‘So am I.’ He opened the box as proof. The only thing left was some powered sugar on the bottom of the cardboard. ‘I hope you ate already.’
‘Jon,’ he said, annoyed, ‘what the hell happened?’
‘Not here,’ Payne whispered. ‘Meet me upstairs.’
Ten minutes later, the two of them had a chance to speak in the privacy of Jones’s office — the same place they had discussed Ashley’s criminal record the night before. Now they knew
Payne filled him in on the basics before Jones peppered him with questions.
‘The gunman knew about the letter?’
‘Not only did he know about it, that’s all he cared about. When I told him I didn’t have it, he started shooting.’
Jones grimaced. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Sense or no sense, that’s what happened.’
‘Did you recognize him?’
Payne shook his head. ‘Middle-aged white guy. Slicked back hair and a fancy suit. He looked European but didn’t have an accent.’
‘Did you get his prints?’
‘I tried to as he plummeted past me, but he didn’t cooperate.’
Jones shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’
Payne reached into his pocket and pulled out a wadded tissue. He carefully unwrapped it, then dumped a shell casing on Jones’s desk. ‘You might get something from this.’
‘You took this from the crime scene? I’m so proud of you.’
‘I learned from the best.’
‘Next time, just let the guy shoot you. It’s much easier to ID a bullet.’
Jones used the tip of his pen to pick up the casing. As he studied it under a desk lamp, he asked, ‘What’s our next move?’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that, and you’re not going to like my answer.’
Jones glanced across his desk. ‘Go on.’
‘Just to be safe, I think we should skip the Steelers game.’
‘Come on, Jon! It’s not like the guy shot you. I mean, that I could understand. But the bastard missed.’
‘Maybe so, but two shooters in twelve hours makes a guy rethink his priorities. In the grand scheme of things, how important is the game?’
‘You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding. Because if you force me to answer that question, you’re going to be crushed by my response.’
Payne smiled. He knew Jones was teasing. ‘Normally I wouldn’t skip a game, but let’s be honest. We’re playing Cleveland. When was the last time we lost to Cleveland?’
He shrugged. ‘Probably before we were born.’
‘Exactly! So if we have to miss one game, this is definitely the one.’
Jones growled softly. ‘Last night it was Pitt
‘If that ever happens, I’ll beg you to do it.’
Jones nodded. ‘You can count on me.’
‘Good,’ said Payne and changed the subject. ‘Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, I’ve been giving this some thought, and I think we have two different issues to worry about.’
‘The letter and the gunmen.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Last night I didn’t have a chance to track down the shooter. Let me call the cops and see if they came up with something.’
Payne shook his head. ‘That’s one of the things I asked the detectives in the lobby. The shooter is still a John Doe. No ID on him, no prints in the system.’
‘Which is weird. Most hired guns would have some kind of record.’
‘Unless…’
‘Unless, what?’
Payne rubbed his chin. ‘Unless he was a soldier.’
‘Trust me, I considered that. Unfortunately, my computer doesn’t have access to everything. Certain databases are beyond my clearance.’
‘And, what?’
‘And what do we do when something is above our pay grade?’
Jones grinned. ‘We call Randy.’
As a computer researcher at the Pentagon, Randy Raskin was privy to many of the government’s top secrets, a mountain of classified data that was just there for the taking if someone knew how to access it. His job was to make sure the latest information got into the right hands at the most appropriate time. Over the years, Payne and Jones had used his services on so many occasions they had developed a friendship.
‘Is it my turn to call, or yours?’ Payne won dered.
Jones laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter. He’ll give us shit no matter what.’
Raskin was known to get cranky, especially when they asked him to break the law and track down data they weren’t supposed to have. It never stopped him from helping, though. Raskin was a hacker at heart, always looking to circumvent the rules.
‘Actually, before we call, there’s something else we need to discuss. Something that will take longer than a computer search.’
Payne nodded. ‘Prior to last night’s shooting, I was more than willing to ask some Pitt professors for help, but not now. Not if it’s going to put them in danger.’
Jones agreed. ‘Do you have someone else in mind?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. Someone far away from here.’
‘How far?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘I was thinking Switzerland.’
20
Küsendorf, Switzerland
(82 miles south-east of Bern)
‘Hello,’ he blurted, completely out of breath. ‘This is Petr.’
‘Hey, Petr, it’s Jonathon Payne.’
Ulster beamed. Even though he was in his mid-forties, he came across as boy-like, due to the twinkle in his eye and his zest for life. ‘Jonathon, my boy, it’s wonderful to hear your voice.’
‘Yours, too.’
Payne grimaced at the wheezing. ‘Did I catch you at a bad time?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Are you sure? Because it sounds like you’re having a heart attack.’
‘Sorry,’ he apologized, ‘I ran to the phone.’
‘How far did you run?’
‘From the kitchen.’
‘Wow. No comment.’
‘I assure you, it’s not me… It’s the altitude.’
