"I know the complex you mean. You thinking of a stakeout?"
"Yes. And maybe skipping out, depending on what we see. Is there stuff in your place that you need? Or can you walk away?"
"You know me, Finn. I can always walk away. But what about your duffle bag?"
"There's nothing in there of any value — just shaving gear and a change of clothes. Everything else is in another duffle bag I left in the SUV."
"Do you think we should disappear?" she asked.
"Not just yet, but I wanted to know if that was an option. I do think we should stake out your place for a while, though."
"I'm okay with either choice, but one thing bothers me."
"What's that?"
"If they're looking for me, how did they end up with Sam? That seems like the long way around."
"Yes, it does. But you said you were seeing her while you were in school, right?"
"Yes. I saw her off and on for several years, but I didn't advertise it. How would they know?"
"She knew you as Kathleen Riley?"
"Yes, that's right. But why would they have gone to her? I keep coming back to that."
"Looking for your address."
"The townhouse … I see. She knows where I live."
"Right. It took a lot of effort for Aaron to figure that out — the shell corporations, nothing in your name. Different people leasing it over the years — even now, it shows up as leased to somebody else."
"Yes. I'm surprised he got through that. How did he do it?"
"Hacked into your student records; there was a time when you used that address, just briefly. It was the only address you used back then that wasn't a straight-out rental, or a dorm. And the people who leased it over the years turned out to be nonexistent, or most of them did. Even so, we weren't sure. We watched the place for several days. One of his people spotted you — couldn't make a positive identification, but it was a possible. So I came here and knocked on your door."
"Okay, but I'm still puzzled about how they found Sam, and how they connected her to me. If they did."
"I don't know. Let's save that for later. Maybe I'm just being paranoid and what happened to Sam isn't connected to you. See the silver SUV over there?" I asked, as she pulled into the parking lot where I left my rental car yesterday.
"Yours?"
"Yes. Take the place on the other side of it. That'll give us a view of your place. I'll walk over and take a closer look."
"Wait, Finn. I've got concealed security cameras. Let's see what's been going on."
She took out her smartphone and opened the web browser. Leaning on the car's center console, she held the phone so that we could both see it.
"The one above the door is active anytime the door is open or when somebody rings the bell — or knocks."
She touched an icon and a grainy color photo filled the screen. The time stamp was 25 minutes earlier, while we were in the crowd outside Sam's office.
"Bingo! They don't look too unusual, but I've never seen either one around the place. They don't live there."
We studied the two men, one standing behind the other. They were facing the camera. "They're facing the door in this shot," she said. After a few seconds, she asked, "Okay?"
"Yes."
She scrolled to the next picture, which showed the door open and the two men entering. "This camera's behind them, pointed at the front door. It's triggered when the door opens. So he picked the lock, in less than 30 seconds," she said, pointing at the time stamp.
"What kind of lock?" I asked.
"A good deadbolt, plus the regular one in the doorknob. He knew what he was doing; that's for sure."
"Can you tell if they're still inside? And what they're doing?"
"That depends on where they are and whether they're talking. There's a camera in the garage, and one on the staircase. Other than that, I just have audio inside the place." She tried scrolling again. "The one with the goatee went up the stairs, but he came right back down. He wasn't up there long enough to do more than make sure nobody was home. No more pictures after he went back downstairs, so they're still in there. They would have tripped either the cameras on the door or the one in the garage if they left."
"Try the audio," I said, as she tapped an icon at the bottom of the screen.
There were four icons on the screen now, labeled Living, Kitchen, BR1, BR2. She tapped the one labeled Living, and we heard a man with a whiney southern accent ask, "How long we gonna wait, then?"
"Dunno," the other one said. His voice was gruff — deeper, but no more pleasant. "She shoulda been here. Shrink said she was gonna meet her here, and that woulda been an hour ago."
"Huh," Whiney said. "Who knew shrinks made house calls?"
"Did you check the garage while I was upstairs?" Gruff asked.
"Uh-uh. Forgot," Whiney said.
"Dumb shit," Gruff said.
A few seconds later, a grainy, poorly lit picture of the inside of the garage popped onto the screen of Mary's phone.
"Car's gone," Gruff said.
"You gonna call Sergei?" Whiney asked.
"Not yet, man. Settle down, would you? You're makin' me nervous, all that pacin'. Sit your skinny ass down and be still."
"I don't like it," Whiney said. "Somethin' ain't right. She shoulda been here, waitin' for the shrink. You sure we got the right place?"
"Yeah. This is the place the shrink said. Now shut up, would ya?"
"What do you think we should do?" Mary asked setting the phone aside.
"I'm thinking about that," I said. "You have any ideas?"
"Yes, but I'm doing my best to restrain myself. After Charleston, I'm having second thoughts about killing people, unless my life's in danger."
"Uh-huh. Good for you. We could do it, but think of the aftermath. We'd have two bodies to deal with. And what would it accomplish? Lavrov's got plenty more soldiers. All it would do is confirm that they found you. We wouldn't learn anything from those two."
