by Dean Atwood
“I’ll have somebody take care of it. We have a suite at the JUIAF you can use. It’s primarily used to house special detainees. You’ll be comfortable there — and safe. We’ll worry about a more permanent safe house tomorrow.”
With a look of relief, Blaire ended the phone call. “How was that?” she asked.
“Perfect,” Quinton said. “Our dilemma with the body disposal is resolved and Warren has taken you back into the fold, where you can keep an eye on him for me.”
“Sooner or later, he’s going to find out that you and I are romantically involved. When he does, he’s going to feel betrayed by me.”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“Easy for you to say. This is my career on the line.”
“Warren’s DIA, not NSA. I’ll help smooth it over with your NSA supervisor.”
“I guess after what’s happened today, my job security should be the least of my worries. I’ll try to keep it in perspective.”
“Yes, we both need to do that. Are you ready to get out of here or are you getting attached to this home?”
“It’s a nice place to visit for a short time — but I wouldn’t want to live here.”
“It won’t take long before the person who hired the hitman realizes he failed. Until then, you shouldn’t be in danger. But, I’m going to follow you to the JUIAF as a precaution.”
“Will this ever end?” Blaire asked. “Will things between us ever be like they were?”
“We’ll find out who’s behind this. As for us, too much has happened for us to go back to where we were.”
Blaire pulled him closer to her and kissed him. “That’s a down payment on what I owe you,” she said. “I’m sorry we don’t have more time for me to deliver on my promise I made earlier today, to remove any doubt about my interest in anybody except for you.”
“Pummeling with a flashlight, a knee to the groin, and a kiss aren’t exactly what I had in mind for tonight, but I’ll give you another chance to prove your point, when the place and time are right.”
Chapter 30
A s the lieutenant approached the Jefferson Theatre, she could hear that the evening performance was still underway. The events were generally over by eleven and the departing crowd dispersed by midnight. She looked up at the building’s second story, which was highlighted by three arched windows separated by Roman Columns. She’d never seen anyone look out those windows, but she always checked before going to her room. The main entrance was at ground level. It looked like a typical movie theatre entrance with posters of upcoming attractions on the outside walls and a brick patio, leading to the front doors. It was empty except for one loiterer, whom she’d seen hanging around there in the past, listening to the performance from outside.
Dr. Bit had told Lieutenant Mad that the Jefferson is the oldest theatre in Charlottesville and has quite a storied past. It was built as a bank in 1901 before being converted to a vaudeville performance and silent movie theater in 1912. During the early days, what was now her basement room was occupied by travelling vaudevillians. In the 1970’s the theater’s reputation was tarnished when mostly X-rated movies were shown there. The locals nicknamed it the Skinema. In recent years, it had returned to respectability as a live performance theatre. Except for the lack of a private bathroom, the lieutenant was comfortable living in the basement of the historic building.
She approached the theatre from the brick walkway that was across from the Jefferson. She checked the surroundings for anything out of the ordinary. For the first time since she’d moved into her living quarters, something was amiss. A man in his forties, sitting on a bench next to the Jefferson, was wearing an earbud that was attached to what appeared to be a smartphone. He looked like a man who didn’t belong there. His lips were moving; however, he didn’t look like a person who’d sing along with music. Most likely, he was talking into a microphone, communicating with someone, nearby. About fifty yards in front of her, seated at an outdoor table by a restaurant, the lieutenant saw a professional looking woman dressed in slacks, talking to the sleeve of her blazer. These two needed a lesson on how to do surveillance without being noticed, she thought.
The lieutenant pulled down the visor of her hat, turned around, and headed back toward Quinton’s townhouse.
***
Blaire’s BMW turned onto the private drive leading to the JUIAF. Quinton slowed down and watched her car disappear up the road before speeding up on route 29, heading toward Hydraulic Road. A lot had happened since he was driving the same route at noon. He thought the day was finally winding down — but he was wrong.
When the phone rang, QT fumbled in his pockets to find the one that was ringing. He answered his personal phone. “Quinton Target,” he said.
“QT, it’s me again.”
“Lieutenant Mad? You’re going to need to buy more minutes if you keep calling me.”
“I’ll send you the bill for the extra minutes. Did you call Blondie and tell her about the hitman?”
“Yes, I did. He came after her like you said he would, but she was waiting for him and managed to kill him before he killed her.”
“Apparently, your NSA girlfriend is tougher than she looks.”
“Yes, she is.”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but whoever hired him will send another one like him to come after her.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad things worked out for you and Blondie, but that’s not why I called. Is she with you now?”
“No, she’s at the JUIAF.”
“Good, because we need to meet in person, right away.”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“At your place.”
“What’s so urgent that you want to move up our meeting time? Not that I’m complaining.”
“I’ll explain when you get here. Keep an eye out for spooks when you arrive.”
“Are you expecting a visit from one of the intelligence agencies?”
“I’m always expecting the worst when it comes to the spooks.”
“I’ll be at the townhouse in ten minutes. If you see anything unusual before I get there, let me know.”
