“Hours for letters and courier envelopes, longer for packages,” Wilson answered. “Especially if there’s anything suspicious about the parcel.”
“Right, so there’s a risk of delay plus a risk of detection if they use normal channels,” Evarts said. “I just can’t believe these books would be sent by any regular method. Too risky. The people manning the Acceptance Site and off-site mail center are not slouches, and they have budgets large enough for the latest detection equipment. The Ikhwan will find a different manner of getting these book-bombs into the proper hands.”
Their food arrived. Two salads for the women and a cheeseburger with fries for Evarts. Baldwin exercised daily and probably Wilson as well. Evarts didn’t understand how women could remain physically active without real food.
After consuming a few bites, Wilson said, “You mentioned book signing, but Huntington’s not going to show up to sign books. He’s persona non grata on the Hill. Besides, are review copies signed?”
“Seldom,” Baldwin answered. “Maybe one-offs for friends who help with editing.”
“So … not a signing.” Evarts said with his burger posed near his mouth. “But I still like the idea of chasing down the logistics. Here’s the rub: any scenario which would require them to be picked up personally would raise the risk of someone discovering that the manuscript’s a fraud or inadvertently setting off an early explosion.”
“What if the timer did more than time the explosion?” Wilson asked. “What if it also released the lock on the mock vault?”
“You mean the vault couldn’t be opened until a specific time?” Baldwin asked. “Could it be made secure enough that it couldn’t be pried open?”
“For the moment, let’s assume it can,” Evarts said. “Then the remaining problem is how to get it into the hands of the senator or congressional member. Let’s check on events tomorrow night.”
“I can do this quickly,” Wilson said.
She made a call and after a short conversation appeared disappointed.
“Strike out,” she said. “The Army congressional liaison says there are no group events between now and summer recess. Too much business on the docket. Some small meetings over meals in the next few days, nothing more.”
“Who’s meeting with whom?” Evarts asked.
“They’re self-scheduled, so there’s no master record,” Wilson answered. “Our congressional liaison has breakfast meetings for Thursday and Friday. It was her only opportunity to do a little lobbying for the Army.”
“Lobbyists?” Baldwin asked excited. “Could they be a conduit?”
“Oh, that’s an idea,” Wilson said. “They give books to members all the time. Books are exempt from gift prohibitions.”
Evarts remained skeptical. “But how would they get lobbyists to act as couriers? What’s in it for them?”
“Hold on a sec,” Wilson said as she went to her phone again.
Evarts and Baldwin heard her ask about any special gifts by lobbyists prior to recess. She listened in silence and then profusely thanked the person on the other end.
“Better news, this time?” Evarts asked hopefully.
“You aren’t going to believe this,” Wilson said. “The congressional liaison says it’s an open secret that a few key lobbyists have advance copies of The Vault. The lobbyists don’t even need appointments to hand them out because everyone on the Hill is clamoring for a copy, and most have tasked aides to pick them up personally.”
Evarts hugged his wife. “What a call. I never would have thought of lobbyists.”
Everyone was grinning, but their faces froze when Wilson said, “That’s not all.”
“What else? Come on!”
“Books can be picked up any time Friday. Each copy is supposedly encased in a hard-plastic vault with a timer that won’t release until seven PM Friday night. Everyone gets to read it at the same time … wherever they are. They’re calling it the best book-launch stunt ever.”
“Bingo!” Evarts exclaimed a little too loudly.
“Hey, keep it down,” someone said from the next table. “I’m trying to hear my news feed.”
Evarts looked around and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. The other customers were also engrossed in their electronic devices.
“Has something happened,” Evarts asked.
“I’ll say. Congressman Johnson of New York has been killed in an explosion.”
