The mountaintop was what sustained him after he went into the Q and then into Capitola. He dreamed of it constantly, living there with a new Family. It was what had driven him to study appellate law and craft a solid appeal for the Croyton murders, which he believed he'd win, getting the convictions knocked down, maybe even to time served.
But last year he'd lost.
And he'd had to start thinking of escape.
Now he was free, and after doing what he needed to in Monterey he'd get to his mountain as soon as he could. When that idiot of a prison guard had let Pell into the office on Sunday he'd managed to take a look at the place on the website Visual-Earth. He wasn't exactly sure of the coordinates of his property but he'd come close enough. And been thrilled to see that the area appeared as deserted as ever, no structures for miles around--the caves invisible from the prying eye of the satellite.
Lying now in the Sea View Motel, he told Jennie about the place--in general terms, of course. It was against his nature to share too much. He didn't tell her, for instance, that she wouldn't be the only one living there, but one of a dozen he'd lure away from their homes. And he certainly couldn't tell her what he envisioned for them all, living on the mountaintop. Pell realized the mistakes he'd made in Seaside ten years ago. He was too lenient, too slow to use violence.
This time, any threats would be eliminated. Fast and ruthlessly.
Absolute control . . .
But Jennie was content--even excited--about the few facts he shared. "I mean it. I'll go wherever you are, sweetie. . . ." She took his coffee cup from his hands, set it aside. She lay back. "Make love to me, Daniel. Please?"
Make love, he noticed. Not fuck.
It was an indication that his student had graduated to another level. This, more than her body, began expanding the bubble within him.
He smoothed a strand of dyed hair off her forehead and kissed her. His hands began that familiar, yet always new, exploration.
Which was interrupted by a jarring ring. He grimaced and picked up the phone, listened to what the caller said and then held his hand over the mouthpiece. "It's housekeeping. They saw the 'Do not disturb' sign and want to know when they can make up the room."
Jennie gave a coy smile. "Tell her we need at least an hour."
"I'll tell her two. Just to be sure."
Chapter 41
The staging area for the assault was in an intersection around the corner from the Sea View Motel.
Dance still wasn't sure about the wisdom of a tactical operation here, but once the decision had been made, certain rules fell automatically into place. And one of those was that she had to take a backseat. This wasn't her expertise and there was little for her to do but be a spectator.
Albert Stemple and TJ would represent the CBI on the takedown teams, which were made up mostly of SWAT deputies from Monterey County and several Highway Patrol officers. The eight men and two women were gathered beside a nondescript truck, which held enough weapons and ammunition to put down a modest riot.
Pell was still inside the room that the woman had rented; the lights were off but a surveillance officer, on the back side of the motel, clapped a microphone on the wall and reported sounds coming from their room. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like they were having sex.
That was good news, thought Dance. A naked suspect is a vulnerable suspect.
On the phone with the manager, she asked about the rooms next to Pell's. The one to his left was empty; the guests had just left with fishing tackle, which meant they wouldn't be back until much later. Unfortunately, though, as for the room on the other side, a family appeared to be still inside.
Dance's initial reaction was to call them and tell them to get down on the floor in the back. But they wouldn't do that, of course. They'd flee, flinging open the door, the parents rushing the children outside. And Pell would know exactly what was going on. He had the instincts of a cat.
Imagining them, the others in the rooms nearby and the housekeeping staff, Kathryn Dance thought suddenly, Call it off. Do what your gut tells you. You've got the authority. Overby wouldn't like it--that would be a battle--but she could handle him. O'Neil and the MCSO would back her up.
Still, she couldn't trust her instinct at the moment. She didn't know people like Pell; Winston Kellogg did.
He happened to arrive just then, walking up to the tactical officers, shaking hands and introducing himself. He'd changed outfits yet again. But there was nothing country club about his new look. He was in black jeans, a black shirt and a thick bulletproof vest, the bandage on his neck visible.
TJ's words came back to her.
He's a bit of a straight arrow but he's not afraid to get his hands dirty. . . .
In this garb, with his attentive eyes, he reminded her even more of her late husband. Bill had spent most of his time doing routine investigations, but occasionally he'd dressed for tactical ops. She'd seen him once or twice looking like this, confidently holding an elaborate machine gun.
Dance watched Kellogg load and chamber a round in a large silver automatic pistol.
"Now that's some weapon of mass destruction," TJ said. "Schweizerische Industries Gesellschaft."