THIS GUY YOU saw, Paul,” Roland said. “You’re sure he’s the Brentwood shooter?”
Ellie nodded. She had just finished telling him about Anton’s meeting with Sebastian Kane’s stepson-but-not-legally, Paul Young.
“No question in my mind,” she said.
“And you’re sure he didn’t recognize you.”
“Am I one hundred percent positive? No. But I don’t think he did. If he did, he would have told Anton, and I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you, would I?”
“Tell me about the ride home with Anton,” Roland said.
“There wasn’t much talking. For a good half of the ride, Anton was quiet—told me he wanted some time to think, process everything.”
“So, Anton’s in business with Paul now.”
“Maybe,” Ellie corrected. “Anton hasn’t committed to anything yet. It’s only recently that Paul started reaching out to Anton through a series of dead drops.”
“How twentieth century of him.”
“Paper is much safer than technology. I don’t know the specific locations of these dead drops, how often they communicate, but suffice it to say the sum of these conversations amounted to Paul saying that Frank and Sebastian would be handing over their business. Today’s meeting—”
“Back up,” Roland said. “You said ‘handing over.’”
“Those were Paul’s exact words, so, yes, Frank and Sebastian are going to be handing over their business to Paul. Today’s meeting—and this was the first time Anton and Paul met—was about this.” Ellie reached inside her dress pocket and came back with a small baggie, the kind dealers used to sell drugs. It contained two capsules filled with a dark red liquid.
“According to Anton,” Ellie said, handing the bag to Roland, “this is what’s going to put Pandora out of business.”
Roland’s eyebrows rose. “Pandora,” he said. “Anton used that word?”
Ellie nodded. “Frank and Sebastian are the ones behind Pandora.”
Roland’s eyes turned electric with excitement. This was the first time the elusive Pandora had been mentioned.
“Well, hot diggity dog,” he said, and held the baggie up to the light.
Ellie sat on a couch upholstered in stiff white leather inside the living room of penthouse apartment number 32 at the Ritz-Carlton Residences at LA Live on West Olympic Boulevard. After Anton had dropped her back at her boyfriend’s house, Ellie had used a series of federal agents posing as Uber drivers to safely deliver her here for a debriefing. Roland had insisted on a face-to-face.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offered stunning aerial views of downtown LA. The sun was setting, casting bars of deep gold and red light inside the room. Roland held the bag back up to the window.
“I take it the red stuff in these capsules is carrier blood.”
“That’s what Anton told me.”
“And what’s a blood pill supposed to do?”
“Turn a nun into a nympho, for starters,” Ellie said. “Anton wants me to try them, report back to him.”
“What else?”
“Anton wants me to help him get female carriers.”
“Why?”
“He wouldn’t say other than Paul wanted only female carriers—the younger, the better. Anton also wants me to give him a full report on how the Celebrity Center is set up, floor by floor, room by room. He also wants me to get access to their client list.”
“You don’t have access to their client list.”
“Which is what I told him.”
“How did he react?”
“He told me to try harder.”
Roland slid his hands in his pockets and paced, his head tilted downward as he digested this information, thought, and planned their next steps.
Ellie quietly sipped her bourbon, felt it going to work on her nerves. In the distance she could make out one of those 747 planes the news called “SuperTankers” flying over the mountain, dropping thousands of gallons of fire retardant on the wildfires. Everywhere you went in LA, you could smell smoke, see it billowing from far, far away.
“When is Anton going to meet Paul next?” Roland asked.
“I have no idea.”
“But the plan is for them to partner up, manufacture these blood pills?”
Ellie shook her head. “The pills, Anton told me, are a preview of what Paul’s blood product can do.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Anton didn’t get into specifics.”
“You didn’t press him?”
“You don’t press Anton.”
Roland picked up his drink, a glass of straight vodka, no ice, and took the chair across from her. It was also upholstered in white leather. Nearly all the chairs and sofas were white, designed more for appearance than for comfort, the kitchen cabinets, countertops, and appliances black, giving the place a very cold, modern feel. Sterile and antiseptic.
Roland stared into his drink. “If Paul recognized you, there’s a good possibility he may call Sebastian or Frank, tell them you’re a cop.”
“They’re not talking. Sebastian’s got a bounty on Paul’s head.”