Chapter 47
They all checked their phones for news. Congressman Roger Johnson had been returning to the capitol when his limo exploded. An aid said he had been running an errand during the lunch break. Since Johnson’s car had pulled onto capitol grounds, the Capitol Police had jurisdiction for the investigation. When the chief was interviewed, he said he had invited the FBI to assist with certain aspects of the tragedy. Evarts assumed certain aspects included analysis of the explosive materials.
“Let’s get out of here,” Evarts said.
In a few minutes they paid the bill and returned to Wilson’s room. Since these were government ordered rooms, Evarts and Baldwin had not been assigned a suite, nor had they attempted an upgrade. Evarts had reminded Baldwin that they needed to change their habits.
“I guess he was eager to see the contents,” Evarts said from a seat by the window.
“Now we know what happens if you try to pry it open,” Baldwin added.
Wilson was sitting on the bed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t know if he even had the book, no less was tampering with it.”
Evarts and Baldwin both gave her a long look.
Wilson gave up. “Okay, it looks plausible.”
Evarts smiled. “You’re a good cop, sergeant. We shouldn’t get ahead of the evidence … except in a critical time crunch. Then you need to make a few calculated guesses.”
Wilson nodded. “We have enough. We need to report to General O’Brian.”
“Do it,” Evarts said. “Tell the general this is a handoff to his team. Remember, we’re in New York on a mission. We need to get over to Methow’s.”
Wilson nodded and made the phone call. Evarts and Baldwin listened to Wilson’s side of the conversation, occasionally interjecting a point or concern. It was short, like all calls with O’Brian. When she ended the call, Wilson appeared pleased.
“We have his thanks,” Wilson said. “He thinks our scenario makes sense and he’ll get an investigative team right on it. He instructed us to hold off on Methow until tomorrow morning. If The Vault is the delivery system, they can thwart it without alerting Methow that his identity has been blown.”
“What did he say about Jakarta?” Evarts asked.
“Ali as-Saad is there with two assistants, but the CIA asset couldn’t get close to their quarters. Security at the faculty residence is tight. Guest academics want their privacy. He’ll audit his class tomorrow, which is this evening for us. His plan is to shadow him after class as long as he can.”
“Okay, then we have the afternoon free,” Baldwin said. “Let’s catch up on our sleep.” When everyone nodded, she added, “Meet for dinner at seven?”
When they returned to their own room, Evarts said, “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?” Baldwin asked.
“Everything about this plan has been brilliant … except this. Think about it. A congressman sits in the back of a limo, fiddles with the plastic casing and boom, the bomb goes off. The books weren’t supposed to be distributed until Friday. How did he get hold of one on Wednesday?”
“Lobbyists are influence peddlers,” Baldwin said. “If an early handoff gets bonus points, few could resist.”
Evarts shook his head. “The Ikhwan know that. They’d have safeguards. I’ll bet the books aren’t delivered to the lobbyists until tomorrow. Early detection would not only alert authorities, but it would also inform the publisher about this hoax, and they’d rush to deny that review copies even existed. No, this is too sophisticated of a plot to allow one rogue co
ngressman to spill the beans.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“This may be a diversion.”
“How can we tell?” Baldwin asked.
“We’ll know soon enough. If the investigation leads us away from a book or lobbyist, that’ll mean it’s probably a diversion.”
Baldwin stretched. “Then we can get on with our initial intention. Let them investigate while we nap.”
“Well, that sounds a hell of a lot better than—”
Evarts phone rang. It was Wilson.
“Yeah,” Evarts answered.
“General O’Brian received the Capitol Police and FBI preliminary results. Bad news for our theory. The bomb was a crude, makeshift device. The congressman picked up the parcel at his campaign manager’s office. It was so big and heavy, his driver carried it to the car. The bomb was a crude blend of precursor chemicals. The type of chemicals acquired easily in other countries. Johnson was a Democrat, and the Capitol Hill Club was Republican. The FBI thinks this was a message to the other side of the aisle that nobody’s safe. They further believe these are the same terrorists. The general concurs.”
