No Way to Die

by M. D. Grayson

  “So if they can get everyone to believe that there’s not much value to the company,” I said, “then. . .”

  “Then they can back me in an offer to buy out Katherine’s 90 percent for a pretty low price. They think that she’d be inclined to take it and make a clean emotional break from the company, Thomas being gone and all.”

  “Only, they’ll have already had you sign over your interest to them in advance,” Toni said.

  “Exactly,” Holly said. “They’ll own the company 100 percent for a pretty low price—probably a whole lot lower than the twenty million they said they’d pay.”

  “What do you get out of it?” I asked.

  She gave me a fierce look. “I don’t want anything from these guys, not after what they’ve done,” she said. “I get to walk away. I get to keep my little brother alive.”

  I nodded. “I understand. I didn’t mean to imply anything.” It’s a familiar story—people get involved with something that spins out of control. Next thing you know, they’re in way over their heads. I’ve seen middle-aged housewives who’ve actually murdered their husbands when an argument festered and grew and escalated to the point where they lost the ability to control themselves or the events surrounding them. Acting without rationale or logic, they do things that would’ve appalled them normally.

  And that’s without a sneaky bastard like Nicholas Madoc pushing, goading, and manipulating events to suit his wishes. Holly seemed completely overwhelmed—not at all prepared to fend off approaches from the likes of smooth operators like Madoc or Cameron Patel. It’s not surprising that she’d have been sucked in by these evil, greedy bastards.

  “Holly,” I said. “Tell me, how much does MST know about us and what we’ve been doing?”

  “They know pretty much everything,” she said. “I’m supposed to call in a couple of times a day. If I don’t, then they call me.”

  “What have you told them about us?” I asked.

  “Just about our meeting last week,” she said. “That’s the last thing that happened around here. I mean, I’m supposed to call them if John Ogden calls. Or if you guys call. But that’s pretty much it. I’m not going to tell them about this meeting now, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m not sure that would be very smart,” I said.

  “It certainly would not,” Toni added. “If they’re watching this place, or if they’ve bugged the phones, then you’d best not lie to them.”

  This thought seemed to rattle her a little.

  “Just act the way you’ve been acting,” I said. “They’ve got to expect that we’d come and talk to you after they attacked me yesterday. Tell them we were here. Tell them we were asking about Madoc. Don’t tell them about the rest of our conversation.”

  “What happens then?” she asked. “When does this end? How does it end?”

  I didn’t want to tell Holly that we were already talking with the FBI and certainly not about our meeting tomorrow, just in case she was lying to us and working willingly for Madoc. “It’ll end,” I said. “We’re working on it. At some point, we may need to go to the police—maybe even the FBI. I hate to do that, but at some point, it might be inevitable. It’s possible—I’d even say probable—that one of them will listen to your story and most likely be willing to make some sort of immunity deal with you if you’ll testify against MST. What do you think, Toni?”

  “I’d think that would be a no-brainer, Holly. Your testimony basically shows MST in almost total control of the murder weapon. They essentially arranged for its purchase. And after it was bought, they took control of it. The whole notion of Thomas using his own gun to take his life basically falls apart when you understand that Thomas never had physical possession of that gun in the first place. First, you had it; then MST. This will crucify MST and Nicholas Madoc.”

  “Good. Those bastards deserve to fry for what they did to Thomas.”

  “Exactly. Like I said, we’re working on it. We’ll be in touch.”

  It was silent for a few seconds, and then Toni said, “Something doesn’t quite add up. Smart as these guys are, they must have seen the weak link in this operation—they must know that sooner or later they’d be connected to Thomas’s death.”

  “I’ve thought about that, too,” Holly said. “And I don’t have an answer.”

  “I know the answer,” I said.

  They both looked at me.

  “I’ll bet Madoc doesn’t care,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to assume the worst case here. Here goes: I think Madoc doesn’t care if they’re found out—he just doesn’t want it to happen too soon. I think he’s just trying to buy enough time to get hold of the device. If he can buy it from Thomas, he’ll do so. If not, he’ll put the squeeze on Holly here. If that doesn’t work, he’ll try to steal it. Bottom line—he’ll take it any way he can get it. And he doesn’t care who gets killed in the process. Once he gets what he wants, he’ll crawl back under whatever rock he crawled out from.”

