Undercover Genius

by Rice, Patricia

  He had a point, even if she didn’t agree. Bill had only one of her father’s files. These boxes contained something else.

  Getting off the elevator upstairs, Sean dropped his stack on a table in a cubicle farm and punched up a land line. “Security? Keep an eye out for a white Caddy in the garage. Call the cops if it shows up.”

  Seventeen

  Patra’s perspective

  Sean led the way through an office packed with ancient desks overflowing with file folders and yellowing documents as well as aging gray computers. In comparison with BM’s modern cubicle farm, this fifties-era office reeked of old cigarette smoke and Jack Daniels. She didn’t know where the other employees were hidden, maybe another floor.

  “Don’t modernize much, do you?” she asked.

  “We’re small change compared to the Post and BM. Competitive newspapers are a losing proposition in the computer age. Our on-line edition costs more than it earns, from the way the upper echelons make it sound.” Sean dumped the boxes in a cramped conference room. The table was dusty and half the chairs had disappeared. Old computers littered the floor. “Essentially, to earn market share, print papers have to appeal to the old, the barely literate, and the poor who lack technology. Or those too set in their ways to change.”

  “That’s harsh.” She unloaded her boxes on the table and began looking through them. “Basic journalism hasn’t changed. People still buy papers to read about themselves and their friends. It’s just harder to do in a metropolis where most of the population are strangers.”

  “And not profitable on a small local basis given the cost of newsprint, hence, national scandal rags like Broderick’s. Gossip is internationally popular.” Sean lifted one of his heavier boxes to the table and began ransacking it.

  “Great minds discuss ideas. Small minds discuss people,” Patra said absently, flipping through an invoice file.

  “Eleanor Roosevelt, nice.” He set aside the big box and opened another. “You quote Americans and don’t speak with a Brit accent. Magda’s work?”

  “And American teachers on military bases. We all have citizen-of-the-world accents.” Ana had said she could trust Sean except on topics of Graham, so Patra continued with a shrug. “Except maybe my half-brother Tudor. His father pays for a Brit boarding school. Right chip off the old block, he is,” she mimicked her younger brother’s mocking imitation of his father.

  She shut up to study the invoice she’d pulled.

  A phone buried on the desk amid the debris of boxes began to ring. Patra didn’t glance up from her reading but was aware Sean had located the source of the noise. She tuned in when his tone registered urgency.

  “Call the cops. Warn anyone else in the building to go into lockdown. Lock the elevator, if that’s possible. And if it’s not, blast them to hell if they get near my car!”

  Anticipating his next command, Patra began cramming file folders into a fold-up tote she carried for just these impromptu occasions. Running with stacks of boxes while wearing a skirt and pumps simply wasn’t a smart idea.

  Sean slammed the phone and began tossing a few folders he’d sorted out into one of the smaller boxes.

  “Not the white sedan, but a black Escalade just pulled into the garage. No one here drives tanks like that.”

  “That was a black Escalade limo at Bill’s apartment the night he was killed.” Patra grabbed another handful of files.

  “Worse yet if they’ve set the thugs on us.” He crammed a few more folders in the box. “We’ve only got one guy on security, and he’s eating lunch and just watching monitors. I don’t know if he can lock elevators, and I don’t plan to take any chances hanging around to find out.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her toward a rear exit.

  “I just found a file on Broderick!” she protested, digging deeper into the largest box. “They’re just invoices, but where there’s smoke —”

  “You want to get caught in the next fire?” Realizing he couldn’t budge her, he started flinging boxes beneath the table. “Shove the rest of your boxes under a desk and grab what’s loose.”

  Patra added handfuls of folders to her tote. “Surely they wouldn’t set an entire office on fire?” she asked, glancing at all the lovely information they were leaving behind.

  Sean snatched a sheet of plastic from a stack of monitors and flung it over the desk concealing the large cartons. “We’ve got sprinklers and fire walls, but they won’t protect cardboard, if these guys are your arsonists. C’mon, out the back way.”