“The M.O. is different,” Evarts said.
“Not that different. The Capitol Hill Club detonator and timer were crude as well. Albeit the explosive was military grade. Had to be to cause the damage they wanted with a briefcase bomb. The FBI is assuming two teams. The first bomb coming from the A-Team and the second executed by a B-Team with less access to the good stuff. The profile they’re using for the terrorists is that they’re more lucky than skillful. In conference, few believed that these terrorists have the sophistication to fabricate an effective bomb that looked like a book, especially not hundreds of them.”
Wilson took a deep breath. “One last nail in our coffin; the review copies of The Vault aren’t some devious hoax. The general called the publisher and they are passing out copies to people on the hill.” Another deep breath. “General O’Brian is no longer sympathetic to our scenario.”
“Do you think our theory’s bogus?” Evarts asked.
Wilson didn’t even hesitate. “No way. The Johnson bomb was a decoy.”
Evarts said. “Did you mention your reservations to the general?”
“Vehemently. He won’t drop it entirely, but unless some confirming evidence come to light, his primary focus has shifted back to Reagan National.”
Evarts asked Wilson to give him a moment to think. He paced the room. Were they forcing facts to support their theory? Was General O’Brian taking the politically expedient course? Were the Ikhwan brilliant or inept clowns? Why would Johnson rush over to his campaign manager to pick up a parcel? If a major attack was set for this Friday, why kill a single congressman today?
Evarts spoke into the phone. “Diane, you still there?”
“Yes.”
“The general’s wrong.”
“What are we going to do about it?” she asked.
“We need to get confirming evidence.”
“And how do we do that?” Wilson asked.
“Get over here and I’ll tell you. Naps are cancelled.”
Chapter 48
Evarts answered the knock at the door. Wilson had responded almost instantly. Good. They couldn’t waste time. Evarts could think of no reason for the Ikhwan to target a single congressman. From everything he had seen to date, they liked big, surprise attacks. No warning. Violent and bloody. Enemies put in shock. They were terrorists, after all, which meant they wanted to instill terror in the general population. Bend people to their will through fear. The Capitol Hill Club bomb sent a message that they could kill you in your toniest enclave. The Pont Neuf attack said you weren’t safe taking an evening stroll in heavily guarded Paris. You weren’t safe anywhere … at any time. That was terror. Personal retrieval of a parcel didn’t send the same message.
“That parcel bomb doesn’t fit the pattern,” Wilson said breathlessly.
“Agreed,” Evarts said.
“I don’t understand,” Baldwin said.
Wilson and Evarts explained their conclusions to her.
“Is that confirming evidence?” Baldwin asked.
“No,” Evarts said. “It’s detective instinct. We think different than spooks. We examine known information and look for patterns and things amiss. Spooks look for unknown information and husband it. Different mind sets.”
“So how do we get confirming evidence?” Baldwin asked.
“By doing what we came here to do,” Evarts said. “We see Methow.”
“How do we get an appointment?” Wilson asked. “Or do we tail him after work until we find a place to intercept him?”
Evarts turned to his wife. “Trish, what type of case would be irresistible to an attorney?”
“Obviously, big bucks. Let me think a sec.” After a long moment, she said, “Class action is the biggest roulette gamble in law, but that doesn’t fit Methow’s case history. I say we stick with books and say we have clear evidence of plagiarism in a blockbuster. With solid evidence an attorney of Methow’s stature can force a quick and highly lucrative settlement.”
“What book?” Evarts asked.
Baldwin went to her laptop. After a few keystrokes, she said, “Race to Abort. Number one bestselling novel with secondary formats due to be released next month. If the game is legal extortion, this is the perfect book with perfect timing.”
“How long would it take to put together documentation that looks like plagiarism?” Evarts asked uneasily.
“I thought all you wanted was an appointment. I can do that with a phone call.” She gave him an exasperated look. “Greg, you do know the jig is up as soon as he sees either of us.”