  “You think he’s that evil?” Toni asked.

  “What do you think, Holly?” I asked.

  “I think he’s definitely that evil,” she said.

  “Holly,” I said, “the best thing for you to do is right after we leave, call Cameron Patel and tell him we were here. Tell him we were asking about them. Tell him we said that the MST guys broke into our office yesterday morning. He’ll be expecting to hear all of this.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Tell him you didn’t tell us anything, got it?”

  She nodded.“Okay, I can do that. I don’t want to, but if I have to, I’d go to jail to protect my little brother and to see that Nicholas Madoc gets what’s coming to him,” she said.

  “Hopefully, you won’t have to,” I said.

  * * * *

  “She sound sincere to you guys?” I asked as Doc drove us west on the 520 past Bellevue and Medina, back to our office.

  “I thought so,” Toni said.

  “Me, too,” Kenny agreed.

  “I don’t know,” Doc said. “Some women can really lie.”

  “Doc, are you a chauvinist?” Toni asked.

  “Nope. I just mean some women are really good liars. Guys too, maybe. But if she wasn’t telling the truth, I will say this: she’s a damn fine actress, with all those tears and such.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  “But think about it,” Kenny said. “What reason would she have to lie? Simply by talking to us, she incriminates herself. Why make something up that incriminates you?”

  “Because she might be owning up to something that’s not as serious as what she really did,” Doc said. “Or she’s trying to put the blame on someone else.”

  I thought about that for a second. “What are you saying? You think she’s involved with Thomas’s murder?” I asked. “More deeply than what she just told us?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think she pulled the trigger,” he said. “She couldn’t have—not the way it was done, anyway. Physically, it doesn’t add up. But that doesn’t mean she’s not the one who murdered him. I think Madoc’s involved—why else search our office? But it’s hard to tell how much Holly was involved. All we have to go on is what she said here this morning. But, then again, it’s like I said—if she was lying, she’s damn good at it.”

  “Something to think about,” I said. “What if she is lying? What are the implications for us?”

  “It means Madoc probably already knows everything we just talked about,” Toni said. “Jennifer said his real name is Marlowe, but I still see him as Madoc.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed. “Let’s keep calling him Madoc for now. That’s the name he thinks we know him by. If we start calling him Marlowe, and it gets back to him through Holly or anyone else, then he’ll know we’re working with the FBI. And you raise a really good point. I think we should be extra cautious from now on regarding what we say to Holly, just in case she’s relaying everything to Madoc.”
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  “That why you didn’t mention our meeting tomorrow with the FBI?” Doc said.

  “Damn straight,” Toni said. “Holly might be lying. But there’s also a chance she’s telling the truth. Then you have to ask, do you think she’ll be okay without any protection?”

  “If she’s telling the truth—and I tend to think she is, because I don’t believe she’s that good an actress—then I think it’s probably safest for her if she keeps a normal routine—at least through this afternoon,” I said. “In case Madoc’s watching her, best she not give him any reason to be overly suspicious. After we talk to the FBI later, we can see what they’re thinking. Then, we can work up a plan. They may want to make some sort of deal with her and bring her into witness protection. Meanwhile, if we need to figure out protection for Holly, we can do it after our meeting with them.”

  “Madoc’s got to be expecting us to do something,” Toni said.

  “No doubt.”

  “And he’s not beyond trying to get to us first,” she said.

  This was true. "We've got to stay on full alert. Doc, I want you and Kenny to head back to the office now and lock it down. We’ll meet back there around fivethirty or so. And I think we need to go to roommates tonight. Doc, you and Kenny pair up. Toni and I will pair up.” I hadn’t actually asked Toni about this. I looked at her and, fortunately, she nodded. Excellent.“We’ll be at my place.”

  “Shit,” Kenny said. “Boss, tell Doc that we need to stay at my place, not his. He’s got a TV the size of a postage stamp. And he doesn’t have any music at all except for this whistle thing.”

