3 Lies (17 page)

“She’s got some fine assets. But, I guess the answer to my original question, then, is ‘No’. You’re not her type.” Posey scraped the pile of folders from his desk. “Assets. What do you want first? The missing planes or the missing vehicles?” He flopped a file open. “A Cessna 310 is missing from a hangar outside of Elko, Nevada. It was last seen—”

Doug shoved his chair back. “What the hell have you been waiting for?”

Posey’s jaws popped, and his mouth flattened into an angry crease. “I confirmed this information thirty seconds before you walked in here. I had three bites left on my lunch.”

Posey left headquarters once in the last forty-eight hours to get some clothes, toiletries, grab a beer and leave a mountain of food for his cat. His dedication wasn’t a question.

He continued. “It was last seen by the maintenance crew a week ago. The tail number is: November, One, One, Niner, Six, Mike. But we can change it in an instant if needed, so can the next guy. I’ve got the FAA tracing out the traffic reports, but I don’t expect the real numbers were ever used.”

Doug’s leg jittered. “Good work.”

“Yes, it is. But there’s more. A Piper Comanche: November, Juliet, Romeo, Bravo, Niner, Four from Frenchglen, Oregon—”

“Where the hell is—”

“I don’t know. Ditto on the FAA request. Last seen two weeks ago. Both missing aircraft have secondary on-site confirmation.”

“You said something about vehicles?”

“Chicago, San Francisco, Philly, New York, Miami, Denver, and Dallas. Five vans, three SUVs. Two of the vans and one of the SUVs are already back in the stable, each wiped clean as a fresh petri dish. We’re checking with all the state police liaisons. So far, nothing.”

“What about boats?”

Posey handed him a file. “This is all I’ve got so far. I think I have a couple of boats to give you, but I want to be sure.”

“What kind?”

“A little runner and a big one. Big enough for a floating base of operation.”

A reminder sounded from Doug’s cell phone. His meeting with Simon Ferrell started in five minutes.” I gotta run. Thanks.”

He left as Posey reached down to clean up the egg salad from the floor.

The meeting was to convene in another part of the New Headquarters Building. Simon headed up the code review and reported to Natalie for this assignment. From their first meeting, Doug liked him. Maybe because he thought all of Doug’s questions were good ones. Doug jogged down two flights to the basement level and found Simon waiting in the conference room.

“Let’s review what you’ve got.”

Simon turned a sheet of paper around, so it faced Doug. “It’s a relatively short list.”

The names he expected to see were there: Albert and Chester. “Natalie?”

“She was on the original implementation team. Her specialty was system testing. She had access. And she’s good. I heard they code-named her Babbage.”

“Babbage. That would make her the mother of computers then.”

“She’s one of the best I’ve met.”

“If she’s a viable suspect, why would Chester put her in charge? That should break some rule regarding internal investigations.”

“He may not have known at the time.” Simon spun the pen around his thumb. “Maybe he wants to keep an eye on her. I don’t know. I only made the list.”

“Does Chester have a copy?”

“Chester has a copy of everything. Natalie has a copy, too.”

Chester couldn’t genuinely suspect her then.

“What about Albert?”

Simon shook his head. “Need-to-know. Natalie said he didn’t.”

His thoughts whirled like lotto balls, each too wind-whipped to land. “Okay, okay. Let’s review the people I don’t know. Edwin Merkel. What have you got on him?”

“Retired from the Company two months after the upgrades. Died of a heart attack.”

“Bummer. Scratch him. Amanda Mastasi?”

“Retired last year. Has her pension check sent to an address on the island of Cozumel.”

“No kidding? Go, Amanda.” Doug tapped the paper. “But she stays on the list. Charlene Pennington?”

“She left the Company three years ago and runs a bakery in Williamsburg.”

“I went to school there. Which bakery?”

Simon grinned. “Cobbler Stones.”

“No turn-coat could make a cherry cobbler that delicious.”

Simon was unconvinced.

“Okay, leave her on the list. Jorge Ruiz.”

