Love is Murder (10 page)

“Please.”

I saw her put her hand on Bristol’s shoulder, lean down and speak to him. When she walked away, the color was coming back into his face.

I brought up a program that wasn’t supposed to exist, and launched it. The tracer lines formed on the screen.

Someone shouted from the other room. The video feed was active again.

Angela sat quietly, the fear in her eyes reaching through the screen. The kidnapper was now wearing a full-head Count Dracula mask.

Good, I thought. He’s cocky enough to play with us.

He picked up the microphone again. I got closer to the screen.

No wires.

I turned back to the desk, lost in thought.

“What is that?” Beth asked as she set a cup of coffee on the desk, looking at my screen.

“I call it Piranha.”

“And it does what?”

“Hunts. Like piranha up a river.”

Agent Bristol came into the room, holding a sheet of paper. He handed me a printout. “One of the other guys has been tracing IP addresses and the physical locations,” he said.

I took a quick look at it. “Give all this to SAC Keyes,” I said to him, handing it back, “and get some agents down there. Contact the network admins of those hotels. We’ll need their help. You go with them.”

“Me, sir?”

“You. I want someone I can count on ramrodding this.”

Bristol looked at me for a moment. “Yes, sir.”

“No need to call me
sir,
” I said. “I’m not your boss.”

“I realize that,” he said as he left the room.

His words hung in the air for a moment.

Beth turned to me. “That was nice of you.”

I shrugged it off. “He’s not the first guy who booted over a photo like that. He won’t be the last. The day you stop being sickened is the day to get out.”

“I sent it to Quantico to see if they could identify it,” she said.

The Justice Department keeps a running database of obscene and violent photographs confiscated over the years. If there was a match, they could solve an old case.

Or they’d be forced to open a new one.

I started yet another program. “He’s wireless.”

“We know that.”

“We also know things most people don’t. A wireless device, like a camera or microphone, is a device we can find.”

“You can do that?” She sounded like I was telling her there really were invaders from Mars involved in this.

“Connecting via wireless shows up on a scan of said network. He’s piggybacking off three we know of. We should be able to isolate this down to a few hundred feet.”

She said nothing.

“The problem is,” I continued, “I’ve got to catch him in progress.”

“Okay. And?”

“He’s rerouting every time.” I paused for a moment. “Can we get a screen in here? It would help if we could see it real time.”

Beth didn’t waste time asking questions, just walked out to arrange it. She came right back. “Five minutes.”

“What was in his last message?”

“Bidding is now at three hundred million dollars, traced to a cybercafé in Kabul.”

“Better and better.”

“Sometimes,” she said, “this is a game of patience.”

“Sometimes, people die while we’re waiting.”

She didn’t reply.

* * *

Bristol and his team were now within shouting distance of the area we’d identified, waiting for the signal that would send them into action. More than fourteen hours since Jeff had called me.

Just give me one shot, you sick bastard. Just one.

As if he heard me, the screen in the room came to life. Angela looked okay physically, but the fear in her eyes was a tangible thing, so tangible it reached into my chest and squeezed.

It was a Wolfman mask this time.

Hang on, baby
, I told her in my mind.
We’ll find you. I promise.

“Pay attention now, people!” he crowed through the voice distorter. “Bidding is now two billion dollars. That’s BILLION. Auction is ending shortly, so get your bids in now!”

He rattled on. I tuned him out and frantically smacked keys. I had one good shot at finding him, if that. One.

A flash of light, a flicker, and it was on my screen.

Beth was waiting, encrypted radio in her hand.

“Fremont and Main,” I told her. “Close to the Gold Dust Saloon.”

She paused. “How solid is that?”

“Ninety-nine point nine.” She relayed the information to Bristol.

Jeff came into the room. “Did we get him?”

“I think so.” I stood. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Jeff asked.

“There.”

They both got quiet. Very quiet.

The authority in Jeff asserted itself. “Nicholas, you can’t do th—”

“Don’t waste my time.” I held up my car keys. “I go with you, or I go on my own. Either way.”

