The Kill Order

by Robin Burcell

  43

  Lisette didn’t relax until she, Marc, and Piper were halfway across the Atlantic, each of them having boarded with their forged passports. They kept their conversation to a minimum until Piper finally nodded off, and even then, Lisette was careful about what she said, conscious that others around them could possibly hear. Piper stirred in her seat, and Marc pulled out his copy of the in-flight magazine. The poor girl didn’t need any more drama in her life. Not after the nightmare in Venice. Neither she nor Marc had mentioned the two strange men posing as law enforcement officers who had shown up at her brother’s school, trying to pick him up.

  Some things were best left unmentioned, Lisette thought as they finally landed at Dulles, and the three cleared customs, their false passports easily passing scrutiny. Marc took Piper’s from her the moment the agent handed it back.

  “Don’t trust me?” the girl asked.

  “And this surprises you?” he replied.

  She gave him a look laced with sarcasm and annoyance, as she matched her stride to his. “So now where are we going?”

  “A safe house.”

  “I thought I was going into witness protection with my brother. You promised.”

  “You are. But not until we can make the arrangements to ensure your safety and his.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “As long as necessary.”

  Another look of annoyance, but this time she didn’t question him. Lisette was going to get the car, then follow them to the new safe house. Donovan would be picking up Marc and Piper, again in case anyone was watching for a group of two women and one man. When the elevator door opened on their floor, Piper surprised her with a quick embrace. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “You’re welcome. But you know I’m going to be right behind you in my car?”

  “I know. I just . . . wanted to say so.”

  Once in the parking garage Lisette took the elevator to her level, which felt very empty after the hustle and bustle of the terminal. Her footsteps echoed across the concrete floor, and she felt strangely alone. The sound of a car engine rumbled to life, and then the squeak of wheels as it pulled out of its parking space a couple of rows over. She glanced that way, then quickened her pace, a feeling of unease coming over her. When she reached her car, she hit the key, expecting to hear a beep-beep as it unlocked.

  Apparently the angle was wrong, and she held the key higher, heard the first beep, then bang!

  Lisette jumped between the cars, ducking down. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked out, tried to determine where the sound originated, but it echoed. And then she saw the car that had pulled out of its space heading toward the exit. Not at any high rate of speed, but slow, cruising through the parking lot. Bang!

  A backfire.

  She took a deep breath, had to lean against the vehicle, waiting for her heartbeat to slow. Finally she got into her car, locked the door, then sat there for several seconds. She turned the key in the ignition, then pulled out, thinking that the first thing she wanted to do when she got home was take a hot bath. And then have several drinks. And not necessarily in that order.

  Except she couldn’t go home. Not as long as Piper was with them. In fact she had no idea where they were going to go. Where did one hide when being hunted by the government?

  When she drove around to the passenger pickup and spotted Donovan’s car as he pulled away from the curb after picking up Marc and Piper, she called Marc. He noticed right away that something was wrong, hearing it in her voice.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “A car backfired. I think I’m just tired.”

  “We all are.”

  “Where to?”

  He gave Lisette the address of the new safe house in case they were separated, and she was immediately relieved to know that they had a place to go.

  It was not the nicest building they’d stayed at, but it certainly wasn’t the worst, she thought, when they pulled up in the Washington, D.C., neighborhood. The unit was about ten stories high and located in an area that was partly under construction.

  “Not my first choice,” Donovan explained when they arrived. “We didn’t have a lot of options, and this was one of the few apartments we had that wasn’t listed on any computers. In case Kane has access to our files, we figured we were better off not using anything we’ve used before.”

  “At least it has three bedrooms,” Lisette said. “Always a plus when you have a crowded house.”

  Izzy got up from the table where he was working on his laptop. “You’re Piper?”

  She nodded.

  “Man, you might have the coolest head in the world. Brain. I’d give anything to have it.”

  “Most people think I’m a freak.”

  “Freakin’ awesome,” he said, and Lisette was rather amused to see that Piper was actually blushing. “So, when do we get started?”

  “Started on what?” Marc asked.

  “The program. She’s the key, and I’m gonna turn it.” He looked at Piper, his face turning as red as hers had a moment ago. “Guess I should go back to work . . .”

  He returned to the table and his laptop.

  Piper walked over to watch him work. “Doesn’t it bother you that you have to stay in here? That you can’t go anywhere?”

  Izzy shrugged. “It’s kind of fun working with these guys. They’re sort of all about protocol and crap. Like how they won’t let your brother come here until this is over, because he might be in danger.”

  “My brother?” Her expression quickly turned serious. “What do you mean in danger? He’s coming into witness protection with me, right?”

  Izzy stared at his keyboard, as Marc hesitated, then pulled out a chair and sat. “He’s safe. But they found him. They would have tried using him to get to you.”

  “How?”

  “They would have asked that we give up the key.”

  “Then let’s give it to them.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Yes. We can.”

