Memoria (13 page)

"Sure,"
Barney
nodded. "You're right, of course.
Max
's in it, too." He paused, then reached out to straighten the brooch under her collar and said decisively, "Our guest's name is Frank Shelby. He's accused of Kathleen Baker's murder. He needs help."

Maggie
opened her eyes wide
. She leaned back, staring at Frank.

"You're joking, surely?"

"Not at all. There's big trouble coming if-"

"Was it Uncle
Max
who asked you to help him?

"It was."

"He used to coach me," Frank butted in.

"Shut up,"
Barney
snapped.

"No, don't," Maggie's face took on a serious, grownup expression. "Let him speak."

Frank and
Barney
looked up at the clock. He
recounted the whole story
in three minutes, giving her the bare bones thanks to the previous experience in the boxing club.

"Yeah, I see
...
" For a few seconds, the girl fell silent. Then she asked, "Which of you has the device now?"

Barney
raised his hand.

"I'd like to have a look," Maggie looked at him expectantly.

Reluctantly,
Barney
produced the hard drive
from
his inside pocket and handed it to his daughter.

"I've seen one like this before," Sh
e fingered the connector. "
Mr.
Binelli, my boss, sometimes uses it in his office. He hooks it up to his personal
workstation
.
"

Frank exchanged glances with
Barney
. What a stro
ke of luck. Binelli's workstation was one of the corporation server's data access points. Still, the veteran didn't look too happy, and Frank himself
could
n't imagine how they were going to access it and copy the data.

Maggie returned the device to her father. A doorbell
rang three times
in the hall.

"That's
Max
,"
Barney
said.

The girl opened the door.
Max
kissed the girl on the cheek and started giving her instructions. She had to go to work as usual and do what she always did.

"Just keep your eyes open,"
Max
dropped
a large golf bag from
his shoulder and put it down in the middle of the hall. "No fussing about, just listen to what they say and try to remember anything relevant.
"

Maggie nodded and gave Frank a wink.

"A
lso, we might need the plans
and layout
of the building
and the security schedule, especially those s
urveilling
the underground parking. Think you can do it?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Barney
's face darkened.

"Go. And don't take stupid risks," the coach said t
a
kin
g off his battered jacket with the
Ya
n
kee
s
logo.

"I won't, Uncle
Max
."

* * *

When the front door closed behind her, the Coach
moved the bag into the kit
c
hen and withou
t
further ado
said
,

"
Barney
, your self-control skills are n
on-existent
.
You need to take a leaf out of your daughter's book. She's good, is our Maggie. Always has everything
clear and businesslike.
"

"What took you so long?"
Barney
chose to ignore the remark.

"I had a tail,"
Max
dropped his bag onto the floor next to the TV. "Been following me from the club
the moment I came back from the
stash
."

He wore faded combat trousers
, a white T-shirt and black soft-soled shoes. He turned to Frank.

"Not to
worry. Those cretins have no idea who they're
playing
with." He pulled up his right sleeve. "
No bracelet."

"Oh," Frank blinked. "How did you remove it?"

"Later,"
Barney
rose, leaned across the table and looked out of the window. "You didn't take the car, I hope?"

"I left it three blocks from here," the coach dropped his jacket onto the stool.

"Who were they? How many, what kind of car?"
Not
waiting for
Max
to answer,
Barney
went into his bedroom.
The flat's acoustics
permitted everything
to
be
hear
d
from everywhere.

"They weren't police,"
Max
opened the fridge and stared inside. "Cops
are much better undercover. There were three of them in a black Jeep, dressed in black
...
"

"
...
no hair," Frank butted in.

"Exactly," the coach turned round holding a milk carton; "How do you know?"

"Same people at the post office.
Not exactly the same ones, but those
too were
bald
and in black."

Max
took a large swig
from
the carton and put it back.
Frank
frowned and buried his chin in his fist. He was trying to remember s
ome detail,
something to do with those
bald attackers
. But he couldn't remember what it was.

"All clear outside,"
Barney
walked back into the kitchen. "But
if
they could suss
you out, they can trace you to me."

