The Black List (13 page)

Two reporters and an FBI agent, she amended silently. Not that she was about to correct him. The last thing she needed was to end up dead because he mistakenly believed the FBI involvement was
her
fault. Trip was the one to blame for that, and she knew his life wasn’t worth a whit once Barclay learned the FBI was snooping around and he had anything to do with it.

That wasn’t her concern at the moment, and she took a calming breath as she wracked her brain, trying to think of a way to spin this. Somehow she needed to smooth it over before Barclay lost his temper and decided she was more of a liability than an asset. She had no intention of ending up dead like the others. “I can understand your concern about the reporters showing up. But sending someone to the hotel after them was a mistake. Do you have any idea what Micah would have done if he’d learned that a few reporters were kidnapped from his event and later killed?”

“Shed a few tears and order you to send flowers?”

“The man lives and breathes his charity,
as long
as he feels it is doing more good than harm. I’ve worked with him on a daily basis these last six months. I know him, his mental fragility. If you send him into an emotional roller coaster over a few reporters who don’t have a clue what’s going on, you’re going to shut down your biggest cash cow.”

“And how would you know they have no idea what’s going on?”

“Because they think this is one big giant embezzlement case stemming from money Trip allegedly stole. Every question that they asked was directed to that. And since their star witness, Trip, has fled the country, I seriously doubt a two-bit paper like the
Washington Recorder
has the resources to track him down.”

Barclay stared at her for several seconds, and she was certain her heart was beating loud enough for him to hear. Finally he relaxed, sat back in his chair, offered something akin to a smile. He turned his gaze to Willis. “Tell me more about Dorian Rose. You were the one following him before his unfortunate demise. Surely you have some idea about what he told the reporters.”

“Don’t think he said much at all. They weren’t together long enough on the first contact, and since we were listening in on the phone for the second, we know nothing was said.”

“Then where the hell is this missing book? Why hasn’t anyone found that for me yet?”

The man shrugged, and Barclay turned his gaze back to Eve.

As much as she’d hoped to hold this card close, she realized she had no choice but to state what now seemed obvious.

“I don’t think it ever left the country, as we were led to believe. I think it’s right here in London. Why else would Trip return, except to retrieve it?”

21

Tex sat down at
the table inside the tavern near Mayfair, monitoring the numbers they’d copied from Sheila’s phone back in the States, while his partner in the case, Donovan Archer, ordered their lunch. The number Trip called about twenty minutes before Sydney had seen the limo pulling out of her apartment complex belonged to a cell phone with a U.S. number, registered to a name and address they determined were fraudulent. That, however, wasn’t what intrigued him. What made it the number to watch was that it was currently here in London. Tex was tracking it in real time, which is why they settled in the pub about a block from the phone’s location.

Donovan walked up a moment later with two mugs of beer. “Any luck?” he asked, sliding one of the mugs Tex’s way.

“Still sitting in the same place. You get ahold of Carillo?”

“Yeah. He says Sheila’s number still hasn’t shown up on the monitor. He’s sitting tight.”

“Good thing Trip isn’t the brightest bulb, using Sheila’s cell phone to make his getaway . . .”

“Unless he did it on purpose . . .”

“I like my theory better.”

Tex set the phone on the center of the table and they watched the small screen while waiting for their order. The phone hadn’t moved for the last twenty minutes, showing a steady signal coming from the same area. The moment the waiter appeared with their lunch, it changed. “We might want to get that to go. It’s finally moving.”

“Which direction?”

“South.”

Unfortunately, the signal ended somewhere in the vicinity of Claridge’s Hotel, when its owner apparently decided to shut it off, or the signal was lost due to the building’s infrastructure. They walked up and down the block, hoping to pick it up again, but no such luck.

“It would be nice to know
whose
phone it is,” Donovan said.

“Have you tried Sheila’s cell again?”

“Voice mail. And to quote Carillo, ‘Knowing her, she probably let the battery die.’ ”

And suddenly Tex’s phone pinged, as the signal came back to life. “It’s here,” he said. And they looked into the glass-fronted lobby area of Claridge’s Hotel, only to see Eve Sanders standing just inside.

