I focused on thoroughly chewing a piece of steak. I knew, abstractly, that it was delicious, but the flavor was barely registering. Lara busied herself with her salad, glancing at me every few moments to check on my mental state. I found some hope in her attempts to intimidate and manipulate me. That implied her case against Janine was lacking.
"I know what you're thinking," said Lara. "We don't have anything solid, or I wouldn't be here playing cat and mouse with you. And you're right. We don't have anything – yet – that would hold up in a court of law. However, if we keep pushing on this, who knows what we'll turn up – about Janine, you, Lilith Killian, or her infamous father? And as we turn up the pressure, how well do you think Janine will do? It's just a matter of time before she cracks and tells us everything we want to know."
I looked up from my steak and met her hard-eyed gaze. She smiled.
"All I need to know," she continued, "is what you've learned about our classified projects and what you intend doing with that knowledge. Before you repeat your 'she told me nothing' mantra, your conversation with Lilith Killian makes it clear that Janine illegally disclosed classified information. That recording alone is sufficient to pursue prosecution of her. But if you are candid with me now, I promise on behalf of Lockheed Martin that your girlfriend will not be prosecuted. Her employment will be terminated – no getting around that – but what you say to me now will affect not only her legal status but her future employment. If we didn't take legal action but merely terminated her 'with prejudice' – making her indiscretions public – she would likely be barred from any future employment involving government contract. Which means virtually every significant science research program in existence. A career-ending event for her, in all probability."
My last bite lodged halfway down my throat. I was about to become a candidate for a Heimlich maneuver. I reached for my glass and gulped the rest of it down. The last swallow dislodged the meat. I took a grateful breath.
"Bite off more than you can chew?" she chuckled.
I was fighting an unhealthy desire to punch that smirk off her face. I coughed twice into my napkin and attempted to gather my wits.
"Lockheed Martin would provide a written agreement not to prosecute her?" I asked.
"I think that can be arranged. In return for you telling us what she said and you and Lilith Killian signing a non-disclosure agreement that will apply to everything she told you."
My coughing had attracted the waitress, who refilled my water glass. I thanked her. Staring at Lara's coldly smiling face, I decided I needed time to think this over and, if possible, to consult with "higher authorities." I couldn't afford to screw this up, not with Janine's career and possibly life on the line.
I renewed my attack on the steak, cutting off a smaller piece this time. Lara followed my lead with her salad.
"Are you a patriot, Hayden?" she asked. "Do you care about your country? About keeping it safe?"
"Of course. But people mean different things by 'patriot' and 'keeping it safe.'"
"I don't think it's that complex. What threatens the security of this country is bad. We build things that help keep our country safe. When our enemies learn about those things, that's bad."
"The military shouldn't reveal all its secrets, agreed. But how many secrets should they or the government be allowed to keep? If major decisions are made behind closed doors with no input from the citizens, we don't have a democracy any longer, do we?"
"If the citizens knew about classified projects, our enemies would, too. And that could lead to us losing our democracy."
"So the military or the head of some secret committee gets to make the choices for all of us?"
"Most people don't know this," said Lara, "but we're in a technology race. Used to be a nuclear race and a space race, but now it's a race for all the marbles. Falling behind in any area of technology can literally doom us."
I stared at her, feeling that I was finally getting a glimpse of what made Lara Knowles tick.
"This isn't just following orders for you, is it? You actually believe in what you're doing?"
"Damn right I do."
"No wonder you were willing to drug me. You'd do anything your government told you to, wouldn't you? Even kill?"
"That's not in my job description." Her smile faltered for a moment, then grew firm. "But yes, I would do anything for my country."
"Even if your country's ruled by an elite that doesn't give a shit about its citizens?"
Lara snickered softly and nodded as if she'd been expecting that. "I almost forgot. We're all going to be ruled under the United Nations, whose members will be selected and owned by the big bankers, right?"
"Or maybe the oil companies. I'm not quite sure about that."
"You have no idea," she said. "No idea what's going on behind the scenes."
"If falling behind technologically means being ruled by someone else – presumably an evil dictatorship - why aren't all the countries that are behind the technological curve not being overrun?"
Lara frowned before offering a shrug. "I don't think you have to invade a country to control it. You just talk to the leaders and say do what we want or we turn off your power for a day or vaporize an important industrial center or maybe just cause them to drop dead of apparent heart attacks."
"Is that what our government's doing?"
Annoyance invaded her pretty features. "I believe that whatever our government is doing is about protecting this country and its people. But I'm not here to debate political philosophy with you."
"You were the one who brought up the subject."
"Are you going to accept my offer?"
"I'm thinking about it."
I made a point of cutting off another piece of filet mignon, and spearing it with a slice of onion while Lara stared at me with tight lips and coldly narrowed eyes. I visualized steam issuing from her ears. She was taking this personally. I was glad to see that anger had shifted to her side of the table. Anger made you sloppy and prone to impulsive mistakes, especially in combat. The angrier and more frustrated she got the more clear-headed and calm I felt.
