“Okay,” Dani said softly, sliding over a stack of phone records. “You take these. Go through these lists and see if anything jumps out at you, any numbers you recognize, any dates or times that stand out to you.”
“From Marcher’s phone?” Ev’s face regained its sour scowl. “What the hell am I going to learn from that?”
“You met Marcher, right? You’ve been to his lab. You’ve seen how he worked.”
“Yeah, he was another freaking freeloader.” Ev flipped through the pages without looking at them. “Came to this country from South America, like Mexico or someplace, probably illegal. He got a free ride to school and then spent the next ten years bashing the country that gave him everything.”
Choo-Choo gave her a withering glance. “Was he from Argentina?”
“Yeah maybe. Argentina, Guatemala, something like that.”
Dani pointed to the many receipts from the Argentinean steakhouse. “That might explain these. Maybe he was homesick?”
“Or maybe he was in collusion with some underground figures from Argentina. I don’t think we’re going to learn that from his dinner order. Let’s try the photos.”
Hickman had taken snapshots of the laboratory from several angles. Whole walls were covered in writing that only a scientist could decipher. “If that’s the Widow File, we’re going to need someone a lot smarter than me to read it,” Dani said, thumbing through the photos. One picture showed a close-up of a worktable covered in party food. Little plates of nuts and what was probably fois gras on crackers and other party foods littered the surface. Around the edges, Dani could make out what looked like dollhouse furniture—tiny wire tables and chairs, as if a miniature café had been set up around the food.
“What was this party, Ev? And these decorations?”
Ev squinted at the picture and shrugged. “They were always celebrating something at Swan. Seemed like every time someone farted or didn’t blow up the lab, out came the champagne and party food. Hickman loved it. His cover was an equipment salesman and he hung out in that lab a lot. I can’t tell you how many times he reported in smashed after sitting around after hours with Marcher drinking champagne.” She shook her head in disgust. “I can’t stand the stuff. Tastes like perfume and feels like an ax in your head the next day.”
“But what are these little chairs?”
Choo-Choo held the photo up for better light. “Oh, I had a girlfriend who used to do that.”
Ev snorted. “You had a girlfriend? I thought you played for the other team.”
He buried his previous look of disdain under a dry smile. “Teams shmeams. I never worried about what team I was on, Ev, as long as I got a chance at bat.” He shifted in his seat, his body language cutting off the oblivious redhead. “She used to make whole little cafés out of the cork cages. Here,” he reached for the caged cork on the table. “See these little wires? They’re not all one piece. If you have the dexterity—to say nothing of the time and sobriety—you can unwrap those wires and make little sculptures. Obviously Marcher was so inclined.”
He showed her the edges of the wire where the ends had been loosened and twisted into a heart on one side and an elaborate curlicue on the other. After being manhandled in the pouch for so long, however, the shapes had lost their precision and the wire cut into the base of the cork.
“Different champagnes have different kinds of wire,” Choo-Choo explained. “Some are silver, some gold, some are even green. Simone used to make entire sets of chairs and tables and ottomans. She would insist we keep drinking until she had enough for a teeny tiny party.”
Ev grunted. “This is fascinating. Really. What next? Barbie dolls?”
He ignored her. “And the little cork caps are unique to each brand as well. Simone liked White Star, so we had many nights of a full constellation. This cork,” he looked at the small metal cap above the cork, “is Veuve Clicquot, a tasty little champagne. I always liked—”
“Did you say Veuve Clicquot?” Dani asked, leaning in.
“Yeah, probably just the yellow label, but still plenty drinkable. Why?”
Dani rubbed her hands over her face then reached for the cork, turning it to see the cork cap. “Veuve, that’s French. For widow.” She held up the cork to see the smiling face of a white-haired woman.
“Did you find it?” Ev lunged across the table but Dani whipped her arm back, the cork out of reach. “Give me that!”
