“PI?”
“Private investigator. My dad’s a lawyer. He and his partner have a firm in Coronado near San Diego. Herman investigates cases for them. He was injured here in Washington.”
“I see.”
“He’s recovering. They decided to put him up in the condo rather than a skilled nursing facility where they’d have to provide security. His sister who had been visiting him in the hospital had to return to her job in Detroit. They’ll have a nurse on call as needed in the condo. I told them I’d be happy to prepare his meals. It will give me something to do.”
“You probably shouldn’t be telling me all this,” said Hirst.
“Why? Are you going to print it in the newspaper?”
“No. It’s just that it’s best sometimes to keep everything on a need-to-know basis.”
“Need-to-know basis-what’s that, spy talk?”
“No. Well, maybe. Sometimes. But not between you and me.”
“Good. It seems I never get a chance to talk to anybody. The only one I can talk to is Bugsy, and except for the noxious fumes, that’s a one-way conversation.”
“I see,” he said as he smiled.
“Lately I’ve started talking to myself.”
“I’m told that’s not a serious problem until you start answering yourself.”
“And I’ve done that a few times,” she told him.
“The crazy lady in 805,” said Adin. “That’s OK; it’ll be our secret. I won’t tell a soul. Just speak into my lapel.”
“You know, I have wondered if they have cameras and microphones in the rooms,” said Sarah.
“Oh God, I hope not!” Adin said it with a stark look in his eyes. They both laughed.
Sarah liked his face. She liked everything about him. It was hard not to. There was a strange kind of calm about him, something understated that made him seem older than his years. “So tell me about yourself.”
“What, for example?”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“You don’t look that old.”
“I can cut off a leg and show you the rings if you like.”
She laughed. “That won’t be necessary. Where are you from?”
“Another land.”
“Yes, I know. You already told me that. Which one?”
“I’m an extraterrestrial from Delphi X,” he says. “I left my pointed ears out in the car.”
“Give me a break,” she says.
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“I see; so you’re a national security secret, is that it?”
“Not exactly.”
“You could at least be a gentleman and give me a clue.”
Adin held up the bagel, turned it over in his hand, and examined it. Then he looked at her through the hole in the center. “Are you any good at pantomimes?”
“Spyglass?”
He gave her a look of failure and shook his head. Then he licked the bagel, looked at it covetously, and took a bite.
“Bread?”
He gave an angry expression and pointed at the bagel.
“Bagels.”
He didn’t nod, but he smiled.
“Jewish. Israel?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re Israeli! I had a friend in college who was from Israel.”
“Did you like him?”
“He was a she.”
“Ah. Did you like her?”
“I’m not sure how you mean that.”
“I mean, were you attracted to her personally, or was it her personality?”
“Personality.” Sarah gave him a scolding sideways glance.
“Now that that’s settled, I wonder… do you think it would be worthwhile if I had my room scanned for hidden mics and minicams?”
“I don’t know. Do you play with yourself at night?” said Sarah.
“No, but it sounds like I’m going to be.” He snapped his fingers.
She laughed.
“You know, I think it’s going to be very difficult to bring women into this place. I mean, with agents at the front desk and all.”
“You should have thought about that before you moved in.”
“I did, but it’s not working out.” He winked at her, and they both laughed.
Chapter Thirty
NASA had hung Raji out to dry. When he had talked with Leffort in the car back in California and told him that he had the final targeting software and that it was tucked away in a safe place, Fareed had lied.
For some reason there had been a delay. The software that was supposed to have been completed by the work group a week earlier was in fact not completed until the very morning of their departure for Paris.
Fareed barely had time to download it from his office computer to the flash drive and tuck it away before Leffort was on him, pushing him toward the car and the airport so they could get away. Since then he had not been out of Leffort’s sight long enough to transmit it.
Now Raji was a prisoner, trapped in his room in the Hotel Saint-Jacques. A guard sat in the hallway outside his door. The window was bolted shut, as were the French doors that led onto the small balcony outside his room. All of his meals were delivered by the guard. The telephone had been disconnected, and the Wi-Fi, the wireless signal to the Internet that Raji had glimpsed just briefly on his laptop upon arrival, disappeared within seconds after they locked the door.
They ransacked his computer and found nothing. They gave it back to him and told him that if the software was stored somewhere online that they would be happy to connect him so that he could download it. Raji knew they would stand over him the entire time, watching his every move the second they turned on the wireless connection. He told them he needed to think about it.
The bald one, the man they called Bruno, visited him several times each day bargaining with him, cajoling him, doing everything possible to extract the final software that they needed, and that only Fareed possessed.
On one occasion they sent Leffort in alone to talk with Fareed in hopes that maybe he could convince Raji to give up the data. Again Raji put him on hold.