“Promoted. Good guy.”

“That’s us. The Good Guys. The good guy stays on, too. That leaves us with Herschel Herschel?” Doug looked up. “Is this a misprint?”

“No, that’s his name.”

His lip curled. “What kind of parents would do that to a kid?”

“He’s a good friend of mine.”

Doug’s leg hopped. “I’m sorry.”

“So’s he. But he stays on the list.”

Doug decided the reason he liked Simon was his up-front nature. No pretenses, no agendas, no ulterior motives. Yet, he worked for spies. A guppy among piranhas.

Now Doug owned the list and the related intrigue. Possibly danger. He needed some time to get his head around that one. Or sleep.

“So what’s the status on the code?”

Simon sunk a little. “We’re going through it but haven’t found anything concrete. I’ve got a team trying to duplicate the error. They are running a barrage of input schemes—anything not used in the original testing—to see if they can trip the same wire. It’s a shotgun approach, but we could get lucky.”

“I know I’m due.” Doug stood to leave. “Let’s meet again tomorrow unless something comes up sooner.”

“Sure.” Simon continued to spin his pen.

“Is there something else?”

“Chester came by earlier. He told me to go directly to you with any breakthroughs on the code. I’m to bypass Natalie. Has he talked to you about this?”

“No. But, her name is on the list.”

“It gets a little strange when you have to suspect people you trust. It’s like that treasonous bastard Ames or Hansen. They worked for years under the noses of everybody, selling us out name-by-name to the Russians.” Simon gathered his things and rose from the chair. “If I thought for a minute Herschel Herschel put a worm into my code, I’d shoot the son-of-a-bitch myself.”

When Doug arrived back in his office, Chester was waiting for him. “I sent Posey on a break, so we could talk in private.”

Severity lined Chester’s forehead.

“I just came from a meeting with the Director. The military completed the inventory of our nuclear arsenal this morning. All devices are present and accounted for. We have returned to DEFCON 4.”

The cartilage in Doug’s knees liquefied. He’d prayed for this news but never understood the burden he carried until Chester said it aloud. Doug found a seat but no words. Only release from stockpiled panic.

“The Director is relieved, naturally, but we still have a problem. Who the hell is out there? And doing what? Uncertainty is lethal.” Chester tugged up his pants. “You’ve seen the list now. Simon undoubtedly told you about my instructions to keep Natalie out of some information loops. What does your gut tell you?”

His gut.

Normally it kept rather silent, but at the moment it wanted to pitch its contents. The days of synapse-eroding report reviews were over. Doug dreamed of playing in the majors with the big bats. Now he was staring down a fastball hurtling toward the spot between his brows.

“There’s little to go on, sir.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound squeaky. “But I have the list and will begin the investigations immediately.”

“There are some good people on that list. Men and women I’ve worked with and admire.” He pulled on his belt. “Then there’s Albert. I don’t like him, nor do I trust him. But that doesn’t automatically make the man a traitor. It does, however, make me hope it’s him if it’s anyone.”

“You knew Natalie had access to the code, and she wasn’t already involved in this case. Why did you put her in charge of the investigation?”

Chester’s mouth spread. “My gut talks to me. I listen.” He tapped an ear with his index finger. “She’s a damn fine investigator. But that’s only part of the reason I put her in charge.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “You ever read Sun-Tzu?”

Doug knew where this was headed. “
Art of War
.”

Chester nodded. “Keep your friends close. Your enemies closer.”

“Natalie’s the enemy?”

“Or a friend. Either way, we need to be certain.”

Clint left the
No Moor
before dawn to avoid being served the restraining order. Abe’s behavior confirmed Clint’s suspicions that the man suffered under significant pressure in addition to being a supreme asshole. It gave him some satisfaction to know that Beth’s family finally acknowledged her disappearance. Clint wanted to go to the police, but he wasn’t family, and those who were would only deny his statements. They weren’t exactly working as a team.

