The Givenchy Code (9 page)

N
OT
R
ICIN BUT JUST AS DEADLY
?

P
LAY GAME
F
OLLOW CLUES
G
ET ANTIDOTE.

Stryker read the words twice, looking for a hidden message. He didn’t find one. Everything the killer wanted to say was laid out with stunning simplicity.

Mel had moved to the couch, and now he joined her, pressing his palm against her forehead. She didn’t pull away, and for some reason that scared the hell out of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt bad?”

“I
don’t
feel bad. But I guess now we know how the kill switch works. Some poison that’ll kick in after twenty-four hours.
Fuck.”
With the last, she hurled a pillow across the room. It hit the television and bounced ineffectually to the ground. “Is that even possible?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It is.” He’d worked in counterterrorism long enough to know that there were all kinds of nasty bugs being developed in labs all over the world. A Ricin-like toxin with a twenty-four-hour antidote window wasn’t outlandish at all. Still, that intense a poison would be hard to get hold of, and hard to deliver. “It could be a bluff,” he said. “Designed to psych you out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Poison has to be administered,” he said. “It couldn’t be airborne, because there’s no way to regulate who gets infected. Something in your food? Maybe. But I don’t think you’ve eaten anything since last night.”

“It could have been in the Indian food,” she said, leaning forward, her forehead creased in concentration. Even scared, she was analytical and engaged.

“That may be the most logical answer,” he confirmed. “Especially since the only other way I can think of to infect you would be to inject you.”

“Oh, shit.” Her eyes widened, and she rubbed her tricep with her opposite hand.

He watched her, a bad feeling building in his gut. “What?”

“On the street, I tried to pull away and I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I thought I’d pulled a muscle, but—”

“Let me see.”

She complied silently, pulling the long sleeve of her T-shirt up so that half her tricep was bare. He ran his finger over every inch of her bare arm but found nothing. “Let me see the rest of it.”

She turned her head to face him. “Excuse me?”

He pressed his hand against her shoulder, which, along with a good portion of her upper arm, was covered under the now-bundled-up sleeve. “I need to check the rest of your arm, Mel. We need to be sure. Take off your shirt.”

“I…It’s not my shirt.” Her teeth grazed her lower lip. “It’s Todd’s. And I’m not wearing a bra or anything.”

“Oh.” He swallowed, his mind filling suddenly with an image of Mel peeling off the T-shirt and standing before him, half naked and ready for his intimate inspection. He shoved the image away; now really wasn’t the time. “Go change,” he said, his voice more gruff than he wanted. “A few minutes won’t make a difference.”

“No. I want to know.” As he watched, she tugged the sleeve back down, then pulled her arm out so that her arm was inside the shirt. Then she pressed her other arm and hand against her chest, keeping the thin cotton pressed against her breasts. “Go ahead,” she said. “Look.”

He peeled up her shirt, revealing her naked arm and back. Her skin was white and creamy, and as his fingers explored her upper arm, he had to fight an almost overwhelming urge to stroke her back as well, to slide his hand underneath the T-shirt and to cup her breast in his palm.

Goose bumps appeared on her skin, and she shivered under his touch. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head, a slow blush easing up the back of her neck. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Did you find it?”

“Not yet. I—Shit.” And there it was. A tiny red prick. Not even noticeable unless you were looking for it. “Goddamn it all to hell,” he said.

She drew in a loud, shaky breath, then eased out from under his touch. Her arm snaked back up, and when she turned back to face him, she was dressed again. “It happened this morning,” she said. “Ten-thirty. Maybe eleven.”

“It’s almost one now.”

“Should I go to a hospital?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “If the doctors think you’ve been infected with that kind of a toxin, they’ll raise the alarm. Call in Homeland Security and get all sorts of authorities involved. You’ll be quarantined. And by the time we get it straightened out, twenty-four hours will be long gone.”

“We don’t have to mention the comparison to Ricin. We could just say poison.”

“There’s no guarantee the toxin will be isolated in time even if we
do
mention Ricin. And if we don’t, we can pretty much guarantee they won’t find anything out in time. In the meantime, the antidote will be out there waiting for us. But if we don’t find it in time—”

“You’re right,” she said. “No hospital.” She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “We follow the clue.”

I
felt fine, and I couldn’t quite get my head around the idea that I’d been poisoned and had less than twenty-four hours to find the antidote. If this were a movie—or even an episode of
24
—I’d find the antidote in the last possible second, then I’d turn around and kick the shit out of the bad guy.

Would be nice, but I wasn’t going to bank on it.

I shoved Kiefer out of my mind and focused instead on the man who was with me. The man who’d promised to help get me through this. I believed him, too, and already I’d come to rely on his strength, to anticipate his thoughts and suggestions. I’d only known him for a few hours, but my life was running in fast forward now, and Stryker was running right alongside me.

