BROCK HAD ABSOLUTELY no luck in finding another set of files. He’d electronically checked every computer at Obelisk. That left Olofson’s computer. He’d e-mailed the general a greeting card with an embedded worm. It instructed the computer to download all the general’s files to the new computer Brock had purchased, using cash and a fake name so it could never be traced back to him.
“What crap,” Brock muttered. The general had so much stuff on his computer it would take days to sift through all the info. He tried searching for 251’s name but didn’t get a hit. It was possible the info was in code. After all, General Olofson had once headed up army intelligence.
His telephone rang, the line his agents used to contact him. He picked up the receiver. “Numero Uno.”
“251 here. I just landed at Dulles.”
“Great. Tomorrow I’ll arrange a meeting with 77, your partner on this.”
“I’m going to need equipment.”
Brock knew he meant a sharpshooter’s rifle and a night vision scope. Airport security being so tight these days, 251 wouldn’t have brought his weapon with him. “Make a list of what you need. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Don’t use a cell phone.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
Brock hung up, a smile on his face. Samantha Robbins was as good as his. He’d have a little chat with the bitch, then let 251 take over.
He tried Jordan Walsh again. It had been two days since he’d left the note. Now he was more than just angry. A blinding hot jolt of rage hammered him every time he thought about her. No woman had ever ignored him like this. Jordan’s damn machine picked up. He slammed down the receiver.
After a few minutes thinking over the situation, Brock called one of his local operatives. The jerk was practically worthless, but this assignment didn’t require much brains.
“It’s Numero Uno. I’ve got a job for you. I want Jordan Walsh’s condo staked out. Call me the minute she shows up.”
The guy took down Jordan’s address and the cell phone number Brock was currently using. Tonight he wanted to go to the warehouse and detail his cars. Those babies needed a little loving.
CHAD COULDN’T CONVINCE Devon to move in with him. Since they first made love, they had spent every night together, but Devon insisted on going home early each morning. She claimed she needed to be independent. Chad thought her relationship with Nate Albert had made her a little distrustful of all men. It would take time for it to ease, and he had to face the fact that she might never get over it completely.
If he and Devon were going to have a future together, something had to be done. What? He wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. Warning a guy like Albert to leave Devon alone would be like waving a red flag at a bull. It might just lead Albert to Devon.
He wondered if Archer Danson could help him. Maybe he could contact an inmate at the same prison and have the man talk to Albert. He could feel him out and see if the creep was still after Devon.
He put in a call to Danson, then went to the pay phone near the marina to wait for his call. On the way out of his office, he waved to Devon from across the courtyard. He didn’t even think about telling her what he was going to do. He didn’t want to have to explain his relationship with DARPA.
The phone rang a few minutes later. “Danson, I need a favor.”
“Okay,” he replied slowly. “What kind of favor?”
“There’s a wise guy from Chicago named Nathan Albert. He’s sitting in federal prison in Illinois for bootlegging cigarettes in from Canada. I need a fellow inmate to talk to him.”
“I hope you know what you’re getting into. Chicago wise guys are just about the most ruthless.”
“I just want to see if he’s still after Devon Summers.”
“I take it you’re involved with this woman.”
“That’s right. I need to find out if she has anything to fear from him now. He tried to kill her once already for leaving him.”
A long pause. “What if he is still after her?”
“Good question.” Chad glanced down the street and saw Keke parking her car. Great. She would wonder what he was doing on a public telephone—if she saw him. He turned away, hoping Keke wouldn’t spot him. “I don’t have to do anything right now unless Albert has sent someone after Devon. He’s just starting a six year sentence.”
“Which means three years with good behavior.”
“Great.”
“Don’t do anything that will jeopardize your safety or get you into trouble. If there’s a problem, get back to me. I can put you in touch with people…”
“Right.” He knew Danson meant assassins who killed for the money but weren’t affiliated with the mob.
Danson asked for a little more information and said, “I should have an answer for you tomorrow. The next day at the latest.”
“Any word on the person who murdered the other agent testing for you?”
Danson grunted. “We’ve got a few leads. I’ll keep you posted if there’s anything you should know. Meanwhile watch your back.”
Chad hung up and slowly turned around. His sister stood across the street waving at him.
“Hi, there!” Keke called.
Chad walked toward her with what he hoped was a relaxed smile. He hadn’t spoken with her since he’d started spending so much time with Devon. Keke was far too perceptive where he was concerned. If he mentioned Devon, that would be it. Keke would be all over him.
Warning him.
Neither Keke nor Ane had warmed up to Devon. If they knew why she wore isolation like a shield, they wouldn’t think the same way about Devon.
“Is there something wrong with your telephone?” Keke asked.
“Nah. A buddy who’s still with Delta Force is hyper about security. No cell phones. No office phones that can be traced.”
“Public phone calls can’t be traced?”
“Yes, but they rarely are. They’re swept clean every forty-eight hours by the phone company. Occasionally crooks get caught. Remember the Menendez brothers?”
They walked down the sidewalk toward the office, and Keke said, “Those rich kids in L.A. who shot their parents?”
“That’s right. They claimed to have made a phone call from a public phone. The police were able to access the records before the sweep. That lie incriminated them.”
“Speaking of incriminating.” Keke stopped, shielded her eyes with her hand. “This morning I came in to drop off some stuff. Devon was going through Eddie’s files and inputting data into her computer.”
“She’s probably bringing her files up-to-date. Lori left quite a mess.”
