CLOVIS AND I RETREATED TO THE BAR AFTER DINNER. Stella declined our invitation, claiming she needed her beauty rest. At my raised eyebrow, she noted that her workday would begin at four o’clock tomorrow morning, when she would begin scanning the Internet and her clients’ computers for threats. Apparently, computer hackers do most their work while we’re asleep, happily unaware of the dangers they pose.
I wasn’t ready to go home to an empty condominium. Over a glass of Port, I filled Clovis in about Abby and the concerns I had raised with Thibodeaux. I trusted him implicitly, and my instincts told me he needed to know everything. He listened carefully but said nothing in response.
“Okay, Clovis,” I sighed. “What’s bothering you?”
He didn’t beat around the bushes.
“Jack, your adversaries have been a step ahead of us the whole time. They had access to your meeting with Thibodeaux and knew about the guards Royce had hired at the hotel. Your identity was stolen, and you were lucky that Stella was able to interpret the message you sent from Abby’s house. Otherwise, you’d be swimming with alligators right now. I bet they won’t let Stella best them again. I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew exactly what was said between you and Mrs. Ruple this afternoon.”
I laughed, “All they learned from this afternoon was that Gloria has a large appetite for olives and gin.”
“It’s not a laughing matter,” he frowned. “We’ve faced some dangerous people and circumstances together and always managed to come out alive. But this time… I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“You’re assuming there’s only one person or group. I suspect we’re dealing with at least three.”
“Three,” he paused. “Three?”
“Three. The government, the corporate entities who want David to disappear, and someone inside the Louisiana syndicate.”
“You mean someone who wants to oust Thibodeaux?”
“I don’t know who, or why. But someone within the syndicate is up to their neck in this business. I have no idea whether that person is working alone or is in cahoots with either the government or the tech companies. What I do know is the answers lie with David Ruple, whether he knows it or not.”
Clovis asked, “Do you think the government will allow you access?”
“Experience tells me I’ll have to jump through several hoops, but eventually they’ll have to. You can’t lock someone away, deny them counsel and their day in court forever. Not in America, at least not yet. The obvious exception, of course is Guantanamo. But to charge David as a terrorist would be more than a little far-fetched. From the little I know, David has designed a piece of software that has rocked the boat for both big business and the government. But it’s not like he’s blown up a building or shut down a pipeline. Hopefully, Stella will soon be able to tell us what all the fuss is about.”
Clovis responded, “Stella may be able to figure out what we’re dealing with, but she won’t know the ‘who.’ You mentioned your meeting with Gloria Ruple. Did you learn anything?”
“She likes her martinis dry, her olives on the side, and does her best to make sure you know she’s a sad specimen who’s lonely and clueless.”
“Royce seemed nervous about the meeting. It doesn’t sound like he should have been concerned,” Clovis commented.
“Oh, I think there’s much more to Gloria Ruple than gin and makeup. Our meeting was a carefully orchestrated performance, contrived to throw me off guard. Only time will tell, but something tells me that Gloria Ruple is as smart and ruthless as they come. We need to keep our guard up with that one.”
“You sure you’re not a little paranoid?” Clovis asked.
“It’s possible, but then, maybe I should be.”
I watched Clovis as he absorbed what I had told him. He was usually quick on the uptake, and I valued both his intuition and his judgment. But the last few days had taken their toll on both of us. I needed sleep, and this conversation would have to wait. Like magic, Big Mike showed up.
On the way home, Mike explained that Lisa had arranged for someone to check out my condominium, sweep it for bugs, and stand watch during the night. There would be no abductions on her watch. Mike would drive me to work and be my primary protector during the day and early evenings.
“Is all this necessary? What if I want some privacy?” I grumbled.
“It may seem like overkill, but neither Lisa or Maggie are taking any chances, and this time I agree with them.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, we were followed on the way to the Willard and trailed by two men when we went to the Madison. Please don’t look, but there’s a car on our tail right now. You’ve been followed since the moment your plane touched the ground, and not by us. Lisa is pulling her hair out trying to figure out who’s so interested in your comings and goings, but so far, no luck. Whatever this case is about, someone is devoting a tremendous amount of time and resources to keep an eye on you.”
I was tempted to flip the bird to the car following us but thought the better of it—a childish gesture unlikely to have a positive result. Best not aggravate the unfriendly. The question was why? I had been kidnapped and now followed before I knew squat about the case or had even met my client. Why the intense focus on me? So far, my adversaries were big businesses and the government. I hardly posed a threat to either.
Mike insisted on accompanying me into my building and handing me off to the man who was charged with guarding me tonight. I stopped at the front desk as usual to get my mail from the night clerk. She was an attractive woman in her thirties training for the Boston marathon. We usually engaged in a little harmless flirting and banter, but tonight there was no mail and no night clerk. It wasn’t like her to be absent, and I was oddly disappointed. I missed her sweet “Goodnight, Mr. Patterson.”
We took the elevator up to my floor; as soon as the door opened, we both knew something was wrong. The hall lights were out, and the door to my condominium was wide open.
Mike stuck out his arm to prevent me from going ahead of him and called out. “Jerry, everything okay?”
There was no response. Mike pulled his gun and approached the front door slowly, continuing to call out for Jerry. I followed at a healthy distance. He gave the open door a good kick—to frighten whoever might be in there, I supposed. No one appeared, but it was evident that someone had ransacked my home. Mike handed me his phone, told me to call nine-one-one and report a break-in. I was not to leave the entryway; he would search for Jerry.
The dispatcher was polite and quickly responsive, telling me the Metropolitan police were on their way. Mike returned with his gun holstered, assuring me that the bad guy or guys were gone. He’d found Jerry on the floor in my bedroom, unconscious, but alive. He took the phone from my hand and asked the dispatcher to send an ambulance. My home had been completely trashed. Every drawer had been opened; papers were everywhere. Yet my laptop sat on my desk undisturbed, and nothing seemed to have been stolen. I felt like I was watching a movie, that this was happening to someone else.
While we waited for the police and the medics, Mike called Lisa to give her a report and ask for backup. I wanted to go downstairs to check on the woman at the front desk, but Mike insisted I stay put and let the police find her.
The police and the medics arrived at about the same time. Fortunately, Jerry would be fine. He had no memory of what happened, but the huge gash and lump on the back of his head spoke for him. The medics insisted he go to the hospital. Questions by the police would have to wait. I must have looked as queasy and unnerved as I felt, because one of the medics asked me for my name and birthday and offered to get me a blanket. I asked about the woman at the front desk. The police had found her gagged and bound in the custodian’s closet. She was terrified, but okay. Somehow three men in ski masks had been able to override security, enter the building, and snatch her in a matter of seconds.
Lisa arrived with three other security officers. She told me the police would take over the condo as a crime scene. She had arranged for me to stay at the Madison until the police had finished their work. While I packed, I asked her what they could have been after. They hadn’t taken my laptop, and I usually keep my current work papers with me.
“I have no idea. Looks to me that whoever they are wanted to send a signal: You aren’t safe. We can get you anytime we want!”