Cam interrupted him, she was so excited. “Dougie, did you say Hummer is his real name?”
“Sure, he’s Hummer. He says Humbug means he’s supposed to hate Christmas, only he doesn’t, not really. He gave me this towel around Christmas, I think.” Dougie smoothed it over his ears, shook his head, gave Cam a sweet smile. “You know what else? Humbug is always rantin’ how if only the Feds had let him and his men loose he could have won that first shoot-out with Saddam in Iraq. He wouldn’t of stopped, nope, he’d have marched his ass to Baghdad and wiped out those damned terrorists, not let that Saddam fellow wiggle his way out of it like he did. Sometimes he gets so worked up he don’t make much sense, but sometimes—” He shook his head again, brought himself back. “I guess all I know about that war was it was a long time ago. Long time.”
Dougie’s towel had slipped again. This time, Ruth smoothed it back around his head.
“Ruth, it’s funny, you know? Here Humbug fought in the U.S. military and he’s Irish. Isn’t that strange? I mean, why would he give a crap about terrorists hurting the United States? But I guess we’ve got all sorts over there throwing bombs at each other. It beats me how anybody knows who the good guys are.”
“Irish,” Ruth repeated. She leaned down and gave Dougie a big hug, then smiled really big up at Cam and Jack. “Humbug is Irish. Sounds to me Manta Ray may have found a friend the day he was shot.”
Jack said, “Or maybe they already knew each other and that’s why Manta Ray came here in the first place. Dougie, which warehouse does Humbug live in?”
Dougie pointed an unsteady finger toward a tall skinny building some twenty yards away. “That’s the oldest place around here. Everyone except Humbug thinks it’s too dangerous. Like I said, he’s on the third floor when he’s here, lived there for a long time now, on and off, don’t know how long, maybe a year.”
Ruth tucked another twenty-dollar bill into Dougie’s collar, told him to stop drinking and buy some food.
“Ruth? I forgot to tell you, I think the guy on the bullhorn was Irish, too, he parlayed in this thick brogue. It coulda been fake, but who knows?”
“Thank you, Dougie.” She rose, grinned at Cam and Jack. “Time for us to pay a visit to Humbug’s crib.”
Jack and Cam shook Dougie’s hand and walked with Ruth past a half-dozen cardboard dwellings. Ruth said, “Most of all the homeless in this neighborhood prefer living outside rather than in any of the abandoned buildings, only bitter cold will drive them inside. They hate the rats and they’re afraid the floors will collapse on them. Do you know I didn’t know Humbug’s name was Hummer?” She shook her head at herself. “I must be slipping.”
Jack looked up at the decrepit warehouse. “The government spends so much money, why hasn’t this place seen a dime of it?”
Cam said, “Sooner or later, it’ll be made into condos. I wonder where Dougie and Sally and all the others will go?”
41
After they negotiated three floors of rotting stairs, they found Major Hummer’s crib quickly, the only place on the third floor that looked occupied. It was actually a small room with no door, its walls broken down to their bare wood frames, its two broken-out windows facing the front of the warehouse covered with cardboard thumb-tacked over them. Most of the space was stuffed six-feet high with decades of newspapers.
“So Humbug’s a hoarder,” Cam said as she carefully stepped around a stack of Washington Posts from 1993. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
Ruth pointed. “See that pile of blankets on those newspapers in the corner? That’s where he slept. I wonder if he kept Manta Ray’s carryall under his bed?”
She’d dug nearly to the bottom of that stack of newspapers when she blinked, called out, “Hey, what’s this?”
Cam and Jack made their way over to her, watched her carefully unfold a 2003 Washington Post want-ads section. She held up a bracelet. Diamonds spilled through her fingers, sparkling even in the dim light. “Looks like Humbug went through Manta Ray’s goodie bag and lifted a souvenir. Or maybe this was his reward.”
Jack took the diamond bracelet from Ruth, tossed it back and forth, watching the diamonds gleam and sparkle. “Pretty small diamonds, but a lot of them. Maybe high five figures?”
