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  The Face-Changers

  ( Jane Whitefield - 4 )

  Thomas Perry

  Jane Whitefield, legendary half-Indian shadow guide who spirits hunted people away from certain death, has never had a client like Dr. Richard Dahlman. A famous plastic surgeon who has dedicated his life to healing, the good doctor hasn't a clue why stalkers are out for his blood. But he knows Jane Whitefield's name--and that she is his only hope. Once again Jane performs her magic, leading Dahlman in a nightmare flight across America, only a heartbeat ahead of pursuers whose leader is a dead ringer for Jane: a raven-haired beauty who has stolen her name, reputation, and techniques--not to save lives, but to destroy them. . . .

  From the Paperback edition.

  “HEART-STOPPING SUSPENSE.”

  —Library Journal

  “Thomas Perry has created a fascinating heroine in Jane Whitefield, who is not only quick on her feet but savvy and compassionate.… The Face-Changers is a lot of fun, and if you ever want to escape the mundane for a while you couldn’t do better than have Jane Whitefield as your guide.”

  —Orlando Sentinel

  “This fourth Jane Whitefield novel could serve as a textbook on how to construct an elaborate plot that, like a Swiss watch, never lets its complex underpinnings overshadow its elegant appearance.… Details count for all in Jane’s world, where everything and everyone is potentially threatening; her ability to instantaneously recognize danger in mundane events is what keeps her alive and what gives this series its special cachet—as if Sherlock Holmes had to do his thinking on the fly rather than sitting comfortably in front of a fire. Like Ridley Pearson’s thrillers, the Whitefield novels bring plotting and suspense to center stage without sacrificing character. That is no small achievement, the equivalent of a great architect also excelling at portraiture.”

  —Booklist (starred and boxed review)

  “Layer upon layer of deception and intrigue … Smooth action writing and a remarkable mastery of escape techniques—one would hate to be a debt collector in search of the author.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  By Thomas Perry:

  THE BUTCHER’S BOY

  METZGER’S DOG

  BIG FISH

  ISLAND

  SLEEPING DOGS*

  VANISHING ACT*

  DANCE FOR THE DEAD*

  SHADOW WOMAN*

  THE FACE-CHANGERS*

  BLOOD MONEY*

  DEATH BENEFITS*

  PURSUIT*

  DEAD AIM*

  NIGHTLIFE*

  SILENCE

  FIDELITY

  * Published by Ballantine Books

  Copyright © 1998 by Thomas Perry

  All rights reserved.

  For Jo, Alix, and Isabel

  If anyone dreamed he was a Falseface, it was only necessary to signify his dream to the proper person, and give a feast, to be at once initiated; and so any one dreaming that he had ceased to be a False face, had but to make known his dream and give a similar entertainment to effect his exodus. In no other way could a membership be acquired or surrendered. Upon all occasions on which the members appeared in character they wore False-faces … the masks being diversified in color, style and configuration, but all agreeing in their equally hideous appearance. The members were all males save one, who was a female and the Mistress of the Band. She was called Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-nas-tase-ta, or keeper of the Falsefaces; and not only had charge of the regalia of the band, but was the only organ of communication with the members, for their names continued unknown.

  The prime motive in the establishment of this organization was to propitiate those demons called Falsefaces, and among other good results to arrest pestilence and disease.

  Report on the Fabrics, Inventions, Implements and Utensils of the Iroquois, Made to the Regents of the University, January 22, 1851 by Lewis H. Morgan (reprinted in Elisabeth Tooker, Lewis H. Morgan on Iroquois Material Culture, 1994)

  1

  Janet McAffee stepped out of the Baltimore Medical Center and winced as the icy air coming off the Inner Harbor lacerated her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes began to water as she lowered her head and searched for the taxi cab. At one time she would have called the sensation pain, but that was before she had learned what pain was. The chemical peel had only left her skin feeling tender and exposed, the way a sore tooth would feel if she drank iced tea.

  The part of the makeover that had taken her by surprise was the liposuction. That had been the only part of the process that she had been secretly looking forward to, because it seemed like cheating away all the days she had convinced herself she was too busy to exercise and too hungry to turn down dessert. But the liposuction had cost her a week of hot, fiery misery before she had felt like moving again. Because they had sucked most of the fat from the places that a person rested on, stillness had not offered much relief. The doctors never told you that. Instead they drew lines on a photograph of your face to show you how clever the cut-and-stitch surgery was going to be. The mild discomfort from that was already half-forgotten and the scars were almost invisible.

  She spotted the taxi cab parked beside the curb just outside the parking barrier, where the driver had stopped so he wouldn’t have to pull a ticket from the machine to come into the lot. She resolved to be more specific next time she ordered a cab. She squared her shoulders and prepared to step away from the shelter of the big medical building into the wind. She felt a hand touch her elbow and shrank from it, tightening her muscles to clamp her arm to her side.

  Janet whirled. A tall, thin woman with long black hair was standing beside her, looking into her eyes. The woman seemed to note her startled reaction, but it seemed neither to surprise nor particularly worry her. She said quietly, “Go back into the building and wait for me just inside the door.”

