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doesn’t trust me to behave when I’m out from under his calming influence. Even when he knew I was spending a few days with Imogen he couldn’t help checking up on me. I’d last spoken with Rink yesterday and he was his usual self. No concerns, just getting on with the day job. He was working on uncovering a low-key insurance swindle, nothing that would have forced him into deep cover. Unless he was purposely hiding, the CIA team sent to bring him in should have found him.
    ‘Give me your phone.’
    Brigham said, ‘I already told you; they can’t find Rington anywhere.’
    ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to be found by you.’ My words were hopeful, but a gnawing sensation in my guts said otherwise. Unbeknown to even these guys, Rink and I had secret ways to communicate. Once we’d used the relay system set in place by Walter, but since the recent shady goings-on with Arrowsake, we’d deemed it necessary to have our own structure put in place. Harvey Lucas, our friend out in Little Rock, a wizard with computers, had built our very own network that piggy-backed various communication satellites without leaving a trace. In my haste, I’d thrown my mobile phone in my pack with my clothing and it was outside in the SUV. I held out my hand for Brigham’s phone. The younger agent sought guidance from his superior, but all Hartlaub did was shrug.
    I took the phone from Brigham and walked away from them, seeking a place where I wasn’t stepping in blood. I keyed in numbers, listened, but as I feared the phone went unanswered. I pressed more buttons and left an encrypted message at a voicemail box that only Rink could access. Then, on a whim, I decided maybe the most direct route was best and called Rink’s office.
    ‘Rington Investigations,’ answered a voice with the slightest inflection of his Hispanic inheritance.
    ‘Velasquez . . . It’s Joe.’
    ‘Jesus, man, me an’ McTeer have been tryin’ to get hold of you all day. We even called your girl up in Maine, but she told us you’d already gone.’
    Velasquez and McTeer were ex-cops. Both men now worked with Rink at his private investigations business. They were hard cases, not the type to be easily ruffled. By the sounds of his voice though, something concerned Velasquez more than my apparently being incommunicado.
    ‘Do you know where Rink is?’
    ‘No, man. That’s why we’ve been trying to get you .’
    ‘He was working the insurance scam, right? Where was he headed when last you spoke to him?’
    ‘Somewhere down in the Everglades . . . Pocahontas Swamp or somewhere. Shit, man, I had a deskful myself, didn’t take much notice when he headed outa the door. I didn’t even realise he was late back until some spook-types busted into the office and asked about him.’
    ‘And he hasn’t been in touch since . . .’
    ‘We’ve been trying to get hold of him all day, too. McTeer is out driving around, scouting all the case’s locations on the chance he’ll find him. But I’m starting to think that’s not going to happen. What the fuck’s going on, Joe?’
    I considered telling him about Tubal Cain, but decided against it. I presumed Walter wanted this kept under wraps at all costs, and that was why he’d brought me in quietly like this. Still, I wasn’t prepared to put McTeer or Velasquez at risk.
    ‘The shit has hit the fan, Velasquez. This is what you’re going to do. Call McTeer in. Then shut up shop and go home. Don’t come anywhere near the office until you hear from me or Rink.’
    ‘What the fuck?’
    ‘Trust me. You don’t want to be linked to either of us, not while this is going on.’
    ‘Rink’s my boss, but he’s also my friend. If he’s in danger then—’
    ‘Listen,’ I cut him off. ‘Just do as I ask, OK? You’re both good men, and the last thing I want is for something to happen to either of you.’
    ‘We can look after ourselves.’
    Not against the thing that might be headed your way, I thought. I wanted to share my