Fareed realized quickly that the story that he merely wanted to go home wasn’t working. Bruno was not the sort who could get his head around notions of homesickness. He dealt in a world of money and greed. So Raji gave him something he could comprehend. In their next meeting, he told Bruno that Leffort had cheated him on the deal for the sale of the data, and that if Bruno would transfer the agreed-upon sum into a numbered account of Fareed’s choosing and make acceptable arrangements for his safety and freedom, Raji would transmit the software back to him.
While it was a naive proposal, the motivations behind it were at least something Bruno could understand, money and survival.
Bruno smiled, slapped Raji on the shoulder, and told him they would have to talk some more.
Fareed knew they had no intention of letting him go. He was playing for time.
This evening Bruno arrived and tried to tempt him with bits of information. At one point he repeated his original promise that they would all be moving on, including Raji, the minute he delivered the missing software. He went so far as to take Fareed into his confidence, tantalizing him with vague bits of information as to where they were going once they left Paris.
Bruno showed him pictures of the facility, a large metal building with a massive antenna array, large satellite dishes already up and waiting. If it was true, if they were already this far along, then the money wasn’t the only thing that Leffort was lying about.
From what Raji could see in the photographs, the facility was in a tropical area of jungle. Bruno told him there was a swimming pool and comfortable bungalows. He guaranteed Raji that he would have the run of the place, no more locked rooms, and freedom to move around and go into the city if he liked.
When Raji asked what city, Bruno just looked at him and smiled. He told him he would have to stay only until the mission was completed, at which
time they would pay him everything they promised and Raji would be free to go. He promised that Leffort would not be permitted to cheat him again. All of this through Bruno’s smiling crooked teeth.
Raji wondered if at some point they planned to kill Leffort as well. He told Bruno it all sounded good, except that he needed more specifics as to how he would be paid and what assurances could be made for his safety once the software was delivered. They were back to square one.
Bruno was reaching the point of frustration. Thus far, he had taken pains to avoid direct threats of violence, though it didn’t take much to decipher fury from the beads of sweat flowing over the wrinkles on the fat man’s forehead. He said good night, turned, and walked out of the room.
Time was running out for Raji, and he knew it. As long as they believed that ultimately he would deliver, they would keep him alive. The minute they realized there was no hope, Bruno would turn to the dark side. When torture failed, they would kill him. Fareed took consolation in the fact that at least he had a means at hand to avoid the pain of torture. When the end came, it would be quick, though probably not a bullet, not in the hotel anyway. For now he was looking for an opening, some way to transmit the data. All he needed was a few minutes alone with access to a high-speed Internet connection, and it would be done.
Since being confined to the room Raji had wondered if they were watching him through hidden cameras. Minilenses and microphones could be concealed anywhere. He had searched the room with care, but the little devils that were on the market now were so tiny they could be easily missed-a flyspeck on the wall, a crack in the paint. He couldn’t be sure.
As a precaution, each time he loaded something new into his notes, Raji went through the same involved procedure. He donned his sport coat and took out his glasses. They were an oversize pair of spectacles with heavy tortoiseshell frames attached to a woven lanyard so he could hang them from his neck when not in use. He put them on, sat down in front of the computer, lifted the screen, and waited for it to light up. He checked to see if perhaps there might be an Internet connection.
There was none.
He assembled some papers off to the right side of the laptop, a couple of pieces of hotel literature that he propped up to cover the USB port on the side of the machine. This was his cover, thin as it might be.
Raji reached under the left lapel of his jacket and felt for the small rip in the seam. As soon as his finger found it he opened it up a bit, and then pinched the other end of the small flash drive, squeezing it out through the opening in the seam. He grabbed the tiny thumb drive, concealing it in his hand. The entire gesture looked as if perhaps he had merely reached under the jacket’s lapel to scratch himself.
He placed his closed fist under the papers along the right side of the computer and carefully slipped the flash drive into the USB port. A few seconds later it registered on the screen along the left-hand margin, popping open under the title “No Name.” It appeared just below the one that read “Specs.”
“No Name” was Fareed’s insurance policy against pain. If forced to do so by torture, he would deliver it to them.
Raji hit the drive entitled “Specs,” then selected the file called “Intel Notes” and opened it. He went right to the top of the document. It already contained several pages. He hit the Caps Lock key and moved the cursor to make the letters bold, then typed the words: “ IMPORTANT — VITAL.”
Quickly he typed in the information given to him by Bruno concerning the facility in the jungle. He described the pictures showing the antenna array, giving the number and estimating the size of the satellite antennas. He also described the large metal building and then typed the following: “Assuming the information to be true and accurate, mission appears much further advanced than current estimates. Project may be nearing completion. From photographs observed, based on vegetation and foliage, estimate facility to be within tropic zone, fifteen degrees north or south of the equator.”