  “Piper,” Lisette said, taking her hand and holding it. “First of all, you are now the key. I am not willing to give you to them. Under any circumstances. And I don’t believe your brother would want this for you, either. You must think of how many lives will be lost if these numbers, this key, falls into their hands. That is what we are faced with.”

  “So my brother has to live in fear for the rest of his life? Just because this is in my head? What if they come after him again?” She pulled her hand from Lisette’s. “You have to fix this. That’s what you all do, right? You think of a way to get around this. You can’t just sacrifice his life like that.”

  “Piper.”

  “No,” she said, backing away from them, tears running down her face. “I’m so tired of this.” And then she turned, ran into the bedroom, and slammed the door.

  No one spoke for several seconds.

  “Sorry,” Izzy said. “I thought she knew about her brother.”

  “At least he’s safe,” Lisette said. “She’s tired is all. We all are.”

  “Well, I need the numbers from her so I can implement the program.”

  “Implement?” Lisette said. “Slow down and please fill us in. We’re a bit jet-lagged and out of the loop.”

  It was Donovan who explained. “McNiel wants to get it up and running. Fight fire with fire. Only he’s hoping our flame will end up being bigger than Kane’s.”

  “Are we sure this can’t wait until morning?”

  “We wish it could.”

  “Then at least after we eat dinner.” Once dinner was served, they broached the subject with Piper. She actually looked happy to be doing something for the cause.

  Lisette, however, was fading fast; she glanced at the alarm panel, saw it was set. “Donovan, you’ll be up with them?” He nodded. She retired to her
room and was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

  She awoke the next morning and found Izzy asleep in one armchair, Donovan in the other. Piper was on the couch. Apparently they’d worked all night, and when she started the coffee, Donovan awoke. “Long night,” he said.

  “Progress?”

  “No. It didn’t work. Our only shot, and it didn’t go off.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning this code everyone’s been chasing her around for isn’t worth a damn. At least not the versions she’s carrying in her head.”

  Lisette glanced toward the computer. “If he tried to make it work, won’t that come up on Kane’s system? Isn’t that how Kane found Piper’s friend? When he started running those numbers?”

  “One, her friend didn’t know what he was doing. Two, Izzy took precautions. It’s not infallible, but he says it’ll take them a while before they can trace it. The problem is they can trace it, and the more he runs it, the bigger chance he has of getting caught.”

  Piper stirred on the couch, and Lisette walked over, shook her. “Hey. Go to bed, okay?”

  The girl nodded, got up and walked to the bedrooms, then stood there a moment, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Which one?”

  “The one with the open door.”

  Once it closed behind her, Lisette continued the conversation. “Exactly how long do we have before they figure out we’re here?”

  “Izzy? Wake up.”

  Izzy stared at them, clearly out of it.

  Lisette turned back to Donovan. “And if they do find us?”

  “You don’t want to know. At least not before your coffee.”

  Izzy finally stirred and looked up at the clock. “You might want to have that coffee soon. I started running that at midnight . . . Eight hours ago . . . Forty hours max and they’ll be knocking on our door.”

  44

  Tucson, Arizona

  Sydney and Griffin drove to Arizona, deciding it was the safest route, and would allow them the freedom of carrying their weapons, something they couldn’t do if they flew, now that Griffin was likely to have a warrant for his arrest. The trip took about thirteen hours, and they pulled into a hotel that night a little after three in the morning.

  Which, of course, meant there was the whole sleeping arrangement thing, something Sydney hadn’t really even thought of until the clerk, a dark-haired woman in her twenties, asked, “Just the two of you?”

  “Yes,” Griffin said. “There should be a paid-for reservation under my name.” He slid his fake ID across the counter. The clerk barely looked, then typed something into the computer. Doc had paid for it online with his credit card.

  “One night, two occupants. Here you go.” She handed Griffin a small folder with two plastic card keys. “Breakfast is served between six and nine just off the lobby.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their room was on the fourth floor overlooking the parking lot and the freeway. There were two double beds, and Sydney dropped her bag on the farther, then walked toward the window, looking out, wondering what, if anything, she should say. It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept platonically in the same room before. They had. It was more that she hadn’t expected to be hit with the very vivid memories—and her body’s reaction to them—of the first and only time they’d slept together in the same bed. She was beginning to think he was like a drug, and apparently two days’ time was not enough to get him from her system. Why else was she hyperaware that they were here, alone, and no one around to disturb them?

  Another point was that there was still a very deep chasm between them. Even knowing about the kill order, she trusted him with her life. But this was a different sort of trust. Maybe it was more that she realized how very little she knew of him. They’d worked together, slept together, but they didn’t really know each other.

  That awkward silence that had filled the room the morning after at the bed-and-breakfast was back. And suddenly she was aware that he was standing behind her.

  “Sydney. If you’re more comfortable, maybe we should get separate rooms.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You want the shower first?”