"But it really pisses me off, Finn. Those shitheads are sitting in my living room, and they hurt Sam, besides."
"They should pay for that, I agree. But there are other ways to collect on their debt to society. There's no need to get our hands dirty on this one."
"What are you saying?"
"Do you have a burner phone?" I asked.
"In the glove box. Why?"
"Call 911. Tell them you just saw two guys break into your unit, but just give them the unit number. Don't say it's yours. Tell 'em you were walking your dog past the front porch, or something. And say you heard them talking about killing some doctor named Sam Peterson. Tell 'em to hurry. Then hang up and strip the phone."
Mary laughed. "Give me the phone, Finn."
I reached in the glove box and passed her the throwaway cellphone. She made the call and delivered her message, disconnecting as the 911 dispatcher told her to stay on the line. With no wasted motion, she took the back off the phone and removed the battery and the SIM card.
"Now what?" she asked.
"Sit back and watch the show," I said. "Then we'll get out of here."
8
The police were quick; within ten minutes after Mary called 911, there were two patrol cars and a SWAT team in the parking lot in front of her townhouse. They broke the door down and entered. No more than ten minutes later, they dragged the two miscreants out and took them away.
"What's going to happen to my condo?" Mary asked, as we watched the police haul the two confused thugs away.
Now that the action was over, most of the police were gone. There were two plainclothes officers still inside, and two patrolmen in uniform hanging around out front.
"Is there a property manager on site?" I asked.
"Yes. Should I call her?"
"No, not now. It's better if you stay out of it. The police will find her when they can't locate you. Once they're through, I'm sure the manager will take steps to get your door secured. Did the manager know you were staying ther
e?"
"I'm not sure. I didn't check in with her when I got here, or anything like that, so she probably didn't. There's a local realtor here who looks after the place when I'm away," Mary said. "If she knows I'm going to be gone for a while, she arranges short-term rentals, like for visiting faculty — that kind of thing. The manager knows her; that's who she'll call when she can't reach me."
"Sounds perfect, then," I said. "The police will search the unit and try to figure out how to find you. They'll lose interest in you and the condo, eventually. They'll probably charge those two with breaking and entering, but I wouldn't bet that will go anywhere. Once the cops realize they've got the men who attacked Sam and her receptionist, they'll be too busy with that to worry about you. After it quiets down, you can come back and smooth things over."
"What about Sam? I hope she's all right. I feel bad for her, like I should go check up on her."
"That's not a good idea for either of you. Not right now. We should get away from here. It won't be too long before Lavrov figures out his boys messed up; then he'll send reinforcements. Let's head for south Florida. We'll figure out where we're going later, but we shouldn't hang around this neighborhood."
"Okay, sounds good to me. But can I find out about Sam?"
"Sure. Once we're on our way, I'll call Aaron and check in. He'll be able to find out about her, and what the cops are up to. What's the deal on this car?"
"It's registered to the same shell company that owns the townhouse. It's part of the short-term rental package. Why?"
"We'll be better off with my rental car, then. We'll leave this one here and Aaron can get somebody to pick it up in an hour or two. Once the dust clears, they can put it back in your garage."
"Then we might as well hit the road," Mary said. "Grab the other burner phone from the glove box, but leave the registration. I've got an overnight bag in the trunk. I'll take that, and we're ready. What about the keys?"
"Leave them under the mat and lock the car with that electronic key fob. Aaron's people can figure it out, no sweat."
"Really? They'll break a window, or what?"
"No. They have access to a code database, like the car dealers use. They'll read the VIN number through the windshield and program their own key fob. Only takes them a minute — no kidding. A minute, or less."
"Learn something new every day," Mary said, as she stuck the ignition key under the carpet on the driver's side.
She popped the trunk and got out. I unlocked the rental car while she got her overnight bag from the trunk and locked her car. She tossed her bag in the trunk, and I handed her my keys.
"You drive. I'll call Aaron. Before I call him, though, tell me how you found Sam to begin with."
She nodded and got in the car. Before she started it, she asked, "How I found her? You mean how I came to be her patient?"
"Yes."
"Well, I've told you about my, uh … unconventional adolescence. I was a confused mess by the time I was halfway through my freshman year of college. I needed help, especially after … well, after my first few contracts. Those weren't my first kills, but before that, I never killed anybody in cold blood. You know what I mean?"
"I think so," I said.
"You think so? After all the people you've killed?"
"I suspect it was different for me, Mary."
"Different? How?"
"I've never killed except in cold blood. I had to get past my inhibitions before I even got started."
"Never? Really? You must have run into situations where you had to waste somebody you weren't expecting to kill."
"Sure. Collateral damage, and sometimes self-defense. But never in anger, or for personal vengeance."
"Huh," Mary said. "I see what you mean, maybe. Before I took those first contracts, I only killed people who pissed me off. Not that they didn't have it coming; I didn't feel bad about them. It was different after I got hooked up with my agent and turned pro." She paused, a faraway look on her face.
"How did that happen? You've never told me?"