Payne laughed at the explanation, realizing Ulster’s shortness of breath was more about the size of his belly than the elevation of Küsendorf, a small village in the southernmost canton of Switzerland. But Payne was willing to cut him some slack. As director of the Ulster Archives, the finest private collection of documents and antiquities in the world, Ulster spent most of his time sitting down, studying important books and relics, not exercising in the Alps.
During the early 1930s, Austrian philanthropist Conrad Ulster, an avid collector of rare artefacts, sensed the political instability in his country and realized there was a good chance that the Nazis would seize his prized library. To
For the past decade, the Archives had been run by his grandson Petr. Petr had befriended Payne and Jones a few years ago when they had sought his expertise during one of their missions. Since that time, their friendship had evolved into a mutually beneficial partnership.
After making their startling discovery in Greece, Payne and Jones realized an outside expert should be brought in to catalogue the massive treasure, someone they could trust to protect their personal interests. Thanks to his sterling reputation in the academic community, Ulster was approved by the Greek government. He had been handling their affairs ever since.
‘Petr,’ Payne asked, ‘do you have a moment to talk?’
‘If it’s okay with you, I’d like to put you on speakerphone with DJ.’
‘Yes, of course, put him on.’
Payne handed the phone to Jones, who pressed the appropriate button on the unit. As he did, Jones asked, ‘Can you hear me, Petr?’
‘Hello, David, what a pleasant surprise! It’s been far too long.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. How were things in Greece?’
‘Wonderful, just wonderful! I will be sending you another cheque in January. I know how you Americans ar
e. Always deferring your money until next tax year. Isn’t that correct?’
‘You got that right,’ Jones said.
‘One of these days,’ Ulster suggested, ‘perhaps you’ll wise up and allow me to deposit your funds directly into a Swiss bank account. It can be our little secret.’
Payne smiled. ‘Millions of dollars is never a little secret. Especially on something this visible. If we don’t do everything by the book, Uncle Sam is gonna get pissed.’
Ulster chuckled. ‘Perhaps you’re right. However, if you change your mind, I have several
‘Great. We’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Speaking of discretion,’ Jones said, ‘there’s something that Jon and I would like to discuss with you, but only if you’re willing to keep it confidential.’
‘Colour me intrigued,’ Ulster whispered as he closed his office door. ‘What have you fellows stumbled onto now?’
Payne spoke next. ‘Just so you know, there have been two attempts on our lives during the last twenty-four hours. If you don’t want to be a part of this, we’ll completely understand.’
Ulster trembled slightly. ‘Now you’ve done it; I’ve got goose bumps!’
‘We’re serious, Petr.’
‘I am, too. You guys are so much fun!’
Payne grinned. He knew Ulster would react this way. ‘Consider yourself warned.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve been warned. Now tell Uncle Petr all about it.’
Jones glanced at his computer screen and clicked the SEND button on his e-mail. He had been so confident that Ulster would be interested in the project he had already scanned in the document and typed his message. ‘I’m e-mailing you
‘How unfortunate! Did you get the bugger who did it?’
‘Kind of,’ Payne admitted. ‘He was hit by a bus while I was in pursuit.’
‘Did you say a bus? That must have been messy.’
‘You have no idea.’
Ulster took another gulp of wine. ‘And attempt number two?’
‘It happened this morning. A gunman ap proached me from behind and asked for the letter. When I declined, he opened fire.’
‘Did a bus get him as well?’
‘No bus. Just me.’
Ulster cackled with delight. ‘You are such a brute. I love it!’
‘What’s the status of the e-mail?’ Jones asked.
‘It’s coming through now.’ Ulster stared at his screen as his computer downloaded the file. ‘While I’m waiting, please provide me with pertinent information.’
Jones answered. ‘It is written in a mixture of languages that I can’t translate. According to the woman, one of the languages was Middle French.’
‘If I may enquire, how old is this letter?’
‘Yet you believe this document — whatever it is — is important?’
Payne nodded. ‘The gunmen who attacked us seemed to think so.’
Ulster clicked on the e-mail and smiled at the image that filled his computer screen. ‘Interesting, very interesting. I see Latin, and Greek, and Middle French, too. Not to mention a few other dialects that are no longer spoken.’
‘Then you can help us?’ Jones wondered.
‘Of course I can help you. I love academic puzzles, and this one is a doozy. May I call you later with my results?’
‘Later is fine.’
‘Wonderful!’ Ulster said as he glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes past 6 p.m. in Switzerland. ‘I’ll tackle it before dinner, then get back in touch.’
21
The Pentagon
Arlington, Virginia
‘Research,’ he said as he answered his phone.
‘Is this Raskin?’ the voice growled on the other end of the line.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where the hell is my data?’
‘Don’t mess with me, son! Not today!’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Raskin stuttered, as he frantically glanced through the files on his desk. ‘I don’t recognize your voice, sir. Who am I speaking with?’
‘Sandecker!’ the voice barked. ‘Admiral James Sandecker!’
Raskin gulped. He was familiar with the name but couldn’t quite place it. And in a building like the Pentagon — where admirals and generals wielded all the power — that was dangerous. He knew if he pissed off the wrong officer, his life would become a living hell. Frantically, he typed Sandecker’s name into one of his military search engines but came up empty.
