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“I’ll see you soon,” I said. “This’ll be over soon.”
She hugged me tight. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered fiercely. “What if we never see you again?”
“You’ll see me again,” I said. “I promise.”
Jeff hugged me next. He tried to speak, but could not, so I spoke for both of us. “I know,” I said. “I love you, too. You’re a good man—a good son, a good husband, a good father—and I’m so proud to be your dad.”
Tyler and Walker came up, one on each side of us, and wrapped their arms around us. “I love you, Grandpa Bill,” said Walker.
“I love you, too,” I told him.
“Be careful,” said Tyler. “Remember, you promised you’d speak at my high school graduation.”
“I’ll be there,” I said. “Now go.”
And they went, through the gate and down the Jetway and up into an empty, ice-blue November sky.
“GET YOUR FAMILY TO SAFETY,” BRUBAKER HAD said, when the task force had conferred the day after Waylon’s death. “Send them away. Someplace that requires a passport; someplace he can’t get to. Make him come after you.”
It was a brilliantly simple idea. And a terrifying one.
“You’re saying I should turn myself into bait on a hook?”
“You already are bait on a hook,” Brubaker clarified. “Trouble is, there’s other bait, on other hooks. What you need to do is get the other bait out of the water. Make yourself the only bait. Irresistible bait.”
“How do I do that? Mock him?” I seemed to remember that sometimes investigators would make disparaging comments at news conferences, insulting the intelligence of serial killers, hoping to goad them into acting rashly. “Go on television and talk about what a tiny penis he’s compensating for?”
“That only works for presidential candidates,” he said, and several of the people at the conference table smiled grimly. “Satterfield’s too smart to fall for it.”
“Then what?”
“Well, let’s think about this. Bait on a hook. What kind of bait do fish go for?”
“Worms,” I said. “I should make myself wriggly and slimy?”
“Think ‘lures.’ Artificial lures. Shiny. Sparkly. The shinier you look, the more he’ll notice you. The more he’ll hate you. The more satisfaction he’ll get out of reeling you in and gutting you on the dock.”
“Wait, wait,” I said. “I thought he was the fish, not the fisherman. You’re saying the fisherman is gonna take the bait?”
“Don’t be so literal, Doc. What I mean is, the shinier you look, the more he’ll want to chew you up and shit you out. How’s that?”
“More consistent but still gross,” I said. “But let me see if I’m following you. If I were put under a big, bright spotlight—if I were hailed as the greatest thing ever to happen to UT and Knoxville and the state of Tennessee—that might make Satterfield come after me sooner?”
“Well, yeah, it might. But that’s a big if, Doc. It’s not always easy to arrange a coronation on a week’s notice.”
“Watch me,” I said.
“I’M SORRY, DR. BROCKTON, HE’S STILL TIED UP,” said the provost’s secretary, for what must have been the hundredth time. I had been back from the task force meeting for more than an hour, and for more than an hour, she’d been telling me that the provost was tied up.
“Well, go untie him,” I snapped.
“I’ve given him your messages,” she said. “All seventeen of them. I’m sure he’ll return your call—your many, many calls—at his first opportunity.”
I sighed. Clearly I was being punished. Banished to the doghouse. As far as I could tell, there was no telephone service in the doghouse, so I doubted that the provost would call me at his first opportunity, or at any opportunity. Clearly it was time to up the ante. “Tell him I’ll do it,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“Tell him I’ll do it. Accept the award in Neyland Stadium. At Homecoming. At halftime.”
“I’ll relay that message,” she said, and then, suddenly, “Oh, excuse me, Dr. Brockton, my other line is ringing. Can I put you on hold for just a moment?” Before I had a chance to ask if I had a choice, she had already done it. I remained in limbo for several minutes, and when she came back on the line, she said, nice as pie, “Dr. Brockton? The provost has just gotten out of his meeting. He can speak with you now, if you like.”
I considered saying, No, I’ve changed my mind—it really wasn’t important, but I decided she probably wouldn’t see the humor in it, so I played it straight. “Excellent. Thank you.”
“Bill,” the provost said in his warmest voice. “Sorry to be so slow getting back to you. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve been having.”
“Probably not,” I replied, matching his tone as best I could. “Listen, I’ve given a lot of thought to what you said, and I certainly don’t want to deny UT a chance to shine. I wouldn’t have won this award without all the support I’ve gotten from the university over the years, so I’d really like to be part of a big Homecoming celebration after all.” Suddenly I had another idea. A simple, brilliant idea. I tacked on three more words: “If I can.”
“Of course you can!” He paused. “What do you mean, ‘If I can’?”
“I might be away,” I said slowly, as if reluctantly deciding to reveal a secret. “On a job interview.”
He made a brief barking sound, which might have been either laughing or choking. “You can’t be serious.”
“Sounds crazy,” I said, “but the thing is, I really like working with my assistant, Miranda. So if I can’t convince her to stay here, the only thing to do is go with her. To the FBI lab. They have a supervisory position—senior scientist—that just came open, and the interview schedule is . . . challenging. It might conflict with Homecoming.”
“Have you lost your mind? You would actually consider leaving UT to follow your assistant? Christ, Bill, don’t tell me you’re sleeping with her?”
“No! God no. It’s just that she’s one of a kind. Truly . . . exceptional.”
I heard a grunt. “So that’s what you’re after—you’re still angling for an exception to the damn hiring policy. Blackmailing me so you can offer her a tenure-track job.”
“Blackmail? I would never stoop to blackmail,” I said cheerfully. “This is extortion. A far kinder, gentler tactic.”
I could practically see him glaring as he said, “And this really means that much to you.”
“It does,” I said.
After a pause and a sigh, he said, “All right. The Faculty Senate will have my hide, but I’ll do it. Oh, and Bill?” His voice lost all its prior warmth. “Don’t ask me for anything else. Ever.”
“I won’t,” I said. In my mind, I added, Especially if I’m dead. Aloud, I added, “Thank you. I can’t wait for Homecoming.” And before he could change his mind or question me more closely about my FBI job interview—an interview that existed only in my imagination—I hung up.
I PRACTICALLY LEAPED DOWN THE TWO FLIGHTS OF steps to the bone lab, and when I opened the door, I gave it such a push, it rebounded off the wall and nearly hit me in the face. “Impressive,” said Miranda, looking up from a notepad. “You must’ve eaten your spinach this morning.”
“I have good news,” I told her.