“Tell you in a minute.” Cam took out her cell phone, pulled up a set of photos with descriptions beneath them. “Ah, here we go. These inventory photos of the goods stolen from the safe-deposit boxes show this piece belonging to Mr. Horace Goodman, a big shot at the Stronach Group. They’re a holding company with real estate investments all over the country, including Pimlico in Baltimore, home of the Preakness Stakes. It says this bauble was insured for sixty thousand dollars.”
Jack said, “Mrs. Horace Goodman will be a happy camper when she gets it back.”
“Or whoever,” Ruth said, cynical to the bone.
Cam said, “Do you think Hummer knew the bracelet was from a robbery? Do you think he ever opened the leather carryall?”
“If he wasn’t tripping in outer space the whole time, how could he not look?” Jack straightened, looked around him. “I wonder what he thought when he heard Manta Ray calling to him, looked out that window to see a helicopter waiting for him.”
“Relieved? Happy?” Ruth said. “I’ll bet you Manta Ray convinced him they were best mates. Talked him into holding the loot.”
“Good bet.” Jack handed around his cell, showed them a photograph. “Here he is, Major Patrick Sean Hummer, the photo taken in 2001, only a week after 9/11.” They looked at a soldier with buzz-cut graying hair and sharp brown eyes, focused and filled with intelligence. Jack scrolled down. “He was divorced in the early nineties, two kids, a boy and a girl, given over to his ex-wife. They’re about our age now, Cam. The photo was taken before he simply disappeared, went AWOL. That’s still how he’s listed, so he wasn’t ever found—that is, if anyone bothered to look for him.”
“A life lost, simply thrown away,” Cam said, “by us.” And she kicked at a pile of Washington Posts.
Ruth slipped the diamond bracelet into a small plastic evidence bag. “I almost wish we could leave it here for him. We owe men like him more than a jail cell. Do you guys mind if we keep his name to ourselves?”
Jack said, “I don’t understand the question, Ruth. How would we know his name?”
42
IN THE HELICOPTER
WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, ALEXANDRIA
EARLIER WEDNESDAY MORNING
Liam shouted into the bullhorn, “Major Hummer!”
Elena stared disbelieving when a man appeared out of a third-floor window in the warehouse and started waving wildly back at them. A moment later, a lanky man in a dirty white T-shirt and dusty jeans tucked inside military boots dashed from the warehouse toward them, a leather carryall under his arm.
Elena was shaking her head back and forth. “I can’t believe this. You actually left your stash with a homeless man? Look at him, he’s crazy.”
“Major Hummer’s not homeless; he told me he lives in a cozy apartment on the third floor. Crazy? Nah, the major and I had a nice chat about Ireland, and Derry, and we talked about what it’s like to be shot. What I am is an excellent judge of character.” He grinned at her, shaking his head. “Especially useful when there’s no other choice.” Liam said to Henley, “Don’t lift off until I tell you to. We’re going to have ourselves a little reunion first.” He was still grinning as he grabbed Major Hummer’s arm and pulled him into the helicopter. “Hello, mate. Long time no see. You’re looking fit.”
Major Hummer tossed the carryall to Liam, and without thought, buckled himself in. It had been years since he was in a helicopter, but he remembered, and it felt good. He leaned over and hugged Liam. “You look even better, all clean and sharp, Manta Ray. I really didn’t think you’d make it, but here you are. The FBI came back after they carried you out, like you told me they would, tore up the warehouse floors, banged on the walls, pulled off plasterboard. They rousted all of us who didn’t
manage to get away before they showed up. When they came up to my place, you know what I did? When they stood there staring at all my newspapers, I told them they were all in order by date, so whatever date they wanted to see, I could show it to them. You want to know what I did then? I started singing that old song Dougie sings—“Country Roads”—right in their faces. They looked around some, but that was it. I watched them leave from my window, shaking their heads. They weren’t happy. Wasn’t hard to make them think I was crazy.”
“Crazy like a fox,” Liam said. “Well done, Major, you’re a genius.” Liam embraced him. “I knew I could trust you, a countryman and a soldier, knew you’d take care of my stuff for me. You didn’t pawn the bracelet I gave you yet, did you? No, I know you didn’t, that was the deal we made. When you do pawn it, remember not to take less than fifty thousand, okay?”