“We don’t even know what it is, Ev. This is a cork, not a nuclear warhead. We’ve got nothing to bargain with if we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with.” Ev lunged again and Choo-Choo caught her arm, twisting it behind her back at an ugly angle.
“Sit down, Evelyn.” His voice was pure Choo-Choo, a sultry purr, but with an edge Dani had never heard before. “We are in this together. Stop being so grabby.” He jerked her wrist harder until she sat back in her chair. “Are we going to play nice?”
“You do that again and I’ll rip your head off.”
He waved her off. “Save it for the finale.”
Dani examined the cork. Champagne corks were bigger than regular wine corks but they were hardly spacious. She read the writing on the cork and checked the shaped wiring to see if she had missed anything in the scrollwork. “Nothing. I hope I’m not undoing some kind of high-tech monkey puzzle by unwrapping this, but here goes.” She twisted the wire until the heart opened at the bottom, revealing gouges in the base of the cork. She worked carefully, loosening the wire around the base until the metal cork cap lifted slightly from the cork. Slipping the cage off, she set it on the table and used a fingernail to pry off the little metal cap. Underneath, cut into the surface of the cork, was a hole perfectly shaped to fit the tiny USB drive hidden there.
“I’ll be damned,” she said, picking the drive out of its bed. The hole had been cut with a precision she could appreciate, being familiar with jobs like this. “I didn’t know they made drives this small. It’s not much bigger than my thumbnail.”
Choo-Choo held up his hand to prevent Ev from lunging once more. She made a sound that sounded an awful lot like a growl. “We’ve got it,” she said. “Let’s call them and make the exchange.”
Dani tried to stay calm. “We still don’t know what exactly we’ve got. This cork has gone through quite a bit today. We need to check to make sure the data on here is still intact. Or do you want to hand this over to the killers, have them find out it’s empty, and watch them put a bullet between Maureen’s eyes?”
“If you guys are stalling,” Ev sounded much more sober than she had a second ago, “if you’re trying to play an angle with me, you will die regretting it. Do I make myself clear?”
Choo-Choo jerked in his seat, as if he would grab her again, and Ev flinched. He smirked at her and turned back to Dani. “We need a computer. They have a computer.” He nodded toward two couples huddled over a table in the corner arguing over something they had seen online. A laptop sat open and forgotten on the edge of the table. Ev saw it too. Before she could rise, Choo-Choo stopped her with a solid hand on her wrist. Dani wondered just how much that wristlock had hurt a moment ago, because Ev didn’t seem to want to repeat it.
“I’ll get it,” Dani said. She made herself sound as mousy as possible to the drunk foursome, rambling out some story about needing to find out if her sister’s flight was coming in and not having her phone number and other human communication shortcomings. The woman handed her the laptop after making her swear she wouldn’t download or upload anything “risky.” Dani almost laughed at that. “I promise,” she said.
Back at the table, she plugged in the small drive. It held only one file but it was big. When she opened it, the computer stuttered under the command, finally bringing up a document over twenty-five pages long complete with photographs beside long columns of text. Dani found she couldn’t focus on the faces or the text below them. Her eyes would not leave the silhouette of the bald eagle that sat between a badge and a banner that read CENTRAL INTELLIGENC
E AGENCY. The only other word she saw was superimposed over every page: CLASSIFIED.
She heard a whistle of air leave Choo-Choo’s slack mouth as the page populated itself with data. He read the names and he reached out to scroll down the page. “I know who that is. Him too. Him. He’s dead.” He muttered under his breath, speaking only to the computer. “Him, is that the guy who… ? Oh my God.”
Ev tapped the side of the laptop. She’d moved in very close when they’d been distracted and now had the gun pointed at them. “Give that to me right now. This is what’s going to keep Maureen alive. It’s going to keep us all alive. Give it to me.” Dani nodded and Choo-Choo pulled the computer onto his lap. “What are you doing, Choo-Choo? Give it to me.”