At the moment, though, he wasn’t running anywhere. Instead, he’d parked himself back at the computer, and now he pulled up Google and typed in a search.

>New York Prestige Park<<<

About a million hits came up, all of them raving about the
prestigious
apartments/offices/restaurants on
Park
Avenue. So much for an easy answer.

We were running out of ideas. If we couldn’t figure out Prestige Park, we couldn’t find the next clue. And if we couldn’t find the next clue, I was dead.

“Let me try,” I said. I didn’t care if there were two thousand pages of hits. We were going to look at every single one of them.

“Hold on,” he said, then typed in a new search.

>“New York” “Prestige Park”<<<

He hit Enter, and
bingo.
A car park. “Well, hello,” Stryker said. And I actually almost smiled.

We’d decided to stay in my apartment until we figured out the clue, since moving to some other location would take too much time. But we’d also decided to be quiet, just in case there were other eyes and ears watching us. I’d changed out of Todd’s clothes and pulled on my Miss Sixty jeans and a Goretti tank top I’d scored off eBay.

Beside me, Stryker had his cell phone open and was dialing information. “Turn up the radio,” he said.

I rushed to the stereo and complied, turning the volume higher and higher until he finally nodded, satisfied. How he’d hear his conversation, I didn’t know. Didn’t care, either, so long as he got it done. I knew he would, too. The man had it together, that was for sure. He’d told me that his earlier phone call was to a computer geek friend to try and figure out who posted that Web message. Nice to know he was on top of that. And now he’d solved the Prestige Park mystery. And the best part? He was on my side.

Behind me, Stryker muttered into his phone, then snapped it shut. He leaned onto the table, brushing my shoulder as he picked up the pen I’d been using earlier. He scribbled a note, then inched it toward me.
Prestige Car Park—downtown & Bronx.

“Looks like we’re going downtown,” he said.

I nodded, trying to remember if the online version of the game extended to the boroughs. I didn’t think it did. A plus for me, since, like so many Manhattanites, I was entirely clueless about life outside the island.

He snapped the screen shut on Jenn’s laptop, then slid it into the case, balling the cords up and shoving them in, too. I thought about protesting—it was Jenn’s computer, after all—but I didn’t. Jenn would understand, and we might need the thing. Finally, he grabbed the original message and my notes interpreting it. “Let’s go.”

I stood up, then took the papers from him. I dumped them and my pocketbook-sized purse into a tote bag that I regularly schlepped to class with me. “Are we coming back?”

“Not if I can help it.”

I nodded, shifting my weight on the balls of my feet, now snugly encased in my Prada sneakers as I stalled in the doorway. What can I say? It was hard to leave. I hated the idea of abandoning all my shoes. Not to mention my handbags, clothes, photo albums, books, and favorite CDs.

“I’ll buy you a change of underwear,” Stryker said, since my thoughts were apparently transparent. “But we need to get moving. We’ve already wasted enough time, and—”

“Fine. You’re right. Let’s go.” I told myself that this wasn’t good-bye forever—just until we’d won the game.

I tugged the door closed and locked it, my worldly possessions now measured by the width and breadth of the Kate Spade tote I’d snagged last fall in a seventy-five-percent-off sale. “I’ll be back soon,” I said to the door. I hoped I was telling the truth.

T
wenty minutes later, the taxi dropped us off in front of the entrance to Prestige Car Park. “What now?” I asked. “Can we just go in and look for spot 39A?”

“Not likely,” Stryker said, taking my elbow and pulling me aside. “The attendant’s going to be well tipped and very protective.”

“So what are we going to tell him?”

“Not a damn thing,” Stryker said, nailing me with a sideways glance. “We’re sneaking in.”

I was on the verge of asking how when a car pulled into the drive. Stryker held up a finger, signaling for me to be quiet. I wasn’t thrilled about being kept in the dark about his plan, but at the moment I had no choice.

The car—a Lincoln—stopped just inside the garage. Stryker and I watched, waiting for the attendant to show up. Apparently the driver was just as impatient, because he tapped the horn twice. I heard a door slam from somewhere toward my left, then a young kid in a blue blazer with
Prestige
embroidered on the breast pocket hurried over.

As the attendant bent down to speak to the driver, Stryker’s hand pressed against my back. “Come on,” he whispered. He took my hand, and we scurried inside, keeping toward the walls as we hoofed it toward a marked stairwell near the back. Stryker tried the door, then gave me a triumphant smile when he realized it was unlocked. He ushered me inside, following right on my heels.

“What are we doing in here?” I asked as the door closed behind us.

“The first floor is probably short-term parking. People shopping or going to lunch. Since whoever’s behind this bullshit must have taken some time to put the pieces in place, I figure the car we’re looking for must have been left in a long-term space.”