  “Sure.” She started to slip past him as he stepped away, and then she remembered her bag on the bed, turned, reached for it, brushing against him, losing her balance as she tried to pull back.

  He caught her, and they stood there for a few seconds, his breathing as ragged as hers. Neither spoke. She realized that he was waiting. He’d let her make the first move.

  Listen to her body or her head?

  “Things are not settled between us,” she said.

  “I know.”

  And then she pulled him down to the bed.

  They arrived at the Tucson facility a little after ten. Sydney used her real ID for this, thinking they’d get more mileage with an FBI credential than their fake identifications, which had no law enforcement affiliation.

  First, however, she called the warden to set up the visit, and he was waiting for them in his office.

  “I wasn’t aware there’d be two of you.”

  “Yeah,” Sydney said. “He’s, uh . . .” She turned to Griffin, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

  Griffin held out his hand. “International Journal of World Peace. Special interest section. We’re doing a cover story.”

  Sydney smiled at the warden. “As you can see, I’m not really here in an official capacity, so I hope that’s not an issue.”

  “Not with me,” the warden said. “Mr. Chapman will have to be the one to decide. He’s allowed visitors like any other prisoner. That being said, I’m curious why the interest in this guy? Typical drug bust. Don’t think he’s had a visitor other than his ex-wife in at least a decade, and even she hasn’t come the last couple years.”

  Sydney owed the guy some explanation, if nothing else than to satisfy his curiosity so that the matter wouldn’t be looked at too hard. “Old conspiracy case. He-said, she-said sort of thing. A rumor he was set up on the drug charges.”

  “Not likely,” the warden said. “Right after you called, I looked at his file. The guy’s a career criminal. Arrested on drug charges starting when he was twenty-five, manufacturing meth. Not a big stretch to think he was manufacturing it twenty years later when he was arrested on his current conviction.”

  He opened the folder. “We’re in the process of going digital. Not quite up to two decades ago, so you’re in luck, or these wouldn’t be here.”

  “Anyone else making inquiries on this guy?”

  “Like I said, you’re the first in about forever.” Sydney eyed the prisoner folder on his desk. “You wouldn’t mind if I had a look at that, would you?”

  “Don’t see why not, seeing as how you’re FBI.”

  He slid it across the desk toward her. The first thing she examined was the custody log, which followed a prisoner wherever he went. In this case, it showed Rico Chapman had been incarcerated in this facility about the entire time. Considering he’d been in here close to twenty years, there weren’t that many visitors. The ex-wife, a couple of FBI agents whose names she didn’t recognize, and the reporter, Ronson.

  That wasn’t the most damning thing in her mind. It was the printout of the conviction record. And after she returned the file to the warden, and he had a guard take them back to the visiting room, where they waited a few minutes alone, she asked Griffin, “Did you see his crim hist?”

  “The case he was convicted on? Unremarkable—unless one counts that there are murderers who don’t get as many years.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking. How is it they’re keeping this guy locked up for so long?”

  The guard brought Rico Chapman in, then, surprising Sydney, said, “Good thing you guys came when you did. Any later, he’d be gone.”

  “Gone where?” Griffin asked.
/>
  “Being transferred back East is all I know.” He looked at his watch. “In about two hours.”

  And once again it was like someone knew the next steps they’d be taking.

  Rico Chapman did not look like a computer geek or a scientist. If anything, he looked like a beer-drinking redneck. He had shoulder-length graying hair that was receding at the temples, crow’s-feet around his eyes, and a gut that said he didn’t spend much time in the prison gym.

  He eyed Syd and Griffin with suspicion as he took a seat across from them. “You’re not my attorney.”

  “Not sure how that mistake was made,” Sydney said. “Then again, we didn’t go to law school. I would, however, suggest you check your attorney’s credentials.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve seen murderers get less time than you. What the hell’d you do? Sell methamphetamine to kindergarteners?”

  “I guess you can call me the guy who knows too much. I just can’t get anyone to listen.”

  “Which,” Griffin said, “in your case, could be a good thing.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Just about everyone else involved in this case is dead—you being the anomaly.”

  “And all this time I figured I was here because I pissed off all the wrong government officials.”

  Sydney took a seat opposite him, while Griffin stood off to one side. “You think the government’s involved?”

  Rico’s brows went up. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yes, I’m kidding,” Sydney said. “Even so, I’m going to admit, I know next to nothing about your case.”

  “Then what the hell you doing here? You’re another one of those reporters?”

  “I’m not,” Sydney replied, then nodded toward Griffin. “But he is.”

  “Who are you, then?”

  “FBI.”

  “Not interested. Last time I talked to the FBI—and that was over a decade ago, I got stuck in solitary confinement.”

  “I’m not like other agents. In fact, I’m not even here officially.”

  “Another white hat, gonna save the world? Little late, don’t you think?”