  “But that’s my cab. I was just on my way—”

  The woman interrupted. “Didn’t they tell you I would come for you? It’s time.” Her eyes betrayed a small glint of amusement as she watched Janet’s face.

  Janet sensed a sudden weakness in her arms and legs. They felt heavy, but somehow empty, as though there were no bones. “All right,” she said.

  She stepped back in and watched through the glass door as the new woman walked up to the driver, said something to him, gave him some money, and stepped back to watch him wheel out and drive away. She turned and walked across the driveway and through the door, then kept going past Janet without looking at her. After five paces, she stopped, turned, and said, “This is it. If you’re coming, come now.”

  Janet nodded and took a step. She could not help wondering if this single step was one of those enormous ones, like a step off the railing of a ship, but then she reminded herself that this wasn’t like that at all. She had taken that step months ago, on the night when she had decided to make the telephone call. She had been busy preparing for this day for a long time—first quietly moving out of the condominium into the small apartment where everything was unlisted and nobody but the police knew she lived there, then enduring the makeover. This was only the next step, not the first.

  She followed the tall, dark woman down the hallway and out the front door, then to a small green car that looked a lot like the one that Janet had owned until—No, she didn’t want to follow her memory backward. This was a new beginning.

  Janet got into the passenger seat and closed the door just as it began to move. The woman accelerated away from the curb and into traffic, then moved quickly into the next lane, then turned, turned again, and headed east. She was not exactly a reckless driver, but she was aggressive and sure, and those were qualities that made Janet uneasy.

  Janet said, “I didn’t think you would come for me here.”

  “That
’s why I did,” said the dark woman. Then she seemed to change, as though she had thought about it and decided that there was no practical reason not to be friendly. “Everyone who has been wondering if you might try to disappear assumes that you’ll do it in certain ways. What they’re waiting for is to see you some night slinking out of your condo carrying a suitcase. Nobody disappears from a doctor’s office.” She glanced at Janet. “How did it go, by the way?”

  Janet shrugged. “He says I’m doing great. I’m not supposed to see him again for six months.”

  “He did a wonderful job on you. Big improvement.”

  “Thank you,” she said mechanically. It was a shock that this woman, who seemed so strange, would say something as normal and human as an empty compliment. “How do you know? We’ve never met before.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of pictures of you.” She made another turn. “What have other people said? Has anyone who knew you before the surgery seen you since?”

  Janet shook her head. “I’m a little low on the invitation list lately, and I didn’t go out at all while my face still made people stare. The doctors and nurses are the only ones. And cab drivers.”

  The woman swung into a covered parking ramp, went up two levels, then stopped in an empty space and turned off the engine.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “I need to give you some things.” She reached into her purse and produced a ticket in an airline envelope. “Your flight leaves in two hours.”

  “Where am I going?” She pulled aside the corner of the envelope and read the ticket. “Chicago?”

  “You’ll be there for a while, but it’s just a stop on the way. It will keep you out of sight until your plastic surgery is completely healed. You should show up at your final destination looking like a finished product—face, body, hair, wardrobe, credentials.”

  She handed Janet a small wallet that was stiff with cards. “Here’s your ID.”

  Janet looked at the MasterCard on top. “Mary Anders. Is that going to be my name?”

  “Just for this trip. You’ll need to flash identification to get on the plane. If something goes wrong or you’re stalled, you can’t even get a room without a credit card. Use those.”

  Janet looked at the driver’s license. The picture was the one she’d taken in a photo booth a week ago, but it had been touched up. It looked to her as though someone had scanned it into a computer and adjusted the color and texture to hide the surgery. She gazed at the picture. It was a young, pretty woman, but it was still her face. Maybe she would look like that after everything healed, and it made her hopeful again. She put the wallet in her purse with the ticket.

  “Now let’s have yours.”

  “Mine? What?”

  “Your license, credit cards, and so on. Whatever you have with Janet McAffee written on it has to go.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said. It had not occurred to her that she would have to lose things that took so little space. But of course she did. The dark woman watched impatiently while she took out her wallet, removed her driver’s license, stared at it for a second as though she were saying good-bye to it, and set it down on the seat beside her.

  “You’d better give me the whole thing. There’s nothing in there that you’re going to need.”

  “But what about later?”

  The dark woman looked at her sympathetically and patted her arm. “I wish we had more time together right now, before you get on that plane, so I could help you through the hard parts. I really do. This has all been done before, and there’s a right way. We don’t know how long it’s going to take for things in Baltimore to improve. It might be that those men will get caught trying to put a bomb in your condo tonight, or try to hire an outside killer who is really an undercover cop. Stranger things have happened. But you have to be prepared to wait a long time, and that means doing everything as though it were for keeps. It’s not that much harder.” She took the wallet and put it into her own purse. “Now for your traveling money. They told you to get a safe-deposit box nobody knows about, right?”

  “It’s not in there. I was afraid you’d come for me when the banks were closed. It’s in a long-term storage place. The closest cross streets are Light and Fayette.”

  The woman looked at her with curiosity. “You mean by the courthouse, and all that?”

