The Plot (39 page)

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “
Hola, amigo."
It was Max. “All set?"

"I suppose.” He took the folded paper from above the visor and climbed from the car, closing the door quietly behind himself. It had been easy getting the duty form. They were standard for every case. It hadn't been much more difficult to find the Hart woman's location or the names of the agents holding her. The FBI kept meticulous records. Passing off the forged documents on experienced agents might not be so easy. “Let's just hope it works,” he said.

"It will. It has to.” Determination filled Max's voice.

Ed wasn't so sure. Determination alone wouldn't be enough. So much could go wrong. After tonight's bombings, the nation was on high alert, and the agents holding Cassandra Hart would be no different. He knew the training. The mentality. He could only hope that Thompkins and Slade would be tired of being holed up in the hotel and ready to relinquish their prize to
anyone
willing to take over. “Let's go,” he said. “Might as well get it over with."

Cassie locked the bathroom door and examined the jagged end of the wooden rod she'd broken from the bottom of the trousers hanger. Thompkins would be checking on her any minute. She'd convince her she was sick, trick her into dropping her defenses. If it worked, the next time she came in to check up on her would-hopefully-be the last.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door, pretended it was Thompkins, and shoved the rod toward it. Thompkins was taller than her. She'd never reach her eyes. Maybe she'd aim for her throat. The eyes were a more effective target, though. A blind and terrified adversary wouldn't fight back. And she'd only get one chance at Thompkins-and her gun. She figured she'd have about two seconds to grab the pistol, flip off the safety, turn and aim before Slade appeared in the doorway.

"What're you doing in there?” Thompkins shouted, pounding on the door.

"Leave me alone. I'm sick.” She moaned and squatted in front of the toilet, laying the rod next to the far side of its base.

"What's the matter with you? Swallow too much pride?"

Cassie made retching sounds and watched the doorknob jiggle as Thompkins tried to come in.

"Open this door.
Now
."

Cassie checked to be sure the rod was hidden. “Just a minute. I'm coming.” She flushed the toilet and rubbed her cheeks to make herself look feverish, then opened the door and stepped out. “What do you want? Can't you even let me be sick in private?"

Thompkins looked her up and down and shook her head. “Quit whining. You can be sick all you want, just don't lock that door again."

Cassie opened her eyes wide and made herself belch. “Uh, oh..."

Thompkins blanched and shoved her back into the bathroom, closing the door between them.

As the elevator ascended, Ed thought about the bellhop who had nodded toward them when they crossed the otherwise deserted lobby. The television had been on, and he'd been watching the news. Would he remember seeing them? How observant was he? Traumatic events like tonight's usually left people in a daze. But not always. Sometimes it heightened their awareness.

"Think he'll be able to identify us?” Max had read his thoughts.

"Maybe. Not much we can do about it either way. Once we step off this elevator, won't be any turnin’ back."

Max nodded, his mouth drawn into a tight line.

The doors whispered open, and Ed followed Max down the long, carpeted hallway to the far end. Squaring his shoulders, he stood motionless for a long moment, gathering his thoughts while Max positioned himself around the corner, pistol drawn. He'd done this a thousand times before. This may be a ruse, but his approach would be no different than when he'd done it legally. He took a deep breath.
Relax. Smile a little.
He took his I.D. from his pocket and knocked. “FBI,” he called loudly .

His knock was met by silence. He knocked again. This time, the door opened just enough to reveal a short, squarely-built man, gun at the ready. Across the room stood a big, muscular woman. Her gun, too, was drawn. There was no sign of Cassandra Hart.

"Agent Slade?” he asked, holding up his identification card and badge. “Agent Lopez. I've been assigned to relieve you."

Slade narrowed his eyes as he studied the I.D., then nodded and stepped aside, opening the door all the way. “It's about time,” he said, a sour note in his voice.

Thompkins holstered her weapon and came forward. “Let's see the order."

He handed her the paper. “Hey, these digs aren't so bad,” he said, looking around. “Beats what's goin’ on out
there
."

"Yeah?” The woman suddenly lost interest in the forged document. “What d'ya mean?"

