“Copy,” Janick said.
Janick had been given possession of the heat sensor, and charged with the task of periodically checking Hagen’s flat.
There was a delay of about twenty seconds before Janick said, “They’re in bed.”
Finally, Michaels thought. “Okay. Everyone hold tight. Won’t be long now.”
He turned off his mic and called Peter.
“They’re finally asleep,” he reported. “We’re going to wait forty-five minutes, then go in.”
“Excellent,” Peter said. “Let me know—” A voice in the background cut him off. “Hold on.”
It sounded like Peter put his hand over the phone. Michaels could hear voices but nothing distinctive.
When Peter came back on, he didn’t sound pleased. “Can you go in sooner?”
Michaels was surprised by the question. “Only if we don’t care if they’re in a deep sleep or not.”
Another muffled conversation, then, “Do you feel that’s important?”
“Peter, what’s going on?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“All right. Yes, it’s important. You want the guy alive. There’s a lot better chance of that happening if he’s struggling to wake up, as opposed to jumping right out of bed because he hasn’t fallen asleep yet. There, does that work for you?”
“Just a second.”
A third conversation ensued. It quickly became clear to Michaels that someone else was trying to call the shots.
“Okay, proceed with your plan,” Peter finally said. “Report in as soon as you have him.”
“Should we be worried about this job?”
Peter paused. “You shouldn’t be.”
The line went dead.
__________
MATS HAGEN FELT the bed move. Probably Eva getting some water. A herd of horses was quieter sometimes. He turned on his side and tried to recapture the dream he’d been having.
It was about the girl who worked at the coffee shop around the corner. In his dream, he’d found himself alone in the kitchen with her as she started to take off her clothes. It was a poor substitute for real sex, but Eva had made it clear he wasn’t getting any tonight.
“My stomach still bothers me,” she’d said. “I just want to sleep.”
He told her that was fine, mostly because he’d had a vision of being puked on mid-thrust. That was enough to turn anyone off.
A groan, soft and distant but urgent. Part of his dream? Coffee girl calling me back. At least she wasn’t going to say no. Baby, here I come. You’re going to love—
“Get up.”
The voice was most definitely not part of his dream. It wasn’t Eva’s, either. Hagen’s eyes failed to open the first time, but on the second try, they did.
A man stood near the bed, silhouetted by the light filtering in through the window.
A man?
Hagen sat up with a jolt, his hand automatically moving toward the hidden compartment in his headboard where he kept an unregistered Beretta pistol.
“I wouldn’t move another inch,” the silhouette said.
How in God’s name had they gotten in without him knowing? His alarm should have gone off. He should have had plenty of warning.
“So you are Mats Hagen.” A statement, not a question. The man grabbed Hagen’s arm and yanked him to his feet. “Come on.”
As Hagen stumbled around the end of the bed, he saw Eva near the wall. Another man was holding her from behind, one of his gloved hands over her mouth. Her terror-filled eyes implored her boyfriend to do something.
But what could he possibly do? These guys were bigger than he was, and obviously armed. His gun was still sitting in his hidey-hole. Which, on further consideration, was probably not a bad place for it to be. If he’d pulled it out, he probably would have been dead by now.
The man pushed him all the way into the living room, where two more men were waiting.
This was seriously not good. They were obviously pros, which meant there was a very good chance they were sent by someone he’d worked with before. He tried to think of anyone who might have been dissatisfied with his work. There were a couple minor things, but nothing worthy of this kind of reaction.
Or maybe it wasn’t a client, but someone affected by the work he’d done for someone else.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but whatever the reason, I’m sure we can work it out. Maybe there’s someone I can talk to?”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
The man shoved him in the back again. Hagen’s initial thought was that they were heading for the front door. Perhaps they’d take him down to a waiting car, and then who knew where after that. But instead of the door, the man reoriented him toward the stairs that led up to his office.
A) He should have expected that, and B) oh, shit.
He had far too much sensitive information up there. His only chance at keeping them from finding anything damaging would be if he could reach his kill switch. It would trigger the automatic corruption of all his drives, rendering each completely unrecoverable. It would be a huge blow to his business, but it would be worse if the info got out.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he said, “What exactly are you looking for? If you tell me, I can—”
“Up,” the man ordered.
“All I’m saying is, if you give me a little hint, I can help.”
The man yelled toward the hallway. “Number Three.”
“Yes?” one of the men answered.
“A warning.”
A warning? Hagen glanced around. The only man not in the stairway with them was the man holding— “Wait,” he said. “Wait, wait!”
Eva screamed in pain.
“Stop it!” Hagen yelled. “Stop!”
“Up,” the man behind him said.
