Losing his temper, the badgered gunman scatter-shot wildly. Sean slammed Patra flat to the floor and weighed her down with his body before she could locate more weapons.
A solid wave of water hit the desk and keeled it over on them.
The would-be killer screamed, and knocked flat by the torrent, slid across the room.
“What the f —” Sean muttered.
The water stopped as abruptly as it had hit.
Sean pushed the desk off and slid it between them and the gunman. Shakily, Patra pushed wet hair out of her eyes. Peering around their shelter, she located a fireman in rubber suit and protective headgear in the doorway, holding a hose.
“Where’s the fire?” the rubber-suited newcomer asked, turning off the nozzle while another entered in full gear, carrying an ax.
“Fire?” Which was when Patra smelled smoke a little stronger than scorched carpet.
“Oh, shit,” Sean muttered, apparently smelling it at the same time.
Glancing over her shoulder, Patra saw the saturated goon hunting for his gun. She dived for the weapon first and handed it to Sean. She had to help him stand on his injured foot. Together, they stumbled into the hall. Their guardian angel was already hauling his hose up the stairs. Sean flung the weapon into the nearest file cabinet.
Patra didn’t bother looking back to see if their assailant had escaped. She clutched the tote that had almost cost them their lives. Sean held his soaked box and limped after her. Now that the moment was over, full panic mode kicked in. She wanted out of the building — with the man who had taken a bullet for her.
Down the main corridor, they could see ladder trucks through the front windows.
“Run ahead and find a policeman,” Sean ordered.
“Bullshit.” She grabbed his arm, hauled it over her shoulder, and kept marching. “I’m not leaving you, and I’m not sending anyone into a burning building.”
“Your whole entire family is nuts, aren’t they?” he asked as he hopped beside her.
“My father worked in war zones for a living and loved it, so yeah, it isn’t just Magda.”
“Adrenaline junkies,” he said as they stumbled out the front door.
Patra winced at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit near the front door, gesturing to uniformed officers. She steered Sean in a different direction, while the man distracted a policeman and a fire captain by pointing out a window in the front facade. She hoped he was a newspaper exec explaining the building’s layout.
One of the policemen holding back the crowd broke off to head their way. Another fire truck arrived, and the crowd surged. The cop had to turn around and drive them back. Accustomed to slipping into mobs and hiding in plain sight, Patra nudged Sean away from the action.
“Patra!”
Wearily, she glanced up to see Nick behind a police barricade. Handsome as always, he didn’t do anything so crass as to jump up and down to catch their attention. He merely held his hand up so the sun caught his gold watchband and snapped his fingers.
He had a medic pointed their way before they reached the yellow tape.
“Thank you,” she murmured to Sean, kissing his cheek and appropriating the soaked box in his arms. “And here’s where I must say good-bye. Don’t mention my name if you can help it.”
That was family habit — slip away unnoticed, unnamed, and uninvolved.
“Hell…” Sean started to protest, but the medic hauled him to a stretcher.
With more cops heading her way, Patra merged with the crowd gathering around Nick.
“Can’t leave you alone for a minute,” Nick said cheerfully, pushing her back through the mob. He draped his blazer over her soaked shirt and took Sean’s box. “Do we need to follow the ambulance?”
“No, we need to dry out these papers. From what I glimpsed, I think Bill was working for the Righteous and Proud a few years back.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Nick admitted, “but to the Metro we go, then.”
A shout rose from the crowd behind them, and Patra checked over her shoulder.
A spotlight projecting a fanged bat image had distracted every eye on the block.
The spotlight illuminated a second story window through thick clouds of black smoke. Framed in the light was a fireman dragging a coughing shrimp over the sill and onto the ladder.
“What the devil is that bat doing up there?” Patra asked in awe.
Nick nearly doubled over in laughter, then patted her shoulder. “You catch the Metro. I’ll go collar a thug. Batman is apparently bored and has left his batcave.”
