“Because when we connected, she asked me to,” Avery replied. “It’s important.”
A call from the FBI to a DHS employee would yield faster results than a request from a disgraced attorney. She was using him, but if he found Dr. Papaleo, Lee would be the first to learn why Papaleo wanted to meet. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll go and pick her up myself. Bring her to the law firm.”
Avery stiffened. If Betty explained how they’d met, Agent Lee’s cooperation would probably vanish in an instant, leaving her with less than she had now. Tripping an alert on the Web as a way of connecting with a government employee wasn’t illegal, but Agent Lee struck her as inflexible on matters of security. So she hedged: “Please do, but can you try not to scare her? I can tell you from experience, having the FBI come and pick you up does little to encourage friendliness.”
“I’ll be a gentleman, Ms. Keene.”
* * *
—
Vance listened to the latest report from Phillips and his team. So far, the deaths of Betty Papaleo and her husband had gone unnoticed by the police or the press. The police had yet to turn up the abandoned Volvo, and their ersatz vacation would keep questions at bay for at least a week.
Castillo had tracked Keene to the Lincoln Memorial, where she had found nothing. The rest of her movements were restricted by the heavy cloak of the FBI—a temporary solution, but progress, nonetheless. If Curlee kept the public pressure on, Celeste would win custody Monday morning and be a wealthy widow by the middle of the week.
One last loose end. “Where is Rita Keene?”
“She’s been stoned all day.”
“Where is she now?”
“Sleeping it off at a flophouse down on Wisconsin.”
“The FBI has a team out searching for her. Stay on her and send me any good material. Sex for drugs would be perfect, if you can pull it off.”
Since the lady wasn’t half bad to look at, Phillips shrugged again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Phillips left, and Vance punched in Agent Lee’s number.
“Special Agent Lee.”
“This is Vance.”
“Calling to check in on our girl?”
“She’s been very popular today. Can’t turn on a television without seeing those photos.” He’d have fresh ones to pass along if Phillips did his job. “Did Ms. Keene agree to protective custody?”
“Not yet.”
“Has she provided any further information on Justice Wynn?”
“No more than we heard on Tuesday.”
“The photos? She give any explanation?”
“Didn’t ask. We both knew about her mother, Vance. Nothing in that story today was news.”
“Public awareness changes the dynamic.” Vance flattened his palm against the desk when frustration would have balled it into a fist. He needed Lee’s help, and truculence wouldn’t work. “We agreed that due to her mother’s predilections and her own past habits, she poses a security risk. I’d hoped you might be able to revisit the idea of her voluntarily relinquishing custody.”
“No can do. She’s in full defense mode now. Determined to prove Justice Wynn didn’t make a mistake with her.”
“How does she plan to accomplish that?”
“I don’t know. We’re not friends, but I can read the signs. She’s got an idea. She’ll let us know when she’s ready.”
Vance’s splayed fingers curled against his will. Agent Lee knew more than he was telling, and, from the tone, Lee relished the imbalance. A curse bubbled in his throat, along with the urge to shout at Lee about how far above his pay grade he was playing.
But Lee had obviously staked out a position in favor of the enemy. So be it. He wouldn’t be the first to be seduced by the appearance of innocence. Somehow, he’d find nobility in Avery’s efforts. Perhaps try to intercede.
Adding a federal agent to his list of potential loose ends, Vance felt a twinge of remorse. Though they both worked in the same shadows, Agent Lee struck him as a man who would not understand nuance or the absolutes of national security. Lee was a domestic soldier, whereas Vance had no such luxury. The commander in chief had given him orders. Nothing meant more.
“I hope you’ll keep me apprised,” he asked Lee. “We’re all playing blind here.”
“Of course. As soon as I hear something worth repeating, you’ll know it.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“Justice Wynn’s blood sample that you secured finally arrived,” Indira said into her phone. She flipped the covers aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The constant pain she’d learned to overlook spurted with vicious force throughout her body. She walked haltingly to the desk, where samples had been packed and sealed. “I’ll expedite testing today to determine the unknown substance from his hospital testing.”
“How long will it take?” Nigel asked impatiently.
“We should have initial results in a few hours.” Except she would not be revealing the origin of the compound. A scan of the notes Nigel had also pilfered from the hospital had already revealed what she’d suspected. Justice Wynn had ingested a pharmaceutical created by Advar and discontinued due to poor test results. Dr. Ani Ramji had access to the formulary and the side effects. They’d nicknamed it the Sleeping Beauty drug. Irreversible coma but stabilized vital signs. Forcing her voice to sound matter-of-fact, she told Nigel, “As soon as I have anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
“What about loose ends on your side?”
“There are none,” Indira temporized.
“There are always loose ends,” Nigel warned. “Trick is to find them first. Do you have any documents I haven’t seen? Anything damning?”
“I told you, we’re clean.”
“I don’t believe you,” Nigel retorted flatly. “What are you holding back?”
“I suppose you’ve been completely forthcoming about the beds GenWorks has slept in?” Indira challenged instead of answering.
“I’m not trying to burn you.”
