Undercover Genius

by Rice, Patricia

  Because nothing more interesting was happening on the street, I moseyed over to the far side of the roof and examined the alley. If you’ve ever lived in Kabul, you’d know to keep your eyes on alleys.

  Sure enough, Leonard Riley — who probably had been in Kabul at one time or another — was sneaking down this one. I wished I had a water bomb.

  Graham’s return message said DeLuca, along with a lot of angry gibberish that I ignored. Maybe I should tell him I was on the roof so he’d send a helicopter after me, but I wasn’t ready to leave yet.

  Through my earbuds, I heard angry grumbling and thumps in Bill’s apartment as the Escalade gang trashed what remained of the place. Dang. I needed names.

  Leonard slipped in through the apartment house’s back door, out of my sight. Seeing no one else, I cruised back to the front. A battered VW was pulling up behind the SUV. It could be a resident, but I bet most of them used the Metro and didn’t own cars.

  I frowned as a Hispanic female climbed out. I really didn’t want Carla going in there with DeLuca’s thugs, if that was Bill’s almost-girlfriend.

  I grabbed a pebble off the roof and flung it at her. Startled, she glanced up. I gestured to come upstairs. Stupid of me, and showed I was getting soft. In my old life, I would have just waited for the fireworks and taken no chances.

  Through my earbuds, I heard Leonard enter the apartment before the VW owner reached the roof. I strained to catch his words through the cheap electronics.

  “Who sent that damned message?” was Riley’s first intelligent question.

  “Don’t know. Boss just got orders to come look,” a deep bass replied.

  “Nothin’ here,” a younger male voice said. “No hidden nothin’. No treasure.”

  Okay, sounded like this trio knew each other.

  Unless one counted Riley, Deluca’s people were hardly the legitimate media contacts I’d texted. Since that was DeLuca’s SUV, I thought I was on pretty firm ground guessing DeLuca had tapped Bill’s phone — or worked for someone who had. And Leonard was in on it.

  The VW owner arrived on the roof. I gestured for her to be silent and pointed at my earbuds. “Carla?” I whispered as she approached.

  Her eyes widened. “And you are?”

  “Bill’s associate. Just call me Linda.” I really would have to change that name soon. “That’s DeLuca’s gang down there.”

  “You know how to text a gang boss?” she whispered in incredulity.

  “No, but Bill’s phone was tapped. I figure they got the message, which means they did the tapping.” I held up a finger to silence her as Leonard started talking again.

  “Son-of-a-bitch, someone else has already found whatever he was hiding,” Leonard said. “How the fuck did they get the geek’s phone?”

  I heard footsteps, as if he was pacing. And kicking walls. I winced at a loud thump too near my spy gadget. He called and reported the loss to someone. A moment later, he announced, “The client has the girl cornered. If she’s hidden the files, he’ll find out, but my bet is on her interfering sister. Let’s get moving.”

  I stuck my thumbnail in my mouth and chewed to keep from going ballistic. They had Patra? I’d go down there and rip off their faces finding out who their client was.

  “DeLuca says we’re not getting near that Maximillian place,” Bass Voice protested. “He says it’s bad juju. The general will just have to get it out of the girl.”

  The general. Smedbetter? My heart started pounding harder. The general who was now an exec at BM, where Patra was working right now? I started texting Graham as fast as my thumbs would allow.

  Then I stared at the screen and deleted it. We were not relying on that man again.

  I saw Patra’s screen name on a message and opened it while the thugs below argued. She’d sent me an audio file of Smedbetter. If she’d gone to work today to get that, she’d risked her life for nothing.

  At least she was still alive, although if she was recording BM execs as this message indicated, I had to wonder for how long. I had to get over there.

  Before I could tuck my phone away, a screaming text in all caps crossed the screen: GT YR ASS BK HERE NOW!

  Graham. I whistled at the all caps. Graham never shouted. What was happening at home?

  Through my earbuds I heard Leonard say, “Smythe is in jail. We don’t have to worry about him getting to Bloom’s files before us. We just need to eliminate them before anyone reads them.”

