The Phoenix Egg

by Richard Bamberg

  “Certainly, hard or soft?”

  “Soft will be fine.”

  Captain Ferguson tapped a recessed keyboard, and a moment later a thumb drive popped out of the desk. She picked it up and tossed it to John.

  He caught it in his left hand and dropped it into a pocket. “Thanks. I’d also like to see my client’s room and pick up her things.”

  “That won’t be a problem. Your contract is registered with the California Bodyguard License Board. As such, we are more than happy to help you in any way we can. Of course, you realize that Ms. Maxwell’s well-being is our primary concern, but don’t forget that we also have a reputation to protect. It wouldn’t do for someone to go around making unsubstantiated claims against our hotel.” She glazed the threat with a thick sugar coating, but it was still a threat.

  “You have nothing to worry about; that is unless I determine my client was attacked in your hotel and your security didn’t catch it.”

  “There’s no chance of that.”

  John didn’t answer.

  CHAPTER 12

  The guard who had escorted John in to see Captain Ferguson waited for him outside her office. They took the same elevator to the thirty-first floor. The thickly carpeted hallway was impressively wide. Evenly spaced doors were set in both sides. The rooms on his left had balconies on the building’s central shaft and from the direction they were walking, he guessed the other’s must have had a view of the Golden Gate.

  They stopped in front of Caitlin’s original room, and the guard inserted one of the chrome keys into the keyhole in the door.

  “Does that pen open any of the hotel’s rooms?” John asked.

  “Any that it’s keyed for,” he hesitated and then expanded. “The security computer can reprogram it for any lock in the building, but these keys can only access one guest’s room at a time.

  “Then there are keys that can open any of the rooms?”

  He pushed the door opened and motioned for John to enter. “Sure, management has a couple of keys and the watch commander has another one that can access all the rooms. But the computer notes every door they unlock. The gold key holders have free run of the building, but we always know where they are.”

  He stepped into the room.

  “Lights,” he said.

  John looked around the living room portion of the small suite. On his left, set a modern but comfortable looking sofa. The chrome and glass coffee table would have fit any room in the last twenty years. A wet bar and a small refrigerator were set in the far wall, and the wall to his right held a wide screen monitor.

  “Has the staff cleaned the room since the attack?”

  “I’d have to check to be sure, but they normally come through each morning.” He consulted his wristwatch and shrugged. “They may not have been here yet.”

  John nodded and walked back toward the bedroom. The curtains were drawn back from the windows, lighting the room nicely. He’d been right about the view. It looked like rain was coming to Napa Valley.

  The bedroom was as clean as the den. If there had been any clues to find, they’d been carefully removed long before he’d arrived. He browsed anyway, looking for any signs of a struggle. After five minutes, he’d found nothing more than a little shoe polish against the baseboard across from the bed. It wasn’t the same color as the shoes Caitlin had worn, but that neither proved nor disproved anything. The mark could have been there for months, but somehow he doubted that.

  He didn’t mention the mark as he made one last sweep of the room, identified the disguised mini-camera, and then told the guard he was satisfied.

  He wasn’t, but once a cleanup crew goes through a room there’s little hope of finding anything important.

  Caitlin’s new room was three floors up but gave the same basic view. She’d already transferred her clothes from suitcase to dresser. He found a nearly new, hard-side Samsonite in the closet and repacked her clothes neatly, barely conscious of the feel of silk against his skin.

  While the guard watched, he went into the bath and returned with the basic toiletries all women carry. It took him a few more minutes, but eventually he got the suitcase packed well enough to close.

  “Will that be all, Mr. Brown?” the guard asked as John lifted the case off the bed.

  “For now. I’ll have to review the incident reports and see if any questions arise.”

  “Certainly. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you back to your car.”

  Less than three minutes later John was standing beside his car. He got in and shoved the suitcase into the back seat. The engine started, and he pulled out of the garage. The guard in the booth nodded as John passed.

  John drove down the hill and out to Fort Point beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. The cool air was thick with moisture and fog would probably roll in again as soon as the wind changed direction later in the day.

  The business at the Pacific Rim bothered John. He could see three distinct possibilities.

  One: someone high up in security at the hotel had helped Caitlin’s attackers.

  Two: someone, be they government or corporate, broke into a very sophisticated security system to get something Caitlin didn’t even know she had.

  Three: Caitlin was lying to him.

  He didn’t like the last choice. Regardless of how much he’d changed over the years, he still had that special pain of unrequited love.

  The second choice was almost as troublesome, even if it didn’t involve a betrayal of trust. To break into Pacific Rim’s security system was one thing, but to remain undetected even after being searched for was another thing entirely. The technology existed, he was certain of that, but it was almost exclusively in the hands of huge corporations and even larger governments.

  However, Caitlin did believe government agencies were involved. That made the second choice the most likely. But getting to one of the higher-ups at Pacific Rim would involve significant coercion. It was the simplest solution, but John didn’t believe in using Occam’s Razor except when absolutely necessary.