  “I don’t mind staying at the love palace,” Doc said. “Just tell him no visitors.Last time I had to lock down with him, he kept getting phone calls from these young school girls—I think they were still in high school or something. He kept trying to set me up.”

  "That's bullshit," Kenny objected. "All those girls were nursing students at U-Dub."

  "Yeah, right," Doc said.

  “Kenny,” I said, “no high school girls.” I looked back at Doc suddenly. “Speaking of girls, I forgot,” I said. “You had a date. I never got the chance to ask you about it.”

  Doc looked at me in the rearview mirror. He smiled. “I did. And it’s got nothing to do with high school girls. Someday, maybe I’ll tell you about it.” And that pretty much ended that conversation.

  Chapter 16

  THE SEATTLE HEADQUARTERS of the FBI is located on the corner of Third Avenue and Spring Street in downtown Seattle. I parked the Jeepin a garage on Madison Street about a block away, and Toni and I walked over. We made it into the main floor lobby at 2:45. We checked in and were getting our visitor badges pinned on just as Jennifer Thomas came downstairs to greet us.

  “Hi, Danny,” she said, stepping toward me and shaking my hand. “Good to see you again.”She gave me a sly wink—no way was she hugging me in the lobby of the friggin’ FBI building.

  “Hello, Ms. Blair,” she said, shaking Toni’s hand. “It’s been a long time.” Toni had only met Jennifer once that I knew of, that being about seven months ago on another case. Given the new relationship between Jen and me, I wasn’t sure how Toni was going to act toward her. She’s surprised me in the past. Toni smiled and shook hands warmly. She immediately leaned over to Jennifer and started talking to her as Jen led us back to the elevator. I couldn’t hear clearly, but she had Jennifer laughing out loud by the time the elevator doors opened. I shook my head. Here I’d been afraid that Toni was somehow jealous of Jennifer. Then they meet, and instead of daggers flying, they act like long-lost sisters. The depths of my ignorance concerning women in general, and Toni Blair in particular, seems to know no bounds.

  “We’ve got quite a crowd assembled upstairs,” Jen said, as we rode the elevator skywards. “A whole boatload of Washington heavyweights. There’s even a contingent of Brits here. As soon as word got out that Gordon Marlowe, aka Nicholas Madoc, was actively involved in trying to acquire a highly sensitive technology here in Seattle, everyone started jumping up and down on both sides of the Atlantic.”

  We arrived on the ninth floor, and Jennifer led us back to a large conference room with a west-facing window featuring a beautiful vista of Elliot Bay. We were the last to enter the crowded room. The conference table seated twelve people—five on either side, and one at each end. Half the seats were full. In addition to the chairs surrounding the table, a dozen more chairs lined the walls—all occupied by staff assistants. After we took our seats, a dark-haired woman seated at the head of the table spoke first.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Marilyn Rodgers. I’m the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Seattle office. I’d like to thank everyone for attending this afternoon. We have an extraordinary opportunity before us to apprehend a man named Gordon Marlowe—one of the most highly sought-after traffickers of illicitlyobtained sensitive technology in the world today. We at the Seattle field office are happy to host this effort and provide whatever logistical resources may be required.

  “I’d like to specially thank Mr. Danny Logan. Mr. Logan and his associate,” she referred to her notes, “Ms. Antoinette Blair, own the Logan Private Investigation. They were clever enough to notify Senior Special Agent Jennifer Thomas when they noticed suspicious activity on the part of Mr. Marlowe in connection with an investigation they are conducting. In fact, it would appear as though Mr. Marlowe may have had a hand in the murder of a very prominent local mathematician in an effort to obtain the cryptological technology known as the Starfire Protocol.

  “Mr. Logan, Ms. Blair,” she said, looking at us, “thank you for bringing this forward.”

  I nodded.

  “With that short introduction, I’d like to turn this meeting over to Ron Jennings.” She nodded to a tall, distinguished-looking black man dressed in a sharp dark-blue suit.