They entered, and she looked over, saw Tex and froze, her expression moving swiftly from confusion to something Tex thought might have been a mix between shock and anger. And then, recovering quickly, she walked over, her brows raised as she said, “Why are you here?”

“Told you,” Tex said. “I’m writing a story on Micah.”

Donovan added, “Are you staying at this hotel? Pretty posh place.”

“And who are you?”

“Sorry,” Tex said. “My new photographer. Donovan Archer.”

“Seriously?” She crossed her arms. “You followed us to London just for a story?”

“You know editors,” Tex said. “They’re sticklers when they want something done.”

“A five-page
nothing
paper like the
Recorder
can afford to send two guys to London to follow up on some
fluff
piece, when every other paper in the U.S. is going bankrupt?”

“I’d think the answer is obvious,” Tex said. “Rich owner.”

“
Very
rich,” Donovan added. “And he’s taken a liking to your boss. Must be all that charity work he does. So here we are, doing what we get paid for.”

“What the hell did you guys do? Call every hotel until you found me?”

“We’re tenacious when it comes to following up a story,” Donovan said. “In fact, we have a lead on some guy whose wife ran off to find Trip. You know anything about that?”

She looked away, clearly upset by this turn of events. But then she turned back to them, her face the epitome of calm as she said, “His girlfriend, I expect. They’re quite the pair. I haven’t seen him since we got here. And I definitely haven’t seen her. I’ll call you if I hear anything. Where are you staying?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Tex replied. “It was sort of a spur of the moment assignment when our boss found out Micah’s next tour stop was in London.”

“I suppose if you’ve gone to this much trouble, you might as well stay here.”

Tex looked around. “Thanks, but no thanks. Our boss might be rich, but I’m pretty sure he’d draw the line at a five-star hotel. What we
would
like is an interview with Micah, then we’re out of your hair.”

She seemed to think about it for a moment. “Fine. I’ll set it up for tomorrow morning. But rule number one, no more showing up at his events. Not after what happened the last time.”

“Not like we invited the robbers.”

“No. But apparently they zoned in on you over this thing with Trip’s friend, Dorian, and my duty is to protect Micah. Whatever Dorian and Trip were involved in, I don’t want anything to do with that. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly,” Tex said, then tipped his finger to his forehead. “Appreciate your offer, ma’am.”

“I’ll call the Dorchester to let them know you’ll be by tomorrow, say ten?”

“You’re not staying here?”

“No. This is where Micah’s event is tomorrow night.” She took out her cell phone. “It
is
just the two of you, right? Your FBI agent friend isn’t here with you? What was her name?”

“Sydney Fitzpatrick. And no, she’s apparently done with the case.”

Eve moved off to make a call, and Donovan leaned toward Tex, asking, “You think she’s really calling the hotel?”

“Don’t know and don’t care,” he said, his gaze firmly planted on her backside as she walked toward the front desk.

Donovan eyed Tex in disbelief. “You talk about Griffin with Fitzpatrick? You’re scaring me.”

“No harm in looking, Donnie boy. Besides. What’s not to like?”

Tex’s phone rang and he answered the call.

It was Griffin, saying, “I have some intel.”

Eve walked up at that moment, so Tex said, “Can I get back to you? Reception’s a bit spotty.”

“Call me when you’re in a secure location.”

Eve smiled at them. “Everything’s set for tomorrow at ten. I don’t suppose the two of you have a couple business cards? I’ll make sure they get to Micah so he knows who to expect. And if I hear anything on Trip’s girlfriend, I’ll call.”

Donovan and Tex both pulled a card from their breast pockets and handed them over, and Tex followed it with, “Looking forward to tomorrow.”

Carillo glanced up
from the computer monitor, a look of hope on his face, when Tex and Donovan returned to the safe house.

“Eve hasn’t seen them,” Tex said. “Or so she says.”

“Now what?”