  “That’s right,” Janet said apologetically. “I thought with all those policemen coming and going, it would be safer. It’s so much cash …”

  The dark woman didn’t verify or contradict her theory. She seemed to be thinking hard. “Okay. Give me all your keys—condo, apartment, everything. I’ll get rid of everything that might cause trouble later.”

  Janet handed over her keys, and the woman looked at them, then asked, “What about the safe-deposit box? Is the key in the apartment?”

  “No, I have it with me.”

  “Then give it to me. I’ll put your old ID in there with the rest of your papers.”

  “But I only have one key.”

  The woman smiled, but it was the kind of smile that told Janet she should have known better than to bring up something as foolish as that. “People lose them all the time. When this is over, you go to the bank. You tell them you lost it. They drill the lock.” She held out her hand.

  Janet handed over the key.

  The dark woman seemed to hear something. Her eyes rose to settle on the rearview mirror. Then she turned in the seat and stared out the back window for a moment. Her smile was gone, and she looked intense, agitated. “We’d better get moving.”

  Janet tried to keep herself from looking in the direction the woman had been staring, but she couldn’t help herself. “Did you see something?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m not in the business of hanging around to verify hunches. I just get people out.” She started the car.

  A black car had been prowling up the ramp on the far side of the garage. As soon as the noise of the green car’s starter echoed in the concrete enclosure, the black car accelerated. It swung around the first aisle, where there were a dozen empty spaces, past several more aisles, and began to make the turn up this aisle.

  The dark woman backed out of the parking space quickly, stopped with a jerk, threw the car into forward gear, and shot ahead. Janet tried to interpret what she had seen in a dozen sensible ways, but she could not. The black car could only have been trying to make it up the aisle before the green car backed out so it could stop behind it to block it in.

  Janet turned in her seat to stare out the rear window. She could make out that the black car had silhouettes of two heads, but the upper part of the windshield was tinted, and she could not have seen the two faces in the dim light of the parking structure anyway. She had time to see it go past the parking space they had just vacated before the dark woman spun around the first turn of the ramp and descended so she couldn’t see anything.

  “I think they’re coming,” she said.

  The dark woman didn’t look surprised. “Are they the ones we have to worry about, or could they just be police?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them. They would just call me on the phone.”

  The woman’s eyes kept flicking upward to the rearview mirror, then settling on the ramp ahead so she wouldn’t hit anything. “I guess we’d better assume they are, since they don’t seem to own a siren. I’ll have to lose them while you go get your traveling money. It’s Light and Fayette?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. We’ve got about an hour and forty minutes left, so this will be tight Here’s what we do. I can get us into the neighborhood in the next five minutes. I’ll let you off somewhere nearby, and keep going. You go into the storage place and pick up your money, then meet me wherever I let you off.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then get ready.”

  Janet watched the rear window while the dark woman took several quick turns, sped down a narrow street lined with row houses, cut across a parking lot, then emerged
on Light Street and drove past the intersection at Fayette. Finally, she turned in at the Harbour Court Hotel. There was a brick portal like the mouth of a cavern, then a circular patio with a fountain in the middle to keep cars moving around it in a circle to the lobby entrance.

  The dark woman said, “Go through the hotel and out the other side. This is where I’ll be. Don’t look for the car, look for me. Now, move.”

  Janet slipped out of the car, the doorman dodged in front of her to open the door, and then she was in. She heard the sound of a car scraping its undercarriage, then turned her head to see that the black car had turned into the driveway too quickly just as the dark woman was accelerating to bring the green car around the fountain and out to the street. The two men inside seemed too intent on following the little green car to glance in the direction of the hotel entrance. They just leaned their bodies inward against the centrifugal force as they made the circuit, then bounced out again.

  Janet hurried across the lobby, then out the other door, and nearly ran up the street toward Fayette. She stepped into the storage building’s entry, rang the doorbell on the counter, and spent a few seconds catching her breath. It took three more rings to bring the clerk, who opened the cage and led her up to her storage cubicle. She was worried already. She had not exactly told the truth when she had allowed the dark woman to think the money was where it could be picked up quickly.

  When she had locked the door behind her, she went to the big box where the winter coats were hanging in a row covered with dry cleaner’s bags, and slipped her leather carry-on bag from between two of them. Then she began retrieving letter-size envelopes, each with ten thousand dollars sealed inside it, and placing them in her bag.

  She took four from inside a pair of high leather boots she had not worn in years, two from coats that had inner pockets, three from the inside of Aunt Rosalie’s giant casserole dish that had come to her because it didn’t fit in any relative’s cupboard, and had not fit in Janet’s either. There was one envelope inside the little door in the back of the big wind-up clock that chimed every hour loudly enough to wake anyone trying to sleep in any dwelling smaller than an English manor house. Two were rolled inside the stemmed glasses and covered with tissue paper, and one slipped between the crystal decanters. She had once thought them pretty, but now anything associated with drinking made her depressed. It took a moment to push the bad painting of a sailing ship out of its thick frame and remove the false backing, then almost as long to collect the loose hundred-dollar bills she had packed there into their envelope.