The lockdown was over, and people were beginning to move around the campus as business slowly returned to normal. McGarvey and Schermerhorn showed up at the Scattergood-Thorne house just as the caterers were stocking the larder in the pantry, and the four men from Blankenship’s flying squad were activating the electronic security system for the house and grounds.
McGarvey had been here once during his brief tenure as the DCI, hosting a strategic planning briefing for the heads of the US’s four major intel trading partners from Great Britain, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. Along with the U.S., they were called the Five Eyes.
Pete met them in the front entry hall. “We should have everything squared away here within the next few minutes. With her still on the loose, I figured you’d be in a hurry.”
“Get rid of the muscle,” McGarvey said. “She came back because she wants to tell us something.”
“Bob thought you’d say something like that. He wants to keep at least two of them here at any given time. They can rotate on twelve-hour shifts.”
“Only one at a time, and as long as he stays out of the way.”
Otto came in, a big grin on his face. “That whole situation could have gone south in a New York minute. No one got hurt. She wants to talk.”
“That’s what I figured,” McGarvey said. “What about panel four? Are you making any progress?”
“My darlings are still chewing on it. But if Roy would help out, it would speed things up.”
“It’s a transposition code; I’ve already told you that much,” Schermerhorn said. “And you already have the six-letter solution Sanborn gave us. NYPVVT spelled out BERLIN in 2010.”
“You changed the code.”
“Yeah. But BERLIN is still there, still in the same position, just a different set of letters.”
“Damn it,” Otto said. He never swore unless he was frustrated, and he almost never got frustrated. “More lives are at stake here.”
“Including mine,” Schermerhorn said. “But the solution has to come from you; otherwise, no one will believe it.”
“No one meaning who?” McGarvey asked.
Schermerhorn shook his head. “You’ll see.”
One of Blankenship’s men came in from the back door. “We found a pickup truck parked behind the garage. It was taken from the maintenance unit about ten minutes ago.”
McGarvey took the radio from Pete, switched it on, and hit the push-to-talk button. “Alex, this is Kirk McGarvey. I’m here with some people who would like to talk to you. Why don’t you come in and join us?”
“If you’ve given Roy a gun, take it from him,” Alex replied. “And tell whoever Blankenship sent over to wait outside.”
“Pete Boylan is with me.”
“She’s okay.”
“Leave your pistol behind.”
“Not until I’m sure I’ll be secure,” she said. But not over the radio.
They turned around in time to see her coming down the stairs, the silenced Glock in her left hand.
The security officer reached for his pistol, but McGarvey motioned him back.
Roy had the Beretta out and was pointing it up at her.
“I asked you to take Roy’s gun,” she said tightly.
“No firing pin,” McGarvey said.
“Shit,” Roy muttered. He handed the gun butt first to McGarvey. “Thanks. If she had come out shooting, I would have been shit out of luck.”
“I lied,” McGarvey said, stuffing the pistol in his belt. “Nothing’s wrong with the firing pin.”
Alex laughed. She lowered her pistol and came down the stairs to them.
“You’ve come as something of a surprise,” McGarvey said. “But we know you’re not the killer and neither is Roy.”
“We’re left-handed,” Alex said. She handed the pistol to McGarvey, who gave it to the security officer.
“Leave us now,” he said.
“Yes, sir, I’ll be just outside.”
“Tell maintenance I’m sorry I screwed up their fence and then stole one of their trucks,” Alex said. “I also lifted a set of coveralls and a ball cap from someone’s locker. They’re upstairs in one of the front bedrooms, along with Soldier’s radio.”
Otto was staring at her with open admiration. “You were damned good,” he said.
“I still am.”
“I’m going back to my darlings to tweak the decryption program. I’ll let you know when I come up with something.”
“Even a partial something,” McGarvey said.
* * *
The room set up for them was the same one the conference had been held in. The windows were double glazed, white noise pumped between the panes to block out any laser surveillance. The walls were covered with sound-absorbing material that gave the appearance of an expensive damask treatment. And the entire space, top to bottom, was inside a Faraday cage to block electronic signals from coming in or going out.
McGarvey and Pete sat across the long table from Alex while Schermerhorn took up position at the end nearest the door, as if he wanted to bolt if necessary or even stop Alex if she tried to run.
“What made you think to come here of all places on campus?” Pete started.
“You wanted to ask me some questions, and had the tables been reversed, this is where I would have set up. Away from the OHB and out of the fray, so to speak.”
“But this is where Fabry was murdered.”
“I know. Almost a symmetry to it, my being here to help you catch George.” Alex pursed her lips. “It’s why we’re here like this, isn’t it?”
“Do you really give a rat’s ass about any of them, or me?” Schermerhorn asked.
She thought about it for a moment. “At first you guys were fun. We were a team. But then George dropped in on us, and everything changed.”
“For the better?”
“Just changed,” Alex said.
“Would you recognize George if you saw him, the same way you recognized Alex?” McGarvey asked Schermerhorn.
“Damn right.”
“He’s not here,” Alex said. “When Wager was hit, I started looking to see if anyone from the old team was here, besides him, Isty, and Tom.”
“But you didn’t try to warn them after Wager was murdered,” Pete said.
Alex shook her head. “It all happened so fast. There was nothing I could do that wouldn’t reveal my true identity. I found out about Joe Carnes and Larry Coffin, which left only Roy and George. Neither one of them were on campus, so far as I was able to tell.”
“But you knew the killer was right-handed, and that both of us are lefties,” Schermerhorn said angrily. “So then there was only George.”
This time Alex smiled. “Remember the story you told me a few days after we got to Iraq? About when you were a kid in Catholic school in Milwaukee?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’d just had sex, so your memory might be a little fuzzy. But I know what you said.”
“I’m listening.”
“The nuns thought being left-handed was deviant, so they beat you for two years straight, making you use your right hand for everything. They put your left in a thick mitten. Put your arm in a sling. Even tied it to your side.”
“It didn’t take,” Schermerhorn said. “Soon as I got into public school, I went back to being a lefty.”
“Yes,” Alex said. “But you’d learned to use your right hand just as good as a natural.”