by Hines
Police have since gathered security camera footage from the lounge where the two met, enhancing the images released to the public on Saturday. Police also hinted at other gathered evidence, but refused to disclose its nature, citing the case as an “ongoing and developing investigation.”
Viktor Abkin commended the police department’s fast work in a statement released late Saturday. “I intend to fully cooperate with investigators, and all of us at ATM2GO want nothing more than to see Anita and Ted safely returned.”
The subject in question is described as . . .
Lucas stopped reading, turned to look at people around him. No one was staring. Mother Teresa, her two kids in tow, was walking out the front door of the shop.
He closed the paper and tried another bite of the donut. Between the first bite and the second bite, it had somehow lost its flavor. Lucas chewed slowly a few times before washing it down with a sip of coffee. But even the coffee now tasted bitter.
Viktor. He never would have imagined it . . . and yet, he should have. It was obvious, from their meeting, that he was a man looking only for the best angles for himself. Now he’d been able to finger Lucas for kidnapping his wife and business partner. Probably had his life insurance claims already filed as well.
And Lucas had done quite a bit to help him. He’d been in Viktor’s house twice, leaving physical evidence—most likely a fingerprint or two, since Lucas hadn’t exactly been careful while inside the home. He’d called Viktor’s cell phone number, which would be verifiable with records. He’d have to ditch the TracFone now; he’d never be able to use it again unless he wanted to advertise his location to the police. He’d met with Viktor at Split Jacks, helpfully allowing his image to be recorded on security cameras.
Lucas propped his elbows on the table and rubbed his face. Time to plan his next move. Even with something as simple as a baseball cap and sunglasses, he wasn’t horribly concerned about being recognized; as always, everyone looked, but few people saw. But physical evidence might lead a trail back to him at some point. He’d never been fingerprinted or booked into a police station. He didn’t exist to the federal government. And that was just what he wanted. Still . . . perhaps something in the records from the orphanage? He didn’t recall any specific tests or samples, but most of those memories were fuzzy.
This simply meant he would have to be more careful and plan his next moves. Viktor had added a huge wrinkle to all of this by putting Lucas in the middle of a police investigation, and that meant Viktor would need another visit.
But then, that’s exactly what Viktor and the police would expect him to do. Which meant, if he did nothing for now, he’d confuse the issue. Keep quiet long enough, and he’d possibly convince the police it was time to take a closer look at Viktor’s story.
There was a catch with that, of course: Lucas didn’t know if the other two were, in fact, missing. Strike that. He was pretty sure they were missing but unsure if they were still alive.
If they were, waiting might not be the best option. True, they had been plotting to kill Viktor, but that didn’t mean they necessarily deserved to die. In any case, he didn’t feel any particular need to stick his neck back into a three-ring circus of people who were plotting to kill each other.
He stood and walked to the door, hearing the young lady at the counter call out a “Thanks!” over the tinkling of the attached bells.
Viktor would have to wait, he thought as he headed toward the Metro. The unwelcome publicity complicated matters, certainly, but it really had no immediate effect on him. He would let Viktor slide; right now, Saul was the priority. Then, the next Creep Club meeting.
Talk about the wrong priorities.
LUCAS DEPOSITED THE OLD TRACFONE IN AN ALLEY DUMPSTER, FOUND A kiosk, and bought a new one.
From there, he made his way back to his secret stash near the Washington Monument. After his first meeting with Saul, he had jettisoned the briefcase onto the tracks. But he had kept the files, discs, and wrapped packages, all packed away in the basement of an abandoned building. Now it was time to check on those; there might be clues that would tell him what his next steps should be. How to prepare for his next Creep Club meeting. How to prepare for his next Saul meeting.
For a man who loved to be alone, he was finding himself in a lot of meetings.
After a ride on the Metro, Lucas exited the underground tunnel and made his way to the old brick building. Instead of entering the building, however, he casually walked on the sidewalk in front of it, baseball cap low over his face and sunglasses hiding his eyes. He had to check out the vicinity, make sure the area wasn’t being watched.
A quick sweep of the perimeter didn’t show any obvious signs of surveillance crews or stakeouts. It had been a few days, and he thought it unlikely the stash would be watched for more than fortyeight hours with no sign of him anywhere.
Of course, that was before his face had been plastered all over the front of today’s paper.
He cut down the alley, pushed aside a garbage can, and boosted himself through the basement window of the building. In a few minutes, he had uncovered the stash and now took a closer look at the contents.
He knew these items would be marked, tracked. After all, if people such as Donavan had easy access to things like geopatches, there was no telling what kind of technology was available to spooks who worked for the federal government.
He leafed through the dossier of papers. Background information and files on people known to be members of Creep Club. About half the files were complete; the others were sketched in with photos and some rudimentary information. A few had absolutely nothing on them except a name on the file tab.
He paged through the files, searching, and was surprised to find no folder—empty or otherwise—prepared for Donavan.
He put aside all the files, unwrapped a small rectangular package, and revealed a cell phone. He smiled. As if he were going to use a phone given to him by a government agent. Or a government spy, as the case might be.