Raji didn’t waste any time. He quickly saved the notes and ejected the two drives. As soon as he was done, he pulled the flash drive from the USB port in the side of the machine. Then he scratched himself under the lapel one more time. When his hand came out, it was empty.
He took off his glasses, folded them, slipped them into the case, and put it in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. Then he took off his jacket and hung it up.
Raji kicked himself for not thinking ahead. Instead of bringing the flash drive, he should have tucked away one of the new international wireless broadband devices. They used cell band phone frequencies for connection to the Internet. They were not much bigger than a thumb drive and could easily be hidden in the lapel of his coat. While the connection was slower than high-speed Internet, he could have attached the software along with his notes to an e-mail. The entire package would have been on its way and out of their grasp within a few minutes. Fareed would have been free to throw a chair through the window and if need be, jump for it.
Instead he was playing for time, hoping for more information and praying that somehow he would find a way to get it out.
Chapter Thirty-One
Just after three in the afternoon Bill Britain, head of Counterterrorism, knocked on the door to Thorpe’s office.
“Come in.”
The second Britain opened the door Thorpe looked up from his desk and said: “Did you get ahold of Madriani?”
“I did.”
Thorpe issued a sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair.
“But he wasn’t easy to find,” said Britain.
Thorpe was relieved. He was also angry and frustrated with the lawyer and his two companions. “How the hell did they get away from our people?”
“I don’t know,” said Britain. “I didn’t want to tell them they’d been under surveillance.”
“Probably just as well.” Thorpe had taken a huge risk by letting them go. If anything happened to them, he would be answering questions for the next several years. They had lied to him about going to San Diego on business, though Thorpe knew from the inception that the story was a ruse. The FBI had used them as bait to try to trap Liquida. This was something absolutely forbidden, using civilians as possible targets. Thorpe had never done it before. He did it now only because of the importance placed on the matter by the White House. Using them as bait was a long shot. It failed. Now Thorpe wanted them back.
Instead, Madriani had slipped the bonds of the FBI’s operation in Bangkok. He had skipped out of Thailand, sending Thorpe an e-mail as if it were a picture postcard, telling him they were on their way to Paris. Worse yet, they claimed to be hot on Liquida’s trail. Then in all the excitement, they failed to give Thorpe the name of the hotel where they were staying in Paris. Thorpe handed the crisis off to Britain, who had been up half the night trying to run them down.
“Got ahold of Madriani at his hotel early this morning,” said Britain.
“I hope you woke him up,” said Thorpe.
“It was early afternoon their time,” said Britain.
“Too bad.”
“The good news is they’re OK.”
“Are you sure?”
“I talked to all three of them.”
“I have half a mind to have them picked up. The question is, how? We’d have to cut paper to satisfy the French authorities, and I don’t have any charges. Did you tell them to get their asses back over here now?”
“I did.”
“And what did they say?”
“Madriani wants us to send in the troops,” said Britain. “He claims Liquida is booked into a hotel just down the street from the one they’re staying in. A place called Hotel Saint-Jacques.”
“That’s what he said in the e-mail,” said Thorpe. “Sit down.”
Britain took a seat. “I don’t think they’re in any danger.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I think they’re chasing rainbows,” said Britain. “When I pressed Madriani over the phone, asked him whether the
y’d actually seen Liquida, he said no. Though he probably wouldn’t know what he looks like.”
“You’re wrong,” said Thorpe. “Madriani has seen him, at least we think so, at least once, in Costa Rica a little over a year ago.”
“So be it,” said Britain. “He admitted they never saw him in Thailand or in Paris. But he’s sure he’s there.”
“How does he know?”
“All the stuff he told us in the e-mail, except none of it pans out,” said Britain. “I had our people in Bangkok go back out and check the office in Pattaya, just in case there was something to the lead Madriani gave us, the thing about Waters of Death.”
“Yeah?”
“The embassy wasn’t particularly happy to be doing this. Seems they’re still putting out fires with the Pattaya police, but they did it.”
“And?”
“There is nothing anywhere in that office referencing Waters of Death, or anything close to it,” said Britain. “Just a lot of filing cabinets. We also ran a check on the telephone messaging system, the one Madriani told us about. It does exist.”
“Well, that’s something,” said Thorpe.
“Yes, but there’s nothing on it. At least not using the code he gave us. I had our people dial in, and according to them, the voice on the tape said there were no messages. There was no reference to anything called WOD or any mention of a hotel in Paris. You want my opinion, I think Madriani and his pals are smoking dope.”
“Could be somebody erased the message,” said Thorpe.
“It’s possible,” said Britain. “But if I had to guess, I’d say Madriani is looking in all the wrong places.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” Britain slid a file across the desk. “It came in yesterday morning, a report from our legat in Dubai. Take a look at the photocopy of the letter on top.”
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