Humbug shook his head. “I still have it all safe and sound at my house. I like to look at it at night when I light my candle, watch those diamonds shimmer and shine in the candlelight. It took me a while to get your blood out of the crevices, though.” He turned to look at Elena sitting on Manta Ray’s other side. He gave her a beatific smile. “You’re very pretty. What’s your name?”
“I’m Elena. Who are you?”
Humbug’s shoulders straightened. “I’m Major Patrick Hummer, United States Army, self-retired, at your service, ma’am.” He saluted her. “Some of my neighbors here call me Humbug, a bad joke, really, a play on my name—Hummer.” He took in the duct tape at her wrists and ankles.
“Why’d Manta Ray tie you up? I mean, look at him, ma’am, a strapping Irishman. Seems to me he’d have to run from women so they don’t tackle him. I’ve never used duct tape to tie anyone up like that. What’d you do?”
“I kept him alive, the idiot,” Elena said.
Humbug looked back and forth between them, then frowned. “Well, I guess that’s all none of my business. As long as you’re not going to hurt her, is that right, Manta Ray?”
“She’ll be safe with me, Major, so long as she behaves.”
“See now, Elena, you can trust Manta Ray to do what he says. He came back here like he said he would, even after they took him away in an ambulance. He was lying there, all bloody and moaning, and I tried to help him. You know what? No matter how bad he felt, he still talked to me. And he gave me a bracelet that’s worth more than anything I’ve ever owned. He’s a man you can trust, a man who keeps his word.” Humbug beamed at Liam. “You’re the sort of man who comes back.”
“You knew I would,” Liam said. He opened the carryall, saw everything was untouched, and marveled at Hummer’s lack of curiosity. He picked up the metal box, about the size of a flattened bread box, still locked. It was true, he was usually a good judge of character, he’d had to be to survive, and he hadn’t been wrong about Major Hummer. Odd, but he’d simply had no doubts. Then the sirens had wailed, coming closer and closer and he’d made sure Major Hummer was well away from him before the FBI burst in.
“So you haven’t been out in the world since the FBI took me away? You haven’t spoken to anyone about me?”
“Nope. I didn’t feel like going anywhere, too many eyes and ears out there, all of them looking at me, maybe calling the military police on me. They’d take me away for what I did.”
“Understood, but nobody’s looking anymore, Major. It’s ancient history.” Liam knew he had nothing to fear from this man, no reason not to let him go. He surprised himself, honestly felt sorry Hummer was broken, even more surprised he wished he could help him. At least he had the bracelet. “Thank you, Major, for everything you’ve done for me. You can go ahead and climb out now, and you take care of yourself.” He hugged him, whispered in his ear, “Wait a second, I have something else for you.”
He said to Henley, “Give me your wallet.” Henley hoisted an eyebrow but gave Liam his wallet without comment. Liam pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and shoved it in the major’s pocket. “Try a bottle of Krug, it’s my favorite. And, Major, thank you.”
Major Hummer gave him a wave and jumped out of the helicopter. They watched him run, bent down, his hand over his mouth and nose as the helicopter lifted off and stirred up dust.
Elena looked at Major Hummer until the helicopter swung to the south. She said, “You took a huge risk.”
“Did you look at him, really look?”
Slowly, she nodded. “You’re right. I wonder what happened to him.” She glanced at the metal box on Liam’s lap but said nothing.
“I’m taking a much bigger risk now, dealing with your boss. After that, I’ll have my freedom and enough money to do whatever I please for the rest of my life.”
“Where are you going to go?”
He gave her his beautiful smile. “Wouldn’t be very bright to tell you, now would it? Somewhere nobody’s looking for me, and that’s most of this big beautiful earth. But you know, just between you and me, I’ve been thinking about miles and miles of sand dunes. Hey, how about Morocco?”
She said, “I’ve been there, most of it’s a hellhole, nothing but heat and desert and camel stink. And those clothes the women have to wear—” She broke off.
