The Janus Reprisal (14 page)

S
MITH FOLLOWED RUSSELL
, who ran down the brownstone’s stairs two at a time. Harcourt remained behind in the safe house, working the phones and coordinating a response. They hailed a nearby cab and tumbled into it. To Smith the ride across the park took forever, but he thought Russell seemed particularly affected. She was sweating, shaking, and turning pale.

“Have you known this agent long?” Smith said.

Russell shook her head. “Only a few weeks, but he’s smart and resourceful. I knew he was a bit inexperienced for a lot of field jobs, but I thought the Nolan stakeout would be fairly routine. All he needed to do was call in a sighting.”

Police cars and an ambulance already clogged the street. An officer stood at the corner, waving cars past the intersection. Russell bounded out and headed to the officer while holding her wallet open to show her identification, but closing it before the officer could scan it. Smith stayed with her, looking down the street and checking each window above, searching for movement. Most were empty. Only a couple of faces peered at the scene, and those were women. None were Nolan.

“I’ve been sent here by Johnson. This is my assistant,” Russell said. The officer waved her through.

“Who’s Johnson?” Smith said to her in low tones.

“His captain. Harcourt just texted me the name. He gave me the ID, too. It identifies me as a special consultant to the NYPD, just like Harcourt, but with a fake name. Technically I shouldn’t be here at all. It may blow my cover. But I can’t just leave him.”

Smith understood her concern. They moved to the car, now surrounded by officers. A bullet hole marred the windshield and blood was spattered over the glass and covered the top portion of the steering wheel.

“Where is he?” Russell said to a nearby officer.

“In the ambulance.”

“Is he alive?”

“So far,” the officer said.

Russell jogged to the emergency vehicle, where the EMTs were working on a man lying on a gurney inside.

“What’s his condition?” Russell said to a paramedic who stood between the open doors in back.

“We’re heading out. Bullet entered his cheek, we think. We can’t tell if it exited or is still in his skull. He’s bleeding pretty badly.” One of the paramedics said, “Let’s go” and Russell stepped back while the EMT closed the doors and slapped a hand on them. The siren started to wail as the vehicle began to wind its way through the parked squads.

Another officer, this one older than the first, wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, navy windbreaker, and a lanyard around his neck that contained a large badge and a nametag that read “Manderi” walked up to Russell.

“You know the victim?” He cast a sharp look at Smith before returning his gaze to Russell.

“I do. He works for me.”

“ID says he works for a technology company in McLean, Virginia. Only thing I know that’s there is the CIA.” The officer gave Russell a shrewd look.

“We do some of their… tech work.” The way Russell said the sentence left no doubt that she was CIA.

“He had a gun on him. Know why he’d have one as a computer technician?”

“Well, tech work for the CIA can be dangerous.” Once again, Russell emphasized the word “tech” and the officer responded with another knowing look. “I’ll ask my supervisor to contact yours. Perhaps they can work it out.”

The officer nodded. “You do that. I’d be interested to hear the details of that conversation.” He directed his attention to Smith.

“You together?”

Smith hesitated. Something in the officer’s demeanor made him wary. “Why do you ask?”

“Just heard on the radio that we’re looking for a man named Jon Smith in connection with a shooting.” The officer stared at Smith. “You look a lot like the photo.”

“What shooting?” Russell said.

The officer tore his gaze from Smith’s face long enough to address Russell. “Landon Investments. Receptionist shot. Video shows that this Jon Smith was the last one who spoke to her before she died.” He returned his gaze to Smith. “You have any identification?”

Smith stilled. “I do not.”

The officer raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have a license on you?”

Smith shook his head. “No.”

“You know this man?” The officer spoke to Russell.

“I’m going to look at the car.” She gave the officer a parting nod and stepped away, neatly sidestepping the questions and saying nothing to Smith. The officer watched her go, then turned his gaze back to Smith.

“Perhaps you’d better come with me. We’ll go together to find your identification.”

“It’s not a crime to walk the streets without identification. If I recall my constitutional law class correctly, there was a Supreme Court case that said so.”

The officer’s brows drew together. “You a lawyer?”

“I’m military. Excuse me.” Smith turned and headed toward Russell, his heart rate accelerating. She stood before Jordan’s car once again, looking into the driver’s side window, then she stepped away and waved Smith to follow her down the sidewalk.