This time Hagen did as he was told. When he reached the top, he didn’t wait to be ordered to open the door. He turned the knob and rushed in. The kill switch was only a few feet inside, disguised as part of a poster frame hanging on the wall. His hope was to get there and push it without the man realizing what he was doing, but he’d barely crossed the threshold when he saw that no matter how fast he might have moved, it wouldn’t have mattered.
The poster was no longer on the wall. In fact, none of his artwork was. Each had been pulled down and thoroughly inspected. The kill switch was lying on the floor, its wiring pulled out and its case smashed. It was clear the men had gone through all his computers, too.
A chair from his main desk was sitting in the middle of the room with nothing else around it, like an electric chair waiting for its next client.
As if to reinforce this image, the man shoved Hagen toward it. “Sit.”
After he sat, he asked, “Okay, now what?”
Saying nothing, the man walked over to the computer station nearest Hagen. He turned the monitor so it could be seen from the chair. “You said you wanted to talk to someone.”
He hit the trackpad, bringing the screen to life. On it was a head-and-shoulders image of a stern-looking bald man. At first, Hagen wasn’t sure if it was a still or video, but then the man spoke.
“I have a question for you, Mr. Hagen.”
“Who are you?”
“You can call me Peter.”
The name in conjunction with the voice clicked something in Hagen’s mind. “You’re…you’re in charge of…the Office. That’s right, isn’t it? Or, I guess, were in charge.”
“Yes.”
Hagen felt a surge of hope. This was a misunderstanding. Had to be. “We’ve worked together before. You know me. I was under the impression you were happy with my performance.”
“This has nothing to do with any interactions you and I may have had in the past.”
More confused than ever, Hagen asked, “Then what?”
“Your intrusion two days ago.”
“My what?”
“We want to know who hired you
.”
“Who hired me for what? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
Peter stared at him, his lips sealed.
“Hired me for what?”
The punch in the gut caught Hagen completely off guard. The man who’d brought him up had moved over to the side opposite the computer, so Hagen’s focus was in the other direction when the blow landed.
He doubled over, groaning, his hands gripping his stomach.
Computers were always something that came easy to him. It was why he’d fallen into that profession. One of the other things he liked about his line of work was being exposed to the intrigue while experiencing none of the danger.
Apparently, he’d been misleading himself.
Once he caught his breath, he pressed his forearms against his thighs and tried to straighten up. Pain radiated out from his stomach, almost causing him to collapse again, but he gritted his teeth and held on. He said between stinging throbs, “I don’t know…what…you’re talking…about. What…is it you…think…I’ve done?...Just tell me. Maybe…I can…figure out what…happened.”
The way Peter looked at him made Hagen think he was about to be hit again, but then the former head of the Office said, “One twenty-three p.m. local time, you hacked into a secure US governmental system and accessed files you should’ve left alone.”
“One twenty-three? Not possible. I go out to lunch every day until at least two.” He paused, thinking. Two days ago. He didn’t go out that long then. He had an urgent project he was working on, so had only been away long enough to pick up his lunch and bring it back. When had he returned? “Wait. Two days ago I did come back early, but I’m sure it was later than 1:23.” He thought some more, then said, “I have a receipt from my lunch. And you can check the T-Bana computer system to see when my monthly pass was used. I’m sure there’s no way I could have been here at 1:23!”
“If not you, then who? Someone used your system.”
“Impossible. My alarm would have gone off.”
“It didn’t go off tonight, did it?”
“No,” Hagen admitted. “Okay, so I guess someone might have been able to bypass it, but there’s something we can check.”
“I’m not interested in stall tactics, Mr. Hagen.”
“I’m not stalling.” Hagen glanced at the man in the room with him. “I put a security camera outside that covers the entrance. You can access it through that computer over there. The footage gets stored on a dedicated drive and stays there until I run out of room. That usually takes about six months.”
The man looked at the computer screen. “What would you like me to do?”
“Check it,” Peter said.
Following Hagen’s instructions, the man located a listing of the footage, then turned the screen so it could be seen by both Hagen and, via the other computer’s camera, Peter.
“Looks like the camera was activated seven times between noon and two,” the man said.
“Play them,” Peter ordered.
The first two events were people leaving through the front door. The third was of a man walking up and knocking. When no one answered, he left. The fourth was Hagen leaving the building. This came at five minutes to one.
“See,” Hagen said. “I told you I wasn’t here.”
“Keep playing them,” Peter said.
The fifth showed a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat entering. She kept her head down so it was impossible to see her features. This occurred at 1:10.
“I don’t know her,” Hagen blurted out.
The next image came up—Hagen again, returning.
“What’s the time?” Peter asked.
The man studied the image, then said, “One twenty-seven.”
“See? I was right!” Hagen said.
“The camera’s clock could be off,” Peter suggested.
“No way. It’s synced with my computers, which are synced with the network. That time’s actual.”
“There’s still two more,” the man reminded them.