"Doubtful," the coach crouched next to his bag.
"When was the last time you came to the club?"

"Today, wasn't it?" Surprised,
Barney
stared at the coach.

"
That's not what I mean," the coach looked up at him. "Do you see me often?"

"Not really, no,"
Barney
fingered his mustache, thinking. "Normally, you come to see me.
You mean
those who're after
Frank will look into his
contacts
first
, and only then
-"

"Exactly. As far as Frank is concerned, you've got nothing to do with him.
"
Max
rummaged through the bag
. Something inside clanged
. "Now they know that I know what he does, but they don't know where to look for me."

"Is that
good or bad?" Frank looked over the coach's shoulder.

Gun butts
protruded
from the bag: two assault rifles with
ribbed handguards.
Max
pushed the guns to one side and produced a bulky laptop
in a rubberized case
. He handed it to Frank saying,

"The
killer
will
start freaking out. And when people start freaking out, they
make
mistakes."

"How do we know
when they do
that
?"
Barney
took the laptop from Frank and placed it onto the table.

"You go and get some rest now,"
Max
rose and un
raveled
the laptop's
power cord. "Frank and I
here
, we'll power up the PC,
watch the TV news and see what comes up in the media. In the meantime, Maggie will be back."

Without saying a word,
Barney
went into his room.
In response to F
rank's unasked question,
Max
explained that before planning a mission, one should gather
as much intelligence
as possible.

"M
ind plugging this in,"
he hooked up the power cord
and handed
Frank the plug
.
"And p
ut the news channel on,
will you?
"

"What do you want me to do?" Frank
passed the cord under the table and
plugged
the laptop
in
. He sat in front of the TV and
za
pped through the
channels lo
oking for the news.

"I wonder if something comes up," the coach sat on a stool and turned the laptop to
ward
him.
"Look at the news
, especially trailers,
and commercial breaks.
"

The laptop's fan hummed. Green and red lights
flickered
on the side
panel.
Max
frisked through his pockets for a pair of glasses.

"
There's a folder in the side pocket.
Whatever you consider odd or note-worthy, write it down.
"

"What, all of it?" Frank reached inside th
e bag for the folder and found
a stack of paper.

"Please do. We'll
deal with it
later.
" Looking at the laptop screen, he tapped in a command.
"Don't hesitate to
call me. I'll listen to whatever you
consider interesting."

"Will do."

"I don't think we'll have to wait long. You think you can d
o it until lunchtime?"

"Pardon
me
?"
Scanning through the news,
Frank took some time to understand the question. "Ah
—
yes, sur
e. I can do it all day if it's needed
."

"It's not.
Barney
will replace you once we've eaten.
We'll have to take turns resting. Tomorrow we need to
be fresh and clear-headed.
"

F
rank watched the news but he couldn't conc
e
ntrate. He couldn't help thinking of the men in black who had attacked the police station. T
hey knew about Kathleen's package
, too, and
had
tried to kill him
at the post office. The blond guy seemed to have been the one in charge. He was the only
one
with his hair on. Or could it have been
a wig?

Frank crossed his arms
and leaned back listening to TV reports. Nothing relevant as yet. The anchor was speaking about the
presidential
election cam
paign
and
the
Republican candidate
Congressman
Russe
l
l Jefferson
Claney
.

Fr
ank was about to turn away when
footage of
Claney
and the acting President came up. The two stood on the lawn in front of the White House
and shook hands
, smiling for the camera.

Slowly, Frank leaned forward
eyeing
Claney
's face
.
The camera
pann
ed in for a close-up, the President's friendly tapping hand on his shoulder.
The shot was replaced with a White House view
—
apparently, the cameraman had
had
a glitch so the director switched ove
r to an
other camera that
was
film
ing
the meeting from the sidewalk behind the fence.
The faces of passersby
flashed on the screen followed by a car, and the picture froze on a blurred image of a taxicab.
Immediately it was
replaced by the anchor's smiling face. He apologized for the malfunction and promised to rerun the story once the problem was fixed.