The Dark at the End 7

Weezy guessed this was what cops called a stakeout. How did they stand it? Boredom had her ready to scream.

She was sick of watching that place on the far side of Dune Drive but they had to track anyone coming or going - especially Rasalom or the baby. Rasalom - had to remember to call him Osala when Dawn was around - wasn't due in till tonight, and she hardly expected to see the driver or the housekeeper taking the baby for a walk in a stroller. Not in this wind and cold.

Still ...

She trained Jack's Leica on the place anyway. She didn't know what these binoculars cost, but knew they were pricey. Worth it, though. She felt she knew every cedar shake on the house's siding, every shingle on its hipped roof. Even found a few that needed replacing.

After checking all the windows, she aimed the binocs at the yard. This window in the O'Donnell house offered a view of the west and south sides of the place, plus some of the bulkheaded yard along the bay. With a waterfront house, which was the front yard - water side or street side?

She tracked right to the bulkheaded lagoon that ran along the far side of the house. The cabin cruiser bobbed in the water, moored to the pilings of the small planked dock.

Farther right she came to the detached garage that sat at the end of the lagoon. Its siding and roof were identical to the house. Weezy hadn't looked, but assumed Rasalom's Mercedes rested within.

She angled her view up and left to the stormy water beyond the house. Out there among the whitecaps, maybe three miles off shore, sat Gardiner's Island - privately owned and big enough to have its own airstrip.

Lots of money out here. Some of it old, some of it new. But if Rasalom had his way, none of it would be of any use, no matter what the amount.

She lowered the glasses and stared at the gray clouds flowing over the bay. Comin' up a storm, as they said down south. Indeed it was. And that was where the nor'easter lay - to the south.

She glanced over at the bedroom's fourteen-inch TV where the Weather Channel's reporters were salivating over the storm roiling up the coast. D.C. and Baltimore were getting snowed in; Delaware, Jersey, and New York were next in line.

She hoped Jack got back before it hit too hard.

They'd left Dawn asleep in the downstairs bedroom and walked to where Weezy had parked the SUV. The short drive into Amagansett gave them a chance to talk. While they waited by the school for the jitney to show, Jack had told her about his conversation with Drexler.

"Can you trust him?" she'd asked.

Jack had shrugged. "As long as our agendas overlap, maybe. My agenda is stopping the One. Drexler's only agenda, now and forever, is Ernst Drexler. At the moment, stopping the One seems good for Drexler. He told me about the Nuckateague house, which we already knew to be true, so I think I can believe that Georges is scheduled to pick up the One at JFK tonight."

"'The One' ... I thought we were going to use his name - not around Dawn, of course, but between us."

"That's okay back at Glaeken's place, but I'd like to avoid it out here. Even if he's no longer paying attention, he might still be aware of it. I don't want him to have the vaguest hint of what I'm planning."

"But what is the plan? Dawn's going to be asking me."

"It's still forming, but I can tell you I'm going to do my damnedest to hit him before he reaches the house. He'll be much harder to take down once he's inside. Plus, making a move on him in the house could endanger the baby. I promised Dawn I'd get her baby back, and that sort of implies alive and well."

Something in his tone ...

"And if you hadn't promised?"

He looked out the side window. "Let's not go there."

It seemed to be a moot point anyway, so, okay, she wouldn't go there. But his attitude started a knot of concern in her chest.

"Where do you plan to 'hit' him?"

"On the road ... target his car."

"What about the driver?"

"What about him?"

"Are you going to 'hit' him too?"

"Not on purpose, but I intend to reduce R's car to molten slag. And if this guy Georges is in it, well..."

"That's kind of cold. He's just his driver."

He turned to her, his expression grim. "He's more than 'just his driver.' He's a member of the Order. You remember them, don't you? The ones who expended all that effort last year trying to kill you?"

She remembered. She found herself shuddering under the covers some nights with the memory.

"Touche. Just reflex, I guess. I'm new at this sort of thing."

Jack didn't seem to be listening. His eyes blazed. "He's made a choice as to whose side he's on. Serve the One, you take your lumps with the One."

He was frightening like this.

"What's happening to you?"

"What's happening?" His voice rose. "Something! We've been sitting around doing nothing. Finally something is happening. This is the end game, Weez. We've come to the point where we either win it all or lose it all. I'll get one shot at this guy. If I blow it, there'll be no second chance. So I've got to make that first shot count. No more Mister Nice Guy."

"Does that mean no niceties like worrying about collateral damage?"

He sighed and stared through the windshield at the empty school.

"I always worry about that, Weez. And I think I've got a way to do this with zero collateral damage. But the driver won't be collateral. He's part of the package."

