by James Ponti
“I saw the map when she pulled it up on her computer, and I think Gorky’s is just a few blocks from the post office. If she goes there enough that she knows the owner by name, it makes sense that she’d pick that one for the dead drop.”
“Plus she crosses her sevens,” added Margaret.
Marcus thought about this for a few moments. “That’s all circumstantial.”
“That’s how TOAST works,” I said. “You start adding little things up until they become big things. So far she’s got the most little things.”
“How’d she act?”
“She was great,” I said. “She had no reason to suspect we were up to anything. She was going around to all the kids, checking on them.”
“Did you know that she’s married and has a couple kids?” asked Margaret.
“Yes,” he said. “Twin girls.”
“I thought you hadn’t talked to her in nine years,” I said.
“My mom told me,” he answered. “Lucia and she were always close and have stayed in touch. She still stops by my parents’ house a couple times a year.”
“You don’t mind that?” asked Margaret.
“I don’t have a right to mind,” he said. “I’m the one that screwed things up. Neither of them did anything wrong, so why should they stop being friends?”
Margaret and I shared a look, and she nodded at me as if I should be the one to ask the obvious follow-up question.
“How’d you screw things up?”
He didn’t answer right away, but he knew it was something we needed to hear.
“I was working the case and following the evidence. I had my list of possible suspects—there were probably about eight or nine names on it at the time—and I accidentally left it out on my kitchen table. She came by my apartment, saw the list, and confronted me about it.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said I had to know in my heart that she couldn’t have done something like that.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That it didn’t matter what my heart told me. All that mattered was what the evidence told me. And the evidence told me that she had to be considered a suspect.”
“Ouch,” said Margaret.
“Yeah, that didn’t go over well,” he said. “She called off the engagement about a week later. Looking back, I can’t blame her.”
I went to ask another question but could tell he didn’t really want to talk about it anymore. So we just rode quietly along Piney Branch Parkway, a two-lane road that wound through a heavily wooded section of the city. The late-afternoon sun and the changing color of the leaves gave everything a brown-and-orange glow.
Some seventies funk was playing on the radio, and when Marcus reached for the dial, I thought he was going to turn it up to cut down on the conversation, but instead he turned it off and adjusted his rearview mirror.
“You know that evasive-tactics class you’re scheduled to take in a couple weeks?” he asked us.
“What about it?”
“Consider this a preview.”
He steadily began to increase our speed, and I felt a surge of adrenaline race through my body.
“Someone’s following us?” asked Margaret.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. There’s a silver SUV four cars behind us, and it always seems to stay exactly four cars behind. Like it’s trying to keep close but not too close. It looks like one I noticed earlier when we left Palace Books.”
Marcus passed a car and said, “Don’t turn around to look. I don’t want the driver to know we’ve seen him.”
I was sitting in the back, so I tried to watch in the rearview mirror. Sure enough the silver SUV sped up and passed the car in front of it. The sunlight reflecting off the windshield made it so I couldn’t get a look at the driver.
“Here’s the lesson,” he said. “Step one is to identify if you’re actually being followed. We don’t want to do anything drastic that’ll scare him off. But we want to check our theory. We’re going to turn up ahead on Beach, and once we’re out of his view, I’m going to speed up. If he’s following, he’ll be surprised by the sudden increased distance between us, and he’ll try to make that up in a hurry.”
Marcus turned left at the intersection, and the instant we were beyond the corner, he accelerated for about thirty seconds, passing several cars along the way. Then he slowed down to a normal speed.
We were far enough away that it was safe to look back without fear of the other driver noticing. Once the SUV reached the intersection, he instantly sped up and started passing cars like we had.
“Got him,” said Marcus.
“Do you think it’s Andrei Morozov?” asked Margaret.
“If so, he’s changed cars,” I pointed out. “The other day he was in a black SUV, and this one’s silver.”
“Does it have diplomatic license plates?” she asked.
“It’s too far for me to tell.”
“So now what?” Margaret asked Marcus.
“Now we let him catch us.”
“What?!” Margaret yelped.
“It’s the only way we can find out who it is,” he said. “And as soon as we know that, then we’ll lose him.”
He clicked the hands-free button on his steering wheel, activating the phone. There was a beep, and he said, “Call Agent Cross.”
Moments later we could hear the phone ringing, and then Kayla answered.
“Hey there.”
Her friendly tone was immediately counteracted by Marcus’s no-nonsense manner. “I’m in the car with Florian and Margaret, and we’re being pursued.”
“Are you in danger?”
“No, it looks like it’s just surveillance,” he responded. “How soon can you be at the Connecticut Avenue entrance to the National Zoo?”
“Twenty-five minutes.”
“Excellent. Wait there and keep your engine running.”
“Be safe,” she said as she clicked off the call.
Marcus had a calm focus as he checked his mirrors. My heart was racing, but he just seemed completely relaxed.