Jeff hesitated a moment longer, then called to get a car.

* * *

The Downtown Experience was in full swing.

The after-work crowd was around, heading for the bars and nearby clubs. Tourists gawked and gaped at the flashing neon above them. It was a far cry from what I remembered growing up, but what was not?

Jeff nodded his head as we got out, and Bristol walked over from where he’d been standing, trying to appear relaxed.

“Unless we can do a floor-by-floor search of these buildings, we’re screwed.” Bristol’s frustration was apparent.

I let my eyes roam everywhere and nowhere, drawing in all the information I could. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I’d know it when I saw it. She was here, she had to be.

I just had to find her.

Jeff turned. “Bristol, you’re with me. Beth, you and Nicholas look around. Discreetly. We don’t want to spook this guy.”

Beth linked her arm through mine, instantly turning us into a couple out for a stroll. Her touch went through me like a jolt of electricity. In reflex, I shoved the old memories away and concentrated on the task at hand.

We walked along, pretending to be noticing nothing but each other. There had to be an answer, there had to be.

We walked down one side of the street, crossed at an intersection, then back. All three hotels were within line of sight. I smiled to myself as we walked past where the Sunset Theatre used to be. I’d spent most of my youth in that movie house, watching films so atrocious drive-ins rejected them.

I stopped.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you still smoke?”

“No. Why?”

“So I’m not standing here doing nothing,” I said.

Sandwiched between Altair’s and Buckingham’s, two of the older hotels, was a small alleyway. Off to the side, an almost-hidden doorway to an office building. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never see it. It looked like a remnant from the 1950s, which it probably was. A sign posted read Second Floor Loft Available.

I tried the front door.

It opened.

Beth grabbed my sleeve.

“Nicholas, we can’t just barge in there.”

“
You
can’t.” I smiled at her. “I’m not an FBI Agent. Just a private citizen.”

“Dammit, Nicholas.”

“Just a look-see, I promise.”

“Christ, no wonder Jeff warned me about you.”

“As if you forgot,” I said as I entered the small lobby. Three floors. The first and third floors listed a small law firm and a dentist, respectively. Lights were on in both offices; people were still there.

I headed up the stairs to the empty second floor. Beth started to say something unladylike, then reached under her jacket and drew her service pistol. Her left hand held the encrypted radio she’d brought from the office. “Turn that down,” I whispered as I went up the stairs. “If you hear anything, call the cavalry and charge.”

I took off my safari jacket and slightly tore my shirt pocket. A couple of pens I’d stuck in there flopped down, held in place by their clips. I wished I had a pocket protector and some ugly eyeglasses, but I was improvising.

The hallway was a little better lighted than I’d hoped, but the point of no return was in the rearview mirror now. I stopped in front of the big steel door on the second floor and knocked.

Knocked again, harder.

There was faint, very faint, shuffling inside.

I whammed the door as hard as I could in an effort to provoke a response. Social Engineering for Dummies 101: make enough noise, human nature will respond.

A voice from inside growled, “Yeah?”

“Frass mublenore, sir, I need vam moments of your time.” I deliberately made up nonsense words and slurred my speech, making it impossible to understand.

“Fuck off.”

A little girl’s life was at stake, and I was betting one hell of a bluff on an empty hand.

“Ah, sir, please. My sobbs tells me I have to get my zumblekoms up. Frashawanna, I won’t leak five numblety of your time.”

“I said get lost!”

“Sir, if I can treak to you, I’ll keep my bojalam,” I said, putting a whine in my voice. “Mlease.”

Silence.

“Sir?”

More silence.

“Sir?” I tried again, pounding on the door. Enough noise, and anyone in the building would get curious. He couldn’t afford curious neighbors.

Come on,
I thought,
open the door and send the pain in the ass away. Come on. You’re human. Everyone else is stupid, beneath you. You’re superior, do it just to get rid of me. Come on, one little click.

Silence.