* * *
Back in my cellar office, I followed the news on Graham’s network of legitimate news feeds, plus individual postings from smart phones, and twitter accounts. The Internet is normally a faceless wave of information impossible to comprehend. Graham’s genius was to filter out the useless flood and catch the flakes of gold.
I sighed in relief when I saw Patra emerge from the building with Sean. They were both soaked to the skin, and Sean seemed injured, but they were alive.
The image of the bat signal made me sigh in exasperation. I hit the intercom. “Why come out of the cave now?” I shouted at the faceless machine.
No reply, naturally. I’d sent Graham into the fray, and he’d probably gone. There was no other interpretation of the bat images.
I didn’t care how he did it. I wanted to know why.
I paced restlessly until Patra arrived. I knew she’d arrived because I could hear EG break into excited chatter in the foyer above. I was ready to fly into a million jagged pieces, but I couldn’t let my siblings see that.
Taking a deep breath, I hastened up the stairs before Patra could escape to her room. I needed to know she was really okay before I could breathe normally.
Patra’s eyes lit as soon as I appeared. “Ana, can we dry these out?” She held out a mangled wad of papier-mâché.
“Looks like a task for Mallard. EG, will you run that mess down to the kitchen?” I assumed Patra had risked her life for that trash, but I would not judge. Repeat fifty times. I will not judge.
“Where’s Nick?” I asked the instant EG ran off.
“A fireman carried out a guy who might have been the arsonist. Nick took off after him. What the devil was that bat signal about? Nick almost died laughing.”
“Inside joke. I don’t suppose we have any names or explanations for this incident?”
“I tried, but it’s hard talking to men with guns,” Patra said, shoving her wet hair from her eyes. “But they didn’t just want Bill’s papers. They wanted us. I don’t know anything. Why would anyone think I would?”
I held up my hand and began ticking off fingers. “If it really is you they’re after, let me count the ways. Because you had your father’s papers. Because you came here. Because you talked to Bill Bloom —”
Patra interrupted. “Bill was mixed up in more than my business. That’s what I want to dig out of those files. There are invoices to Dr. Smythe in Bill’s files. I don’t know what Sean found but he pulled a bunch of folders, too. What if Bill wasn’t killed because of me?” she asked with a hint of desperation. “What if he was killed because of what he knew about someone else?”
“Then you’d better figure out what you know that someone nasty would want to talk to you. Until that time, we need to put you on a plane back to London.”
Patra ignored my sage advice. “You said some of my father’s papers are coded. Have you had any success in de-coding them?”
“I’ve decoded a few lists of times and days but I haven’t matched them to anything yet. You brought us decades of files to sort through. It takes time. Why don’t you go visit Magda while we work on it?”
“I’ve got an interview with Rhianna to do yet and a job to start tomorrow! Going to take a shower now.” Patra ran off.
“Would you have gone to London?” the hall lamp asked. “Leave your adult siblings alone.”
Graham was back. A
nd he was right, but I used to change her diapers, even if I hadn’t been as old as EG at the time. It was hard to ignore the maternal instinct.
“One of you will have to find out what Sean is telling the police. Or get to him before the police and tell him what to say if you wish to keep Patra uninvolved,” Graham continued.
We really didn’t need Patra’s name involved. Or any of us, if it could be avoided. Like Graham, or any good spy, we’d learned to live in the shadows. I liked it there. I could accomplish much more if people didn’t notice me.
Patra had chosen a different path, but I respected Graham’s desire to be overlooked. Although that bat signal may have been a sign that Graham had become more concerned than usual.
“Hold the fort while I’m out,” I agreed. “Don’t bomb any small countries while I’m gone.”
Me and Graham working in tandem — what a concept. Gave me goose bumps, I admit.
* * *
I called Nick and located the hospital where Sean and the potential arsonist had been taken. That someone had twice tried to burn papers in Patra’s possession wasn’t exactly a pattern. Yet. They weren’t the same papers. The incidents had happened an ocean apart, and fire is the obvious means of destroying paper. But it established a pattern of violence. Paper shredders were far less dangerous.
