted you. Please forgive me. You’re angry and I understand why. You have a right to be angry. And you loved him. I know that.”

  Meg fought off the grief. “I need you to help me. I was told you could.”

  “Yes, I can. Why don’t you come with me while I feed the cows, and we’ll talk about it.”

  Meg leaned against a horse hitching rack on the side of the lodge while she waited for Dillinger. She thought about Eric and how much he had meant to her. He had taught her to love and to trust, yet his own life was filled with lies and deceit. She would never love and trust again. She looked up at the high cliffs that surrounded the lodge. Rocky outcrops clung to the steepness beneath a skyline of parapets and ramparts.

  Dillinger came outside carrying a shotgun. “Let’s go,” he said. Also lugging a shotgun, Russell followed them from a distance.

  They headed towards the barn. Several cows stood around in a pasture. When they saw Dillinger, a couple of them started walking in his direction.

  Above her, Meg saw a hawk circling for its prey.

  “I groomed Eric to be what he became,” Dillinger said. “The world needs men like him, Meg. Men who are willing to do what it takes to protect good people. I trained Eric to be the best, and he was. Unfortunately, mistakes can happen in any job. People are killed every day in the most mundane jobs. That’s all it was. A mistake on the job.”

  Meg looked straight at him. “A mistake?”

  Dillinger stopped by a corral next to the old barn. “Yes, a simple mistake. We all make them.”

  “Couldn’t you have helped him?”

  “Meg, I tried…”

  “Tried?”

  “I left...”

  Meg shoved him. “Tried what?”

  “If only I had gotten there sooner.”

  “What kind of father are you? A manipulating monster, that’s what you are.”

  Dillinger pointed at her. “Don’t you say that—ever.”

  “He deserved better.”