"Haven't you been watching the news? All hell's bustin’ loose, and the Director is calling up every available agent."

"Yeah? Then how come they're sending you
here
?” she asked.

"They need
field
agents. They're assigning desk jockeys like me to handle routine duty like this."

"Well, I guess Harry can leave,” she said, frowning. “We're guarding a
woman
, ya know, and I can't leave her alone with just a male agent."

Ed shook his head. “My partner is on her way. Called me a little while ago. Says she's stuck behind a convoy of soldiers. Ought to be here any minute. You'll probably pass her on your way out."

"What's her name? Maybe I know her."

"It's right there,” Ed said, taking the paper from her hand and pointing to the name he'd typed in, “Richmond. Virginia Richmond."

"Sounds familiar,” Slade interjected. He'd remained silent until now.

"Yeah.” Thompkins nodded, knitting her brow. “What's she look like?"

"Oh, I'd guess her about fortyish, short brown hair, brown eyes, a little on the chunky side...” He slipped the paper into his pocket while he spoke.

Thompkins looked thoughtful. “That could be almost anyone. She's not a field agent?"

"Nope. Works in the Director's office. That's probably where you've met her."

"No way, Lopez.” Slade shook his head. “That's one place I stay away from. Out of sight, out of mind-that's my motto."

Thompkins’ eyes flickered toward her partner, then back at Ed. Her eagerness to be in the thick of the action was obvious. “Well, if you're
sure
she's on her way. I mean, if we're needed elsewhere, and I won't get in any trouble for leaving..."

"You'll be in trouble if you
don't
leave. Don't worry. Richmond will be along any minute.” Ed looked around the room again. “Where's the perp?"

"In the bedroom,” Thompkins answered, nodding toward the closed door at the back of the room as she reached into her pocket. “Here's the key. She's locked up tight and isn't feeling good, so you shouldn't have any trouble. Once Agent Richmond gets here, tell her to, uh, ‘check’ on her every thirty minutes or so. Don't want her to get too
comfortable,
if you get my point."

Ed forced a grin. “Got it,” he said, following them to the door. “If you pass Richmond, tell her to get a move on."

He watched until the elevator doors closed behind them, then whistled softly.

Max emerged from his hiding place and slipped into the room. “Any problem?"

"Nope. In fact, if those two are any example of the kind of agents they're hiring these days, it's a wonder the FBI isn't in even worse shape than it is.” Ed handed him the key and gestured toward the bedroom. “She's in there,” he said, then walked across the room to the telephone, picked up the receiver and laid it on the desk.

Cassie squatted on the bathroom floor, visualizing every move, every nuance. She had Thompkins figured out-knew she was the type who liked to torment cats and pull the wings off butterflies. When she came in, she'd order Cassie to stand up. When she didn't obey, she'd try to force her. While her right hand was pulling her up, Cassie would lunge. With any luck, she'd shove the rod all the way through the bitch's throat to her brain.

Thompkins kept her gun holstered at her back. Cassie visualized herself grabbing it, stepping out of the bathroom, and aiming. When Slade appeared at the doorway, he'd be dead meat. She hoped.

At the sound of soft rapping on the door, she bowed her head over the toilet and held the rod out of sight in her right hand. Her heart pounded. It's
got
to work. She took a deep breath and clenched her teeth as the latch clicked and the door opened.

She rolled her eyes to the side and saw a man's black shoes against the tile.
Shit.
It was Slade.
Oh, well. It's now or nev
—

"Cassie...?"

"Oh, my God. Max!"

"Are you okay?” he asked, lifting her to her feet.

The sound of his voice, the feel of his strong arms around her was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. She buried her head against his chest. “Yes. Fine. How did—"

Ed interrupted from the other room. “We've gotta clear out of here."

"Right. C'mon, Honey,” Max said, his voice husky as he eased from her embrace and guided her toward the front door, where Ed was taking one last look out into the hallway.

"All clear?” Max asked.

"Yep. You go on ahead. I'll be right behind you,” Ed answered, pausing to lock the door as Max led Cassie around the corner to the stairwell.

While the elevator descended, Thompkins turned to her companion and pursed her lips. “I don't know, Harry. Maybe I shouldn't have left until the other agent showed up. Regulations are pretty strict."