  He pulled his notebook computer from beneath the front seat, and then slipped the thumb drive from Captain Ferguson out of his pocket and into the computer. In a few seconds, he was reading the official report.

  The report was detailed, well constructed, and totally believable. Guards were in her room within two minutes of her pressing the panic button and yet the room was clean. That indicated more than one person was involved.

  There was still the murdered cabby. John had been listening to the radio all morning but hadn’t heard anything about a shooting. Caitlin had given him the name of the cab company and they could tell him whether the guy was still breathing. First, he should verify the police report.

  John pulled the ‘Cuda out of the overlook and headed down the Golden Gate Promenade into the city. He hadn’t gone far before he noticed the green, two-door sedan tailing him. Tails weren’t uncommon, and occasionally John found them to be useful. This case for instance. The tail knew something, more than John did anyway, and therefore, he was going to be helpful if John could convince him.

  He did have a few misgivings about the tail picking him up so soon. He was almost positive that he hadn’t been followed away from the hotel, so how had they sniffed him out? Regardless, he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity.

  John led him along, without indicating he’d spotted the tail. Now that he had him, the last thing he wanted was to lose him. He went past the marina and turned south into an area he was well acquainted with. John used to laugh at movies when people had trouble shaking a tail. Normally, it was a lot easier than they made it seem. In fact, many times he had trouble holding on to one. This was one of those times.

  When the tail first showed up, he expected it to be the Feds Caitlin had seen the night before. But the longer they followed him, the more certain he became that they were amateurs.

  The guy had trouble keeping with him in traffic. He continuously got out of position, allowing John to mane
uver without responding. Once John had to go two blocks out of his way because he couldn’t have made the turn he wanted without losing the tail.

  Finally, John found what he was looking for. He maneuvered in front of a city bus, just as it stopped to pick up a half dozen or more passengers. Between the traffic and the bus, his tail had to wait until the bus pulled away from the curb. By then, John was two blocks away on the side street. He slowed, waiting for the tail to make the corner. Once they had, he took the next left before they could accelerate enough to catch him. John knew this route. He could maintain the speed limit and still keep them from gaining too much ground. Each time he turned, they were just pulling onto the street he’d left. With luck, they wouldn’t even suspect he was leading them on.

  He made his last turn into a side street and put the gas pedal to the firewall. His tires squealed as the 440, Six-Pack, V-8 shot the ‘Cuda across the concrete. A block away he slammed on the brakes, made a quick right, accelerated, braked, and then turned right again. He pulled out onto the main street just in time to see his tail turn down the corner he’d taken. John accelerated after them and reached the side street as they cruised past the first turn he’d made. It was just shy of a hill that hid the rest of the street. The hill would lead a tail to think his quarry had continued on. At the top of the hill, they’d find the narrow street dead-ended at a deserted warehouse.

  They were effectively trapped.

  John accelerated rapidly and reached the top of the hill about the same time his tail realized they’d missed a turn. They slowed and started a three-point turn in the middle of the street. John burned more rubber off his tires as he slid to a stop behind them.

  For the first time, he could see the faces of the men in the car. There were two of them. Both had Asiatic features, Japanese, or maybe Korean, he couldn’t always tell. Before they could react, he leapt from his car and ran to the driver’s door. When the driver tried to open it, John kicked it shut and bent down so he could watch both of them through the glass.

  John motioned to the driver to lower the window, and he did. Dark sunglasses hid the driver’s eyes.

  “Can I help you?” John asked.

  “Your car is blocking mine. Please move it.”

  The driver’s answer helped him confirm the Japanese suspicion. He spoke in excellent English, but John still detected the hint of an accent.

  “I assumed you wanted to talk, that seems only right since you’ve gone to so much trouble to follow me. Now I’m here, and we can talk. What did you want?”

  The driver didn’t bat an eye, but his partner twitched toward his door handle. The driver placed a hand on his partner’s arm, restraining him.

  “Following you? You must be mistaken. We turned down this street by mistake.”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m open to convincing.”

  The passenger made a quick comment in Japanese. John didn’t catch all of it, but he seemed to be offering to do the convincing. The driver snapped back at him in the same language to be patient.

  John maintained a straight face as if he hadn’t understood the exchange.

  “Please,” the driver said. “Why would we be following you? We are simple businessmen who are late for a meeting.”

  The bulge in the armpit of his partner’s custom tailored suit belied the simple businessmen remark.

  His question was another matter. It could be rhetorical, or he could be trying to confirm that John was working for Caitlin. If someone at the Pacific Rim had put them on him, they would already know whom he worked for. How else could they have picked him up? But they hadn’t been behind him when he left the hotel. He was sure of that.

  John decided to go on a fishing expedition. “Well, if you weren’t following me then you must accept my apology. Perhaps I was overly cautious. But when you’re in possession of ... Never mind, I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  He made a slight bow and turned toward his car.

  Three steps later, the driver called out. “Excuse me, perhaps I was hasty. I, too, am cautious. We should talk.”

  John stopped and turned back to the face the driver who now leaned out of his window.

  “Perhaps,” John said. “What did you have in mind?”

