by J. B. Turner
“He doesn’t have the number of the new cell phone Trevelle gave you.”
Rosalind scrunched up her eyes. “Of course.”
“Give him a call,” Reznick said. “Your phone can’t be traced.”
Rosalind sighed. “By the time I get in front of the committee, I’m going to be a physical wreck.”
“You’ll be fine. Give that lawyer of yours a call. He might be able to give you the latest picture.”
“I’m scared I’ll wake him.”
“Under the circumstances, he’ll want to know you’re alright.”
“True. When I spoke to him yesterday, he warned me they were going to come after me. Said he had been approached by a powerful law firm working alongside the Pentagon lawyers, telling him they were going to, metaphorically speaking, kill me.”
“It’s lawyer talk. I hope you told him to go fuck himself.”
Rosalind laughed. “Yeah, maybe I should have.” She got quiet for a few moments. “You must think it’s silly, getting frightened by all this.”
“No one likes to be threatened. Sometimes it’s easier to walk away. And sometimes that’s the smart move. But sometimes, just sometimes, you’ve got to stand your ground and fight.”
Rosalind took out her phone. “Well, here goes.” She called her lawyer’s cell phone number. It began to ring. The call was answered on the third ring.
“Who’s this?”
It was a man’s voice that she didn’t recognize. She wondered if she had the wrong number. “I’m looking to speak to Frank Leivitz. I’m sorry, who am I talking to?”
“Frank’s not available. Who’s this?”
Rosalind thought the man sounded evasive. “Tell him Rosalind Dyer wants to talk. Do you know when I can speak to him? It’s urgent.”
“Hard to say.”
“I’m sorry, who exactly am I speaking to?”
A beat. “About Frank . . . it’s probably best that you know.”
Rosalind wondered why the guy was being so cryptic. Why was he answering her lawyer’s cell phone in the middle of the night? Who the hell was he? She felt her stomach tighten. She sensed something was wrong. Very wrong. “Know what?”
“You won’t be seeing Frank again.”
“What are you talking about? Who the hell are you?”
“You should probably turn on your TV.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. You’re next on our list.”
Rosalind ended the call. She began to hyperventilate, gasping for lungfuls of the air rushing through the window. “I don’t feel well.”
“What’s wrong?” Reznick asked.
Rosalind tried the best she could to explain the call.
Trevelle pulled out his iPad and opened up CNN, tilted the screen so Rosalind and Reznick could see.
The female reporter said, “Breaking news this hour. A man believed to be top Washington, DC, defense attorney Frank Leivitz was found dead outside his downtown apartment a couple of hours ago. Sources say he was being investigated for corruption. Mr. Leivitz was seen on his balcony by a neighbor before apparently falling to his death.”
Twenty-Two
The SUV slowed down as Reznick scanned the pristine, tree-lined street in Georgetown. The vehicle approached the electronic gates, which opened automatically, and they drove down into an underground parking bay.
Reznick waited until they were out of sight. He clicked open his seat belt as Dyer, still in shock after learning of her lawyer’s sudden death, didn’t move from the back seat. “Time to move, Rosalind,” he said sharply.
She sat frozen, as if in a trance.
“I said, it’s time to move, Rosalind.”
Her head turned slowly, and she stared blankly at him.
“Rosalind, you need to get back in the game or it’s all over.”
“What the hell is happening, Jon?”
Reznick leaned over and unbuckled her seat belt for her. “Know one thing. They’re playing for keeps. They’re trying to unnerve you.”
“He was a good man. A friend.”
Reznick got out of the car and walked around to Dyer’s side and opened the door. He reached out. “Take my hand, time to move. It’s OK, you’re going to be fine.”
Dyer did as she was told. It looked to Reznick as if she wasn’t taking it all in. Maybe she was shutting down, perhaps a coping mechanism to deal with the acute shock she had to be suffering.
“Take my hand.”
Dyer gripped his hand tightly.