“You can count on it.”
Chapter 31
W hen Blaire showed the security guard at the front gate her ID, he smiled and said, “We’ve been expecting you, Cyber Analyst Saunders. Colonel Smithers personally called me to make sure you’re escorted into the JUIAF. Drive to the front of the building. Two soldiers will be waiting for you there. They’ll bring you to Special Agent Warren.”
“I didn’t know I’d get the VIP treatment,” Blaire said.
“There’ve been more people searching for you today than were looking for Lee Harvey Oswald after the Kennedy assassination ... Not that I’m putting you in the same category as a wanted assassin.”
“I get your gist.”
“Welcome home,” he said and returned her ID. I’ll let your escorts know you’re headed their way.”
“Thanks,” she said, but she didn’t feel like she was going home. She felt more like a wanted criminal, turning herself in to the police.
As the guard at the gate had told her, two armed soldiers were waiting for her in front of the facility. When she rolled down the window, one of them said, “Please turn off the engine, give me your keys, and get out of the car.”
“What? I’m unarmed and not dangerous.”
“This is for your safety, ma’am. A soldier will park your car and bring your keys inside the building to you. The two of us will accompany you all the way to the colonel’s office.”
Blaire got out of her BMW and looked around, as if she were scanning for snipers. When she saw the helicopter hovering nearby she said, “Are you expecting an attack?”
“It’s precautionary. We’re making sure the perimeter is safe for your arrival.”
“Safe sounds good to me.”
Riding on the elevator with a 6 ft. 4 in. soldier on each side of her, st
ruck Blaire as being overly cautious. She wasn’t totally certain whether they were protecting her from potential attack or making sure she didn’t change her mind and bolt for the exit. The soldiers weren’t kidding when they said they were going to stay with her all the way to the colonel’s office. They didn’t leave until they knocked on the door and Special Agent Warren opened it to make the custody exchange.
“Please sit down,” Warren said. “It’s good to have you back on the job.”
“I’d say it’s good to be back on the job, except right now all I can think about is taking a hot shower and going to sleep.”
“Yes, of course, it’s been a trying day for you.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I have a few questions, and then I’ll take you to the suite.”
“I think I’ve already told you everything I’m aware of but ask away.”
“Did you notify the FBI that you were returning to the JUIAF tonight?”
“Yes, as we agreed earlier, I notified them I was meeting you here tonight and I’d be available for an interview tomorrow.”
“And, were they OK with that?”
“Yes, I talked with Agent Target. He said he’d be at the JUIAF in the morning to question me.”
“You didn’t tell him about the situation at Jeremy’s house tonight, did you?”
By the way Warren asked the question, Blaire assumed he hadn’t shared with the Colonel that she had killed the hitman, only that she’d been staying in Jeremy’s home. “No, I didn’t tell him anything,” she said with a straight face.
“Cyber Analyst Karen Williams was monitoring your NSA account today and noticed it was accessed. Was that you or did someone hack into your account?”
“It was me.”
“How’d you gain access? We were tracking all of your known computer devices and were unable to locate any of them.”
“Jeremy had a computer at his house and I used it. I masked the IP address to prevent anyone from identifying the PC’s location.”
“Did you leave the computer at the house?”
“Yes.”
“Our clean-up crew will pick it up and bring it to us, so we can analyze it further.”
“You did a search on a former NSA employee named Amanda Thiel. Why were you interested in her?”
“I was checking Jeremy’s computer for anything that could lead me to the person who killed him. Pictures of Amanda were on his computer, so I did a search to find out who she is.”
“Did you make a copy of the contents of Jeremy’s PC?”
Blaire looked at John Warren and held her gaze for a moment. This was beginning to feel like a hostile interrogation. “Yes, I made a copy,” she said.
“Perhaps, you should give it to me for safe keeping. I’ll have Todd Andrews and Karen Williams analyze the files further tomorrow.”
She took the USB drive out of her pocket and handed it to Special Agent Warren. “Other than photos of Amanda Thiel and Jeremy’s houses and cars, I didn’t find anything useful on his computer. Maybe, Karen can find something I missed.”
“I’m curious. The phone you called me from tonight wasn’t your NSA mobile phone. It has an untraceable number. Where did you get the phone?”
“I found it at Jeremy’s house.”
“It would be best if you turn that over to me, too, in case it has pertinent information on it.”
“It was a burner phone that had never been used. It was still in the package, so it wouldn’t contain anything useful. But, I can’t give it to you anyway because I disposed of it on the way here. I didn’t want to keep a device that could be used to track my position. It was probably untraceable, but I’m a little paranoid after what’s happened today.”
Warren frowned, indicating he wasn’t totally satisfied with the answer, but he didn’t pursue further clarification. “Is there anything else you want to tell me tonight?” he said.
Blaire wondered whether he already knew about her relationship with Quinton and was giving her an opportunity to confess. “I can’t think of anything, but if I remember anything additional after a good night’s sleep, I’ll let you know.”
