Chapter 42

It was less than a week later that Spook gave me the news I really hadn't wanted to hear.

Jack, two days ago a man whose passport identified him as Jose Maria Aldoro, a Spanish citizen, traveled from Madrid in Spain to Mexico City.

"Is it Estrada?" I asked.

I cannot be certain, but no such person holds a Spanish passport and the bodily characteristics of the man who presented it are roughly those of Estrada. I am sorry that the records do not permit any closer identification. However, there is more.

"What?"

The airline ticket was purchased with a credit card for which the funding may be that of an account belonging to Estrada.

"Do you know if Aldoro has crossed the border?"

If it is Estrada, I do not believe he will come to this country under that name. The identity is poorly supported, comparable to that which I procured for you at the time you went to get Lisa. My surmise is that it was intended only for this single use.

Jesus. It'd be too quick, but— "Any signs of increased surveillance here?" I asked.

No.

"All right." First I needed to alert Richard. I made the call.

"Yes, Jack," he answered immediately.

"Good morning, Richard," I said. I had to phrase it carefully, others would be hearing this call.

"An individual identified as Jose Maria Aldoro arrived in Mexico City two days ago from Spain. My information suggests that this may be an alias adopted by one Carlos Estrada, a known terrorist who I believe is of interest to you. There's a possibility that he may enter the U.S. under yet another assumed name."

"I see," he said. He, too, was careful, I was glad to hear. "In the circumstances would you care to reconsider?"

"Thank you, but no, not at this time." I told him firmly. "I'll alert you with any further information that comes my way."

He sighed. "Good luck, Jack," was all he said. Any listeners would be mildly puzzled, but no more, and I trusted him to explain it away if any questions were raised.

And now it was time to talk to Lee. This didn't just concern me, it affected her and Johnnie too, and I couldn't keep it from her any longer.

She was upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms that we'd converted to an art studio for her, largely because the light was best there. I went up and asked her to come downstairs; for this conversation I wanted Spook's participation.

This time I gave her the unexpurgated versions of both the Rome incident and Richard's after-hours visit. I told her about the new electronic precautions I'd taken. And I finished with Spook's latest alert about Estrada's possible arrival in this hemisphere.

She was silent for a long time when I'd finished. Then she walked over to put her arms around me. "You should have told me before, Jackie," she said gently. "I don't like it that you've been carrying this around all by yourself. It's not right."

"I didn't want—" I started.

"I know, to worry me," she cut me off. "But didn't you expect him to come after you?"

"No, I really didn't."

"Men like him never give up," she said. "They can't stand to lose. I know."

I gave her an odd look; how would she know?

She took a deep breath. "It was all back before I even knew you, and I've never told you, but I had a girlfriend who got involved with this guy named George. He was a little weird, and I kept telling her he wasn't any good, but she kept it up for a while until he got too weird for her, too. She broke it off with him. Or she tried to, but he wouldn't accept it. He kept calling her. And he started stalking her, following her around."

For a moment she paused. "Did she finally get rid of him?" I prompted.

"Oh, yes," she said. "She called the cops on him, and they talked to him, but there was nothing they could really do. Then she got a court order, a restraining order that he had to keep away. The day after she got it he found her in a restaurant having lunch. He walked over and sat down, and when she started to get up he pulled out a gun and pointed it at her."

"He shot her?" I was appalled.

"No, he just kept pointing it at her, under the table you know where people couldn't see, and kept talking to her, telling her she had to come back to him. Somehow or other she managed to let the waitress know what was going on, and they called nine-one-one. The police came, and he saw them and showed them his gun and, well, they had to kill him. Right there in the restaurant, they shot him dead."

"Jesus," I said.

"See, he knew, he had to know, that he wasn't ever going to get Cindy, my girlfriend, back," she explained. "She didn't love him any more, and I really don't think he loved her, either. You don't point guns at people you love and threaten to kill them. It was just that he couldn't bear losing, having her just walk away. He was ready to kill her before he'd let that happen; I think he would have if the police hadn't shot him first."

"Hell of a story," I said. "But what—"

"This man Estrada, he's like dead George," she went on. "You beat him in Rome, you got away from him. He can't accept that; of course he'd come after you. It's not the money so much for him, it's that he can't take defeat. He'd follow you through the gates of hell if he had to, he has to win."

That was the possible scenario that Spook and I had considered, but I'd thought it unlikely. To hear her say it with such certainty, and with a chilling example of such a man, gave me the shivers.