"You worry too much, Cynthia,” he replied. “In the first place, at times like this regulations are
always
relaxed. In the second place, who gives a crap about the Hart woman? She's bound for prison-and maybe execution-no matter whose custody she's in. And, as for me, I'd a whole lot rather be where the action is than stuck in that friggin’ hotel room."

She sighed. He made sense. Still, she'd feel better if she had been relieved of duty by a female.

When the doors opened to the lobby, Thompkins looked around. Nobody was there but the desk clerk and a bellhop. “Just a minute, Harry,” she said as he started toward the front doors. “Maybe one of these guys saw Agent Richmond. She could've gone up on another elevator while we were coming down."

The bellhop looked up from his seat in front of the television at her approach. He seemed annoyed by the interruption.

"How long have you been here?” she asked, flashing her identification at him. He barely glanced at it.

"Pretty much all night.” He yawned.

"Has a woman come in here in the last little while? Short brown hair, fortyish, kind of chunky..."

He shook his head. “Nope. Ain't seen a soul since midnight.” He paused a moment, then added, “Except those two guys who came in a little while ago. Why? You expectin’ some kind o’ trouble?"

Thompkins stared at him. “
Two
guys?” She paused, thinking. “Was one of them fairly tall, black hair, kind of heavy-set ... wearing a brown suit, no tie?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Are you sure the two men were
together
?” Slade asked, stepping closer.

"Oh, yeah. Not much doubt about that. I noticed ‘em ‘cause you don't usually see men come in without a woman at this time of night ... especially on a night like
this
."

Thompkins looked at her partner, whose face had lost its color. “We've been
had
,” she snarled, but he had already started for the elevator.

Max stopped and looked through the window of the heavy steel door at the foot of the steps. The exit to the parking garage was just a few feet away, and there was no one in sight. He heard Ed's footsteps on the landing above and wished he'd hurry. Maybe he should just get Cassie out of here and wait for Ed outside. In the darkness. Where they had a better chance of escape.

When Ed stepped up beside him, Max motioned him to be still. A woman's reflection appeared in the plate glass window overlooking the parking garage.
Damn. Thompkins.
He crouched in the corner, signaling his companions to follow suit.
Why was she still here? And where was her partner?
He remembered the bellhop, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck.
Trapped
. An idea formed in his mind. It could work. Signaling with his hands, he explained it to Ed, who gave him the thumbs-up.

Thompkins stopped in front of the door, turning to peer through the window to the stairwell, just as Max and Ed leaped to their feet and slammed their bodies against the push bar, propelling the door open. It crashed against her, and she crumpled to the green carpet. She struggled to stand, but Ed smashed his pistol against her skull. With a whimper, she fell back to her knees and collapsed.

Cassie stooped down, pressing her fingers against the woman's carotid artery, then looked up, wide-eyed. “She's dead."

"You two go ahead,” Ed whispered. “I'll catch you later. Gotta keep Slade from sounding the alarm."

Cassie stood and put her hand on Max's arm when he refused to leave Ed. “He's right, Max. We've got to get to Freedom. We may never have another chance."

He looked away, a lump in his throat. “The documents aren't there."

"Not there? Then..."

"We think Bates has them.” He looked back at her. Her blue eyes flashed. Her lips were set in a grim line.

"It doesn't matter,” she said. “We'll still need weapons ... and some other things. The clusters will already be gathering..."

"She's right,” Ed said, breathing hard as he dragged Thompkins’ body into the stairwell. “Get going!"

Max frowned, looked at Cassie, and back at Ed, then nodded slightly. “
Adios, amigo
,” he murmured.

Slade stepped back from the door and rubbed his knuckles. If anyone was in that room, they should have heard him knock. ‘Course, the guy could be in the bathroom. Or having a good time with the girl before his partner arrived. If Thompkins hadn't been hanging around, he'd have been tempted to give it a try himself. He took a deep breath and started to knock again, louder, but stopped. The last thing he needed was to wake up the whole friggin’ floor and have a bunch of curious civilians watching every move he made. Or didn't make.