“Do what you’re doing. Watch for Sheila’s cell phone to pop up on the screen, or Trip’s if he happens to ever turn his on. Start calling hotels she might stay at. In the meantime, we’ll keep looking.”

“She’ll be fine,” Donovan added.

Tex returned Griffin’s call. “You rang?”

“Two things. Lisette’s flying into London to help. I want her to connect with you first in case you’re able to find any other threads we might have missed.”

“You said there was something else?”

“Confirmation that Fitzpatrick’s assessment of Eve was spot on. There’s more to her than meets the eye. We’ve got visual intel showing Eve talking to known arms dealers outside of the capitol. On more than one occasion. Just want you to know what you’re dealing with. I’m faxing the photos to you now.”

22

Eve stood at the
corner waiting for traffic to clear, this time making sure she looked to the right before she rushed across the street. Lou was inside the pub when she got there, at a table in the corner near the window overlooking the quiet street near Paddington Station.

“You’re not going to believe who showed up here,” she said when he handed her a beer. “The two reporters.”

“I thought you weren’t worried about them.”

She slipped out of her coat and hung it on the back of the chair. “Not when I thought they were on the other side of the Atlantic.”

“Any idea what they’re doing here?”

“If they’re to be believed, chasing after Micah for a story.”

“You don’t believe them?”

Eve sat back, eyed the thin head of foam at the top of her beer, then took a long sip. The slight bitterness was refreshing after her hurried trip out here. “This has turned into a goddamned nightmare, I’m not sure what to believe. They’re staying here in London.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Trip swears he told them next to nothing, and since he knew next to nothing, I believe him. But the fact they’re even here is scaring the crap out of me. I do
not
want to end up in a body bag because two Clark Kent wannabes are searching for clues to a Pulitzer pipe dream—assuming they really are reporters. There’s something about them that’s not quite right.” She reached into her coat pocket, pulling out their business cards. “See what you can find on them.”

He read the names, then slid the cards into his pocket. “Have you heard anything on where this book might be?”

“No. But like I told Barclay this morning, I don’t think it ever left the country.”

“So now what?”

“Divide and conquer. I have a feeling that Trip is going after it. Which is why you need to follow him tonight. Failing that, he trusts me. I think I’ve convinced him to hand it over once he gets it.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I think it’s a little late to be asking that, don’t you?”

It was almost
five, the streets around Trip dark. He watched the building until he saw Byron coming outside into the gated courtyard to light up a cigarette. Thank God for bad habits, he thought as Byron flicked his lighter, cupping the tip of his cigarette against the cold wind, the tip glowing as he inhaled. Trip pulled his hood over his head, shoved his hands in his pockets, then walked to the locked wrought-iron fence, saying, “Spare a cigarette?”

“Sure.” Byron reached into his pocket, then looked at Trip for the first time, really seeing him. “Are you
mad,
coming here?”

Trip pulled his hood down lower in case anyone might be looking out the windows. “I need to know what you know about this book.”

Byron glanced behind him, then motioned Trip to one side of the gate, where a tall hedge in the courtyard blocked the view from the office. “That depends. Why?”

“You’re all in danger,” Trip said. “You need to get rid of it.”

“As much as it’s worth? Besides, it’s our only insurance. I have a wife and a kid—”

“Dorian is dead.”

“Exactly,” Byron said. “So I’ll be damned if I give up the only thing that’s probably keeping me and my family alive right now.”

“The only reason you’re alive right now is that they think
I
took it with me to the States. They killed Dorian when they thought he had it, and since they didn’t find it there, they either think I brought it back or it never left. And which do you think the logical conclusion will be?”

Byron stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to keep it?”

A feeling of dread swept over Trip as he envisioned any number of things happening to the book. “What on earth did you do with it?”

“Don’t worry. It’s safe.”

“ ‘Don’t worry’?” He reached through the wrought-iron fence, grabbed Byron by the front of his jacket and pulled him so that Byron’s face was wedged against the cold iron bars. Byron’s eyes widened as Trip demanded,
“Where is it?”