3 Lies (11 page)

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The officer didn’t argue. His sympathy was apparent.

“What else?”

“You pissed off someone more famous than yourself. In this town, that’s quite a feat. I don’t know the details, but I do know a cruiser was sent out before you even showed up. They expected you.”

The holding cell odor pressed against his nostrils. “They what?”

“None of us wanted to take that call.” The officer spied the hallways. “You and Westerfield are heroes around here for using CatSat to disable cars involved in high-speed chases. Every time you do it, we know you might've saved an officer’s life.”

Clint read appreciation in the man’s eyes.

“I’m a cop, but I also invest in high-tech. I’ve made a small fortune thanks to CatSat. So, maybe I’m biased, but I’m inclined to believe you.” He spoke in near whispers. “The call came from the commissioner himself. I thought you deserved to know.”

“Thanks.”

They arrived at the security door. Todd Westerfield waited on the other side.

The officer shook his head. “Wow. Clint Masters and Todd Westerfield. The Brain and Mr. Flash.”

The monikers had graced more than one headline.

“This is better than an All-Star game.” He whispered behind Clint as he let him through the door. “You be careful, man.”

Todd adorned the near wall in a navy-blue silk suit—custom made on Savile Row. He opened their London office just so he could get fitted. At six foot nothing, he was almost as tall as Clint, but his expense account kept him on the attractive side of husky.

“What are you doing here?”

Todd pushed off the wall with a shoulder. “You look like hell.”

“Look around.”

“I rescheduled a Korean Vice-Admiral to come down here in your hour of need. A little gratitude is in order.”

“Sorry, man. I expected one of your flunkies. I didn’t need bail after all. The police dropped the charges.”

Todd was inclined to think he was the center of the universe, but he tended those in his orbit with fanatical care. Loyal with faults. He was the kind of guy who bailed with you until your boat sank but insisted on having the bigger bucket.

“They dropped the charges only after the impassioned plea of the finest attorney at Jared, Bryant & Lambert.”

“You bastard. You told Paige?”

His red silk tie jiggled with laughter. “Mustn’t keep secrets from the missus. It’s bad form. She did get them to punch your ticket.”

Clint brushed past him toward the lobby. “I will kill you in your sleep.”

“Quit crying, Nancy. You’ve been living on the island too long. What do you think the media leeches are going to do if they get a hold of this story? I can see the headline now.” Todd ran a hand across an imaginary newspaper. “‘CatSat Laboratories Founder Arrested for Judicial Harassment.’ You’ll do wonders for our stock price.”

Clint had forgotten about the media. The jackals had lost his scent in the last couple of months, but he couldn’t jeopardize the reputation of CatSat with his personal matters. While always suspect in the minds of some, most considered the CatSat system highly reliable.

“All right. I won’t kill you in your sleep. But you’ve got to help me get Louie.”

“Your carriage awaits, princess.”

A slender young man opened the door. “Mr. Westerfield. Brenda called. The board wants to meet next Tuesday to review—”

“Later. I’m unavailable for the next few hours.”

A driver smoked a cigarette curbside next to the idling black Mercedes limo, stretched, but not to the extent that caused others to gawk. He stubbed out his butt and put it in a plastic sandwich bag, which he pocketed. On Boston’s municipal infraction scale, littering ranked somewhere below murder but above petty theft.

“Send someone to get Mr. Master’s dog, Louie, and take us to Pongos,” Todd said.

“Yes, sir.”

The driver slipped into the front seat, and Todd’s assistant closed the rear door.

Privacy glass separated their compartment from the staff.

Todd tossed a Bardon’s department store bag to Clint. Clint found a new set of clothes inside.

“You read minds?”

“I can’t take you anywhere I want to eat dressed like that.”

“Always the humanitarian.”

Clint peeled off his clothes and traded them for the comfortable slacks and dress shirt.

“So what the hell happened? Too much time on your hands, or what?” Todd sprawled in the corner.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Clint stuffed his old clothes in the sack. “I’ve been dating Beth Sutton—smart, gorgeous, funny, and she likes me.”

“Go figure.”

“Anyway, we had a date to go out yesterday morning on the harbor, and we were going to take her uncle Abe Melinger. You know, Chief Sonovabitch of the United States.”

