Plague Ship - Cussler Clive (полные книги .TXT) 📗
“I can’t answer that question directly, but my having possession of this video should tell you enough.”
“Why are you showing this to me? I don’t know anything about terrorism.”
“Your name came up prominently during the investigation, and evidence points to this attack being carried out by elements within the Responsivist movement.” He said it as gently as he could, and either she would believe him or she would call security and have him thrown off the lot.
Her reflection in the mirror stared at him fixedly. Kevin had built his career covering faces, not reading them. He had no idea what she was thinking. He wondered how he would react if someone told him his minister was a terrorist.
“I don’t believe you,” she said at length. “I think you created that footage to discredit Thom and Heidi.” At least she hasn’t tossed me out on my ear, Kevin thought. He asked, “Why would I do that? What possible motive would I have to fabricate those videos and travel halfway around the world to show them to you?”
“How should I know what you think?” Donna snapped.
“Please, think this through very logically. If my goal was to discredit Responsivism, wouldn’t I take this to CNN or Fox?” When she didn’t say anything, Kevin asked for her honest answer.
“Yeah, probably.”
“Since I haven’t, then my goal must be something else, right?”
“Maybe,” she conceded.
“Then why can’t I be telling the truth?”
“Responsivists don’t believe in violence. There is no way members of our group did this. It was probably a bunch of radical antiabortionists or something.”
“Miss Sky, believe me when I tell you that we have checked every known group in the world looking for those responsible. It keeps coming back to Responsivists. And I’m not talking about the rank and file.” Kevin was on a roll now and the lies kept coming. “We believe there is a splinter group that perpetrated this atrocity, and may have other such attacks in the works.
“You and I both know that some people take their faith to the extreme. That’s what we think we’re dealing with here: extremists within your organization. If you truly want to help your friends, you have to tell me everything you know.”
“Okay,” she said meekly.
They spoke for almost an hour before Gwen returned. She had several of the movie’s extras with her that needed makeup for upcoming scenes. In the end, Kevin was convinced that Donna Sky knew absolutely nothing about what the Corporation had stumbled upon. He also felt that she was a sad, lonely young woman who had become imprisoned by her own success, and that the leadership of the Responsivist movement had singled her out for recruitment for that very fact. He could only hope that someday she would find an inner source of strength that would allow her to stand on her own. He doubted it would happen, but he could hope.
“Thank you very much for talking to me,” Kevin said as he packed up his laptop.
“I don’t think I was that helpful.”
“No. You were great. Thanks.”
She was regarding her face in the mirror. She again had the allure that so captivated movie audiences.
Gone were the ravages of last night’s excess. Kevin had restored her face’s artful mix of innocence and sex appeal. The sadness in her eyes was hers alone.
CHAPTER 22
FLYING TO THE PHILIPPINES HAD TAKEN CABRILLO and Franklin Lincoln a little over fourteen hours. Getting from the capital, Manila, to Tubigon, on Bohol Island, in the center of the seven-thousand-plus-island archipelago, had taken almost as long, although the distance was a little more than three hundred miles as the crow flies. Juan knew from experience that the proverbial crow rarely flew in third world nations.
Because ground transportation couldn’t be guaranteed on Bohol, they had been forced to first fly to nearby Cebu Island and rent a sturdy, if aged, jeep and wait for the ferry to take them across the Bohol Strait. Linc had remarked that the ferry was so old, the tires slung over her rusted sides should have been white-walls. The boat had a pronounced list to starboard, despite being loaded intentionally heavy on the port side. Any thought of sleep during the crossing was nixed by the tractor trailer lashed next to their jeep loaded with pigs that suffered mal de mer even in these sheltered waters. The smell and their squeals were enough to wake the dead.
Twice during the crossing, the engines inexplicably went silent. The first time was for only a few minutes.
The second lasted nearly an hour, as crewmen under the eye of a snarling engineer tinkered with the machinery.
Worrying about surviving the trip was a welcome distraction for Cabrillo. It allowed him to stop dwelling on Max’s fate for a while. But when the engines belched to life again, his thoughts immediately returned to his friend. The irony wasn’t lost on him that Hanley’s own father had died in the Philippines defending Corregidor Island in the opening months of the Second World War.
Juan knew that Max would do whatever it took to protect both his son and the Corporation. The man had a sense of loyalty that would make a Saint Bernard proud. He could only hope that they would find the leverage needed to ensure Max’s freedom. He had no illusions about the methods Zelimir Kovac would use to extract information. And if Max couldn’t hold out, once he started talking his life was forfeit.
That thought ran like a loop of tape through Cabrillo’s mind.
As the lights of Tubigon finally resolved themselves, Juan’s satellite phone chimed. “Cabrillo.”
“Hi, Juan, it’s Linda.”
“Any word yet?”
“Nothing from Severance, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Damn. Yes, it was.”
Ten calls to the director of the Responsivists and still nothing. Juan had posed as the head of the security company supposedly hired by Max to rescue his son. He’d spoken to the receptionist enough to know she read romance novels during her lunch break. She had apologized each time he’d called, stating that Severance wasn’t available, and patched him through to voice mail. Juan had offered any reward Severance wanted for Max’s return, and when that didn’t garner a response he’d started threatening. His last call had warned Severance that if Max wasn’t released unharmed, he was going to come after his family.
It was an empty threat, thanks to Langston Overholt, but Severance didn’t know that. Nor, it seemed, did he care.
“What’s up?” Cabrillo asked.
“Kevin just finished up with Donna Sky. She doesn’t know anything.”
“Is he sure?”
“They talked for an hour,” Linda said in her pixielike voice. “She’s just an actress who belongs to a loony cult. She’s too high-profile to be directly involved with anything untoward. And, according to the celebrity scandal rags, she’s tied up shooting her new movie for at least the next four months, apparently to the chagrin of her latest paramour who’s in Australia touring with his band, which, by the way, Mark Murphy says sucks.”
“Then I’d probably like them,” Juan said, digesting this latest piece of information. “If Gil Martell didn’t say her name when he was talking to Severance after we broke into his office, then it has to be something else. Can you ask Hali to go over that tape one more time?”
“He cursed up a storm when I told him he might be wrong and then volunteered to listen to it all again.”
“Tell him he gets an extra ration of grog. Anything else?”
“Eddie’s back from Rome, and we’re getting good audio on the arms dealer’s yacht but nothing pertinent so far.”
Cabrillo had completely forgotten about that mission. “Okay. Good. Keep me posted. Linc and I are about three hours from where the Responsivists have their Philippine retreat. We’ll keep you posted.”
“Roger that, Chairman, and good hunting. Oregon out.” Juan clicked off the phone.