  The driver’s words were slow and calculated. “As businessmen, we are always on the watch for ... lucrative investments. If you have something of value to sell, we could, perhaps, talk.”

  John waited to give him the impression he was thinking it over. “I don’t see where talking could hurt. Perhaps we could meet later, over drinks.”

  The driver hesitated now. Was he playing the same game?

  “Assuredly,” he said at last. “Did you have a particular place in mind?”

  “Someplace open, you know breezy. I like fresh air. How about Melville’s, on Pier 34?”

  “I am not familiar with the place.”

  “That’s all right. It’s very popular; once you reach the pier, you won’t be able to miss it. Just follow the crowds.”

  “Ah, excellent. What time shall we meet?”

  “Let’s say five this afternoon. I have other errands to run between now and then.”

  “Very well, I look forward to talking with you at greater length, Mr. –”

  “White, John White.” John stepped back to the window and put a business card in his hand. “My Web address is on the card. If you find, you can’t make it I’d appreciate a note to save me the trouble of going down to the pier.”

  The driver’s gaze roved across the card and he nodded, once. “Certainly Mr. White.”

  He offered John neither a card nor a name.

  John returned to his car. This time, they didn’t call out.

  ***

  Caitlin watched the waves crash against the bay’s retaining wall and nervously eyed her watch. John had been gone nearly two hours, and she hadn’t heard from him. She couldn’t sit still much longer. As long as she sat there, she thought of Scott and of the cab driver. Scott must have been involved in something that had brought this trouble on her. Unless she could find out what it was, she would never know peace.

  She turned away from the blue waters, opened her purse, and took out her computer. She set it on the writing desk and woke it up, then called up their schedule and went over each appointment Scott had kept over the last month. Only three entries made her curious. The three were all with the same man, a Richard Curtis of Curtis Associates in Santa Fe. Scott had never mentioned Curtis Associates to her. That was strange because they always kept each other informed of prospective clients. She cross-referenced the appointments with Scott’s log of business meetings and found that he hadn’t made any entries regarding Curtis Associates. If he was seeing Curtis professionally, then he should have logged the minutes of each meeting.

  Caitlin checked the records of company expenses and looked for Scott’s expense vouchers for the trips to Santa Fe. There were none. Maybe he just hadn’t had a chance to file them, but the first trip was nearly a month ago, and her files were up to date. It was out of character for Scott to leave paperwork incomplete. They had been audited on more than one occasion, and Scott was meticulous in his record keeping.

  Was this his illicit business? She needed to get on the Web and find out just what Curtis Associates was involved in.

  ***

  Alain Dewatre sipped his coffee on his apartment’s balcony and watched the morning mist evaporate off the dark waters of the bay. Dewatre was a tall man with overly handsome features that had attracted teasing when he was a boy, but the attention of many women as he matured.

  His phone chirped. He glanced at the display, then rose from his chair, and went inside.

  He had occupied this apartment for three years and had spent a small part of his salary and bonuses on decorating it with fine, but inexpensive art. His taste was traditionalist and there wasn’t an impressionist or cubist painting anywhere.

  Sitting in front of the computer terminal, he ordered up the new message
and read it while finishing his coffee.

  He was smiling by the end of the message.

  They had a hit on the Maxwell search.

  The John Blalock Security Agency had filed a personal security contract for Ms. Caitlin Maxwell with the California Bodyguard License Board this morning. That she would seek protection had been anticipated, but that she would seek it from John Blalock was an unexpected plus.

  He had come across Blalock several times over the last three years. They had lost five excellent sources thanks to Blalock, including the recent loss of the late Mr. Blevins. Blalock had done more to hurt their operations in the Bay Area than the twenty-person operation that NCIX, the National Counterintelligence Executive, maintained in northern California.

  Dewatre spent a few minutes considering his options for acquiring Maxwell or Blalock, and then composed a short message, had the computer encrypt it with a one-time key and transmitted it to his boss.

  CHAPTER 13

  John pulled away from the Japanese. They didn’t follow. He made a couple of turns, just to make sure. There was no sign of them.

  The Japanese businessmen were going to be a problem. For one thing, they were carrying weapons. The Japanese didn’t carry weapons often, at least not handguns. Firearms were restricted in their country, and it wasn’t a simple matter for them to get a concealed weapon permit in San Francisco. But money and connections have a way of bending the law.

  It was the type of businessmen who carried firearms that concerned John.

  So far, he had at least three separate organizations after Caitlin, assuming the killers and the government agents didn’t work for the same group.

  John was also concerned that the Japanese hadn’t known the name he’d used at the hotel unless they were very good at keeping a straight face. You could never be absolutely positive. It might mean that someone set them on him at the hotel. The person must not have heard his name mentioned, but he was sure that everyone he’d come in contact with had heard it. They could have been listening in with a bug or maybe a parabolic microphone and picked up his mentioning Caitlin, but why wouldn’t they have heard his name? And why hadn’t they followed him all the way from the hotel? He was willing to bet they hadn’t been following him until after he left the overlook.