Situated between the Embassies on Massachusetts Avenue and the White House, the exclusive Jefferson Hotel kept high standards: no blue-collar conspirators allowed. Violet, dressed in an Armani skirt suit, met the bellman’s condescending gaze and demanded directions to her meeting. She followed him to the Book Room, an intimate space off the lobby. Ed Cummings wore a gray Zegna suit and sat at a small table by the fireplace in the otherwise empty alcove. They eyed each other as she waved the bellman away and took the chair opposite.
Cummings leaned toward her once they were alone. “What the hell did you do?”
“Me? I thought you did it.”
“Why would I kill Verratti? I told you we needed his people for the operation. You’re the one who said we needed to replace him.”
“Maybe the Collettivo didn’t like his investments.” Violet glanced around.
Cummings squinted. “How can I trust you now?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ed. I’m meeting your Velox man in a few minutes at the National Geo around the corner. Tag along and ask him.”
Cummings leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll do that.”
“I think it was Sabel. Either for revenge or to send a message.”
“No way. I looked her up, she’s just a kid, twenty-five. Pretty good looking too, if you like ’em buff.”
“Keep your dick in your pants. Inside that amazon beats the heart of a tiger.” Violet leaned forward and tapped her index finger on the table. “Verratti made her look bad, killed one of her people, so she went after him and killed him.”
“You think Verratti’s people opened fire on a suburban road to get the vials? He was too cautious for that. And Pia Sabel going after Marco Verratti? I don’t see it. She’s a trust-fund brat. She likes the spotlight and plays the executive the same way she played soccer, for the applause.”
“Check her flight records. She flew straight there and straight back.”
“The FAA doesn’t release those records.”
“The Wall Street Journal keeps a database of corporate jets. She flew to Milan, stayed four hours, and left. Verratti was killed in the third hour.”
Cummings whistled softly. He didn’t move while he thought through the implications. “Will she come after us?”
“Not if we get her first.”
“Hold on a second. I’m not going to be part of a…” Cummings checked around them, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m not going to participate in a murder conspiracy.”
“What do you think happened on Borneo, Ed? What do you think will happen in Philadelphia?”
“Nobody cares about a bunch of aborigines in the jungle. And Philly’s elderly will go peacefully in their sleep. That’s not the same as contracting a hit on—”
“Don’t make it sound like some cheap gangster movie. I’m hiring her competitor to ensure we stay alive. I think that’s a wise investment, don’t you?”
“Why such a drastic approach? Why do you hate her so much?”
“Because she’s Bobby Jenkins’ special pet.” Violet lowered her voice an octave. “And she took my goddamn vials.”
“You mean the Jenkins Pharmaceuticals guy? Why do you care about him?”
“He’s a competitor,” she hissed. “I worked for him early in my career, but he was an asshole.”
“I don’t get it.”
“He has six children who adore him and all he ever talks about is his goddaughter, Pia-fucking-Sabel. She isn’t even his.” Violet glanced around the Book Room again. “Sooner or later, she’ll give up waiting for those fools at NIH to figure it out and she’ll call Bobby. He’ll come running to her and he’ll know right away.”
“Wait. How will he know it was you?” Cummings thought for a moment. “Holy shit, you started this project when you worked for him?”
“He didn’t have the balls to pull it off.”
Cummings’ nostrils flared. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Violet leaned back and sighed. Finally, she broke the long silence. “Next problem: where did Marco hide our Element 42?”
“Did he have the Levoxavir too?”
“You think I’m dumb enough to give him everything?” Violet snapped.
“I’m a hedge fund manager. This kind of thing isn’t in my wheelhouse.” Ed pinched his nose and started paging through texts on his phone. “His contact in DC texted Marco and me a code to let us know when it arrived.”
“You were responsible for landing the package in the US and all you have is a phone number?”
Cummings shrugged. “What do you have?”
She sighed and shook her head. “Let’s go.”
They rose and left the hotel, pulling their overcoats tight as they stepped into a frigid autumn morning. They walked around the block and across the street to the National Geographic Museum, Violet limping slightly and tugging on Cummings’s arm for support. Inside the almost empty hall, a display of magazine covers through the years formed a dark and empty walkway.
An unappealing man tugged his dark pea coat over his shoulder holster and grinned at Violet. He was missing an ear and had a face like a smashed ham sandwich. He sauntered over and leaned against the display in front of them.
“Well hello, sugar,” he said. “Is this pansy supposed to be your bodyguard?”
“See here.” Cummings stepped forward.
Violet put a hand across his chest. “Can you do what we discussed?”
Kasey Earl smirked. “This package of yours must be pretty special. Someone killed your pal Verratti for it. You’ll pay a double retainer.”
“Did you kill Verratti?” Cummings asked.
“Who the fuck are you, pretty boy?” Kasey shoved the hedge fund manager back a step. “Ain’t got my retainer yet. I don’t work for free.”
Violet huffed and pulled her phone. “Do you have the routing and account numbers?”
Kasey held up his phone’s screen and she thumbed in a bank transfer of $200,000 from the Windsor account to his.
When the transaction completed, he put his phone away. “Who has the package?”
Violet nodded and Cummings provided the phone number for Verratti’s American contact. She said, “You can find him from that?”
“When I request NSA info, they never ask why. Not allowed to. I’ll have his real-time GPS coordinates whenever I want them. You’ll get a text that says, ‘Lincoln Memorial’ when I have your package.”
“Can you handle another operation for me?” Violet asked.
“Depends.” Kasey cocked his head to the side.
“We need protection from whoever killed Verratti.”
Kasey laughed. “The Mafia? No problem.”
“We think Pia Sabel killed him.”
Kasey stopped mid-laugh. He looked back and forth from Violet to Cummings. “You got Sabel Security after you?”
“Can you handle the job?” Violet asked.
“We ain’t no babysitting outfit like them. We only work proactive like.”
Violet smiled. “We were hoping you’d take that approach.”
Cummings said, “Hey, wait a minute, what are you talking about?”
Kasey and Violet stared at him. Cummings shuffled and huffed then turned away.
Kasey faced Violet. “We’re talking a whole lot of money, full payment in advance.”
She glared into his smile. “We also have a side job.”
“Yeah, whatever, but I’m going to bring in some people to take on Sabel. You need to cough up a bigger nut. You feel me?”
Cummings pressed his finger in Kasey’s chest. “Can you handle the job? Do you know who you’re up against?”
Kasey slapped his hand away. “Jonelle Jackson, Tania Cooper, Jacob Stearne? Fuck yeah, I know who I’m up against.” He brushed a hand over his missing ear and stared at Violet with narrowing eyes, then spoke through his teeth. “Two million. Now.”
* * *
Kasey Earl left by the side exit and dialed his boss from the alley. “Where did you dig up these suckers?”
“Cummings helped me finance the company after I had a little PR problem in Iraq. Why?”
“They just paid me half a million dollars to kill Pia Sabel. I shit you not.”
“A fool and her money are soon parted.” The other man laughed. “How much did you get in advance?”
“I done got the whole nut up front. Wired it straight to my Caymans account.”
“And this time, there won’t be any refunds. Wire it to the Velox account as soon as it clears.” The man laughed. “Did they tell you where to find Element 42?”
“They gave me a lead.”
“Then quit yakking and get moving. Our buyer is standing by.” He clicked off.