Evarts laughed. “Good point. Then I’ll rephrase. How long do you need to prepare to make the call?”
Without answering she held out her hand for Evarts phone because O’Brian had keyed in Methow’s number along with his business address.
Evarts handed his phone over. “Try for this afternoon.”
“Wait a minute,” Wilson said. “General O’Brian told us to not see Methow until tomorrow.”
“That was so he had time to check our theory. Since he’s now put it on a back burner, I propose we return to the original plan.”
Wilson shrugged and Baldwin punched speed dial. She soon lifted a finger to signal that someone had answered.
“Hello, this is Jane Whitman. I’m calling for an appointment with Mr. Methow. It’s urgent.”
After a pause, she said, “I’m only in the city until noon tomorrow. This is very time sensitive. My preference would be for Mr. Methow to represent me, but if he’s unavailable before I return to Chicago, then I’ll find an attorney there.”
Another pause. “This concerning a plagiarism case. I have files date-marked showing that sections of a huge bestselling novel were lifted verbatim from my manuscript.”
Another pause. “Race to Abort.”
After a moment, Baldwin made a thumbs-up gesture.
“Yes, ma’am, I have digital copies with me. Jennifer Mead got access to my files because three years ago I hired her as a writing coach through Gotham Writers’ Workshop. I guess when I never published, she assumed I gave up on it. Well, actually I did until I read her book and realized big sections of it were my work.”
After another delay, she added, “The urgency is not only my return to Chicago. Race to Abort is about to come out in paperback, audio, and e-book. I want to stop her. That’s stolen property. Also, I read on the internet that her publisher is negotiating theatrical rights with Walt Disney Pictures. We need to get an injunction, or whatever you call it to stop her.”
Baldwin hit mute. “She asked me to hold.”
“Wow,” Wilson said, “you could be an actor. I’ve had undercover officers that didn’t do as well after weeks of practice.”
Baldwin laughed. “This is my wheelhouse. I have numerous bestsellers.”
“Really. You’re famous.”
“Amo
ng historians and readers of nonfiction books. Whoops.” She held up her fingers to signal quiet as she punched off the mute button. After a moment, she said, “Yes, I can manage the first hour fee … yes, and the retainer if Mr. Methow accepts the case.”
Baldwin listened then said, “Excellent. Thank you very much.”
She ended the call then checked to verify it was terminated. Then grinned.
“He’ll stay late. We see him at five o’clock.”
“How do we treat him?” Wilson asked.
“As an ally.” Evarts said.
Chapter 49
Methow rose from his desk, started to walk around it, and then froze.
“Aw, hell, not you!”
Methow’s assistant had escorted them into his spacious and expensively furnished office. She now appeared highly nervous, having apparently made a mistake in facilitating the meeting. In the outer office, Baldwin had introduced her companions as her husband and literary agent. Since they arrived right at five o’clock, she led them directly in to see Methow, who was probably anxious to get home for his first scotch of the evening.
Methow sent his assistant out of the room with a flip of the hand and a harsh expression.
After the door closed, Baldwin said, “Sorry for the subterfuge We need your help. Immediately.”
“How did you … aw, never mind. Why’re you here.”
Evarts explained. “The Capitol Hill Club bomb and the bomb that killed Congressman Johnson were done by your Ikhwan friends. We believe they have something much bigger in mind for Friday. We need your help to stop it.”
Methow appeared perplexed. “Is this visit sanctioned by General O’Brian.”
“Of course,” Evarts answered. “Well, in a way. He told us to get your help by any means necessary.” He smiled. “We’re here today to seek your willing cooperation.”
“Why should I cooperate with you?”
“That’s an odd question,” Evarts said. “Why wouldn’t you? The Ikhwan are a common enemy. You’re at war with them and you tried to stop the Paris attack. These attacks, and the one planned for Friday, are in your own country.”
The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) Page 19