of the computer terminal and race out to the center part of the library. A few quiet patrons are there, but there’s no well-dressed man with white hair and beard.
Damn!
I head outside, figuring if he’s still in the building, I have a chance of going back and finding him in there, and I slam through the door and nearly run over a young mom and her two young boys, and she yells a very well-deserved curse at me as I step out on North Main Street, frantically looking up and down the sidewalks.
Nobody.
I run to the shaded parking lot, hoping that Archie got bored and decided to return to my Jeep.
I skid up next to the Wrangler.
The interior is cluttered and filthy, but no Archie.
Damn it again!
I look around the parking lot, duck and look under the vehicles, trot over to the rear of the library. I disturb a few pigeons and that’s it.
You’ve lost him, comes the nagging voice. You’ve lost the key to freeing your family, and they’re going to die because of you.
I run back to the library.
Special Agent Rosaria Vasquez is driving as fast as she can in downtown Victoria, Texas, looking for the library. About fifteen minutes ago she got a quick and very frantic phone call from Senior Warrant Officer McCarthy.
“Nailed her,” he said. “She’s using a computer at the city library in Victoria, Texas, address is three-oh-two North Main Street.”
“Got it,” she replied, and hung up. What else was there to say?
The GPS on her Hertz vehicle is working like a charm. Up ahead is the square cement library, plopped right down in what looks to be a sparsely populated residential and light business district. Despite all that’s going on, Rosaria gets a warm feeling at seeing a public library. This one has a nice sign out front, the lined concrete looks warm and inviting—because there are books inside, no doubt—and the lawn is bright green and closely trimmed. In her troubled years growing up, it was never certain if there was going to be food in the house, or if your foster sisters would steal your stuff, or if your foster father would stare at you at bedtime, but one thing was certain: there would always be a building nearby that would take you in and would let you read as many books as you wanted, all for free.
Rosaria spends less than two minutes circling the library and then drives into its nearby parking lot.
Nearly slams on the brakes.
Black Jeep Wrangler, pulled into a space, under the shade of a tree.
Hidden from the street and backed in so someone could drive out quickly.
Rosaria slowly drives past the Jeep.
It’s empty.
She reaches for her leather bag, pulls out her SIG Sauer, lays it across her lap.
What now?
Phone the cops? ID herself as an Army CID investigator and ask for interagency assistance? Would they speedily respond or would they take their time, checking her out?
Rosaria circles around and returns to the Wrangler. She could park in front of it, prevent it from leaving.
She checks the license plates and sees they’re from Texas.
So. Stolen or legit? And if she were blocking a legit citizen, that could cause a stink, which would cause attention, and she doesn’t need attention now.
Rosaria pulls into an empty spot, steps out with her pistol at her side.
What she needs is to go into that library and find her AWOL officer.
Now.
CHAPTER 72
SLIGHTLY OUT of breath, I go up to the helpful young lady at the front desk and say, “Have you seen my grandfather?”
She looks up from her computer terminal. “Who?”
“The older man I came in with,” I say, and hold out my hand. “About this tall, white beard and hair, doesn’t talk, has on a nice suit.”
She shakes her head. “No…but I’ve been pretty busy these past few minutes. He might have slipped out without me seeing. Is everything okay?”
I look around at the tall book stacks and the doors marking study areas or small conference rooms. “No, not really,” I say. “He easily gets confused. I’m going to take a look around the stacks. If you see him, could you just try to keep him here, at your desk? Honest, he’s very gentle.”
My cooperative librarian says, “Should I call the police, ma’am?”
Hell, no, is what I think.
“Not yet,” I say, and then I walk fast into the areas near the closest bookcases.
Rosaria steps into the air-conditioned library and takes an appreciative sniff of the smell of books. Nothing like it