Lara made a show of coolly finishing her wine and salad, but I was pretty sure she was fuming inside. I was about two-thirds done when she pushed aside her plate and returned her evil-eyed gaze to me.
"Have you come to a decision?" she asked.
"I'm going to need some time on that. I'll need to discuss it with my 'associate'."
"I understand. Tomorrow, then?"
"Tomorrow."
Lara rose, slapping a hundred dollar bill on the table.
"Enjoy your lunch."
I watched her stalk out, causing a server bearing plates to careen out of her way. I signaled my own waitress over and ordered a beer. I called Lilith.
"What's up?" she asked.
"I just finished having lunch with Lara Knowles."
"Seriously? How?"
"She was waiting for me outside the gym. The gist is that they don't have much solid evidence, but they did record our conversation in my room, and she claimed that was enough to start proceedings against Janine. She was using the threat of that to pressure me into revealing what she'd told me, with the promise that Janine wouldn't be prosecuted for violating her non-disclosure contract."
"Huh." Lilith sounded skeptical. "Did she play that recording to you?"
"No. I didn't even think to ask." I frowned. "I guess it's possible she was bluffing about that. I don't even remember if we said anything damning."
"I don't think so. Maybe damning by implication."
I swallowed some water to drown an upsurge of acid reflux.
"Why don't we finish this conversation in person," I said.
"Okay. Where are you now? I'm at the hotel."
"At a restaurant. I'm about ready to head out. I got a new room this morning – number 114. I'll let you know when I get back. Should be ten or fifteen minutes."
"All right."
Out on the highway
, traffic had picked up. Anyone who thought Phoenix traffic was bad should try driving around L.A. The only good thing I could say about L.A. traffic is that when it got moving it freaking moved .
At first, I didn't pay much attention to the Highway Patrol cruiser maneuvering aggressively through the cars behind me. I figured the cop was venting his impatience with the traffic snarl. But when it slid in behind me and the lights lit up, it was déjà vu all over again. As before, I wasn't speeding.
I pulled off onto the sandy shoulder far enough to create some distance from the ambling traffic. The CHP car stopped ten yards back. In the side-view mirror, the cop was talking on his mic.
After maybe five minutes, the cop emerged and sauntered over, one hand on his pistol. As in Stillwater, I didn't have the sense of a normal traffic stop. I waited for him to reach my window and ask for I.D. and insurance before I pulled down the rental form clipped to the visor and handed him my driver's license.
"May I ask why I was pulled over, Officer?"
"We had a suspicious activity call about your vehicle."
Some thefts involving a van in the neighborhood? I smiled at my internal quip, which caused the patrolman's frown to deepen.
"Something funny?" he asked.
"No, officer. I was just wondering what I was doing that seemed suspicious."
"Erratic driving."
He strode back to his car before I could ask with the hell that meant. I didn't believe for an instant that I'd done anything suspicious. This was something else. Unfortunately, it didn't appear that my curiosity was going to be settled any time soon, as five, ten, and then fifteen minutes ticked sluggishly by. Other than an occasional chat on his radio, the cop was just sitting there. Ten more minutes passed. What the fuck?
After another ten minutes I started the engine to run the air conditioning and turned on the radio. Taylor Swift was lamenting one lost love or another. My cell rang.
"What's going on?" Lilith demanded. "Are you stuck in traffic?"
"Sorry, I should've called. I've been waylaid by the highway patrol, sitting at the side of the road for about thirty minutes waiting for him to finish War and Peace, it seems. He says someone called in something about my van being suspicious. He won't tell me what."
"That doesn't sound good. And neither does that music on your radio. I didn't think you were the kind of guy who listens to girly music."
"It's macho girly music. Oh – hold on." I paused as another CHP cruiser pulled in behind the parked vehicle and an officer with a German shepherd climbed out. "You've got to be kidding me."
"What is it?"
"The cop called in a canine unit. Shit. Just like in Stillwater."
"Funny coincidence."
"Not really." I took in a few calming breaths, flashing flashed to Lara Knowle's smirking face. Damn, was it possible that she'd called this down on me, just as the false-flag operators had done in Stillwater?
I frowned in the rearview mirror as the cops started in my direction. "They're coming over. I'll call you back."
"Mr. Harrow," said the original officer, handing back my license and the rental forms. "Do you mind if we search your vehicle?"
"Yes, I do mind. What's this all about, Officer?"
"Do you have something to hide?"
"Am I free to go?"
A cold mask descended over the officer's face. "Not quite yet."
I watched in the side and rearview mirrors as the canine cop circled the van. I remembered suddenly the $10K in cash I had wrapped up in the spare tools bag. Could a police dog sniff that? Not that there was anything illegal about cash, but the latest law enforcement rage was seizing cash and then making you prove it was legally obtained.
Sure enough, the officer stopped at the rear bumper. I couldn't see what his mutt was doing, but I imagined it pawing at the door or pointing stiffly with its snout. Crap. Markus wouldn't be happy about covering that business expense.
The cop bent out of sight, and I heard him scraping around under the rear bumper. Not going to find anything there, unless a bird had made a nest or something. But when the cop straightened up, he had something in his hand.