“What happened with Hygeia before we bought it is not the issue, Nigel. We’ve discussed this.” She’d filled him in on many of the details when Stokes made his first move. Still, she’d trust only so far. “I haven’t questioned all you’ve done on your side of the ledger sheet.”
Nigel rocked slowly. “The president wasn’t pleased with my press conference. I’m booked on Colbert for tonight’s broadcast.”
“Don’t overdo it, Nigel,” Indira cautioned. “We want Stokes on the defensive, not the warpath.”
“I know what I’m doing.” He’d take the fight to Stokes and score points in the bargain. “Oh, and Indira?”
“Yes?”
“You should consider a visit. Soon.”
“I will.”
Nigel hung up the phone, vaguely disturbed. Indira was holding out on him. About what, he wasn’t sure, but he knew her too well. What was he missing?
“Mr. Cooper?”
Nigel glanced up at his assistant and away from the streaming headlines on the screen. Images of the woman he’d hoped would be his salvation flashed on the screen, accompanied by still shots of a bedraggled creature identified as her mother. Avery Keene’s tenuous hold on Justice Wynn’s life got shakier by the day. Frustration swept through him, and he growled, “What?”
“A package arrived for you,” his assistant explained tentatively. “I would have opened it, but it’s from the Department of Homeland Security.” She entered the room, carrying a brown box swathed in tape and red stamps. “The instructions say it’s for the recipient only.”
Nigel stood and reached over the desk. “Thanks, Merian.” He fairly snatched the box away, eager for her to leave the room. As soon as his door shut behind her, he strode over to the reclaimed antique oak table in the corner of his spacious office. Papers sat in tidy stacks, which he
ignored in favor of this newest prize.
He set the box down carefully and returned briefly to his desk for a letter opener. Swiftly, he slit through the tape and safety seal. The box opened with gratifying ease, and he pulled back the flaps.
A letter lay on top, the words scrawled by hand rather than by machine.
Dear Mr. Cooper,
The information contained in this box may impact your pending litigation against President Stokes. What I am doing today may be tantamount to treason, but I don’t see any other recourse. I pray to God I’m wrong.
Betty Papaleo
Beneath the letter, a memo had been typed out and, from his quick skim, numbered nearly ten pages in cramped, determined lines. Reports with yellow and blue covers and long, officious names were stacked beneath the memo.
The enclosed memo had Nigel dropping into a padded chair, his eyes devouring its contents. More than an hour passed before he broke away from the table. At his desk, he punched in her number a second time, unconcerned about the time difference.
“Someone knows,” he declared as soon as the connection was made.
Indira had grown used to the abrupt announcements. She waved associates from her office before replying, “About what exactly?”
“Everything. Hygeia, the president, Tigris, the funds. They’ve connected the dots.”
Her stomach pitched slowly. “Completely?”
“Just about.” He raked a hand through his hair. “A scientist at Homeland Security wrote a memo explaining what happened with the funds and Hygeia. We’ve got to contain this.”
“How do you know?”
“She sent it to me, and God knows who else might have a copy. Fuck.”
Indira didn’t speak for long seconds. Then she sighed. “Tell her.”
“Tell who what?”
“Your pet attorney. Use her to reveal the truth.”
“Are you insane? Tell her Hygeia attempted to manufacture a genetic virus to kill Muslims—with research illegally funded by the U.S. government—and the successor corporation now wants to take over my company? You don’t think this might damage our fucking merger?”
Indira shut her eyes, tempted to respond. But she’d kept that one secret too close to share it, even now. The time had come for damage control. The rest would remain buried. She exhaled lightly, soundlessly. “What have we to lose, Nigel? Either Ms. Keene will use what you tell her to stop Stokes, or Stokes will simply win without a fight.”
“This is a major risk. The Court might rule in our favor without this.”
“Wishful thinking.” Indira rubbed idly at her leg, and she stretched the muscles without relief. “If you have this information, someone else does. We’ve lost, Nigel. Justice Wynn was our last hope. Now we simply need to destroy our enemy.”
“I’m no suicide bomber.”
“You are today.” Indira stared out from the glass and chrome of her office. If she focused their attention on the elephant in the room, perhaps no one would notice the mouse stealing through the cracks. “I’ll be in North Carolina tomorrow.”
THIRTY-NINE
Agent Leighton returned them to the apartment that evening, and she relinquished the detail to an Agent Foster. The taciturn man ushered them inside and warned them not to leave for the evening. Despite the cramped quarters, no one was willing to go home. Avery and Jared kept the conversation light, and Ling and Noah got the message. No explanations until they could be sure of privacy.
The television blared as they ate pizza. Around ten p.m., Avery’s cell phone rang. She checked the phone warily and noted that the number was blocked. no caller id in her world usually indicated a government line. She hoped it might be Betty Papaleo. “Hello?”
“I saw your messages.”
It was a male voice. Avery froze. Jared subtly gestured to the bathroom, and she gave a slight nod in understanding. “Hold on, please.” She raced into the bathroom and twisted the shower to on. The pounding of the water would muffle her conversation, and she had to hope that the surveillance did not include the bathroom.