  Carrying their loads, they ran down a hall of empty executive offices. Sean opened a door marked “maintenance only,” and they dived into a concrete jungle of deteriorating metal staircases and peeling paint.

  “You’re like a rat with bolt holes all over,” Patra said breathlessly as they raced down the stairs. She hoped sounds didn’t carry as their shoes rattled the metal stairs.

  “Very handy when the boss wants me to do something I don’t want to do.” He caught her elbow as they reached the basement level. “This last part’s tricky. Careful where you step.”

  The dank, dark basement smelled of must and old cleaning fluids. Obviously, this portion of the building was older than it looked and once had a coal cellar. Patra could hear mechanicals rattling beyond the dividing walls, but this maintenance area had been abandoned for all practical purposes. Water dripped somewhere, and moisture seeped through her soles. Ewww.

  “Up here,” Sean said triumphantly, tackling a metal door at the top of a couple of concrete steps. “When the Times still owned this whole building, they used to hand the papers out to newsboys here, fresh off the old printing presses.”

  “They don’t keep it locked?” she asked incredulously.

  “Can’t open it from the other side.” He peered down what seemed to be an alley. “Shit.” He shut the door again. “There’s a suspicious suit blocking the alley. They definitely want us as much as the boxes.”

  “A suspicious suit?”

  “He’s wearing a suit coat to cover his shoulder holster. Ring bells?”

  Patra already had her phone out, dialing Ana. This time, her sister answered. “We’re at Sean’s office. Goons to the left of us, possible arsonists to the right. How far away are you? The zoo?” She glanced at Sean.

  He snorted. “She can’t get any further away and still be on the Metro. Want to try calling Graham?”

  If that’s what Sean was after, he was out of luck. She’d die before she broke her vow to Ana to leave Graham out of their lives.

  “Not even Graham could get here in time,” she whispered, dialing 911 even though they had no real emergency to report. Yet.

  * * *

  I watched EG admiring the ugliest, largest bat I’d ever known existed, while listening to Patra’s explanation of events. “So we have no idea who’s after you? Okay, Nick is chatting up a chimp somewhere. Keep your phone on vibrate. I’ll get back to you.”

  My protective mother radar instincts were gearing up, but they were torn in two directions. Patra was old enough to take care of herself. EG shouldn’t have to live as we had. Ergo, I couldn’t destroy a rare normal family outing by haring off downtown to blow up an Escalade, no matter how much I’d enjoy it.

  I punched in Nick’s number to drag him out of the chimp house. I didn’t think it was the animals Nick was admiring.

  It would take much too long to travel downtown. While I was waiting for Nick to put in an appearance, I ground my teeth with impatience and fear and contemplated my next step. I hated calling in Graham. Patra’s bad guys were related to Bill. We had no evidence of a connection to BM.

  But Broderick was one of Graham’s targets in his Top Hat investigation. Graham was inordinately interested in Patrick Llewellyn’s files. And Bill had Patrick’s media manipulation file. Close enough.

  I’d never willingly called Graham’s number, but I’d nabbed it back when EG had been kidnapped.

  He answered with gratifying promptness and a grumpy, “What?” />
  “Patra is trapped with Sean at the Times office. They were followed from Bill Bloom’s house. There is apparently a man with a shoulder holster preventing them from escaping. They’ve not been threatened yet, but I told Patra to call 911 anyway. What are the chances this has something to do with Broderick?”

  “It’s as likely to have more to do with her father, but the two could be related,” he admitted. “You need to finish de-coding your sister’s files so we know the scoop. I’ll handle the newspaper office. Send me a photo of the zoo’s flying fox bat.”

  He clicked off. He wanted a picture? Of a bat? Did I dare ask why? Nope. I was praying he had contacts on the police force who would check out the Escalade before a crime happened. Or maybe Graham had his own hit men. I just wanted Patra to be safe.