“We’re in the middle of something, so I’m not going to make a big deal about it,” Margaret said. “But Kayla is your girlfriend.”
“I believe we covered that earlier.”
“But on your phone she’s ‘Agent Cross’? Isn’t that a little formal? Don’t you have a cute nickname for her like Honey Pie or Kay-Kay?”
He laughed. “It’s an FBI phone, and we try to keep things professional at work. Besides, I programmed that before we were dating, back when we were just colleagues.”
“Why are we going to the zoo?” I asked.
“Because if he wants to follow us when we get there, he’s going to have to get out of his car and walk,” he answered. “That should give us a chance to see him.”
It took me a second to figure out his plan. “And if we park on one side and Kayla picks us up on the other . . .”
“He’ll be too far from his car to follow us when she does.”
“That’s brilliant,” I said. “Did you just come up with that on the spot?”
“Yeah,” he said, and almost seemed embarrassed by the compliment.
“You’re really smart with the investigation stuff,” Margaret said. “It’s the figuring-out-women part that I think you still need help with.”
Marcus laughed. “That sounds like another conversation I had with my mother.”
The National Zoo is built on a hill next to Rock Creek Park. The Connecticut Avenue entrance is at the top of the hill, and we parked a little more than halfway down and entered near the Great Ape House.
“Don’t look for him,” Marcus instructed us. “We don’t want him to know we’re suspicious. Just move fast so he doesn’t have much time to consider options. He’s either got to follow us or he’s going to lose us.”
We didn’t stop to look at any animals until we reached the elephant house. First we lingered at the fence and watched one pl
aying in the water. Then we walked inside, where a keeper was giving an educational talk.
“He won’t follow us in here,” explained Marcus. “It would be too risky. He’ll wait on the outside.”
We listened as the keeper explained some of the zoo’s conservation efforts in Asia. When she was done, a large tour group headed out the door.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes until we meet our bus,” said the tour guide, who was holding up a red pennant. “Just follow me.”
“Perfect,” Marcus said to us. “Let’s follow him.”
The group walked outside and started heading back to the main entrance. We followed behind them but left a gap so we weren’t quite with the group.
“Let’s give him time to spot us so that he can follow,” he said. “Then move around the right side of the group so they’ll block his view.”
It’s amazing how tense it all felt considering how slowly we were moving. We were in a crowd of tourists tired from a long day of sightseeing and walking uphill. After a few minutes, we started moving around the group. And when we turned the corner, Marcus caught us with a surprise.
“You keep with them all the way to the entrance,” he said. “And when you reach the street, you should see Kayla’s car. Hop in and tell her to take you home.”
“What about you?” I asked, confused.
“I’m going to peel off so I can watch him watching you,” he said. “He’ll think I’m in the crowd, so he won’t notice I’m gone. At least not for a while.”
And before we could ask anything else, he slipped behind a wall near the zebra exhibit and disappeared.
Five minutes later we reached the exit to Connecticut Avenue and saw Kayla’s car.
“Marcus texted me the plan,” she said as we hopped in. “Lie down on the seats until we’ve pulled away.”
We did as she said, and in an instant we were headed down the street. I closed my eyes for a second to catch my breath.
“You can get up now,” she told us when we were a few blocks away. “I’m guessing you guys had an interesting day.”
“You could say that,” answered Margaret.
“So what do you think Marcus is going to do?” I asked.
“He’s probably going to try to give him a taste of his own medicine,” she answered. “As soon as the person following you realizes he’s lost you guys, he’s going to return to his car, and that’s when Marcus will follow him.”
“That sounds fair,” I said.
“By the way,” she added, “what are you guys doing tomorrow after school?”
“I’ve got a soccer game,” said Margaret.
“I’m going to go to the game, and then we’re going to pick up my bike from the shop,” I answered.
“How about Thursday?”
“We’re all free,” said Margaret.
“Great,” said Kayla. “I want to give you your self-defense lesson.”
“Are you going to throw me through the air again?” I asked, remembering how much it hurt the first time we met at Quantico.
“There’s always that chance.”
“Are we driving down to Quantico for the lesson?” asked Margaret.
“No, I’ve got a place here I like better,” she said.
The great thing about Kayla is that when you’re just hanging out, she seems like one of the kids. We listened to music and joked around the rest of the way home. We even mentioned that we got Marcus to finally admit to us that they were a couple, which she thought was hilarious.
“I’ve told him you guys have known for ages,” she said, laughing.
When we reached Margaret’s house, she parked on the street and checked her phone.
“Any word from Marcus?” I asked.
“Yes, there’s a text,” she said. She opened it and seemed surprised. “That’s interesting. He spotted the tail and sent me a picture.”
“Is it Andrei Morozov?” asked Margaret.
“No. It’s not.”
She held it up for us to see the picture.
It was Dan Napoli.
17.