Since Nick had said he was in the emergency room, looking for a chance to get at the thug with smoke inhalation, I went in search of Sean through normal measures. I asked at the information desk.
He’d been admitted for observation. When I reached his room, Sean was already dressed and trying to figure out how to cover up his bandage and escape.
“If the police ask who was with you, tell them it was this person,” I said by way of greeting, handing him my Linda Lane alter ego card. “And thank you for looking after my idiot sister.”
“I think I’m asking for a job transfer,” he muttered. “Do you know she flung a stapler at a brute with a gun? Who does that?”
I opened a drawer and found paper booties to protect his bandage. “We do. Any weapon at hand rather than be held hostage. Family motto and sound tactical strategy. Even the police recommend that teachers fling books or anything at hand if a gunman threatens. I’ll pay for a taxi to take you back to your car. Can you drive with that foot?”
“I’m afraid to look at my car,” he grumbled. “What’s with the bat signal?”
I was getting tired of being asked that, probably because I didn’t have a good answer. I just kept making them up. “Batman apparently wanted us to know which thug was our arsonist.”
“The guy with a gas can that we saw wasn’t wearing a suit like the gunmen,” Sean said, pulling on his booty. “Neither was the man they hauled from the window.”
Duly noted — gunmen wore suits to hide their holsters. Arsonists wore inflammables? “Nick’s down there looking for him now,” I told him. “If you want to be in on the fun, I’ll help you down there.”
He actually looked interested in hunting an arsonist. His dark curls were starting to dry without benefit of whatever he usually used to control them. His cheap shirt looked a little the worse for its drenching, and his jeans were still wet. He had to be uncomfortable, and he still wanted the story. I appreciated perseverance in a man.
“I’ve got to hobble downstairs anyway, why not?” he asked, standing.
“I hope they gave you a lot of good painkillers,” I muttered. “I’m not tall like Patra, and I make a very bad walking stick.”
“It’s just my toe. I can walk on my heel. How are you planning on getting through the emergency room?”
I smiled, and he actually had the sense to back off a step.
I’m devious, and he knew it.
Nineteen
Nick was chatting up an intern when we reached the emergency waiting room. He didn’t even lift an eyebrow when he saw my surgical cap and scrubs. With my long black braid pinned inside, I was next to invisible.
Carrying a clipboard I’d appropriated, I nodded greeting. “Mr. Nicholas, your friend will need some help. If you’ll come this way, please.” Leading Sean on his booty, I headed straight down the hall as if I belonged there. I didn’t bother to see if Nick followed. I knew he would.
If he’d been setting up a date, he was probably scowling, but I was into authority mode and marched on without checking. I waited until I found an empty corridor before halting to let them catch up. “Where’s our arsonist?”
Sean leaned against the wall to rest his foot, still regarding my baggy green disguise with distaste. More accustomed to my methods, Nick merely nodded to the next intersection. “A cop just arrived to ask questions. Admissions has already been in, but from what I can tell, he was too groggy to give information. I think they’ve rifled his wallet for next of kin and insurance, but they’ll be back shortly with paperwork.”
“Okay, come along and show me the room and just follow my lead.” This was a decent hospital, with private examining rooms instead of open beds. I spotted the cop as soon as we turned the corner.
“I’ll be right with you, Mr. Nicholas, just as soon as I check on this patient,” I said loudly enough that the cop could hear us chatting. “Why don’t you and your friend go get some coffee?”
I nodded at the cop and opened the door of the examining room without consulting him. Behind me, Nick was asking the officer if he’d like some coffee, too. Knowing Nick, he’d already determined the fellow’s preference in milk and sugar and all three would investigate the cafeteria. I couldn’t count on being left undisturbed for long, though.