  “Thank you, Marilyn,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Ron Jennings. I’m the Assistant Director of the FBI Counterintelligence Division based in Washington, D.C. Specifically, my office is tasked with heading up the FBI’s Sensitive Property Task Force. We work closely with various law enforcement agencies, including the Department of Commerce and their Bureau of Industry and Security. Among other duties, we help track down and prosecute those who violate laws concerning the sale and transfer of sensitive technologies. Before we get going here, why don’t we go around the table and introduce ourselves, starting with you, Bob.” He turned to the stern-looking man in his mid-thirties sitting on his right.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Bob Cusler. I’m the Assistant Director of Exports Enforcement for BIS.”

  A bald-headed man with thick glasses was next. “I’m Ryan Freedman,” he said. “I’m the Assistant Director of National Encryption Standards for the NSA.”

  “My name is Julia Harrison,” said a gray-haired woman with a thick British accent. “My title is Assistant Director of Cryptographic Standards for the Government Communications Headquarters. I’m something close to Mr. Freedman’s counterpart in the U.K.”

  She turned to the middle-aged man in a wrinkled brown suit sitting next to her. He was busy taking notes. “Andrew,” she said. “It’s to you.”

  The man looked up. “Oh, right,” he said. “Sorry about that. I’m Andrew Hayes. I’m Assistant Director for Cyber Technology for the U.K.’s Security Service, also known as MI5.”

  Jen was next. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I’m Jennifer Thomas, senior special agent here at the FBI Seattle field office.”

  I was up. “Danny Logan,” I said. “Logan Private Investigations.”

  “And I’m Toni—I mean, Antoinette Blair,” Toni said.

  Hayes looked up from his notes. “Did you say Toni Blair, dear?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

  “I did,” Toni said. “It’s a nickname. No relation, I’m afraid, to the former prime minister.”

  Hayes chuckled. “I should say not,” he said. “The name suits you, although I must say you’re infinitely more attr
active than the P.M. ever was.” Everyone laughed.

  “Thank you, sir,” Toni said. She zapped him with a dazzling smile—I’d say about 60percent strength. It was enough, though. He looked like Princess Kate had just given him a big smooch on the cheek.

  “Thank you all for the introductions,” Jennings said. “It’s apparent that the opportunity to capture Mr. Marlowe is a very important one, as evidenced bythe fact that we’ve been able to assemble such a high-powered team in just over forty-eight hours. I appreciate you all dropping everything. Obviously, though, if we have an opportunity to catch someone like Mr. Marlowe, we have to move fast before that opportunity slips away.”

  “Crawls back beneath a rock, might better describe things,” Hayes said.

  “Exactly,” Ron said. “Andrew, your office is much more familiar with Marlowe than we are over here. Can you fill us in?”

  “Happy to,” Hayes said. He opened his notebook as he addressed the group. He reached for a remote control pad and studied it for a second before selecting a button. Dark curtains drew across the window and the lights dimmed. A large flat-screen display at the end of the room lit up, and a second later, a rather grainy picture of Nicholas Madoc—aka Gordon Marlowe—appeared. It looked like a surveillance photo—the kind taken from across the street. “To put it rather succinctly,” Hayes said, “the man you are looking at—Gordon Marlowe—is a very bad apple, indeed.” He pushed a button, and another picture of Marlowe appeared. “Mr. Marlowe is a British citizen, born in Sevenoaks, just southeast of London, on March 9 1944. He has a long history of run-ins with the law, starting when he was a small lad. He was locked up at Chelmsford Prison in Essex in 1979 for three years for a massive fraud scheme he masterminded. When he was released in 1982, he dropped out of sight for several years.”

  “He reemerged in the late ’80s. It’s thought that he was living—still lives actually—on Lake Como in Italy. Apparently, he’s quite the community fixture there, and Italy refuses to extradite him. This is unfortunate because we believe he heads a criminal organization that specializes in obtaining sensitive high-technology items that he then sells to the highest bidder. In some cases, we believe that he works on contract—specifically targeting technologies at the behest of illegal groups or rogue governments. He knows no allegiance to any government—he’s strictly mercenary.”