  It sounded as if he was talking on the phone again. Interesting. Leonard and the general had feared Smitty would find Bill’s files first, and they didn’t want the good reverend to have them? Why?

  Because they feared blackmail?

  BM might be the mouthpiece for R&P, but as far as I had determined, Smitty had never been a partner in war zone games. The sneaky reverend was the type to plant bugs in presidential offices. He collected information on powerful people who may have been in war zones. If Smitty had proof that General Smedbetter had ordered Patrick’s death, or anyone else’s . . .

  Smitty was a stupid troublemaker if he thought he’d pin anything on any of Broderick’s execs. No wonder he’d ended up in jail. They’d probably set him up for the fall. I’d tell his lawyer to check his phone for spyware. Someday.

  Leonard was the imbecile who had the facts I needed. Leonard was a squealing coward. How could I work that?

  Carla was watching me with puzzlement. Was she the only media person who cared enough to follow up on my text message? I glanced down to the street again and smiled. Sean’s little MG had just pulled up. Bless his little heart. His newspaper had been in Bill’s address book, but I hadn’t texted Sean directly. I stoned him the instant he stepped out of the car. He glared up at me, not in the least surprised.

  I punched in his phone number and watched him lean against his car and answer.

  “We’ve got part of your Pulitzer story in Bill’s apartment. Leonard Riley seems to be working with DeLuca’s gang, General Smedbetter, and presumably, by association, Broderick Media. They’re in there now looking for that treasure trove you’re here to find. They’ve been worried that Dr. Smythe would get to the files before them. Isn’t that interesting?”

  “Because Smythe thinks Smedbetter killed Llewellyn or he’s just nosy?” Sean asked snidely.

  “Do you think I care? If Dr. Smythe is smart, probably both. Broderick’s goons put spyware in Patra’s phone, Bill’s phone, and probably Smythe’s phone. That’s how Leonard’s goons got to your newspaper office after you lost the white Cadillac.”

  “Wait a minute,” he interrupted my hasty explanation. “How do you know we lost the Cadillac?”

  “Patra said the car following you from the Blooms was a white sedan, not a black SUV. She said you lost him on the way to the office. She said the one that entered your garage later, carrying gunmen and arsonists, was a black Escalade. That vehicle you’re parked behind is probably one of a fleet of DeLuca’s SUVs, like the one that Patra saw at Bill’s apartment. He has a limo service,” I explained with as much patience as possible. I handed my earbud to Carla who grimaced but listened with me.

  Sean caught on quickly. “I figured brother Ken called the R&P guys and the white sedan was theirs. So Broderick had nothing to do with the boxes.”

  “At that point,” I agreed. “When Smitty’s men lost you, they called their boss. Phone tap on Smythe relayed that info directly to Broderick or his minions. If they identified you, then your office would be the first place BM’s men would head. They are apparently a bit superstitious about Patra’s abode. Have your garage cameras verified the Escalade’s plates yet?”

  “Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “Cops have questioned DeLuca, but he says it was rented out by a guy whose credit card failed.”

  “Yeah, Leonard and company. They’re in the apartment now. Want to let air out of some tires while I call the cops?”

  “On what charges? Bullying?”

  I didn’t care if he was being snarky. I c
ould see he was already working on the tires. Those big heavy vehicles lose air quickly. I know, and not because I ever owned one.

  “Breaking and entering for now,” I suggested. “Manufacture some murder evidence and Leonard will squeal like a teenybopper at a Justin Bieber concert. We just have to make it happen before Broderick’s goons catch and kill him.”

  Listening to both me and the apartment, Carla had excitedly yanked out her phone and was hitting buttons. I didn’t need her broadcasting just yet. I snatched her toy away and scrolled through the menu to find her phone number. Before Sean could comment on my assessment, I gave him Carla’s number. He stopped messing with tires and hastily scribbled it on his palm.

  “That’s Carla. She’s up here with me if you need reinforcements. I’ve got to go. Patra’s in trouble, and Graham’s probably pitching people off the roof. Love ya.” I pushed off and met Carla’s frown. “Sean O’Herlihy down there works for the Times. I can’t tell you more than you just overheard except that the guys in Bill’s apartment are most likely killers. Take care.”