“Really?”

“Really. Sutton is her stepfather’s name. Anyway, she stood me up. She hasn’t called. I’ve gotten one lame-ass story after another from her parents and Abe ever since.”

“So she dumped you. Move on. If you’re not getting back with Paige, I know a smokin’ hot—”

“She didn’t dump me. I—, I think she’s missing.”

“Missing what?”

“Missing-gone. Like, no one knows where she is—missing. They keep giving me this all-is-well crap, but why hasn’t she called?”

“What kind of a freakin wuss are you?”

“I know. It sounds lame. But they were scared. Something’s happened.” Clint tucked in his shirt. “Beth is sick. Before we met, she had some kind of kidney failure. Her kidneys are infected, and she needs dialysis until they’re healed.”

Todd recoiled. “No shit?”

“Three times a week.”

“Yikes. Sorry, man. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Unlike Paige, she’s a private person.”

“Wow. A pregnant ex-wife to-be and an ailing girlfriend on the lam. To think I almost envied your departure from civilization, Gilligan.”

“I’ve actually been trying to think of a way to use CatSat to find her.” Clint lay back in the seat. “Something’s wrong.”

“She’ll turn up.”

“I can’t ask the police for help. I’m not family. And her family won’t admit there’s a problem.”

The limo pulled up to the front of Pongos, a brass and glass bistro in mid-town. The assistant called Todd on the intercom, but Todd ignored him. People waited for Todd Westerfield.

“What are you going to do?”

Clint’s head shook. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“My turn. In spite of your Luddite vow, I need you back. R&D is getting jack done without you. All the projects are behind schedule and over budget. Plus the board likes having an egghead around.”

Clint slid down in the seat. “We’ve been over this.”

Todd’s ears turned red. “Clint, damn it. It’s not all about you.” He palmed his thigh and seemed to weigh his next words. “Lookit, even Paige knows she’s been a first-class bitch. You deserve better.” His attempt at calm strained. “But what the hell are you doing on a boat? Other than the CatSat transmissions, you don’t do anything. You don’t sail anywhere. You sit on the dock all day like you’re Otis Redding waiting for the damn tide. You’re parked, man. Your whole life is parked. Or should I say moored?”

Clint held off an urge to get loud. “Let me ask you, why do you work so hard? Do you need more money? Another challenge? Me—” He smacked his chest. “I ran out of reasons. I ran out of reasons to drag my sorry ass out of bed each day. I ran out of reasons to let someone else tell me what I was going to do from the moment I woke up until the moment I fell dead-to-the-world back asleep. If that makes me selfish, then tough shit.”

“But why a boat? You don’t even like the water.”

“I like the simplicity. After Paige, it’s a refreshing change.”

Todd dusted his lapel. “Is that why you’re dating a sick woman?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s a rebound. Most people want to keep dating fun, light, easy after—well, in your case—
during
a divorce. You’ve only known her, what, two months, and already she’s a project. You even got arrested because of her.”

Clint plopped an ankle on his knee. “It’s not like that.”

“Loyalty’s an admirable quality. But you don’t know when to quit. For all you know she could be down in Cabo with the UPS driver.”

“She’s not like the women you date.”

“You got that right. I insist on extremely healthy women. I personally give each one a complete physical just to be sure.”

The smiles returned.

Clint rubbed his ankle with his thumb. “Yeah, I should take lessons from you.”

“You’re my buddy. I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

Todd would. Clint knew that.

“The past months have been rough.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“But, maybe the baby is another chance for you and Paige. Hell, I don’t know. But if you’ve got to chase this new skirt—”

“She not just a skirt. Don’t you get it? This whole thing is surreal. If she wants to dump me, this is the most bizarre set up imaginable. If not, I don’t know. She could be in serious trouble. Either way, I’ve got to find out.”

“I’m sorry. You do what you need to. Just be careful, man.”

Careful.

The cop gave Clint the same warning.

Until recently, that was the only way he’d ever lived.

Doug Bryant worked alone in the strategy room, his coffee cold from neglect, preparing for his briefing with Natalie. He followed data across three monitors. He wasn’t sure which part of the project held the most promise: the chance to investigate genuine espionage or getting up-close-and-personal with Natalie the Femme Fatalie. Then again, sticking it to Albert trumped both those pleasures.