Peter nodded. “Let’s see them.”
The next was of one of the two people who’d left earlier coming back. The final was the wide-hat woman again, her face never once turning toward the lens.
“Oh, my God,” Hagen said. “She must have still been here when I came back.” He looked at Peter. “But…but you do see. It wasn’t me.”
Peter remained silent.
Hagen grew nervous again. “That wasn’t me! I wasn’t here!”
“No,” Peter said. “You’re right. It wasn’t you.”
Hagen’s shoulders sagged as he let out a relieved breath.
“But there is still the fact that whoever that woman is, she was able to get into your apartment and use your equipment as if she had a key to the place.”
“What? No. I don’t know who that was! I don’t! I swear I don’t!”
__________
PETER WAS TIRED of hearing Hagen’s whines. He knew very well that the Swede had no idea who the person was, but his machines had been used, and that was a problem.
“There is very little room in our world for mistakes,” Peter said. “And no room for someone who doesn’t learn from them. I believe a lesson is in order.”
“No! No! That’s not nec—”
Peter cut the connection. Michaels would know what to do. If Hagen decided to stay in the business, he would undoubtedly be working from a fortress in the future.
“So?” Olsen asked. He was sitting off to the side so that the camera wouldn’t pick him up, but at an angle that allowed him to watch what was going on.
“It was her,” Peter said.
“Are you sure?”
“Do I have proof, you mean? No. But it was her. The size is right, and she’s the only one who would want to get into that file.”
Mila Voss, again.
Something ticked at the back of his mind. He brought up the file on her removal operation—still labeled COMPLETED—and searched the background information until he reached the part he was looking for. Just as he remembered. But was it worth checking out? With no other leads, what choice did he have?
He made a mental note of the particulars, then exited the file and stood up.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” he told Olsen. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“I wasn’t aware that you smoked.”
Peter pulled the half-used pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and jostled one out. “Not as much as I used to, but sometimes…well…”
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want you here when I call the senator with an update.”
Peter left the room without another word.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Misty. He then silently communicated to her that she was to contact him if Olsen followed him out.
Before he even reached the sidewalk the cigarettes were back in his pocket. It had been over ten years since he’d actually lit one, but he’d purchased the pack that morning, knowing it would provide the opportunity for a little alone time if needed.
Once outside, he went left to the end of the block and ducked into a bar around the corner. There were only a few customers in the place, none of whom even glanced in his direction. When the bartender saw him, he merely gave Peter a nod of recognition then went about his business.
Peter walked clear through to the back, and entered the bathroom. It was a single-occupant setup, so he locked the door, pulled out his phone, and called Michaels.
“Are you still with Hagen?” he asked.
“We’re just emphasizing a few points,” Michaels replied. “Should be done soon.”
“Wrap it up. There’s somewhere else you need to be,” Peter said, then gave Michaels his new instructions.
CHAPTER 14
ROME, ITALY
THE FLIGHT FROM Bangkok took about eleven hours, touching down at Fiumicino Airport outside Rome just before ten p.m. local time.
A cab took them to a hotel Quinn knew about, not far from the reason
they had come to the city. So far, neither Daeng nor Nate had asked him, why Rome? Daeng because that just seemed to be the way he was, and Nate because he had worked with Quinn long enough to know when to ask questions and when not to. That was why Quinn’s earlier confrontation with his former apprentice had been so surprising. Sure, Nate had stood up to him once or twice in the past, but Quinn had always won. Nate was obviously not content to let that happen anymore.
Though it hadn’t been part of Quinn’s plan—what little plan he’d had when he’d gone into his self-imposed exile—his absence had apparently provided the final push Nate needed to move beyond his training phase. Quinn had called him an equal before, but their relationship had still been largely defined by their teacher-student past.
Clearly that was over.
The St. Apollina Hotel was in a quiet part of the city filled with old apartment buildings and shops that closed early every evening. The hotel was a small, family-run business with a dozen or so rooms. A call before leaving the airport guaranteed that a room with two beds and a couch would be held for them.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Quinn said once they were in the room. “There’s a place near here we need to check. Wash up, do whatever you need.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s say ten minutes, okay?”
It only took six before they were heading out again.
They walked up the hill for several minutes, over three streets, then up again for another two and a half blocks.
“There,” Quinn whispered, nodding at a building just down the street and on the other side.
It was a four-story stone building that looked to be at least a hundred years old. While obviously maintained, it looked tired, like it just wanted to take a nap. There was a central, unlit entrance at street level, and six windows each on the floors above it. Light shone from a window on the third floor, but the others were all dark, their occupants either asleep or not home.
“The apartment we’re interested in is on the second floor in the back,” Quinn told them.
“Anyone inside we need to worry about?” Nate asked.
Quinn shook his head.
“What’s the play?”
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