  I handed her the rest of my spyware and ran for the exit, dialing up Graham as I went.

  On the way down, I saw Leonard Riley getting away out the back door. Damn, I needed the little squealer.

  Could I give up my mother hen instinct and hope Patra could take care of herself?

  Twenty-nine

  Patra’s perspective

  The sprinklers and fire alarm — on top of the crashing desks, dividers, and goon chase — instigated full-out hysteria. Patra’s cubicle-farm audience screamed and dashed for the door as if the apocalypse had arrived.

  Patra didn’t waste time standing on the desk in stunned astonishment at manna from heaven. She screamed “Fire!” Then she leaped down, maced a goon stupid enough to get in her way, and sent more waves of panic through the crowd. With chaos established, she blended into the mob pushing and shoving into the corridor. No way would the big goons break past an ocean of terrified office workers running for their lives.

  “Single line!” she shouted, using her smaller size to sidle in between people to put distance between her and the Goliaths. She grabbed the arm of a secretary tottering on a leg brace and helped her along. “Don’t use the elevators. Take the stairs,” she called over her shoulder, verifying that her strategy was working. The goons had fallen farther behind.

  Like good little sheep, the crowd did their best. A few frantic ones jumped on the elevator. A few more shoved for the head of the line and got pushed aside for their efforts. But mostly, everyone obeyed orders and attempted to calm each other down. Not until they were all filing down the dry stairwell together did anyone realize that they didn’t smell smoke.

  “Procedure says to file into the street until the fire department gives the okay,” Patra shouted. The message echoed nicely in the shaft and was repeated up and down the stairs. If anyone recognized her, they didn’t seem to care. It was an entertaining break in the gerbil wheel of their day.

  With one hand, she texted Ana that she was okay, just in case Graham was monitoring a police scanner. She hoped she was okay. She kept an eye out for Sam in the mob, but he worked on another floor. She had to assume the fire alarm was his parting gesture.

  As the mob obediently filed out the stairwell door marked for the first floor, Patra left the secretary and the crowd behind. She slipped around the corner and down to the basement level. She’d rather not make it easy for any remaining goons watching the lobby. Sean’s basement trick seemed reasonable in this situation. And she still had some mace left.

  * * *

  I muttered a very dirty bad word as I trotted after Leonard down a dark alley. I needed to reach Patra, then find out what had Graham shouting. The whole world could be blowing up, and I was sneaking after a sawed-off drug dealer with a grudge. I wore my armed camouflage coat, but from the looks of the lump under his jacket, Leonard had started carrying a gun.

  Guns are for men of small intelligence and limited imagination, which certainly described Leonard. With a sigh, I accepted the role reversal and stalked the little scum.

  He took the train I’d take if I was heading home. I got an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and began hunting news stories on my phone as I stood at the back of the crowded car. Keeping an eye on Leonard and the news at the same time wasn’t easy. Headlines like Shocking Revelations and Broderick Media Accused of Murder had a tendency to make my insides roll.

  My eyebrows probably reached my hairline as I speed-read that last article under my sister’s byline. Patra had set the hell hounds lose.

  My sister was officially crazier than I was. Broderick was going to kill us all, even if the FBI reached him first.

  She’d done her research, or her father had done his. A lot of the story dated back ten years and had to have come from Patrick’s unfinished book. No legitimate media would have released this story without a warehouse of evidence. Could Broderick sue himself?

  Patra had listed all the international media outlets owned directly and indirectly by Sir Archie. She listed dates of inflammatory articles and ensuing rebellions. And of course, since the story was written under her byline, she mentioned that her father had been murdered while in the same war zone with General Smedbetter, a Broderick executive, while investigating this story.

  If that didn’t set Leonard squealing, nothing would. Our biggest problem would be keeping him alive, if my suspicions of his involvement were true. Aiding and abetting the murder of Patrick Llewellyn to protect Broderick and his henchmen put Riley squarely between the Feds and a lot of rich madmen.