Liam said, “Where would you go, girl?”
“Fiji.”
Liam gave her the once-over. “You would look great in a bikini. I have to say I agree with Major Hummer.”
“About what, you Irish beggar?”
He leaned over and lightly bit her earlobe. “You are pretty.”
She whooshed out her breath, and he felt the warmth feather against his skin before she jerked back.
“Now, now, love, I know you want to kill me, but it isn’t going to happen. Sit still and be good.”
She was angry, frustrated at her own impotence. He said, “You know what’s in the box, don’t you?”
She said nothing.
“I’d guess it’s leverage, for blackmail. But you know something, lass? I don’t frigging care the first thing about it.” He thought it amusing that he’d had a hand in frustrating Petrov for over a month. Now it was nearly over.
Liam leaned over, brushed his knuckles against her cheek, and started singing “Molly Malone,” his grandda’s favorite song, in a fine baritone. “ ‘In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty, I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone—’ ”
Elena closed her eyes, reminded herself Sergei would let her kill him as soon as he had the chance.
43
SERGEI PETROV’S HOUSE
SOUTH OF ALEXANDRIA
WEDNESDAY MORNING
Henley settled the helicopter once again on its pad on the barren stretch of land off the Potomac, turned off the rotors, and started his checklist. Liam said, “Good job, mate. Are you going to get reimbursed for the fifty bucks?”
Henley shook his head. “Consider it my contribution to Major Hummer’s welfare, Mr. Hennessey. Is Krug champagne really that good?”
“The ambrosia of the gods; give it a try.” Liam lifted Elena out of the helicopter and stomped his feet in the shoes Abram had given him. They were too big for him, which was good, since there was a thick bandage wrapped around his heel. The shoes were white patent leather, made him feel like Elvis. Best yet, they didn’t hurt his heel.
“My turn,” he said to Henley, and hoisted Elena up into his arms. “Don’t move or I’ll drop you on your head. Then who knows what I’ll do?”
The area looked deserted once again, but Liam knew Petrov would be prepared for him this time. He’d be safe only until he delivered the metal box to him, and then he’d have only Elena and the gun to her head to keep him alive. Good thing for him Petrov held her in high affection. A slight breeze rustled the oak leaves as he walked behind Henley, his every sense alert for any movement. He sniffed the air, recalling the odd citrus smell Abram had worn, but there was nothing.
Petrov and Abram were waiting for him on the porch, both men standing quietly, watching them approach, Petrov’s eyes on the metal box in his hand. Petr
ov had to know Liam could shoot him where he stood, a bullet to his forehead.
Liam wasn’t invited into the house this time.
“Give Elena to Henley, Mr. Hennessey, then place the box on the porch.”
Liam eased her down and stood her against Henley. He never took his eyes off Petrov as he placed the metal box at the edge of the porch. He stepped back, waved the Walther. “Now the four million dollars, Mr. Petrov.”
Petrov picked up a bulging satchel from behind him and laid it next to the metal box, stepped back.
“Ralph, ease Elena onto the ground and fetch the satchel,” Liam said. Henley did as he was told.
“Now open the satchel, count the money out loud.”
Petrov made a disgusted sound.
When Henley finished counting, he looked a bit shell-shocked. “I’ve never seen so much cash before. It’s correct, four million.”
“Take a couple of hundred for your efforts,” Liam said, and watched Ralph peel off two hundred-dollar bills. “Now pick up Elena.”
Liam waved the Walther at the metal box. “It’s all yours, Mr. Petrov. You want to check it?”
Abram picked up the box and handed it to Petrov. Petrov studied the box a moment, looking for any signs it had been broken into. Liam smiled. “Not a scratch on it.”
Petrov pulled a small key out of his pants pocket and opened it, studied the contents, gently closed the box. “No curiosity, Mr. Hennessey?”
“Mr. Petrov, the box doesn’t interest me. It never did. It was a job, nothing more.”
“I have to admit I’m surprised the box was where you left it. The FBI did an extensive search.”
“They surely did, but don’t you see? I’m smarter than the FBI.”
Enigma Page 20