“You have an alibi for the time that you were in Landon Investments? Because it sounds like you’re going to need one.”

Smith nodded. “I was in Nolan’s office. But I have no idea if she’ll vouch for me. Especially since she shows every sign of wanting to stay as far away from me as possible.”

“And you have to reacquire her first. Listen, I’ll arrange to keep your face out of the news for as long as I can.”

“How? That guy didn’t seem too cooperative.”

“Since 9/11 the NYPD has consulted with CIA officers on terrorist issues. Harcourt’s the latest guy out on loan. I’m pretty sure he’ll help bury the story. We’ll tell the authorities that it’s a matter of national security. Back them off a bit.”

Smith nodded. “Thanks. In the meantime, I’ll work on finding Nolan and shaking any information out of her that I can regarding Dattar. Let me know if you locate Howell. I really could use his help right now.” He peered at her. “Your flu getting worse? You don’t look well.”

Russell sighed. “It probably is, and I don’t have the time to be sick right now. We have to locate Dattar and those coolers, in that order.” She brushed her hair from the side of her face. When she did, Smith could see a line of sweat trickle down her temple, yet the air was cool. Smith looked past Russell in time to see the suspicious officer and another, this one in a suit, heading his way. “Here comes the cop. I’ll leave you to handle this.”

Smith spun on his heel and walked away, taking care to keep his steps even and his attitude relaxed. He knew that Russell would contain the situation, but he still didn’t breathe easier until he turned the corner. Once he did, he started jogging toward the park, heading back to the safe house. The phone in his pocket started to vibrate. A quick glance at the screen revealed that it was Marty calling.

“Give me some good news. I need it,” Smith said.

“She’s in a coffee shop near the Flatiron District.” Marty rattled off the address. Smith turned around and started jogging back toward the East Side and the nearest subway station.

“How’d you find her? Her phone?”

“No. Her tablet computer. I found her phone number first. Figured like most professionals she preferred a BlackBerry to a smartphone. I was right, but that meant that I could only give you a vague idea of her location because that technology is older. However, once I hacked her account, I discovered that she has a subscription for data management on her tablet computer. I hacked into
that
and found that she was online on an open network. She still is.” Smith dodged a turning cab as he crossed from the park back into the neighborhood. He was one block from the subway.

“Have any idea what she’s doing online?”

“
Of course.
When you hack an open network, you can see everything.” Marty sounded long suffering. He sighed over the line.

“Marty, don’t wear me out here. Just tell me what she’s doing.”

“She’s trading,” Marty said.

Smith came to a dead stop. “What do you mean? Trading?”

“Just that. She’s trading on the stock market. Buying, selling, you know.”

Smith couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Her life is in danger, she just discovered her receptionist lying flat on her back, dead, and she’s in a coffee shop trading stocks? Is this woman crazy?”

“I don’t think so. From what I can tell she’s covering earlier trades and moving investments around. She’s way ahead in most of her positions. If she were crazy, I imagine she’d be losing money, right?” Smith started walking again. Leave it to Marty to take his words literally.

“That was, in some ways, a rhetorical question. Listen, I’m headed into the subway. Keep an eye on her. Let’s hope she continues for the time it takes me to get there.”

“The market doesn’t close for another hour. I think she’ll stay there until it does. I mean, she’s really into this right now. She’s moving millions of dollars around in various accounts.” Smith heard applause in the background.

“I just heard clapping. Is someone else with you?”

Marty laughed. “No, that was me. I’m speaking to you through a headset. I was clapping at her latest trade. She covered a put with a corresponding call and made seventy-five cents on the spread. That account just gained one hundred and ten thousand dollars. This lady is a genius! A math machine. I can’t wait to see what her next trade is.” Marty sounded more excited than Smith had heard in a while. “I want her to manage my money. Do you think she’ll take me as a client?” Smith reached the subway and swung around the railing, taking the steps downward two at a time.

“Only if she manages to avoid getting killed.”

S
MITH EMERGED FROM THE SUBWAY
and headed to the coffee shop, doing his best to appear relaxed while scanning the area for any threats. He saw Nolan through the window and wanted to groan. She hadn’t even bothered to get a seat away from the glass. Her hair hung down while she tapped furiously on a small keyboard attached to the tablet computer. He grabbed the door handle and stepped inside.