She flipped down the toilet cover and sat hunched over the phone. “Hello?”
“Good evening.”
“Who is this?”
The lightly accented voice on the other end responded, “I would like to meet.”
“Who is this?”
“One of the bishops. And I would like to meet in the square.”
“Is this Dr. Ramji?” Silence stretched across the phone. Realizing he wouldn’t answer, she consented. “Where? When?”
“In the square.”
“What square? Online? I don’t understand.”
“Ah. That is why…” He paused, then said, “No matter. Per his instructions, join me where the other scion of justice is known but not seen. Where the world meets.”
“Can you tell me anything more?”
“Only that we must meet in person if you are to finish this.”
Eager to learn as much as she could, Avery pressed, “I don’t understand. Where are you?”
“You will find me in the square.” He sighed heavily with obvious frustration. “He told me that you would understand. In the square. I will be in position from Queen’s Rook White to the Bird’s Opening. You have two days until I resign my position.”
The call terminated. So she had forty-eight hours to figure out where to go. She hunched over, still seated on the commode, and translated his instructions. Picturing a chessboard, she traced the air. Queen’s Rook White to the Bird’s Opening. Queen’s Rook White occupied the a1 position on the algebraic board. And the Bird’s Opening, one of the more popular opening attacks, moved a pawn to f4.
Dropping the letters, that left one p.m. and four p.m., as she’d assumed he meant in the afternoon. But knowing when meant nothing if she didn’t know where she was going. Where the other scion of justice is known but not seen. Where the hell was that?
Avery turned off the water and left the bathroom. When she returned to her seat on the sofa, Jared, beside her, tapped instructions into his computer, then dialed his cell phone. “Check your phones. Let me know if you have a signal.”
No one did. At Avery’s look, he explained. “I’m jamming all signals. Depending on their equipment, they may still be able to view us, but no audio. We’ve got maybe five minutes or they’ll know it’s not natural interference. Ling, try to look disgusted.” He slid the pizza box toward Avery. “What did your friend want?”
“It was Ani. I’m supposed to meet him in the square in two days. But I don’t know where that is.” She repeated his instructions.
“You figured out the time from that gibberish?” Noah asked incredulously.
“I like chess. Apparently, works great for cryptic clues.”
“Before the jammer fails, any other reports?”
Avery reached for her bag and laid Justice Wynn’s letter on the table. She unfolded the sheets and pointed to a single sentence, her eyes meeting Ling’s. “We have to get ahead of this. Next week is the end of term, and then my time is up.” She jabbed her finger at the page. “Ling, this line here. Do you know what it means?”
“About smallpox. It sounds vaguely familiar. I think it’s a reference from the eighteenth century,” Ling explained thoughtfully, quietly. “During the outbreaks in Europe, physicians learned of a practice in China, Turkey, and Africa to transfer active cultures from smallpox wounds to healthy children to inoculate them. The doctors initially rejected the idea as insane, but once the Prince and Princess of Wales allowed their own children to be treated, it moved into greater favor.”
“But what does that have to do with the judge?” Jared demanded in a low rumble of exasperation. “I’ve already been diagnosed with Boursin’s. There’s nothing he could have done to inoculate me against his genes.”
“Except guarant
ee that the research necessary to protect you continues,” Avery corrected. Disappointed, she rubbed at the small of her back where a new knot of tension had formed. “I’m running out of clues.”
Noah asked the next question, aware their signal block would disappear soon: “What is the Court going to do if you don’t solve this?”
“Deadlock,” Avery responded wearily. Discarding the last of her ethics about keeping Court secrets secret, she explained, “Rumor has it that Roseborough, Hodgson, Gardner, and Lawrence-Hardy are already in favor of permitting the merger. But Lindenbaum, Newell, and Estrada are ideologues. They staunchly oppose interfering with the power of the executive to make decisions about national security. Seth Bringman is an isolationist—he sees the decision as a referendum on the resilience of the American marketplace. An Indian firm will be the surviving company, which rubs him the wrong way. If there’s a tie, the merger will be blocked. Any research they’ve produced will probably vanish with them.”
Jared slammed his fist against the coffee table, and the pizza carton jumped. “He’s nearly gotten you killed twice, when he had to know you couldn’t help him. You can’t save him, and if this evil experiment is true, I don’t want you to save me.”
“There’s some kind of massive cover-up going on here, Jared. We know that,” Avery blurted, her stomach clutching. “Your father knew about Hygeia and their experiments. Telling the truth meant the end of the merger because he’d have to recuse himself, especially if what he’d figured out was proven to be true. But attempted genocide would not only scuttle the merger but probably destroy both companies. No cure for you. Although, with the Court in limbo, he apparently believes there are moves left. Sacrificing both bishops wasn’t the endgame. It set up Lasker to trap Bauer into making futile attempts to escape the inevitable.”
“This isn’t a chess game, Avery. And either way, he’s wrong,” Jared shot back. “A possible cure is not as important as your life.”
While Justice Sleeps Page 29