  I sauntered over to where EG was happily snapping her camera at a creature with wings bigger than I was. Sure enough, there on the descriptive sign was the common name, the flying fox bat. And yeah, judging from the sign, it kinda looked like a fox. It was too dark to tell much in the cage.

  I snapped and sent a photo of both sign and bat. In my thoroughness, I went online and found a better image and sent that. I needed something to occupy my head besides worrying about what was happening back in town. Out of sheer devilment, I gave EG my phone and let her snap more pics to send Graham.

  I had just let someone else handle a danger to my family. It made me uncomfortable not to be running to the rescue. Had I trusted Graham to help because he’d dared to kiss me? No, probably because I thought he was my diamond-cufflink hero. I’m not always rational.

  Nick arrived, cheerful as ever despite my interrupting a possible tryst. “Did EG steal one of the darlings for her collection?”

  EG sent him a dark look and proceeded to the next cage. I backed off where she couldn’t hear us.

  “I just sicced Graham on some creeps following Patra. Am I getting old and weak?”

  Nick hugged my shoulders. “No, you’re turning human. Maybe now you’ll even get a life. Although admittedly, I’d love to see what the spider is doing right now.”

  So would I. I glanced at EG, who was enrapt by another flying rodent. Mammal. “We’ll never keep her out of the family occupation, will we?”

  “Nope. Curious minds and all that. If we tell her where Patra is, EG will want to go see, too, and she’ll probably concoct stink bombs out of train trash and annihilate the enemy upon arrival. All we’re doing by taking her to the zoo is feeding her more ammunition for her lethal mind.” He shrugged and checked his watch. “I’m ready to ditch babysitting. Want me to go see and tell you what’s happening?”

  “Graham sure won’t,” I said in irritation, even though I was relieved that Nick offered. “But you won’t arrive in time.”

  EG snapped one last photo and returned to us. “Okay, it’s time to go now.”

  We stared at her in incredulity. I spoke first. “We came all the way out here just to take pictures of bats?”

  “Yes.” And she began marching for the exit. “I have a report to do.”

  “Rock, paper, scissors?” I asked Nick as we followed her out.

  I held out my fist — rock. He opened his palm — paper. Damn. We took the Metro back to Dupont Circle. EG and I got off. Nick went downtown.

  Patra’s perspective

  Patra paced the moldy basement, waiting for security to give an all clear signal. Sean used his cell phone to keep in touch with the guard, who was busy notifying the newspaper’s offices to lock down.

  Sirens sounded on the street outside. At the same time, the security guard reported the cameras shutting down in the garage.

  Sean cursed, shoved his phone back on his belt, and looked from door to stairs.

  “Want to go up and watch the fun, or stay here and wait for Sam to tell us the cops chased the baddies off?” He sauntered toward the stairs.

  Men were so predictable. He was worried about his midget car.

  “If there are no cameras, how do we know the baddies have been chased off? There could be creeps roaming all over the place.”

  Sean shrugged. “You stay here. I’ll call if the coast is clear. Right about now, I wouldn’t mind a good look at these thugs.”

  She really ought to let him go. It was relatively safe down here. But she didn’t like basements, and she was as curious as Sean. With the police right outside, how much trouble could they get into?

  “Won’t the other people working up there scare them off?” she asked, following him up the stairs.

  “What, after telling them to lock down, you want me to tell them to stick their heads out?” He eased open the door on the first floor and listened. He dialed up his security guard again, then put his phone back in his pocket. “Sam’s not answering.”

  “Fifty-fifty, he’s answering the door for the cops or the baddies have him at gunpoint.”

  “Can’t leave a friend in jeopardy,” Sean replied insouciantly, stepping into the hall.

  The building was eerily silent. Patra looked for a weapon in the offices they passed, but there was little more than mail and copy rooms in this back hall. More sirens sounded outside. It seemed sensible to just walk out the front door.

  The front door was apparently half a block away. They crept down the battered tile to the corner where the floor became polished marble. That should lead outside, according to Patra’s calculations. Sean held up his hand to halt her, and keeping his back against the wall, he peered around the corner.