Reznick waited until Trevelle and Fifi went inside. Then he escorted Dyer slowly into the house, knowing she was in a fragile state. He locked the doors behind them.
Fifi led the way, and they followed her up some winding stairs and into a second-floor living room. Modern art on the whitewashed brick. Huge TV on one wall.
“Keep the blinds drawn,” Reznick ordered. “Get the fire lit. And can I have some blankets for Rosalind?”
Fifi got the living room warm and cozy. “I’m so sorry. That’s crazy.”
Dyer wrapped the blanket around herself. “He was the sweetest man.”
Fifi sat down beside Rosalind and wrapped an arm around her. “We’re here for you. I want to help in any way I can.”
“Frank was so smart. He promised me he would be with me every step of the way.”
Reznick sat down on the sofa opposite. He leaned forward. “It’s tough, I know.”
Dyer nodded. “He would never kill himself. Never. He was a family man. A great one. You’d have to be crazy to do that or even consider that. He wasn’t crazy. Not depressed either. I just don’t buy it. Someone killed him, didn’t they? The guy who picked up his phone, right?”
Reznick nodded. “Your lawyer believed in you and what you were trying to do, right?”
Dyer closed her eyes for a moment. “Yeah, very much. He was very pro-privacy, anti-state surveillance. He was an old hippie. But now . . . he’s gone. I just can’t believe it. It’s too much.”
Reznick stared into the fire as his mind began to consider the options for Rosalind. “I’m very sorry.”
“He thought I was brave, doing what I was doing. But he was wrong. He was the one who was brave. He didn’t have to take on my case.”
Reznick shook his head. “But he did. So, Rosalind, I know it’s not easy to broach this subject, especially right now, but we need to reassess what you’re going to do in light of everything that’s happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen enough. I know how this is going to play out. And it’s not going to be good.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“I don’t know if you do. So I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say.”
Dyer nodded. “Of course.”
“I strongly recommend, based on the terrible death of your lawyer, that both you and Trevelle allow yourselves to be taken into secure custody by the FBI until this is over. It is imperative for your safety.”
Dyer sat and stared into the fire as though she were contemplating her fate.
“Did you hear what I said, Rosalind?” Reznick said.
Dyer nodded.
Trevelle sat down on the floor in front of the fire. “My main concern was to warn you, Rosalind, of this threat. I did tell Jon before that I would consider a safe house or whatever until this blows over.” He turned and looked at Reznick. “I’m scared, man. I’m not afraid to admit that. But I think I’d need assurances from the FBI before I went into custody. I hope you understand that.”
Reznick nodded. “Leave that to me.” He looked again at Dyer, a blanket wrapped around her. “Your call, Rosalind. I can pick up the phone and get you to safety in a matter of minutes. Sometimes, the smart thing is to head for cover.”
Dyer shook her head. “Then it would all be in vain. They would win. My efforts, my lawyer’s efforts. He paid for it with his life. He wanted me to back off, to t
ake the settlement. But when I refused, he said he’d support me all the way.”
“What about your husband? And your kids? What about the impact on them? Just say the word and I can get your family taken into protective custody.”
Dyer sighed. “Jon, there are no indications that they are at risk. What if the FBI uses my family as a bargaining chip?”
“Rosalind, trust me, the people who are targeting you could get to you through your family. Have you ever considered that?”
“It’s making me sick thinking they could be in danger. There is no easy decision. But my mind is made up. I’m going to testify tomorrow. Come what may.”
“No matter what?” Reznick said. “No matter the consequences? What about your family?”
“I love them. But I need to do this. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t see this through.”
“Well, I’m with you,” Trevelle said.
Fifi smiled at Rosalind, holding her hand. “I really admire what you’re doing. If I can help you in any other way, just let me know.”
Dyer said, “You’ve been very kind. All of you.”