“But they worked together. Have some sort of history. And who’s to say Paul might not call him to gloat, say, Hey, dipshit, you’ve got a cop in your organization—you know, rub it in his face? Or maybe he’s waiting to use it as some sort of leverage. You see where I’m going with this?”
“You’re assuming Paul recognized me,” Ellie said. “He didn’t.”
“What if Paul decides to call Anton instead and tell him who you really are?”
“You’ve got people watching Anton. If that happens, we’ll know.”
“My job is to protect the asset. If your cover gets blown or, God forbid, you get killed, I—”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You don’t know that, either.”
“But I do know that these people are like us,” Roland said. “They can dismember someone and then go out to dinner, come home, and kiss their kids good night and sleep like a baby. If they’re not outright psychopaths, they’re sociopaths or suffering from some other personality disorder.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Roland’s face twisted with concern. “I can—and will—put more people around you, have them stake out your place and your car, see what turns up. The reality is, I can’t guarantee your safety. You may want to give that some thought.”
“I did. The whole way home with Anton.”
“And?”
“I feel like I’m on the edge of something—a major breakthrough,” Ellie said. “I’m staying.”
“Even knowing the risks?”
“Even knowing the risks.”
Roland sighed. “The pills Anton gave you,” he said. “I’ll take one with me to give to the lab. The other one—I want you to give it to Frank.”
“Frank?”
“Tell him who gave it to you and where you got it. Tell him everything you told me.”
“They’ll kill Anton.”
“Not right away,” Roland said, Ellie surprised how matter-of-fact he sounded, like they were discussing a board game and not a human life. “The smart play will be to use you as a mole, have you stick as close to Anton as possible, monitor everything he says and does, and report back to Frank. Then they’ll make a move to get Paul for reasons I’m sure you’ll soon discover.”
Ellie was surprised at how fiercely she wanted to protect Anton. He was a kidnapper and murderer, and yet she wanted to tell Roland, No, I can’t sell him out, not like that.
“This is a good way for you to get closer to Frank—to get closer to his inner circle,” Roland said. “It shows you’re loyal to him.”
Roland began to explain exactly what Ellie had to do. She barely heard him, a part of her brain still working out her feelings about Anton. If the tables were turned, he’d throw her to the wolves in a heartbeat. So why did it bother her so much? Because she liked him? Because he was good to her? Not to everyone else, mind you, but to her. It made Ellie think of interviews she’d read of people who had known Hitler, the heinous acts he and his men had been committing, these bystanders justifying their lack of action by saying, Well, he was always nice to me. Hitler and his goon squad never did anything to me. But these people had distance; they weren’t directly involved in the atrocities. She was involved—had a front-row seat.
Under that thought was another one: coming into this, she had believed she could do her job and find her brother without getting her hands dirty. Without causing suffering to herself or anyone else, unless they absolutely deserved it. Did Anton deserve this? She couldn’t answer the question.
No, that was a lie. She didn’t want to answer the question, even though she already knew what the answer was.
Roland said something. Ellie struggled to recall it, couldn’t.
“Could you repeat that?”
“I asked if you understood how you’re to approach Frank,” Roland said.
She stared out the window.
“Ellie?”
“I heard you.”
“Then hear this,” Roland said. “If Ron Wolff’s people were shadowing Anton—and it’s reasonable to assume they were—then Frank knows that Anton and you gave him the slip. You left your phone behind, so Frank and/or his crew couldn’t track you. If you don’t go to Frank, he’ll come to you.”
“I understand.”
“Anton may act all nice with you, but don’t forget there’s another side to him, a guy who has no problem slitting someone’s throat or putting a bullet in someone’s head. You’re not an exception to the rule.”
She knew he was right. But the emotional part of her refused to give any ground, and there was something else that was bothering her: Roland was asking her to use Anton as a human chess piece to further an agenda—something politicians and bureaucrats did. It didn’t sit right with her, crossed some invisible line.
“Anton sealed his fate a long time ago,” Roland said. “Remember that and you’ll be fine. You’ll get over it.”
Roland checked his watch. “I’ve got to get going. Your next appointment will be here soon.”
“My next appointment?”
“Cody.”
Hearing his name was thrilling, and a much-welcomed relief given the long day. Still, a part of her mind wouldn’t let go of Anton—and Frank, and Paul, all of it.
“How much time do we have?” Ellie asked.
“Couple of hours. That enough time for your conjugal visit?”
“Conjugal visit? That’s for prisoners.”
Roland smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Aren’t we all?”