“Remember, we’re all on the same team at the JUIAF. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“I’m an open book.”
“FBI Agent Target will be very demanding when he interviews you, tomorrow. You need to be honest with him, but not at the expense of jeopardizing Project Typhon. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Counter Intelligence Agent Daphne O’Connor is working with Agent Target on the case. She was still at the office when you called Special Agent Warren, so I asked her to pick you up a change of clothes, as you requested,” the Colonel said, “You’ll find them in your room.”
“Thanks for that. As you can see, I look a mess,” Blaire said, although it would take more than a little blood on her blouse to make her look bad.
Colonel Smithers had been surprisingly quiet during the interview. Blaire assumed that Warren and she had agreed ahead of time that he’d do the questioning.
On the way to the suite, Warren ran out of small talk, but Blaire didn’t mind. She was exhausted and was all talked out herself. The suite was on the top floor. When they arrived, an armed soldier was standing at attention by the door.
“Is he necessary?” Blaire asked.
“We want to err on the side of caution,” Warren said. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk about options for safe living arrangements while we complete Project Typhon and the murder investigation is in progress.” Blaire was too tired to argue.
Warren took out a key and unlocked the door. When they entered, Blaire saw a queen-size bed with her overnight bag resting on top. She also noticed a shopping bag from Belk’s, which she assumed contained the clothes that Daphne had bought for her. On the nightstand next to the bed, she saw her car keys. She peeked into the bathroom. The shower looked inviting.
“I hope the room meets your needs,” Warren said.
“It’s perfect.”
“Come to my office when you get up in the morning.”
“OK, goodnight.”
Blaire felt like she was in a prison cell, but it was a comfortable cell and she could leave, if that was what she wanted. After Warren left the room and closed the door, she removed the clothes from the Belk’s bag. Fortunately, Daphne had thought to buy underwear, socks, and pajamas in addition to the jeans and top she’d requested.
She unzipped her overnight bag and examined the contents. Her NSA phone was still there, but she suspected that somebody had copied its contents before delivering the bag. Unbeknownst to Warren, she’d given QT a USB drive with an unaltered copy of Jeremy’s computer files. She’d permanently deleted the real estate documents that referenced Lighthouse Technologies from the USB copy she’d given to Special Agent Warren.
Her hacking kit was still in a pouch inside her overnight bag. She opened the pouch and removed a small, electronic device, which was designed to pinpoint hidden bugs and video cameras. After scanning the bedroom and bathroom, she felt assured that she wasn’t being spied upon.
Blaire removed her clothes while looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She used her hand to brush her tangled hair away from her eyes. She smiled at her reflection, indicating that she didn’t think the stress of the day had altered her attractiveness.
As she stood under the warm, shower spray and closed her eyes, events from the day flashed through her mind. It was easily the worst day of her young life. At that moment, she’d much rather be in her own shower at the townhouse, preparing to go to bed with QT than being in a suite at the JUIAF. But, things could be a lot worse — she could be dead. She turned off the shower, dried off, and put on the shorty pajamas Daphne had bought for her.
She crawled under the covers and adjusted the pillow to her head. She thought about Jeremy and how she’d lowered herself to be intimate with him because her superior had made it part of her job responsibili
ties. She didn’t have to agree to it. It was a clear violation of the NSA’s sexual harassment policy for a man in a position of authority to even suggest such a thing. QT had sensed something was going on between Jeremy and her. She could see clearly now that if Jeremy had lived, she would have become even more intimate with him because Special Agent Warren had asked her to do it. QT would have found out she’d cheated. Blaming her superior for her infidelity wouldn’t pass the litmus test. Loyalty means everything to QT. Being disloyal is the one thing that would cause him to end their relationship.
Her last thought before falling asleep was, I’m glad Jeremy is dead. My secret is safe.
Chapter 32
Q uinton parked in his reserved space at the townhouse complex. After getting out of his SUV and locking the doors, he took a moment to admire his Honda Pilot. It was relatively new and fully loaded. He’d been proud of it — until Blaire had shown him the Bugatti Chiron in Jeremy’s garage. It had reminded him that the rich and famous live by different standards than the rest of us. It was inevitable that some of the have nots in the world, like Jeremy, would take shortcuts to become one of the haves. As for QT, he wasn’t overly materialistic, but he would’ve loved to have taken that Bugatti for a spin.
Quinton had an uneasy feeling that someone was watching him. He turned his head in a quick jerking motion and looked across the street. Lieutenant Mad was sitting at a table. He smiled when he saw her trying to be inconspicuous by hiding under her trademark UVA cap.
Realizing she’d been made, she got up from the table and walked toward the row of townhouses. QT watched her as she crossed the street. Even in her unfeminine clothes and marginal state of cleanliness, she was stunning.
“Lieutenant Mad, what has you concerned enough to move up our meeting time?”
She nervously looked up and down the road she’d just crossed and said, “I’d rather not talk about it out here. Somebody could have a long-range microphone pointed at us.”