He huffed and gave her a long-suffering look. “Like this? If I give you this, we all die. This is a pigeon drive, Ev. Do you know what that is?” Ev shook her head, still scowling. “It’s a relay drive. It’s designed to automatically dump its data into whatever computer you plug it into. As of this moment, this drive is completely empty. Now unless you want to explain to those nice people that we’re stealing their computer as a matter of national security, let me reload the drive.” He started typing, not looking up as he spoke. “I’m assuming this classified notation means we don’t want to share this with the entire world.”
“Okay.” Ev didn’t sound wholly convinced. “But make sure you erase every trace of the drive. I’m calling this in. If you fuck this up, I swear I’ll be the one who kills you.”
He shooed her away with a flick of his long fingers and she stepped toward the door, pulling out her phone. Dani watched him type. “I’ve never heard of a pigeon drive before.”
He still didn’t look up. “That’s because I just made it up. Ev is an idiot and this file is a nightmare. I recognize some of these names—these are political prisoners. Some were supposed to be at Guantánamo, some were supposed to be fugitives. I can’t even imagine who some of these men are or what they’re accused of.”
“And so the CIA is looking for them?” she asked without hope.
“If anything Ev says is true and there are prisoners moving through Rasmund, I’m going to bet this is a list of those prisoners. And if it’s called the Widow File, I’m guessing this isn’t a rescue operation. The question is, are we working for the CIA or, equally terrifying, are we working for someone willing to steal from them?”
She could see Ev pacing on the sidewalk outside. “Whatever you’re doing, you’d better hurry. She’s not going to stay out there forever. What are you doing?”
“I don’t suppose you have a thumb drive in any of your many bags of tricks? No? Next best thing. I’m hiding a copy of this in that woman’s documents with our names and, hang on, what’s your social?” Dani rattled off her social security number. “There’s no way to include pictures of us but I’m telling her to take this to the police and media and anyone else.”
“What makes you think she’s going to do that?”
“Look at her, Dani. She’s wearing brown socks with blue loafers. She’s got a PBS tote bag and I’d bet anything she bought that hideous sweater in some fair-trade shop. Does anything about that say she’s backing the Patriot Act?”
“Stereotypes! And she may never even find the file.”
“I have a backup. I don’t have a Facebook account, do you?”
“I know about eight people. No.”
“Well then we’ll do the next best thing. I’ve done screen shots, you know, taking pictures of what’s on the screen, and loaded them as pictures on Twitter. I’m hash tagging every news source I can think of. I happen to have a large following on Twitter.” When Dani said nothing, he nudged her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain it later. Trust me when I say that it’s going to be very, very difficult putting this genie back into the bottle. Let’s just hope whoever gets this understands that you and I are the good guys. I really don’t want to disappear.”
He closed the program, removed the drive, and shut the laptop. Ev stood in the doorway, looking red and aggressive. She pointed to the door. Dani adjusted the repacked pouch underneath her heavy shirt and pulled on her purse. She felt as if she were girding for battle.
“Here we go.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Booker wandered southeast from Dupont Circle, not headed anywhere in particular. He didn’t bother checking the time—judging by the emptiness of the streets he guessed it was somewhere after midnight. There was no point in going back to Dani’s apartment. His skin prickled with anticipation—whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. He might as well stay in motion. He wished he hadn’t picked up his briefcase now, though. Whatever was going to happen would most likely require both hands. He needed to find somewhere to stash it.
He looked around to get his bearings and smiled. Directly across the street stood the National Geographic Society. Booker decided to take that as a positive sign. He jogged over to the wide shallow steps that rose toward the white square building, dark now except for the trim of lights around the exhibit windows. Low slabs of marble served as benches and Booker sat with his back to the street to open his case.