The next package was a box with a few DVDs, tube-cams, a miniGPS system, and a couple other pieces of electronic equipment he didn’t immediately recognize.
He set all this aside and turned to the last package. He unwrapped it and stared at it for several seconds.
He had no idea what it was.
It was a cube, roughly the size of one of those old Rubik’s cube puzzles, but solid. It felt like it was made of granite or marble or something similarly cold and hard. Its surface was the darkest black he’d ever seen—so black it seemed to actually suck light from the immediate vicinity.
The appearance made him expect the cube to be heavy and solid. And yet, it was light. He held the cube up to his face, shook it lightly. He thought something inside shifted, but he couldn’t be sure.
A quick examination of the cube’s exterior surfaces revealed no buttons, no clasps, no hinges. It was smooth and solid everywhere. Something told him this cube was a container holding something important, but he had no idea what. Or how to get to it.
With a tinge of regret, he wrapped the cube in its paper again, shoving it and all the other items back into his secret hiding spot behind the bricks.
Nothing immediately useful to him in Saul’s packages, but he hadn’t expected there to be. More than anything, he felt he had needed to take a look at the items before contacting Saul again; for now, he had to play along with the whole charade. Until he had more information on Saul and what he was involved in, Lucas had to look like he was working with him.
After hiding the packages and replacing the bricks, Lucas went back to the nearby Metro tunnel and took the train to L’Enfant Plaza station, where he walked across the giant tile floors and found a quiet bench near the corner. He pulled out his new TracFone and dialed Saul’s number from memory.
After one ring, the line connected, but no one spoke. Lucas waited a few seconds before speaking himself. “I’m calling for Saul.”
Lucas heard a creaking sound on the li
ne, a chair maybe, then Saul’s unmistakable voice. “Got something for me?”
Lucas watched people hurrying toward the gates that would carry them elsewhere. “Maybe.” He paused. “How about we meet?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Now works. Where you at?”
Lucas smiled. “As if I’d tell you.”
Saul chuckled. “Just because I’m a government agent doesn’t mean you can’t trust me.”
Which government? Lucas asked himself quickly before pushing the thought away. He looked out the window and saw the giant white spire that was visible from almost anywhere in the DC area. “Let’s make it easy,” Lucas said. “Meet me at the Washington Monument in half an hour.”
“I think I can find that.”
Lucas let Saul’s obvious sarcasm slip by without comment as he closed the TracFone and powered it down.
That’s when he heard a sound he recognized: low notes on a guitar, floating through the air toward him, carried through the building from somewhere outside.
He stood and walked out the doors, pausing to get his bearings at the top of the steps. Across the street, next to a giant statue and spraying fountain, he saw a hunched figure on a box.
He crossed the street and stood in front of the man again, waiting for a pause. The guitar player tilted his head back, holding a long note, then opened his clenched eyes.
“Well now,” he said as he segued into a new tune, his hand sliding up and down the guitar neck. “Seems to me you spend way too much of your time in train stations.”
Lucas smiled. “You too.”
“I got somethin’ special for you,” the guitar player said, and he slid into the tune without waiting, strumming the opening bars as his eyes closed again. After the first twelve-bar progression, he began to sing.
Got those crumblin’ down blues, baby Got me some crumblin’ down blues Got those crumblin’ down blues so bad Feel ’em clear down in my shoes Did me some dancin’ with the devil Said he’d have to take his dues Now I’m digging with that shovel Cuz I got them crumblin’ down blues
The guitarist did a quick flourish and finished the song, then opened his twinkling eyes and stared at Lucas again.
Lucas threw some money in the guitar case. “Keep playing that guitar,” he said and turned around. As he walked away, he heard the answer:
“Keep digging with that shovel.”
SEVENTEEN
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, HE SAT ON A BENCH ABOUT TWENTY YARDS FROM the base of the Washington Monument. Out here, with no nearby tree cover, the wind whipped across the ground, making the flags surrounding the base of the giant pillar flutter. Lucas tilted his head back, leaning against the bench and enjoying the sun beating down from a blue sky above. He closed his eyes, listened to the breeze, the nearby traffic, the chatter of tourists mingling softly.
“This seat taken?” It was Saul’s voice, right next to him.
Lucas smiled, keeping his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Best to play this cool. “Knock yourself out,” he said. “Free country, last time I checked.”
He felt Saul settling onto the bench next to him.
“Don’t know where you’ve been checking,” Saul’s voice answered. “All the stuff I’ve been reading, people seem to think we’re living in a fascist state. Country’s taking away all our rights, telling us it’s hunting for terrorists.”
Lucas smiled. “Are we?”
“Are we what? Taking away rights, or hunting for terrorists?”
Lucas cocked open an eye. “Both, I suppose.”
“Funny, that’s what I was just gonna say.” Saul crossed his legs, letting his trench coat fall open, and stared up at the towering monument above them. He put a hand on his bald head and rubbed it for a moment, as if massaging away a headache.
“It’s kinda warm out,” Lucas commented. “You really need a trench coat like that?”
Saul had one eye closed as he squinted into the glare of the sky above. “Government spook dress code. No way around it. So what you got for me?”