He was right, and I lifted myself up on my tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I didn’t think about it; I just planted the kiss impulsively. And as I pulled away, I was relieved to see that he looked pleased. Surprised, but pleased.

“What was that for?”

Since I wasn’t entirely certain, I said the first thing that came into my head. “For helping me.”

That won me a quick smile before he took my hand and led me up the stairs. We emerged on the next level and started checking space numbers. The cars were stacked three deep in the spaces, with C being closest to the wall, B trapped in the middle, and A free to pull out into the driveway.

We’d split up when we emerged on this level, and I was having no luck. My side was all teens and twenties. I was circling back toward Stryker when I heard him call me, his voice low in case the attendant was in earshot.

“Here,” he said.

I hurried over and found him tugging a cream-colored cover off what turned out to be a navy blue Mercedes. The top-of-the-line kind with a keypad entry system and everything.

“What do you think?”

He walked the perimeter, his eyes on the vehicle. “I think the answer’s inside somewhere.” When he made it back to the driver’s side door, he scowled at the door, then started to reach for the handle.

“Wait!
It’s probably got a car alarm. You need the key.”

“Thanks for that bit of insight,” he said, “but in case you forgot, we don’t have a key.”

I dug in my tote and came up with the Prestige Park message, then waved it at him. “I think we do,” I said.

I read the numbers off to him, and he dutifully punched them into the door’s keypad: 89225.

I smiled as he gave a tug, certain we were golden.

Since this day was
not
going well, of course I was wrong. As soon as Stryker gave the door a yank, the alarm system started blaring.

“Damn it!”
Stryker yelled over the din. The thing screeched at an ear-piercing level, and I gritted my teeth against the noise, afraid someone was going to come see what we were up to.

“Shut it off,” I said. “Make it stop!”

He looked around, as baffled as I felt, then he reared sideways, lifted his leg and struck out, smashing his heel against the window.

Nothing happened, and the car continued to squawk.

“Find me something metal!” Stryker called. “A crowbar or something.”

I turned in a circle but didn’t see a thing. “Where’s your gun?”

“I’d rather not use it,” he said. “Ballistics.”

“Oh, for crying out loud…” At the moment, I was much more concerned with my antidote than with the crime tech analysis of some random bullet in a Mercedes. “Just blast the thing.”

He reached toward his jacket. “Stand back.” He aimed, and then, just as he was about to fire, the alarm shut off. Silence had never sounded so good. “Well, that’s one thing going our way,” he said, slipping the gun back into his jacket. “Any bright ideas how we can get in without setting off the alarm?”

“The keys?” I said brightly.

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.” He slid Jenn’s laptop case off his shoulder and passed it to me. “Wait here.”

“Wait here?” I repeated. “Where are you going?”

“To get the keys,” he said. “Where else?”

I couldn’t really argue with that, so instead I just watched him leave, my fingers crossed tight beside me. I would have liked to believe he could simply ask the attendant for the keys and the request would be granted, but I knew better.

Stryker was going to steal them.

Feeling suddenly extraneous in my own dilemma, I started to lean against the car, then stopped myself before I triggered the alarm again. I could believe that we were supposed to steal the keys—considering the game as a whole, what was a little larceny, after all? But what I couldn’t believe was that those numbers—89225—had no meaning. I just hadn’t figured it out yet.

I leaned against a cement pillar and ran the digits through my head, looking for a pattern. They weren’t prime numbers. Some other relationship, maybe?

Probably, but I couldn’t think of anything.

Stryker might not be a math aficionado, but I still wanted to bounce ideas off him, and I wished he’d hurry up and get back with the keys.

The keys.

Of course. Could it really be that simple?

I dug in my tote and found a pen and a scrap of paper. I’d created the pigpen translation key by putting a 1 after the Z. But there wasn’t any real reason for doing that except habit. It made just as much sense to start a string of ten digits with 0. And so that’s what I did now. And when I translated the original message using my new key with a different number sequence, I got an entirely different last line:

28A 78114

I looked around, wondering where 28A was. I knew I should wait for Stryker, but I had to know if I was right. So I rummaged some more until I found my brand-new MAC lipstick. I said a little apology to the fashion industry, then used the lipstick to write “S—MP @ 28A” on the cement pillar. Then I headed off, hoping like hell I was right.

It didn’t take me long to find the car, a late-model Jaguar two-seater, sleek and silver. And, I noticed right off, with a keyless entry system. At least my tormentor had good taste in cars.

I took a deep breath and punched in the new numbers.
Click.

I said a silent prayer and opened the door. The heady scent of new leather accosted me, and I breathed in deep as I slid inside. I love new car smell. But I didn’t have time to enjoy. If there was a clue inside this car, it wasn’t immediately apparent. I put my hands on the steering wheel and tried to think.
If I were a clue, where would I be?