He took one gun, the SIG Sauer, the one with the most reliable action of all his guns. Something told him there would be plenty of guns in play tonight. There was no need to pack too many of his own. He could just help himself to those of anyone he killed. His knives, however, were another story. The one short blade with the finger hold sat warm and solid in a sheath at the small of his back. He pulled another sheathed blade, long and serrated with a nasty hook at the end, and attached that to the waistband at the front of his pants. He liked his blades warm when he worked with them. A well-used piece of piano wire with caramel-colored oak handles he left coiled in the case along with the laptop containing the client’s contact information. No trace of him would be found on the hard drives no matter how carefully someone searched them. He never used a laptop for more than one job. On the off chance that something went wrong tonight, whoever found the computer would have enough to ruin the client’s life. Assuming the client was still alive. Considering the direction the plan was taking, that seemed unlikely.
He used a handkerchief to wipe off every surface inside and out. He was always careful to wear gloves but it never hurt to double check. Knives stowed on his person, Booker closed the case, locking in two guns, the laptop, and his garrote. The only thing he’d miss, he thought, was the wire weapon. It had been a part of some exciting jobs but this was no time for sentimentality. He had to travel light and be ready for anything. Stripping off his wool jacket, he draped it over the briefcase and shoved it under the bench. Since 9/11 D.C. was still jumpy about unattended baggage left in public places. If he didn’t return to pick it up after tonight, he imagined the presence of the innocent-looking case would cause quite a stir in the morning. He thought Dani might like that the client’s identity was unearthed here.
The earlier mist started to turn to something just shy of rain and Booker appreciated the fact that the chill didn’t penetrate his skin. His early imbalance, his visceral reaction to stress, had faded. He felt like himself again, warm and light and free. When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he bit his lip in anticipation, not knowing what he wanted to hear more—sweet talk with Dani or word from the client that the plan was in motion.
He heard the latter. The client spoke in a wheezing whisper, rattling off his message quickly and hanging up before Booker could say a word: “They’ve got her. World War Two Memorial. Told me to stay at St. Regis. You’ve got to stop them.”
Booker slid the phone back into his pocket and turned the corner onto Sixteenth Street. The St. Regis hotel was only a few blocks down the street and just past that was the White House, the Washington Monument, and the World War II Memorial. Without even knowing it, he had positioned himself perfectly to be part of the action. Another excellent sign.
The doorman at the St. Regis pulled the heavy brass door open for him with a flourish,
his eyes momentarily raking over Booker’s damp shirtsleeves. The doorman wore a long wool coat, a scarf, and a furry hat and he still looked cold. Booker smiled and stepped inside. The lights were low in the lobby, the chandeliers casting a glow over the wide marble floor. High-backed couches and low-slung armchairs clustered together in intimate groupings. Booker headed for the rear of the room. He knew the client. If he had been told to stay in the hotel, he would want to stay somewhere public.
It hadn’t helped him though. Booker could tell before he even cleared the final sofa that the client was dead. Whoever had killed him had done a good job of covering it up. He looked like any old man dozing before a fireplace, the Washington Times open and draped across his chest. A glass of amber liquid with melting ice cubes left a wet ring on the end table. It looked perfectly serene but Booker knew a dead body when he saw one. Dead was dead. He didn’t think anyone could ever mistake it for sleeping.
Without breaking stride, Booker continued down the lobby, veering to the right and making his way back out the door. Whoever had done this, whoever the client had inadvertently been working for, was now targeting Dani. Booker planned to put a stop to that.
“Give me the drive,” Ev said as they headed down Massachusetts Avenue. Choo-Choo nodded and Dani handed over the tiny USB drive. “I can’t believe this little thing brought on such a shit storm.”
“Information is the ultimate weapon,” Choo-Choo said, linking his arm in Dani’s and pulling her close to his side. He kept himself bodily between her and Ev and Dani felt a wave of gratitude for her friend. She had seen more sides of Ev tonight than she had in the two years she’d worked with her; she’d seen more sides of the mercurial woman than she’d seen of almost everyone she’d worked with combined. Ev’s behavior morphed from rage to apathy to depressed to sullen faster than she or Choo-Choo could keep track. Now, drive in hand and destination determined, she looked hard. She looked dangerous and Dani really hoped Ev was on their side.
The Widow File Page 18