  His muttered curse told her all she needed to know. She peered around the corner to see a man in a black suit accompanied by a slug with a gas can enter an elevator. She swallowed hard and clutched her tote of papers tighter. Sean pressed her back against the wall.

  She swung around to look for another exit. A suit-coated man with an AK-47 stepped into the corridor from one of the offices. She uttered a curse of her own.

  Not tall, but square, the gunman deliberately raised his weapon. “About time you turned up. We’re going for a walk. Hurry it up.”

  “Really?” Patra asked in disbelief. “You’re really going to use that line? Watch too many films, do you?”

  Sean stepped in front of her, blocking her with his larger frame. “The cops are outside. You can’t get anywhere. Why don’t you run while you have the chance?”

  “I’ve got a chance to make my boss happy. Move it. The boss don’t like to do clean up, but you’re expendable.” He gestured with the assault rifle, standing aside so they could pass in front of him.

  Patra had no inclination to leave the safety of the fastest route to the front door. “What do you want? Maybe we can help and then you can just leave quietly.”

  “I’m leaving quietly, with you. Now get your bony ass over here!”

  She’d move her bony ass, all right. And then she’d smack him upside the head with… Well, all she had was the tote. That would have to work. She’d never learned martial arts.

  She stalked in front of Sean, intent on eliminating one imbecile from this world.

  The sirens had stopped. She hoped that was because the cops had arrived at their destination and that was out front. Before she could swing, Sean grabbed her arm and flung her into the closest office. Patra screamed in outrage. A shot rang wildly in the hall, and she ducked in terror.

  Sean limped in, slamming and locking the door behind him. “Don’t do this at home,” he muttered, dragging her down behind a metal desk, then shoving the desk to block the door.

  “You’re bleeding!”

  His fancy Nike was ragged and covered in red.

  Another shot shattered the flimsy door lock.

  Eighteen

  Patra’s perspective

  The office they were hiding in had no window.

  Patra heard shouts outside, but they seemed in the distance. This back hall had to be half a block from the street. No one could arrive before the goon finished shooting out the door.

  “No time for a smoke bomb,” she murmured,
glancing around the room for weapons as the shooter kicked at the barricaded door. “Why didn’t you let me smack him?”

  “Because that would have got us both shot.” Sean dragged her back to a second metal desk, pulled her under it, and curled his body over hers.

  A bullet ripped through the steel of the first barricade to dig into the back of the desk they were hiding under. Patra swallowed hard in disbelief.

  “Leave now or die here!” the goon shouted.

  He finally smashed through the door, shoving the first desk back enough to point the AK47 into the room.

  “Will you tell us what the devil we’re dying for?” Patra shouted back, although she calculated the idiot stood only a few yards away. If he could shout, so could she.

  “Because I don’t like bleeding liberals,” the goon said snarkily, leveraging the door with his shoulder until he had a full view of the room.

  Sean was bleeding, because of her. Fury simply made Patra think faster. Sean tried to hold her down, but she shook him off. She’d had training in what to do if gunmen invaded.

  Popping up from behind the desk, she grabbed a stapler and flung it at the thug’s head. She hadn’t practiced in a while, but she’d always been good at rock slinging.

  The large stapler hit their assailant smack in the nose. He cried out, falling back and pulling the trigger in his surprise. This time, the bullet ripped through the ceiling.

  The shouts outside were closer.

  Sean caught her waist and tugged her back to the ground again. “You’re crazy. That bullet could have hit you.”

  “I’ll die fighting.” She grabbed a tape dispenser from the desk behind her. Without a hitch in her movement, she shrugged off Sean, popped above the desk long enough to take aim, and flung as hard as she could.

  The roll of tape smacked the gunman between the eyes. The dispenser bounced off his jaw just as he shot again. This time, the bullet thudded uncomfortably close into the floor on the side of the desk where they hid. The smell of scorched carpet joined the stink of gunfire.