The rich scent of roasting coffee filled the air. The small shop was shaped like a long rectangle and contained hundreds of tins of tea and coffee arrayed on shelves along the walls. One of the clerks worked a long wooden bar that ran the length of the store and at which several patrons stood and downed espresso. A second door at the back led to an attached hotel. Nolan sat at the corner of a counter next to the far wall, her concentration on the tablet complete. He walked toward her. When he was next to her, she glanced up. He sat down at the free barstool next to her and crossed his legs.

“So, should we just sit here until Dattar or one of his henchmen comes along to kill us?” She had stopped typing, which he took as a good sign.

“You need to leave me alone,” she said.

He shook his head. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen until you either tell me what you’ve done to piss off Dattar or you’re dead. Frankly, at the rate that you’re screwing up, I expect the latter to be the most likely outcome.”

She frowned at him. “I’m taking steps to protect myself, which I told you I’m perfectly capable of doing. You should quit wasting your time with me and get back on the hunt for this assassin that’s out there.”

“A CIA agent stationed outside your house was just gunned down.” That got her attention.

“What was he doing there?”

“The assassin? Looking for you to kill.”

“Not the assassin, the agent.”

“Protecting you.” Smith saw dismay race across Nolan’s face.

“I didn’t ask for any protection.”

Smith leaned forward. “Let’s just say for the sake of argument that you, an account executive at an investment house, have enough survival acumen to outwit a paid, trained assassin. If that’s true, then kudos to you, but while you’re making the world safe for financial advisors, the rest of us need a little information. Like why is Dattar gunning for you?” The computer beeped and Nolan directed her attention back to it. “Touch that device and I’m going to throw it out the window.” Smith spoke in a conversational tone of voice. He watched the color rise in Nolan’s face.

“You’re a regular caveman, aren’t you? Threats are your first line of defense.”

“Answer the question.”

She downed the remaining coffee in the cup and dropped it onto the saucer, making a clattering sound.

“I stole his money.”

Smith couldn’t help it; he gaped at her. Her computer beeped and she slid her eyes to it, but didn’t reach for it. A million questions ran through his mind, but the beep reminded him of where he was, and that where they sat was not safe. They needed to keep moving. He stood.

“We have to go.” She shook her head, and the mulish expression he’d learned meant that she was going to refuse settled onto her face. Before she could respond he leaned over, bringing his lips close to her ear. “You’re sitting in the window. One shot to your brain and you’re dead.” Nolan glanced to the pane before returning to look at him. She raised an eyebrow.

“
I’m
not dead, you are. He won’t kill me.” She folded the computer back into its holder and shoved it into her tote. During the whole maneuver Smith noticed that she remained calm.

Misplaced calm, Smith thought. “What makes you think that?”

She rose and moved next to him, so close that he could see the lighter flecks of brown in her dark eyes and smell the perfumed scent of rose and something else that wafted from her.

“Because only I know where the money is. He kills me, he’ll never find it again. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about people like Dattar, it’s that money reigns supreme.”

Her audacity astonished him. And her foolishness. But she was right. Dattar wouldn’t kill her until he recovered his cash. He would kidnap her and torture her until she told him where it was. Smith decided to fill her in on the breadth of her stupidity.

“You’re right, Dattar won’t kill you. He’ll do to you what he did to a health minister of his who had the nerve to urge vaccination for the helpless children under Dattar’s control. He’ll arrange for his henchmen to kidnap you, then peel off your skin piece by piece.”

Nolan’s eyes widened in horror. “I’ve read everything I can about Dattar and I know he’s an animal, but I never heard a thing about any health minister dying. How come the media didn’t report such an atrocity?”

“Because the man was rescued before he died. By me. Let me know how long you hold out.” Smith snapped his fingers. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean that. You won’t be around to tell me, because once you explain to your torturer exactly where the money is, he’ll finish you off.”

Smith turned on his heel and headed to the door. He figured she’d follow him now. Even she wouldn’t be stupid enough to believe she could outsmart Dattar’s assassins now that she knew the full extent of the man’s depravity. As he swung the door open, he glanced back and watched her disappear through the door that led to the hotel.

She was gone.