‘Sir,’ he apologized, ‘I’m having trouble finding your files. If you tell me who called in your request, I can check his name as well.’
‘Gunn. Rudi Gunn. My second in command at NUMA.’
‘Rudi Gunn,’ Raskin repeated. That name sounded familiar, too, but once again, he got zero hits in his network search. Obviously there was something wrong with his system. ‘Sir, what type of research am I looking for? Perhaps I can—’
now, before it’s too late. Dirk Pitt is in serious trouble!’
‘Dirk Pitt?’ he mumbled into the phone. Suddenly, Raskin realized why all those names sounded familiar. They were fictional characters in the novels of Clive Cussler. ‘You asshole! Don’t ever do that to me again! I thought the entire Atlantic fleet was waiting on me.’
‘Asshole? Who are you calling an asshole?’
‘Both of you,’ Raskin blurted. Very few people had his direct line, and the only guys he knew who had the guts to mess with him were Payne and Jones. ‘Seriously, you idiots should hear my heartbeat right now. It sounds like a machine gun.’
Jones laughed, finally willing to speak in his normal voice. ‘How would you know what a machine gun sounds like? You never leave your desk.’
‘Dude, video games are very realistic nowadays. Especially on this setup. It’s practically the same thing as being a MANIAC. Except, you know, the whole asshole thing.’
‘Come on,’ Payne said into the speakerphone, ‘you have to admit it was funny. Besides, considering all the pranks you’ve pulled on us, you got off rather easy.’
‘So,’ Raskin said, ‘was there a reason you called, or can I hang up on you now?’
Jones answered. ‘No, there’s an actual reason. Someone tried to kill us last night.’
Raskin scoffed at the news. ‘Someone tries to kill you every week.’
‘Good point, but they tried again this morning.’
‘Fine,’ he yawned. ‘What do you need me to do?’
‘A couple of things,’ Payne said. ‘I got some prints from last night’s shooter, but IAFIS came up empty. We were hoping you could check some of your military databases.’
‘You think he was a soldier?’
‘Maybe.’
‘One of ours?’
Payne shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t talk to the guy. He was too busy shooting at me.’
‘Yeah, but you’re doing it online. That’s slightly different.’
‘Not really,’ Raskin said as he opened the necessary program on his system. ‘Our games are pretty damn intense. The loser has to pay for beer.’
‘Oh,’ Jones mocked, ‘that sounds just like Iraq.’
Raskin grinned, glad he was getting under their skin. It was the least he could do after the whole Sandecker episode. ‘Are you sending me the prints or what?’
‘I already did. Check your e-mail.’
Raskin clicked on the message, then went to work. Within a few seconds, he had opened up the digital scans of the prints and started running them through multiple databases, spread across several of his computer screens. Faces and fingerprints flashed all around him, yet his eyes stayed glued to the monitor in front of him. ‘This might take a while. What else did you need?’
‘Can you access data on active criminal cases?’ Payne wondered.
‘Of course, I can.’
‘What about a homicide that happened this morning?’
‘Actually, that’s what I want to find out.’
‘Please tell me it wasn’t another hooker.’
‘Hey,’ Jones joked, ‘the first two had it coming.’
‘Time out,’ Payne said, putting a stop to the humour. ‘We’re trying to ID this morning’s shooter, and I was unable to get his prints before the cops showed up.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘Less than two hours.’
Raskin gave it some thought. ‘Where did this happen?’
‘In Pittsburgh, near my office.’
‘Then the answer is maybe.’
‘Maybe?’
Raskin nodded. ‘CSI units in most major cities have hand-held scanners that can take fingerprints at the crime scene. With a touch of a button, they can upload the data to their station where an officer can run the prints. No ink, no smudges, no waiting.’
‘So,’ Jones said, ‘if the Pittsburgh police have uploaded the data—’
‘Then I can pluck it off their system. If not, we’ll have to wait.’
‘Can you check—’
‘Already on it,’ Raskin said as the clicking of
‘Gotcha, you little bastard!’ Raskin taunted.
‘Got what?’ Payne wondered.
‘Right now,’ he answered, ‘I’m e-mailing you a digital copy of the victim’s fingerprints for your personal scrapbook. I know how you serial killers love your precious mementos.’ He chuckled as he continued working. ‘In addition, I’m piggybacking my original search, which will allow me to look for both of your shooters at the exact same time. Kind of a buy-none-get-two-free sale, Randy Raskin style.’
Jones glanced at Payne. ‘Did he just say Randy Raskin style?’
‘I think he did.’
‘Does he know he said it aloud?’
‘I think he does.’
‘Should we get him some help?’
‘I think we should.’
Raskin ignored them and kept on typing. ‘God, I’m good.’
‘Randy,’ Jones asked, concerned, ‘when was the last time you left the office?’
Payne laughed and shook his head. ‘Hey Randy, we have some leads we need to pursue on our end. Can you give us a call if you find something?’
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