"I got a call one day, out of the blue. It was not long after I wasted this jerk who tried to rape me when I was on the street a few years earlier. You know, when I was a kid. I bumped into him on campus. He didn't remember me at first, but I recognized him straight away. Anyway, it was right after I did him. This woman called me, wanted to meet me. She claimed she could offer me lucrative part-time work that wouldn't interfere with school. I thought she wanted me to turn tricks, or get into the sugar-baby game. You know, long-term escort work. Something like that. I told her I wasn't interested in going back into that world, and she said it was something else. It went from there."
"You said you never met her."
"Yeah, that's right. I met a proxy. I would guess she was a lawyer; she was careful with her words like one, anyway. She never said anything that could get either of us in trouble, but she let me know that they knew about several of my victims.
"After she explained that there might be a way I could make a lot of money by using my talent to make the world a better place, I got interested. Money was a big motivator for me back then; I knew all about not having any. She told me to be patient, think about what we had talked about, and watch my email for a few weeks.
"I got a few anonymous emails after that. Every one was from a different bogus address. There was a name, and a photograph sometimes. Sometimes a city. Enough so I could check out the person. They were all nasty characters; it wasn't hard to learn a little about them online. And then I made the connection that a few days after I got an email, each one of them was killed.
"After several of those, I got an email that said, 'Want in?'"
"And you said yes."
"I said yes. A few hours later, I got an email with a name and a photograph. It had one more word than the other emails — 'Yours?' I answered, 'Maybe, if it's worth my while.' I didn't hear anything until the next day. Then I got an email from another anonymous address. '100K. 50 now, 50 later. Details follow.'
"I got an overnight letter the next morning with information about an offshore account in a name I didn't know. I called the bank and gave them the codes from the letter. There was $50,000 there, awaiting my instructions. And that's how it worked. After the third or fourth hit, I got a follow-up call from the proxy. We met, and she asked if I was feeling okay about my life.
"'Why?' I asked. She said it wasn't unusual for people in my situation to feel a little confused, even depressed, maybe. I didn't say anything, and she said, 'If you ever do, call Dr. Sam Peterson. She handed me Sam's card. We recommend her; she's a psychiatrist. She's good, and she's discreet. But if you do use her, be careful not to tell her anything that she would have to report to the police. Read these articles before you see her.' And she gave me another card with references to several articles on doctor/patient privilege. I was struggling with my conscience by then, and Sam was right in Gainesville, so I started seeing her regularly. She did me a world of good. Besides the guilt about the hits, I had all that stuff from my childhood to work through. After a couple of years, I quit seeing her, except just occasionally. Until after Charleston, that is."
"Do you know how to get in touch with that woman? The proxy?"
"No. Why?"
"I'm trying to figure out how Lavrov got to Sam."
"We don't know for sure that he did, Finn."
"Who else would have tortured Sam to get your address?"
"You're right, I guess. I just don't want to admit it. And that guy with the whiney voice mentioned Sergei. That sounds Russian. Maybe that's Lavrov's Spetsnaz friend. I'm just resisting the notion that I brought this down on Sam. She's such a gentle soul."
"You may be the reason they went after Sam," I said, "but it's not your fault they found her. There had to be something else that led them to her."
"Why do you think that? Aaron found me without going through Sam."
"Yes. But Aaron has some advantages that Lavrov doesn't. Like access to those reports f
rom the private detective your uncle hired back when he was looking for you after your mother died."
"But you said he was already suspicious of Kathleen Riley before he got those."
"Suspicious, but not certain."
"How did he get that far?"
"I don't know. It's what Aaron does. He has access to all kinds of secure, super-secret government databases. And private ones, as well."
"But how? Phorcys isn't the government."
"I don't know, Mary. We knew you were in school here, and about when that was. We had pictures of you; we knew about your part-time business. Aaron's got hackers working for him like you wouldn't believe, and almost unlimited computer power. Plus, he and his people aren't constrained by red tape — no need for warrants, or permission. And Aaron's got inside info from all those years he was working for the DoD. I'm sure Lavrov's good, but he doesn't have Aaron's connections."
"Okay. I guess we might as well get on the road. I'll take I-75 South for a while. You figure once you talk with Aaron, we'll know where we're going?"
"Yes," I said, taking my encrypted phone from my pocket and scrolling to Aaron's number.
9
"What's new, Finn? You find her?" Aaron asked, when he answered my call.
"Yes. I'm with her now."
"Put her on the speaker."
"All right, but let me know if there's too much background noise. We're on the road."
I switched the phone to speaker mode, and Mary said, "Hello, Aaron."
"Hi, Mary. We've missed you."
"Yeah. I'll let Finn tell you about it. I need to pay attention to my driving. Traffic's heavy."
"Where are you?" Aaron asked.
"We're leaving Gainesville, headed for I-75 South," I said. "Beyond that, we don't have plans."
"What's going on?" Aaron asked.
"I should start at the beginning," I said. "You got time?"
"Yeah, sure. Should I see if I can get Mike and Bob on the line? Save you doing this twice?"
"You might as well, yes."
"Hold on, then."
Villains and Vixens Page 4