“Nice car, lady. Care to give a soldier a lift?”

I yelped and jumped so high I almost hit my head on the roof. My heart was pounding, and I turned to glare at Stryker, but it was for show only. I was too impressed with myself—and too thrilled by his wide smile of approval—to truly be angry he’d snuck up on me.

“Found your message,” he said.

“I started with zero instead of one,” I explained.

“If you say so,” he said. He dangled a set of keys. “I’m guessing we don’t need these after all?”

“I don’t think so.” My eyes drifted out of habit to the ignition, then widened as I saw what was already there—one shiny silver key. “Looks like this car comes fully equipped.”

He tossed the Mercedes keys in the air and caught them. “Guess it wasn’t an entirely wasted venture. It can’t hurt to keep my burglary skills sharp.”

“You never know when you’ll need to break and enter,” I agreed. “So do you think the key means we’re supposed to take the car?”

“Possibly,” Stryker said. He moved around to the passenger side, then checked the empty glove compartment. “At the very least, we should write down the license plate number.”

“Here you go,” I said, then fumbled in my bag for paper and a pen for him.

While he did that, I flipped down both visors. Nothing. Ditto the ashtray, the cup holders and the little repository for loose coins. “I’m out of ideas,” I said. “The clue should be someplace pretty obvious, I’d think. The first level’s always easy. Relatively speaking, I mean.”

Stryker signaled for me to pop the trunk, then he circled the car. “Nothing here,” he said after a few minutes. He slammed the trunk closed.

My heart lurched, but I wasn’t yet ready to voice defeat. “It’s got to be here,” I said. “We just have to figure out how to think like we were in the real game.”

“Right,” he said. Then, after a moment, “Any ideas?”

Not one, a little fact that irritated the hell out of me. How many times had I sat in class, imagining a tall, dark stranger passing me an encoded message, absolutely critical to national defense? I’d crack the code, even while being chased by vile counteragents out to kill me. They wouldn’t succeed, though. I’d do whatever it took to survive, whether that meant a night of lipstick and Manolos or slogging across enemy lines in camo pants and military issue moon boots. In the end, it would be my quick mind and sharp wit that saved the day. Jennifer Garner might be famous, but she had nothing on me.

I stifled a snort, disgusted with myself. Fantasy was one thing. Survival was another. So far, I might be surviving, but I’d hardly pulled out all the stops. I hadn’t turned the tables on this guy, I hadn’t even made an effort to get the upper hand. Instead, I was wandering around stunned, letting someone else call the shots—whoever was orchestrating this game, my assassin-opponent, and yes, even Stryker. Well, no more….

He might be on my side, but there wasn’t anyone on the planet more loyal to my cause than me. That was simply a fact. My three loves are shoes and math and history—believe me when I say I know all about fashion and facts. I live and die by them. Yesterday, that had been metaphorical. Today, I feared, I was being entirely literal.

What I needed to be, though, was analytical. That’s what I was good at, right? That’s why I’d gotten sucked into this freak show, wasn’t it? Someone out there knew I could play this game. And in the end, this was all about playing a stupid computer game in the real world.

And that, I realized with a start, was the answer. Aloud, I asked, “Know anything about Jaguars?”

He shot me an unreadable look. “I’ve got a Triumph Trident. Sweet little bike. I know her inside and out, but that’s it.”

“Do you know if they’re computerized?”

His forehead creased as he frowned, but I wasn’t sure if he was confused by my question or unsure of the answer.

“Computer diagnostics,” I said. “This whole thing started with a computer game. So maybe…?”

He stared at me, and I began to feel a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“What? It’s not
that
dumb an idea.”

“Are you kidding?” he asked, and I was just about to defend myself some more when he added, “It’s brilliant.”

That was more like it. I couldn’t help my grin.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I blinked, not feeling like such a brainiac after all. “Go where?”

“That explains why we have a key. We need to find a garage if we’re going to plug the system into diagnostics. And if that comes up flat, we can scour the car again.”

“So I’m right? They can really do that? Stick a message in a car’s computer system?”

He shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I guess we’ll find out.”

I slid to the passenger side. “Ready.”

He got in and turned the key. The engine purred to life, and the CD player clicked on. A low hum came from the speakers, followed by a series of clicks. Then a computer-generated voice spoke: “ ‘I know
something
interesting is sure to happen,’ she said to herself, ‘whenever I eat or drink anything.’ ”

“What the fuck?” Stryker asked, but I was already pushing the Eject button and carefully taking the CD out.

“Alice in Wonderland,”
I said, referring to the quote from Alice before she swallowed the Drink Me juice. “I don’t know how exactly, but I’m sure this CD is our clue.”