Reznick knew at that moment there was no turning back. For Rosalind. Trevelle. Or for him. He admired Rosalind’s courage. But he knew it was a high-risk strategy to testify, come what may. “If that’s your final word, Rosalind, I just want you to know, this ain’t over. Whoever wants you out of the way is still out there.”
Dyer nodded.
Reznick stared at Trevelle. “You understand the consequences of this?”
“It means we’re all under threat. And Fifi.”
Fifi shrugged. “Hey, I ain’t leaving.”
“This isn’t your fight, Fifi. So if you want to bail, you need to let us know now. We’ll find some other digs.”
“Like I said, I ain’t leaving. I don’t bail on friends. I’ve never bailed on anyone. Apart from the NSA. Right, Trevelle?”
Trevelle sat quietly, not responding.
“I want to help,” Fifi said. “I’m in.”
Rosalind dabbed her eyes. “Thank you. You’re very kind. All of you.”
Reznick looked around at the faces of the three. “OK, so, if you’re not going to go to the Feds, and Fifi is still on board, we need a plan. I want to go on the offensive. We can’t wait and react to events. Any suggestions?”
Fifi said, “I know IT better than anyone other than Trevelle. Cybersecurity, systems, hacking, cloud penetration analysis, whatever.”
Reznick’s mind was racing ahead. He snapped his fingers as an idea began to form in his head. He looked at the two computer kids. “So, I want to know, how good are you guys? Is it all talk, or can you walk the walk?”
“What do you mean?” Trevelle said.
“Hacking. Accessing information. You both worked for the NSA. I’m assuming you know math and all sorts of advanced coding and hacking techniques.”
Fifi nodded. “Why do you need to know?”
Reznick sighed. “Honestly? The bad guys are still after us. But if we found out more about them, we might be better placed to protect ourselves. Maybe keep one step ahead of them. And it might help us to know what to do next.”
Fifi shrugged. “Got it. What do you want?”
“Let’s take a few steps back. That call Rosalind made to her lawyer. Who answered?”
Rosalind said, “I don’t know who that was.”
“I want to pinpoint where that person was or is.”
Dyer closed her eyes, as if the mention of her lawyer had dredged up the bad memories again.
“Who was that guy? Who knows? Possibly the guy who killed Rosalind’s lawyer. Or maybe he knows who did. It’s one of those two. So my question is, can we access that guy’s location?”
Trevelle looked at Fifi. “What do you think? Access via telecom companies?”
Fifi nodded.
Reznick looked across at Dyer, who looked washed-out, drained of life. “Rosalind, get out your cell phone and tell me, exactly, what time you called that guy.”
Dyer took her cell phone from her pocket and scrolled through her calls. “It was six thirty-two a.m. and finished at six thirty-four a.m.”
Reznick pointed at Trevelle and then Fifi. “Talk to me. Both of you.”
Trevelle said, “Hybrid positioning system.”
“What’s that?” Reznick said. “I’ve heard of GPS.”
Fifi said, “I’ve got an app I’ve been developing over the last eighteen months. It’s pretty cool. Early stages of development. I’ve been testing it out.”
“So how does it work?” Reznick said.
“It uses various positioning technologies. We start with the Global Positioning System, that’s the backbone, but we throw into the mix cell tower signals, wireless internet signals, Bluetooth, and IP addresses, and I’ll get you a fix on the cell phone’s location.”
“Do it!” Reznick said.
Fifi went upstairs, brought down a laptop bag, and took out a MacBook Air. She entered the cell phone number of the lawyer. Then her software began scanning millions of cell phone company and telecom records.
A few moments later, a Google Map with a small red arrow appeared on the screen.
“When Rosalind called,” Fifi said, “her lawyer’s cell phone was at a business park in Arlington, Virginia. Within ten yards of there anyway. Looks like the call was taken from inside a company called Strategic Security. Fourth floor.”
Reznick clenched his fists. “That would make sense. And that’s also the current location of the phone?”