He thought his new-found importance would elevate his stature. It merely left him with fewer conversations. Albert kept him under the microscope but rarely spoke to him. A bonus. Posey, jazzed initially at the break from his routine, expected Doug would ‘fess up on the operation after a few beers. When Doug wouldn’t go out to lift a pint, Posey got all female and quit speaking to him. It almost made Doug glad he didn’t have a girlfriend.

“Bryant.” Chester Spivey barked his name as if it were roll call in boot camp.

Doug resisted a flinch. At least someone wanted to talk to him.

“Good morning, sir.”

Chester stood flagpole straight over him. “What have you got, son?”

“I’m pinging the live assets first. As you might imagine, not all operatives are quick to claim ownership even on the authorized missions.” His hands dropped to his lap. “I’ve got an entire roster of inactives, too. I can’t rule them out.”

“Not if you want a promotion some day. You need any back-up getting agent confirmation, you let me know. I haven’t kicked any butts yet today. What about hard assets?”

“I’ve had Posey and Natalie’s team running those since we broke yesterday.”

“How about planes?” Chester said.

“Nothing so far.”

“Two months ago an Al Qaeda suicide bomber lifted a King Air turboprop from an operation base outside of Timor-Leste in southern Indonesia. He took it upon himself to kill the Australian Prime Minister who was visiting Darwin.”

“The Prime Minister? She’s in good health, last I heard. What happened?”

“He crashed the damn plane before he hit Aussie airspace. It seems the plane he hijacked was grounded for a rudder malfunction. We tracked him as he flew a long, slow arc into the side of a mountain.” Chester sat on the table edge. “Being a dangerous sonovabitch didn’t make him any smarter.”

Simon knuckle-rapped the glass door as he balanced a stack of folders. Chester waved him in. Simon plopped his files on the table and took a seat across from Doug. Stringy hairs lined his scalp.

“Natalie’s on her way.”

Doug pushed his chair back toward the door and awaited her arrival. Not all girls acted like Posey. Or looked like him. Fortunately.

Without greeting, Albert slipped into the room. Doug watched as he settled the broad end of his pyriform body into a chair with a slight groan. A roll of antacid tablets spilled from his black binder. He freed two orange disks and dropped them onto his grey tongue.

“Good, looks like we’re all here,” Natalie said.

Doug whipped around as Natalie breezed by wearing a Ferrari-red dress. It reminded him why he’d been thinking about her since their last meeting. The double line of gold buttons that dotted the front accentuated her pronounced curves.

She got out her files. “Sir. Do you want to give any update on your meeting?”

“Just so you know.” Chester stood at the head of the table, tugging his pants. “My meeting with the Director was one long ass-chewing. While he wants the full resources of the Company on this, he doesn’t want anyone else on the inside. This project must be kept closed. I have instructions to call him at regular intervals.” Chester took a seat. “Natalie, your job is to give me good news for those calls.”

“Yes, sir.” Natalie took notes. “I’ve been in contact with the bureau chiefs at all the major international posts. So far, they’ve nothing unusual to report. How’s the asset sweep coming, Doug?”

Hearing her say his name jolted him from staring at her full lips. “No news yet. I haven’t gotten secondary confirmations. In some cases, that may add risk to the particular mission, so I’ll run it on a triage basis. I expect to start those by tomorrow if not sooner.”

Natalie glanced up at him while she wrote in her files. Her eyes, semi-closed as if adrift toward sleep, generated an entirely new sensual pleasure.

“Uh.” Doug lost his place. “I reviewed the communication procedures in place for asset missions. With current technology, options abound for keeping track of an agent. Though they may employ a different set of communication procedures with each mission, depending on the location and the technology available. Agent safety, of course, is a major factor.”

Albert tore the paper from his antacid roll. He made little effort to suppress the noise.

Doug continued. “The previous agent tracking code was state-of-the-art for the late 1980’s, phone calls, credit card purchases, drop boxes, but the tools we use now were embryonic. GPS served only our military, cell phones were the size of bricks, and the internet was a non-commercial platform.”