Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (31 page)

“You touched my arm. Technically that was battery.”

She asked again, “What was Hale wearing?”

“Trench coat. Gloves. It’s cold out there, in case you forgot.”

“What, precisely, did he say?”

Gaspar was tired of the subject. “The whole episode was a year shorter than this inquisition.”

They shuffled with the airport crowd. Slow progress.

He relented. “Hale said Cooper sent him for her. He said the AG’s ready. I said OK. He knocked on the bedroom door. She came out. I asked should we wait. He said not necessary, she said goodbye and they left.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

#

Ten minutes later they were in another taxi. Thick plastic separated the front seat from the back. Three nickel-sized holes permitted sound exchange. There was a cradle for cash payments and a swipe box in the passenger compartment for credit cards.

“Washington Hilton,” Kim said, and the taxi joined the outbound traffic. Then she said, “I checked Sylvia’s flash drives on the plane. One contained copies of the Caribbean bank statements Finlay gave us.”

Gaspar raised his eyebrow. “Chicken or egg?”

“Sorry?”

He slowed delivery as if addressing a dimwit. “Did Finlay
take
the statements
from
Sylvia’s safety deposit box? Or
plant
the statements
in
the box?”

She shrugged; she’d come to love that response. “Either way, statements prove Sylvia and Harry laundered Kliners offshore. Statements add up to fifty-eight million over four years.”

“Leaving nine million still unwashed?”

“Maybe. Or stashed in one of the other three accounts.”

“We’ve only been on this case four days.”

“Cooper could have made a long-lead plan, I guess. Knowing he was going to bring us in sooner or later?” Some things still made no sense to her.

He shrugged. “Unlikely.”

She said, “The statements prove the box was accessed at least once after Sylvia’s initial set up. Five years ago, she hadn’t laundered any money yet. The flash drives were obsolete. Like the data was old, too.”

“Was it Sylvia who accessed the box at least once?”

“Maybe.”

“When?”

“Can’t say for sure.”

He shrugged. “Anything on the other two flash drives?”

“Sylvia’s memoirs on one. Nothing we couldn’t guess.”

“Boyfriend?”

“She called him ‘My Man’ or ‘MM.’”

Gaspar noticed her hesitation. “What about the third drive? Anything about Harry? The Kliners? Cooper? Reacher?”

She pointed to the hotel just ahead. “I’d rather show you.”

The taxi dropped them at the service entrance. In their room, she pulled the third flash drive out of her pocket. Tossed it to him. “Look at this while I shower.”

What would he find that she’d misinterpreted?

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Washington, D.C.

November 5

1:15 a.m.

Shower, food, coffee, talk. She felt fortified enough. Her plan was ironed out. Redundancies and backups were in place. Electronic evidence had been transferred to secure locations. She had two hours of work to complete later. Dawn was five hours ahead.

Sleep three hours.

Work two hours.

Implement plan.

Bingo.

Gaspar was in the room’s only chair. She didn’t ask why he wasn’t stretched out on the other bed. She dressed in pajamas and the hotel’s terry robe. She set her alarm. She punched her pillows. She turned her cell phone off. She snuffed the bedside lamp.

She stretched out.

She closed her eyes.

Gaspar said, “I forgot to ask. Did you recognize anyone on that last flash drive?”

She murmured before she fell off the cliff, “A toady guy using the
Busy Beaver
was the U.S. Ambassador to Switzerland until last year. And a guy wearing the silver band is pretty high up at the Attorney General’s office now.”

Then what felt a minute later room service delivered a 4:00 a.m. breakfast.

#

Gaspar was already showered, dressed, and packed. He dealt with the waiter. Seconds later he was chowing down on eggs, ham, and toast.

Revolting.

Kim arose groggy. Mainlined coffee before, during, and after her shower. Munched dry toast as she packed. Twenty minutes later they were on the road to Baltimore. It was still full dark. Traffic was light. It was cold. No precipitation.

“Did you check your voice mail?” Gaspar asked. “Roscoe called me again an hour ago. Looking for you. Seemed a bit frantic.”

Kim pulled out her smart phone and fired it up and found three voice messages, all from Roscoe. She listened. “She says Archie Leach is on his way. Says he’s out of his mind with grief. Dangerous, is how she put it.”

“Something off about that guy. He was the cool head back at Eno’s diner when brother Jim was holding his shotgun on us. Now he’s so grief stricken he’s chasing a couple of federal agents?”

Kim shrugged. “We’ve got plenty to deal with as it is. Let’s put Archie Leach on the back burner.”

Gaspar followed the directions they’d worked out. Forty-eight minutes later they pulled into the bus station. Kim hurried inside and located two self-serve lockers permitting sixty day pre-paid rentals. She stashed duplicate hard copies of the evidence she’d made last night in each. Dropped each key into a padded envelope, postage prepaid. Mailed one at the station. Mailed the second from a random roadside box.

She repeated the process at the train station and the airport.

She rejoined Gaspar at the curb outside Baltimore Washington International.

He asked, “Good to go?”

She said, “Our asses are as covered as they’re ever going to get.”

She checked her watch. Right on time. The sun was just peeking over the horizon.

Attack at dawn.

But the attack would fail unless Sylvia agreed to help them. Which she might. If they could separate her from Marion Wallace and Charles Cooper.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Washington, D.C.

November 5

8:50 a.m.

Kim rang the bell three times before Elle opened the door wearing her bathrobe. “Goodness, Kimmy. It’s awfully early. Is Marion expecting you?”