Hat Trick
MARGARET LIVED FOUR DOORS DOWN and across the street from me in a two-story yellow house with a big porch on the front. After Kayla dropped us off, we sat on the porch with our feet on the steps and looked out at the neighborhood in the autumn twilight.
“Why would Dan Napoli follow us?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a mistake? Could he be part of the protection detail that’s keeping an eye on you?”
“No,” she said. “Those guys are only supposed to watch my house in the evening and school during the day. Besides, they’re all members of the joint task force on counterintelligence. Napoli’s part of the organized crime division. He should be tailing mob bosses and criminals.”
I had a momentary panic flash as I worried that Napoli might have somehow figured out the connection between Margaret and Nic the Knife. Apparently, this caused me to make an expression.
“What?” asked Margaret.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you made that face.”
“What face?”
“That ‘I just thought of something’ face.”
“No, that was just my regular face.” Then I quickly changed the subject. “By the way, what was all that talk about hair? What’s the ‘big chop’?”
“I’ve been thinking of going natural.”
I gave her a blank look. “You say that like you think I know what it means.”
“I forgot,” she joked. “The great Florian Bates can speak multiple languages and identify the origin of vaccine scars but knows absolutely nothing about girls’ hair.”
“I’m thinking of making that my official slogan. Or maybe I’ll shorten it to: good with clues, bad with ’dos.”
“Catchy,” she said. “African-American hair is naturally coily or kinky. To straighten it, you have to apply a chemical to relax the hair.”
“Seriously? You put chemicals on your hair?”
“That’s just the half of it,” she said. “But lately I’ve been thinking of going natural by letting it grow thick and curly like Lucia’s.”
“And the big chop?”
She flashed a nervous expression. “To go natural, you have to cut off all the hair that’s been treated. They call that the big chop, and if you’re like me and have always had long straight hair, just the thought of it’s overwhelming.”
I looked at her for a moment, her head haloed by the yellow porch light. “If it’s overwhelming, then why do it? I think your hair always looks great.”
“That’s because my hair does always look great,” she said with pride. “But it’s not just the style; it’s the statement. You heard what she said.”
“That she chopped hers eight years ago.”
“Exactly. Do the math. That’s right after she broke up with Marcus. She was looking for a fresh start. She wanted to feel strong.”
“Then what’s your statement?” I asked.
“A few months ago my parents and I went to the Smithsonian’s African-American history museum. I was blown away by the stories of these amazing people doing everything they could for civil rights. I was just so proud to be black, and I thought I should show that pride. So I stopped using relaxer and started letting my hair grow out.”
“That’s another thing you didn’t tell me.”
“You see me and my hair every day. I was hardly keeping it a secret.”
“But I can’t tell,” I said. “It doesn’t look any different to me.”
“That’s because I know all the tricks. I keep it up in a bun, or sometimes I’ll wear a hat. But as it grows out, it gets harder to hide.”
“So when’s this big chop?” I asked. “I want to be there.”
“I’m still deciding whether or not I’m going to go through with it. Besides, it’s not a spectator sport. I’m not going to have you come watch.”
“No?”
“B
ut you do get to watch me play soccer tomorrow,” she said. “First home game of the season. We’re playing Columbia Heights on the new field.”
“I saw that they got the scoreboard up. It looks sharp.”
“It really does.” She paused for a second. “Can I admit something that’s embarrassing?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m kind of obsessed with scoring the first goal on that field. I want to be the first player to ever have a point show up on that scoreboard.”
It was classic Margaret.
“And how much have you been thinking about this?”
“Only way too much. It’s silly. I know that. It doesn’t really matter, but if I’m the first one to do it, then I’ll always be first. Forever. Even if no one remembers it but me.”
“I’ll remember,” I said. “Just like I remember the goal you scored to win the city championship. And the header on the goal line that saved the game.”
She grinned. “Those were both pretty good plays, weren’t they?”
“No,” I said. “They were amazing plays.”
I usually expected to see some amazing plays whenever I watched Margaret on a soccer field. I certainly did the next afternoon when I sat in the new bleachers ready to cheer for her and the rest of the Deal Vikings. What I wasn’t expecting to see, however, was Nicolae Nevrescu. He wore a shirt and tie and was sitting three rows behind me along the center aisle.
“Hello, Florian,” he said as I walked up and took a seat next to him. “Nice to see you.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked under my breath.
“I came to watch the game. Just like you did.”
“That’s not a good idea,” I replied. “If you keep popping up in Margaret’s life, she’ll start to get suspicious. Besides, there are going to be FBI agents here.”
He chuckled. “There are FBI agents everywhere I go. They watch my office and my home. They follow me into the grocery store, and they come to all my construction sites. I don’t pay attention to them.”
“No, but they pay attention to you. And how can you explain what you’re doing at a girls’ middle school soccer match on a Wednesday afternoon?”
“You worry too much, Little Sherlock,” he said. “I have a perfectly good explanation.”