Fifi nodded. She looked at Trevelle. “You want to check for yourself?”
“I trust you. Great work. Bank on that location, Jon.”
Reznick’s mind began to prepare how he was going to respond to the information and location. “How far away is Arlington from here?”
Fifi shrugged. “If you drive, with a bit of luck, you could be there in fifteen minutes.”
Twenty-Three
It was a nondescript business park on the outskirts of Arlington. The building was bathed in floodlights. Reznick pulled up in Fifi’s car about two hundred yards away, with a line of sight to the glass lobby. He trained the binoculars on the office. A yawning, uniformed security guard was reading a hardcover book. Reznick ran through some scenarios in his head. He wanted to get inside. But he knew they’d ask for ID, maybe even biometric identification.
He wondered if Trevelle or Fifi might be able to gain access to their systems, allowing Reznick to get in.
Then again, it might also tip off those inside that their security had been breached or was about to be breached. Could he risk it?
Reznick pulled out his cell phone and called Trevelle.
“Hey, Mr. R., you OK?”
“I’m fine. Everything OK there?”
“We’re good. All secure.”
“What about Rosalind?”
“Sleeping soundly, thank God.”
“Trevelle, I need a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m at the address. I need to double-check. Is the cell phone Fifi pinpointed still at the same address? I need to be 100 percent sure.”
“Gimme a second.” The sound of tapping keys on a laptop. “Affirmative, exact same spot.”
“Copy that. Now that we’ve got a fix on the ex-lawyer’s cell phone, are there any other electronic devices in that office within range? It’s important we have an idea what we’re dealing with.”
“Mmm . . . let’s see.” More tapping. “Got an iMac desktop. And that’s it.”
“Can you activate the microphone on the desktop and the cell phone? I want to determine who’s there.”
A few more taps. “Two male voices. Both speaking a language I can’t understand . . . can’t make out the accent.” Trevelle sighed as he tapped more keys. “So . . . ah, interesting.”
“What?”
“Uber pickup coming in thirteen minutes.”
“Under whose name?”
“Carl
os Sanchez. Don’t know if that’s a real name or what. But taxi for two, I see.”
Reznick’s mind was racing ahead. “Interesting. Great work. Now, where is the Uber taking them?”
“It appears to be headed to . . . 115 Second Avenue Northeast, Washington, DC. Capitol Hill.”
Reznick’s brain was making connections fast. “Take note of that address, keep it encrypted.”
“You want anything else?”
“Yeah, how many units in the building they’re going to?”
A few more taps. “I make . . . sixteen co-op apartments. High end.”
“Very good work, man. Thanks.”
“When you coming back?”
“Just hang in there. Maybe a couple of hours, hard to say.”
“Stay safe, Jon.”
“You too.” Reznick ended the call. He entered the address Trevelle had given him into the GPS and headed straight there. The location was a four-story Beaux Arts building across the street from the Supreme Court. He imagined the area would be favored by politicians, staffers, judges, and lawyers who worked on Capitol Hill. He saw a police car in the distance, cruising past.
He drove down the road, doubled back, and parked just over a block and a half away from the building’s entrance. Good line of sight, but not too close. He didn’t want to attract attention.
Reznick switched off the engine, then cut the lights. He opened up his backpack and took out a camera with a long telephoto lens he had borrowed from Fifi. Watching and waiting until the two men arrived in their Uber.
Twenty minutes later, two men wearing dark suits were dropped off outside the apartment building.
Reznick photographed the two short-haired Latino men as they surreptitiously glanced around. Tough-looking fuckers. He switched on the camera’s built-in Wi-Fi and emailed the photos to Trevelle.
Then he called him. “Find out who these guys are. Quick.”
“Why?”
“I think they’ve been hired to kill Rosalind.”
Twenty-Four
The sun was edging above the horizon, bathing the low-rise apartment buildings in a burnt orange glow, when the two men finally reemerged.