Kim stepped over the threshold and kept on walking. “Is she in the breakfast room? We can find our own way.”

Gaspar followed.

Elle called out, “She’s in the salon, I think.”

Perfectly costumed, Marion glanced up from her morning paper. She had coffee in a bone china cup. French pastries filled a basket on her silver tray. “I wondered when you’d be back. It’s Agent Otto now, am I right? Not Mrs. Nguyen anymore?”

Kim shrugged. Refused the bait. Essential work here didn’t involve Marion, but her breakfast companion, Sylvia Black. She was right there. Cheeks bright. In expensive travel clothes. Jeans, silk shirt, leather jacket. Fashionably functional boots.

The costume worried Kim. Sylvia was all but gone.

“Agent Otto, Agent Gaspar,” Sylvia said, rising, as if greeting old friends. “How may I help you?”

Kim selected her best opening. She touched Sylvia’s arm, connecting. Gentle, lowered voice. “Cooper’s cut you loose, Sylvia. He’s setting you up. He sent us to Zurich for evidence against you.”

Sylvia barely flinched, but Kim caught it. She said, “He sacrificed you last time. He’s doing it again. You’ll go to prison.”

“That’s not true.” Faint whisper, quivering chin, dry mouth.

“You think he’ll be your Main Man forever? Come on. You’re smarter than that. Aren’t you?”

“Smarter than you give me credit for.”

Kim said, “I think you’re a very smart woman. That’s why I’m here. Come with us. It’s all set up for real this time.”

No response. Kim felt the clock ticking. Sylvia looked to Marion for guidance. For fifteen years Marion had mentored and protected her younger protégé. Sylvia trusted her.

Another betrayal.

Kim pushed as hard as she dared. “I thought Marion was my friend once. But believe me, her own hide always comes before yours.”

No response.

Gaspar said, “Wake up, Sylvia. You were expendable five years ago and you’re expendable now. Cooper would have killed you in that Chevy with Bernie Owens, but he still needed you. When he doesn’t need you anymore, that’ll be the end. And it’s coming.”

No response.

Kim said, “He’s on his way here now to take you away, isn’t he?”

Sylvia’s expression was the only acknowledgement required.

Kim said, “You’re leaving DC. You’re leaving the country. And when no one is around to watch him? He’s going to kill you, Sylvia. You know that.
You know it.
”

Sylvia looked down at her hands. She was close to panic. Kim recognized the signs.

One last hard push.

“He’s
using
you, Sylvia,” Kim said. “He doesn’t
love
you.”

“He does too.” Defensive and insecure, but defiant.

Kim considered telling the truth, that Cooper didn’t love anyone. Was never loyal to anyone. Never had been and never would be. But Kim had read Sylvia’s memoirs. She wasn’t the stone cold bitch Gaspar assumed her to be. She was bendable. Fragile. Somewhere under all that experience, the Iowa farm girl remained.

And Kim knew all about farm girls. She’d been one herself, once upon a time. Impossible to beat your DNA. Couldn’t be done. Even after years of trying. In death, Sylvia’s farm girl DNA would be precisely identifiable. No escape. Only surrender. Kim had to make Sylvia own it.

Sylvia loved Cooper. And she wanted to believe Cooper loved her. But she was as smart as she said she was. Or at least as cunning. Self-preservation was paramount. She knew the truth. So she’d work it out eventually, precisely the way Kim had planned.

But how long would Sylvia take to get there? Cooper was close. Kim felt it the same way she felt the temperature in the room.

She said, “You’ve been betrayed before, Sylvia. You know how it feels. Your heart hurts. Your mind warns you constantly, but you keep going, thinking you’re going to get away, that it’s only fear, that you can break through, you’re really OK. But you know you’re not.
You know.
Trust your gut, Sylvia.
Trust me.
”

No response.

Kim said, “We’ve got to get out of here before he shows up. We’re sitting here like targets, Sylvia. Are you coming with us or not?”

She was so focused on Sylvia that Marion Wallace’s voice startled her.

“You should think about it, Sylvia dear,” Marion said absently, rustling the paper as she turned the page. “I mean, why don’t you go with them? He’s rescued you before. He’ll do it again. And when he does, you’ll know for sure that he loves you and everything these people are telling you is nonsense.”

Translation: use the emergency plan. Working girls always had one. And these two working girls were smarter than most and they’d been in tight spots before. Sylvia raised her head and looked directly into Marion’s eyes. Something passed between them. A bond forged in earlier times, and leaner struggles. Sylvia nodded slightly.

“OK,” she said. “Let me get my bag. I’ll hurry.”

And she headed up the stairs.

Marion returned her gaze to her newspaper. “Still too trusting, Agent Otto. She might escape.”

“You told her to come with us. She will.”

“You overestimate me. People do what they do.”

But five minutes later Sylvia came back, with her bag.

#

Sylvia hugged Marion and said, “Until we meet again, sweetie.” Then she led Otto and Gaspar through back hallways to a rear exit originally used for deliveries. They came out in a narrow paved alley running parallel with Dumbarton Street. There was dog manure and broken bottles and empty soda cans and trash and pale leggy weeds all over it. There were overfilled dumpsters awaiting pickup. Overhead, a low grey cloud ceiling masked visibility. Winds whipped around corners and through tunnels between buildings. They walked fast, with their hands stuffed into their pockets for warmth.

They were twenty feet from the end of the alley when Archie Leach stepped out of the shadows.