  Maybe he could just confess to Bill’s murder, and they’d tuck him away somewhere safer than the prison Reggie had been in. Except I really didn’t think Leonard had the spine to murder anyone.

  My text message buzzed again. NO FIRE, it read. I’M FINE.

  I exhaled a small sigh of relief. Now I wasn’t quite as torn between finding my sister and following Leonard.

  Leonard got off and scurried for another train. I hastily tucked my phone away and followed. I’d wasted a few years of my life following Magda around. It wasn’t as simple in a Metro station as in Baghdad, but I didn’t think he noticed me.

  The little sneak got off at Dupont Circle.

  Traffic was worse than usual. So were the crowds. Leonard was short and it was easy to lose sight of him, but by now, I had no doubt of his direction. His intentions might be murky, but I had to assume the worst.

  I caught sight of him taking the street behind the house undergoing renovation, the one just before our street. I didn’t like the looks of the cars backed up at the intersection. Graham had been shouting for a reason. I didn’t have time to see what it was. I had to stop a dumb bunny with a gun before he got himself and everyone else killed.

  The scaffolding had been moved to windows on the side of the house, mostly out of view of the street since the houses were so close. I watched Leonard slink down the alley and in the basement door.

  I stopped to ponder the situation. I didn’t have a gun and couldn’t nail the twerp if he appeared in a window. Not that I condone shooting people on sight, mind you, but I had a slight anger management problem. Some days, I’m simply tempted to murder, and this was one of them. My only solution was to follow him. I just didn’t want to do it inside.

  No workmen stood on the scaffolding. I peered between the houses to see if I could catch a glimpse of the street in front of the house, but shrubbery blocked most of the view. I thought I caught the red that might have been a news van. Graham could handle that for another few minutes.

  I verified that the scaffolding seemed to be up to code and began climbing up it. Scaffolding really wasn’t built to be a ladder, but a few judicious shinnies and good arm muscles can accomplish a great deal. It wasn’t as if I was worried about my clothes.

  I flattened against the wall when Leonard peered out the attic window. The maggot was carrying a P90! Personal defense weapon my foot and three eyes.
That was an automatic assault weapon, except small enough to conceal. He could blow away anyone standing on our front porch across the street — and probably half a crowd with it. No one should be allowed to buy a gun like that. It shouldn’t even be legal to make.

  Apparently reassured that no workmen stood on the scaffolding, Leonard moved away from the window. I moved up. Using my army knife, I cut off a long length of the rope the workmen used for their safety belts. I’m pretty good at knotting nooses.

  I fastened a second safety belt around my waist. I was pretty damned furious but not enough to forget all caution.

  At the top of the scaffolding, I could see over the trees. Our street was mysteriously blocked by huge vehicles and a crowd. No wonder Graham was screaming. My gut tightened, but I had to stomp a termite first.

  I knotted the other end of my noose rope to the scaffolding. Then I hefted a crowbar, and with the power of my frustration, helped the nice workmen remove an old window. Smashing heavy metal into glass created a satisfying racket and probably caused Leonard to poo his pants. After bashing out the frames, I flattened against the wall again, bracing my hand and my prepared rope above the attic window.

  Stupid Leonard. He cursed and stuck his head out to see what had caused the noise. I was tempted to knock his block off with my crowbar, but I wanted him squealing down at the police station. Seeing me, he aimed the gun in my direction.

  “Leonard, this is about the stupidest thing you’ve ever done,” I informed him, counting on his not wanting half the world to see him murdering me now that we were above the trees. “If that gun goes off, you’ll probably kill two babies in the next house and a news reporter on the street and the cops will really take off your head.”

  “You set us up, didn’t you?” he snarled. “This time, the boss ain’t gonna be so lenient with you. Get inside here before I blow out all them brains of yours.”

  “Which boss, Leonard? DeLuca? General Smedbetter? Archie? Do you really think any of them want to see my smiling face? Don’t be stupid. You’re fish bait. They’ll feed you to the sharks if I don’t first.”