The other officer reappeared at my door, gun drawn.
"Step out of the car! Keep your hands where I can see them!"
I opened the door, my hands shaky with adrenaline. What the hell did they find? He ordered me on the ground. Soon his knee was in my back, forcing my face into the ground. I was spitting up sand as he ratcheted handcuffs around my wrists. Two officers hauled me to my feet and shoved me into the first cruiser's backseat under the snarling approval of the German shepherd.
The canine officer resumed his search while the other cop held up a block of white powder tightly wrapped in plastic. His smile was grimly triumphant.
I managed to suppress the automatic "But that isn't mine!" and allowed my feverish brain some much-needed time to play catch-up. The obvious solution was that Lara Knowles had set me up. Not all that difficult: just duct-tape the drugs into the hollow of the bumper. Wouldn't take more than a few seconds. Yet I had trouble believing she was carrying around a shitload of coke or whatever on the assumption I wouldn't accept her deal.
"I have no idea what that is," I rasped.
"Since most people don't carry laundry detergent in their bumper," the officer chuckled, "I'm going out on a limb and guess drugs."
"You do know it's a rental van? God knows what the previous renter left behind – "
Now the other cop, who'd opened the van's rear doors, was thrusting an envelope in the air. An envelope that I recognized as holding ten thousand dollar's worth of one hundred dollar bills. I slumped forward against the steel grid that divided the front and back seats.
"I guess that's from a previous renter, too?" the cop snickered.
"Who called you?" I asked.
"An anonymous caller."
"And that doesn't strike you as slightly suspicious?"
"No. We get tips all the time. But don't worry, partner, you'll have your day in court."
Chapter 13
AN OFFICER RELEASED ME an hour later without explanation from my holding cell in the CHP building in Lancaster. I was escorted to the front desk, where my wallet, keys, and cell phone were returned to me in a manila folder. Conspicuously missing was the $10,000. The clerk informed me that all charges had been dropped while handing me a receipt for the money. "You will need to file a claim for the money within thirty days," she said.
"Just to be clear," I said, "all charges are being dropped, but you're still keeping my money?"
"If you wish to discuss it with Captain Rogers, I believe he's in his office at this time," she said in a flat, bored voice, nodding to a door across the room.
I crossed the room and found a square-shouldered, granite-jawed man seated at a desk behind a computer screen.
"Captain Rogers," I said. "I'm, uh, Scott Harrow."
"Hello, Mr. Harrow." He motioned for me to sit. "I'm sorry about the misunderstanding, but I'm sure you can understand why we brought you in."
"I take it the block of white stuff wasn't drugs?"
"After rigorous tests, our lab determined it was Tide detergent."
He offered a sparse smile. I broke out laughing.
"So you know, of course," I said, "that someone planted it there."
"Do you have any idea who that might be?"
"A very good idea."
"If you wish to file a complaint, we can help you with that."
I shook my head. "I'm more interested in getting back my money."
The captain folded his hands on the desk. "That's a lot of cash to be carrying. May I ask what it was for?"
I contemplated being a hardass and telling him that wasn't his damn business, but that wasn't likely to get my money back anytime soon.
"I'm looking to buy a car," I said.
"Is the money traceable to a bank account withdrawal or the sale of particular items?"
"Uh, yes."
"
Then simply fill out a claim form and file it with this office."
"I was hoping you'd just return it to me – especially since I was mistakenly arrested and all."
"I'm afraid it's standard procedure in these cases." Captain Rogers shrugged as if it was completely out of his hands.
I concentrated on making my body relax one muscle at a time. I'd learned in the military that men like Captain Rogers, who was probably ex-military himself, didn't respond well to temper tantrums or attempts to intimidate.
"Of course, you could ask them to return my money," I said, "and they'd do it, no questions asked."
"If you present a solid claim that it's your money, and we have no evidence to the contrary, you'll get your money back, Mr. Harrow. But I'm not going to bypass the process with a personal assessment when I don't know all the facts."
"Okay." Round two of controlling my temper and finding my inner Zen Buddhist. "But off the record, Captain, just two guys talking man to man...do you personally think that's fair?"
Captain Rogers hesitated, I'll give him that. For a moment his bureaucratic mask dropped, and he was just a dude. But then he broke eye contact, his gaze growing distant.
"It is what it is," he said with a shrug. "If you'd like, I could print up a claim form for you right now."
All it took for evil to triumph, I thought as I drove away from the station, was that good men shrug and say "It is what it is."
I called Janine, and left a message when she didn't pick up saying that I wanted to talk to her in person as soon as possible. Then I called Lilith and gave her a quick rundown before arriving at her room twenty minutes later. We walked outside in an unusually refreshing 70-degree breeze.
"The laundry detergent was a message," said Lilith.
"I managed to figure that out. Next time it will be a block of heroin or whatever."
"What do you want to do?"
"Besides wringing Lara Knowle's neck?" I grimaced under Lilith's cool-eyed gaze. "I guess I don't have a problem signing a non-disclosure agreement. Your dad and his whole network already know what we know." I thought for a moment. "But they'll want you to sign, too, I'm sure."
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