The patient didn’t look big enough to be a thug. He was wiry and short with a receding hairline and a big nose. He was faking sleep. Deal with half a dozen sneaky kids and you learn the difference. I’d intended to be polite and pretend I was actually an admitting nurse, but if he was going to be stupid…
I found his clothes and began searching his pockets. Why ask when I could see for myself? His wallet was good leather and had protected the contents from the deluge of sprinklers and hoses. A driver’s license to one Don Toreador, a fake name if I’d ever heard one. I photoed the address and the rest of his cards. A prescription for Viagra. Cute. A cheap photo of a half naked woman with Call me on the back. Real sleaze we had here.
He had a Blue Cross insurance card — bingo! R&P Inc was listed as the employer.
“Dr. Smythe has been in to check on you, Mr. Toreador,” I lied blithely. “We told him we’d let him know when you’re awake. Are you awake yet?”
“He gonna get me out of here?” the beanbrain growled, not bothering to open his eyes.
“I don’t think that’s up to him. I just told him I’d let you know. I can send the policeman out to talk to him, if you like.”
That got him opening his eyes. I liked them better closed, but I had my mask on.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded.
I laid his wallet on the table. “Got it in one. I’m the devil, and I suggest you take a long sabbatical and rethink your occupation. I can give you the names of people who will be happy to question you about Smitty and your involvement in Bill Bloom’s death should you care to ease your conscience and make a clean getaway.”
“Why should I?” he growled, looking justifiably wary.
“Because I’m about to identify you as the arsonist who set fire to the office and attempted to murder two reporters. And then I’ll tell Smitty you sang like a canary. But if you’d rather I didn’t, you could tell me what you know, and I’ll never be heard from again.”
“Bullshit.” But he looked worried.
And I’d just confirmed his guilt and possible connection to R&P. “I calculate we may have three minutes before someone comes in. Talk or I go my merry way.”
“I don’t know nothing. I get orders and follow them.” He tugged at the IV, then coughed as he breathed too hard on his oxygen.
“And your orders today were?”
“Same as every day since the Bloom guy died.
Follow anyone who came for the boxes, destroy the papers, bring the person in for questioning. That’s all I know. Give me my wallet.”
“One of your buddies shot at the person you followed. Was that order ‘Bring them in, dead or alive?’”
“Don’t think so. Harry’s got a temper. But I’m just the paper guy. We were supposed to find the papers and computers in Bloom’s apartment but we got run out before we could do more than scarf the computer.”
In other words, we didn’t have Bill’s killer here, just a low-level thief.
“And who did you give the computer to?”
“Harry took care of that,” he said, still fiddling with the tubes keeping him tied to the bed.
“Is Smitty your main employer or are there others?”
He was starting to look kind of pale under his weathered tan. “Look, people disappear who work for my employer. Smitty’s just a friend of my employer. He helps us, we help him. Ain’t nuttin’ illegal in that.”
“Pull another one,” I said with an undignified snort. I heard voices in the hall. My time here was done. I wished I knew more about interrogation, but I was better at running away. “You have any names for your employer?”
“I get paid cash, okay? Give me my wallet.” He apparently heard the voices too. “I got kids. I gotta feed them somehow. Papers ain’t special. There’s a lot of us. They call us corporate spies. We don’t hurt nobody.”
“Oh, cripes, and you believe in Santa Claus, don’t you? It says R&P on your insurance card. How did you get that?”
“We all got ’em. Smitty’s company helps the indigent like me.”
I really wanted to hit him, but for all I knew, he actually believed that. I didn’t have time to question more and didn’t want to go to jail for low level scum. “Look, here’s a number to call when the walls start closing in.” I gave him my Linda card with the voice mail number. “You’re working with a dangerous crowd. They killed their own lawyer. They’ll kill you, too. Call me and I’ll find a way to get you out when you’re ready. Your kids would rather have you alive and unemployed, I assure you.”
He looked pretty nervous when I left. He had a right to be. I was beginning to suspect that half this town was controlled by Top Hat, and that included the R&P. I just couldn’t prove anything. Conspiracies were so very last century. I wanted to be wrong.
Undercover Genius Page 14