The jitney pulled up then. He turned to her.

"Keep an extra close watch on Dawn. Do your mother-hen thing with a vengeance and keep her out of sight and away from the mansion. Gilda and Georges know her. If they spot her, even a passing glimpse, it will blow everything. Just tell her to sit tight. Because if things go according to plan, she'll have her baby tonight."

"You're so sure?"

"I'm not sure of anything. I'm not even sure she'll still want the baby once she sees it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Claws? Hair? Tentacles? Sounds like it might have a face even a mother can't love."

Something in his eyes ...

"Do you know something I don't?"

"No. Just a feeling. But we can deal with that later. If things work out, without Georges and the One around, we can sashay in, tie Gilda to a chair, and waltz out with the baby."

"And Gilda?"

"When we're well on our way, we'll call the local cops and give them her address."

"Well, at least she won't be collateral damage. But what if she were in the car?"

"Good-bye, Gilda."

A crazy thought leaped from her brain to her lips.

"And what if I were in the car?"

He stared at her. "Now you're getting stupid. You're one of the reasons I'm doing this."

And there it was. This was all personal for Jack. He wasn't acting on behalf of humanity or the Ally, he was doing it for the people he knew and loved and cared about. He didn't look beyond that circle. He didn't wish the masses any harm, but they simply weren't on his radar.

Knowing she was in that circle sparked a warm feeling that somewhat relieved the chill of his new cold-bloodedness.

He'd kissed her lightly on the cheek and ran for the bus like a commuter heading for his job in the city.

Weezy had reparked the car in the trees and walked back here to find Dawn still asleep. Poor kid was knocked out.

Weezy checked out the mansion again. Nothing moving over there. She rose and stepped back from the window to stretch her aching back. Not the most comfortable chair.

She realized what she needed to make this bearable: the Compendium of Srem.

Yeah, that would do it. Sit by the window with the Compendium on her lap, leafing through it, looking up and checking across the street, then back to the Compendium. Multitasking.

She'd kept coming across that page about the Naming Ceremony, and the more she thought about it, the more she saw it as a possible back door to weakening or even neutralizing Rasalom.

That wouldn't matter if Jack succeeded today. But if he failed ...

And best of all, the Compendium was across the hall. She'd brought it along on the Jersey trip to quiz the Lady on a few points but had never got around to it.

But first: more coffee. As she headed downstairs to refresh her cup, she peeked in on Dawn and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

Dawn gave her a little smile. "My mom used to call me that." And then the smile faded.

Weezy understood: My mom ...

She wondered at her feelings for this woman-child. In less than a year Dawn had weathered the murder of her mother, the loss of her home, months as a fugitive and virtual prisoner, pregnancy, childbirth, the abduction of her child and yet ... she was still a vulnerable teenager.

Jack teased her about Dawn, about how she became all motherly whenever she was around. She supposed it was true.

Supposed? No. Don't kid yourself. Own it: She's some sort of surrogate daughter, the child you never had, never will have.

Weezy had always assumed she'd be an inept mother. Her emotions had become untethered during her teen years and never fully grounded since; plus she saw herself as too involved in her own little world to give herself fully to a child. Now she wasn't so sure. Now she wished she'd taken the plunge, because she could have been a damn good mother. And she would have been proud to have a daughter like Dawn. Yes, she'd made some terrible mistakes, some awful decisions that had left her bruised, battered, chipped, and dented, but she still was functioning. That girl had steel in her core.

But she still needed some guidance, some mothering.

Weezy could provide that.

"How about we make some breakfast together?"

Dawn made a face. "You don't want anything I cook."

"You can't be worse than me. Come on. It'll be fun."

She glanced toward the front of the house. "Shouldn't we be watching the mansion?"

"I've been watching it all morning. Nothing shaking over there. We'll whip up something and eat it by the window. Fair enough?"

Dawn smiled. "Okay. Let's do it."

When they reached the kitchen, Weezy poured Dawn a cup of coffee.

"Hope you like it strong."

"Like a black hole."

"Meaning?"

"Milk disappears when you pour it in."

Weezy beamed at her. "Black-hole coffee. I like that."

Dawn looked around. "Where's Jack?"

"Took the jitney into the city."

"What for?"

"To gather the means to remove the obstacles between you and your baby."

Could she phrase "murder" any more obliquely than that?

"How is he going to do that?"

"He's not saying. But he is saying that if all goes according to plan you should have your baby back tonight."

Dawn fumbled her coffee cup, nearly dropping it.

"You're kidding! Tonight?"

"That's what he said."

"Does he really mean it?"

"Obviously, you don't know Jack."