I thought I’d blown it. A small panel in the door suddenly slid open, startling me, and a pair of eyes glared out. I tried to look as inoffensive as possible, slouching my shoulders, forcing my stomach out.

The man who opened the door looked average in every possible way. Stare at him for an hour, you couldn’t describe him a minute later.

“What?”

I lowered my voice and mumbled more nonsense, fumbling for a moment. “I’m busy,” he said.

“I understand that, sir, and I appreciate your time,” I said as I tried to see inside without being obvious. “If I could just… .”

There was a slipper on the floor. A child’s slipper.

With a cartoon tiger on it.

Winnie the Pooh…

And Tigger, too!

Sometimes, the most outrageous gambit pays off.

“I asked you a question,” I heard him say. “Who the hell are you?”

My foot lashed out in a heartfelt and sincere effort to blast his testicles through his nostrils. “I’m Van Helsing, Monster Boy!” There was a satisfying
thud
as my foot connected.

Behind me, I heard Beth sprinting up the stairs, barking orders into her radio. The guy landed on his back, in a fetal position.

Checking my conscience for any shred of mercy or compassion, I found none. “Are you here alone?” I asked.

Tears ran down his face as he glared at me. I lifted my foot again. “Are. You. Here. Alone?” I repeated.

He managed to nod in the affirmative. I hoped it hurt.

Beth came charging in, gun drawn, with a glare a blind man could translate as “You
better
be right.” She disappeared around a corner, and it got quiet.

The guy tried to get to his feet, both hands cradling himself. I put my foot on top of his hands and pressed to hold him still. He still tried to get up. I leaned down, aimed carefully, and hit him as hard as I could with the heel of my hand between his eyes while my weight came down on his crotch.

He screamed nicely.

A barrage of footsteps sounded up the stairwell, getting closer. Jeff and half the team blew past me. Bristol stopped and looked down at the man I had pinned with my foot, just as we heard Beth’s voice.

“Dear God.”

No one in the room moved.

Her footsteps echoed down the hallway toward us.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my lungs started cramping.

Beth came back out from wherever she’d been.

In her arms was Angela Frazell.

Alive.

Angela looked at all of us, then at the man being none too gently yanked to his feet and handcuffed. Taking a breath deep enough to make her little chest puff out, she bellowed, “YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Alive and mad as hell.

“He will, honey,” Beth said. She carried her out the door and down the stairs to where other agents were waiting.

I waited until I was sure the two of them were gone before I turned back.

“The people you work for murdered three federal agents,” I said to the handcuffed man. “You’ve been taken into custody by federal agents.” I paused, my eyes never leaving his. “I’m willing to bet you’ll resist arrest along the way.”

Bristol took in the disheveled state of the guy, turned his head slightly and winked at me. “Looks like you were forced to defend yourself,” he said.

I kept a straight face and replied, “I’m lucky to be alive.”

I turned and walked down the stairs.

* * *

Jeff was doing a flawless impersonation of a man about to have an aneurysm and coronary occlusion simultaneously over my behavior, but Angela’s presence on the return trip made him play nice. I knew I’d hear about it, eventually.

I also knew the Bureau would call me again if they needed to.

In the backseat, Beth was whispering to Angela and soon had her giggling just like a four-year-old should.

Jeff parked, and the three of them headed for the glass doors. I took two steps toward my car before Beth’s voice stopped me.

“Nicholas?”

I turned and looked at her. She handed Angela to Jeff and came toward me. Jeff carried Angela through the glass doors and inside.

“I’m sure the president would like to speak to you,” she said.

“Sorry, Beth. Not my kind of thing.”

She looked at me closely. “This is—”

“I was never here,” I said, interrupting her. “‘Supervisory Special Agents Elizabeth Canton and R. P. Bristol, under the direction of Special Agent in Charge Jefferson Keyes V, handled this extremely delicate matter and achieved a safe resolution.’”

“You sound like a press conference.”

“Probably won’t
be
a press conference. This will be classified beyond words.”

She thought that over, nodding.

“You’ll have to be debriefed.”