“Why would she need his marine repair files? If you ask me, the woman is planning to embezzle funds. Remember how easily that other woman took Eddie. I don’t want it to happen again.”
Chad nodded saying, “Oh, Keke. I doubt that.”
“You’re hot for her so you can’t see what’s really happening.”
“I’ll check into it. I promise.”
Keke huffed, not satisfied but obviously unwilling to argue any more with her brother.
“I’m picking up Shelby. Her car’s in the shop. We’re working a sunset cruise for Eddie tonight. Insurance Underwriters of America or something.”
“Sounds exciting.” He gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “See you later.”
DEVON LOOKED UP from her computer and saw Chad standing in the doorway of Aloha’s offices. Everyone had gone to work the sunset cruise except for Devon and Zach.
Her heart lifted at the sight of him. When he was around it seemed possible that she could lead a normal life. Warren was back from his WITSEC Continuing Ed course, and she was going to be able to call her sister on Saturday. Even better, Masterson had agreed not to relocate her because of Chad. Things seemed a little more in balance, less scary.
Zach jumped up and bounded over to him, his tail whipping through the air.
“Good boy, Zach.” Chad paused to stroke the retriever’s golden head. He looked up at her, his eyes a little more serious than usual. “What are you working on?”
“An Excel spreadsheet. I’m working up a cost analysis of the business.”
“Eddie asked you to do that?”
“No,” she admitted, “but we don’t have a wedding this weekend so I thought I would put together some numbers.”
He rose, walked over to her desk and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He studied the material she had up on the screen. Devon shifted uncomfortably. Her accounting background helped her analyze the data and organize it in sophisticated charts and comparison columns.
“Impressive.”
She gazed up at him. “Eddie’s not charging enough for some of his services. A few vendors are double billing him.”
“I suspected as much. You have to be careful how you handle Eddie. He’s got enough pride for two men. He won’t want a woman telling him how to run his business.”
“Don’t worry. I plan to stay under the radar screen. I’m raising some of the prices on certain wedding categories to start. I’ll speak to the vendors and demand credit for the duplicate billings.”
“Atta girl. Good thinking.”
There was something off in the way he was looking at her, his tone of voice. She shouldn’t have used her accounting skills to analyze Eddie’s business, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. Her gut instinct from day one was Eddie wasn’t very good at managing his business. He was a sweet man who’d been good enough to hire her. He deserved her help.
BROCK HAD KEPT surveillance on JordanWalsh’s condo for three days now. She hadn’t turned up. He’d had the neighbors questioned, but apparently Jordan had only recently bought the place. None of them knew her, but a few recalled an attractive redhead.
Attractive?
A knockout with Bugatti tits.
He wished he’d asked more questions about her business. She’d mentioned what had sounded like a Web site. If he knew more, he could find her right now. Whatever Jordan did, she traveled a lot.
The St. Louis Auto Show was coming up in a week. He went online to see if she’d registered the caper-green Gull Wing. She had.
Bingo!
He would offer her an obscene amount of money for the car. If she didn’t take it, he would have her killed and deal with her estate. Maybe he should prepare a bill of sale—force her to sign it—if she wouldn’t willingly. Then kill her.
Brock stared at the liquid plasma satellite screen on one wall of his office, thinking. He zoomed in on L.A., shining in the morning light after a night of rain had washed it clean. Palms, magnolias, bright red bottlebrushes gleamed while high-rises sparkled. Like snakes slithering through the jungle, traffic barely moved.
Served the suckers right. Too much sunshine and good weather.
Brock had never killed anyone, but he’d ordered numerous whacks for Obelisk. Most of the hits were in Third World countries where no one asked many questions. A murdered woman with an expensive car in St. Louis might not be his best idea.
He would have to get a gun after he’d flown into town. A cardinal rule of jobs like this was to buy a gun that couldn’t possibly be traced back to you. Dump it immediately after using it. Tricky.
Talk to her in St. Louis. Take her out—have someone else do it—in D.C. where crime wasn’t any big deal. Good plan, he decided.
He left for his second meeting with agents 251 and 77. They met on the Georgetown campus. The operatives had hip, loose-fitting clothes so they could hide a weapon. Backpacks hid rounds of ammo and other equipment. Here they blended in perfectly. Brock thought his tweed jacket made him look like one of the professors.
“You’ve got everything you need?” he asked.
Agent 77 nodded, but 251 said, “We could use extra cash just in case.”
Brock smiled to himself. No question about it, 251 was sharp. Brock had anticipated this and had gotten more cash. If anything went wrong, you didn’t want to be using a credit card that could be traced.
“Use the pay phones. If you have to use a cell, ditch it immediately.”
“Right,” they both said a split second apart.
He handed them the high definition aerial photographs he’d downloaded from the DoD satellite less than an hour ago. They were concealed in a textbook on Freud called A State of Mind. Brock thought it made a nice touch.
“Call me when you’ve located the bitch.”
“Right,” they again agreed.
“Any questions?”
251 said, “When I’ve finished, she’ll be better off dead.”
The words hit Brock like a sucker punch to the gut. Better off dead. He’d thought the same thing—only he wanted to be the one to make Samantha Robbins wish she was dead.
“Don’t kill her,” Brock warned them. “I have to debrief her.”
251 shrugged, saying, “Like she would hesitate before killing innocent Americans.”
“That’s just it,” Brock replied, concern filling his voice. No telling what 251 might do in the name of justice. “She may know of other sleeper cells out there. I must be the one to debrief her.”
251 shrugged again. “We’re outta here.”