“I’ll have the date and place for the next Creep Club meeting later today.”
“Really? You don’t think they’ll just go back to the Stranahan?”
“I didn’t exactly make a great first impression,” Lucas said.
“They’ll want to avoid me. Especially after they find out about . . . last night.”
“What about last night?”
“One of the Creeps—goes by the name of Dilbert—got himself in a bit of trouble.”
Saul smiled, picked a bit of lint off his slacks. “And you just happened to be there to save the day,” he said.
“Something like that.”
Saul nodded. “But not before he got himself knocked out with a baseball bat.”
“So you know about it. Guess I shoulda figured that.”
Saul shrugged. “Yeah, I’m a big baseball fan.”
“He okay?”
Another shrug. “He’ll live.”
“What about . . .”
“The woman?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s in custody right now. Have to answer a few questions. I’m sure they’ll book her on Attempted, but she’s got money. She’ll make bail.”
“Will she beat the charge?”
“Like I told you, she’s got money.” Saul looked at him. “And a tape. She’s probably looking good for self-defense, if she plays her cards right.”
“Good.”
“’Course, that’s not the only videotape I got on my mind right now.”
Lucas nodded. “Guess you’re a newspaper subscriber.”
“For the sports section, mostly. Baseball scores.”
Lucas tilted the sunglasses up on his forehead. “You got any information on that?”
“You first.”
Lucas nodded. “Tried to save the guy. I gave him some footage of his wife and partner planning to kill him.”
“So you played Good Samaritan to a bad egg.”
“You know the old saying. No good deed goes unpunished.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one.”
Lucas smiled. “I think he’s trying to smoke me out with this story in the paper. Hope I make contact again, trap myself. Except—”
“Except you don’t know Abkin; he’s not . . . normal. Be careful.” Saul sucked air between his cheeks, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to him.
Lucas shook his head, waiting for Saul to put a flame to his smoke.
“So,” Saul began, “we’re gonna do a little tit for tat. You give me something useful, I give you something useful.”
Lucas nodded, expecting as much. “I thought we were already doing that.”
“Keep thinking that way, then.”
“I’ll have something from the next Creep Club meeting.”
“I hope so, with that nice little prize package I put together for you.”
Lucas nodded, not saying anything.
Saul stared at him a few moments, then smiled. “You’re not gonna use anything in that package, are you?”
Lucas watched a couple stroll by on the sidewalk, hand in hand.
“Would you, if you were me?” he asked finally.
“No, I don’t suppose I would.”
Lucas looked down at the bench they were sitting on, pretended to read something on the slats. “Made in China. Bench sitting here at the Washington Monument, and it’s made in China. Seems like everything comes from China these days.” He swung to look at Saul, searching his face for some kind of reaction.
Saul nodded, taking another drag off his cigarette before holding it up. “Yeah, well, smokes are still made in the good old You-Ess-of-A,” he said. “We still got a corner on the cancer market.”
He was good, Lucas had to admit. He didn’t rise to the China bait at all.
“So that’s it, Humpty? You called this little soirée to tell me you don’t really have much now, but you’re gonna get me somethi
ng later?”
Lucas nodded. “Hey, I told you I got a good track on the next meeting. Also because I missed your witty conversation.”
Saul flicked the rest of his cigarette to the concrete without crushing it. The butt rolled away, pushed by the wind. Saul stood, stretching his back as he did. He twisted his neck to the left, and then the right, resulting in a ripple of pops and snaps. “I’ll leave you here on your Chinese bench, then,” he said.
AT THE LIVEWIRE CAFé, LUCAS DECIDED IT WAS TIME FOR A FULL MEAL. He looked at his stash; still plenty of money left, but he hated to be draining it like this. He’d need to hit some of his other hidden stashes around the city before long. Better to have a job of some kind, keep adding to his savings.
Except he had a job now. One that didn’t pay. One that just might kill him.
Not exactly the benefit package most people crave.
When his sandwich was ready, he took it to an open computer terminal and sat. Immediately, he went to Donavan’s geopatch page. First he tried the patch he’d left on Saul’s shoe. It hadn’t moved in the last twenty-four hours, still at Saul’s home address. Either Saul hadn’t worn those shoes, or the geopatch had somehow rubbed off inside his home. Or maybe he’d found it.
Next he entered Dilbert’s geopatch number. He scanned back over the last several hours of movement. From the hospital, Dilbert had obviously caught a cab or bus to his home—or at least a place where he’d stayed the next ten hours. This morning, however, he’d been busy, spending a few hours at a location down near Fort Stanton Park. Lucas felt certain this was the location of the next Creep Club meeting, and Dilbert was doing some setup. Lucas would find out soon enough.
He smiled, memorizing the two addresses as he took another bite of the sandwich. Soon he would attend his second Creep Club meeting.
EIGHTEEN
THE YOUNG MAN STARES AT THE SECRET VISITOR AND NODS. THE SECRETvisitor seems happy, happier than the young man has ever seen. “Congratulations,” the secret visitor says, holding out a hand. “Usually, we don’t make such changes with someone so . . . young. You’re a first. A prodigy.”