He spent the hours of waxing light with Louie on a northern beach looking through the morning jetsam. Louie nosed a particular testy crab and received a jagged cut for his trouble. It quenched the dog’s curiosity.

Clint arrived at the first dialysis equipment store when it opened.

The woman behind the counter stood and smiled full-faced at him.

“Hi. My name is Clint Masters. “

“Oh, yes, I know.” She combed through the side of her straight black hair with her fingers. “I’ve seen you in the newspaper.” Her gaze locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile. She stood slowly, slinking around to the other side of the counter.

A pink paisley blouse struggled against the foisted cleavage, and the slacks she’d clearly out-eaten made scratching sounds when she walked. She posed in front of the desk and extended her hand, “I’m Lorna.”

It felt clammy.

“What can I do for you?”

Clint hoped he hadn’t rolled his eyes. The familiar drill tired, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She likely had other issues, plus, he needed her help.

“My cousin ran away. She’s not a kid but not an adult either. She’s seventeen. The problem is she needs dialysis.”

Lorna stroked his arm. She gave a quick squeeze to his bicep. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“My aunt and uncle are worried sick. She’s been dating a much older guy against her parent’s wishes, and we suspect they’re together. We think he may try to get a home dialysis machine for her.”

She made a serious face. “What can I do to help?”

“If you get a request for a machine from a Middle Eastern-looking man or any request that seems unusual, will you please call me?”

“It’s not like he can just waltz in and pick out the equipment. The patient needs a prescription from a licensed nephrologist. Once we receive the order and the patient is properly trained, only then do we send out the equipment and supplies.”

Clint winced. Calling the police to patrol Beth’s neighborhood may have made it harder for her to receive dialysis. The kidnappers would never get her machine if they thought the place was under surveillance. If he’d blown her chance for treatment, he’d never forgive himself.

“Besides. Legally, I’m not allowed to give out any information like that.”

He wrote down a number and pressed the card into her hand longer than necessary.

The woman wobbled on her green platforms. Clint thought she might tip.

“Oh, I know. I’m not asking for any details. I would never want to put you at risk. We only want to know if she gets her machine. We’re hoping she does, of course. You, of all people, know how important her dialysis sessions are.”

She nodded.

“Will you please call me? You know, if you think my cousin’s boyfriend is trying to get her a machine.” He ran his hand down her arm, giving a little squeeze at the bicep.

“I—I will.”

Under different circumstances, Clint might have been ashamed of his blatant manipulation of the woman’s feelings. Desperate times and all that. Besides, she started it.

At the next dialysis supplier, he gave the same spiel. He spoke with another woman, a Southie, who also seemed interested in more than his cousin, but she was less convinced that helping him was a sound idea. Still, she took his number.

After supplier number three, Clint marveled at how quickly he took to lying. With each retelling his poor-frail-cousin became more sympathetic and the boyfriend more malevolent. He made a mental note to reserve this newfound power only for good.

~

By eleven that morning, travelers at Logan International Airport swarmed. Clint left Louie with the truck in the central parking garage and went inside Terminal A. He stopped at the Delta counter to find out where to claim baggage for flight 5508.

Security procedures wouldn’t allow him access to the gate, but he was too jumpy to wait in the truck. He people-watched the passengers by the carousel to pass the time.

Clint hadn’t flown since he picked up the
No Moor
. In the seven years prior to that period, he’d logged over a half a million miles. He didn’t miss the travel, but he did miss the energy of the travelers: packs of foreign teenagers seeing America for the first time, businessmen juggling technology to get information back to corporate, valiant soldiers coming home, the reuniting of families, friends, and lovers.

A woman, who looked a little like Paige but younger, showed off a newborn to the returning father in uniform. The man put down his duffle bag and cradled the baby in his arms. Clint found it difficult to see beyond the ecstatic expressions sparkling through the woman’s face: joy, fear, love, pride, reverence. As words wiped from a blackboard, the vestigial images melded past distinction. He wondered if Paige ever looked as utterly smitten as this new mother. For any reason.

The intercom announcement vied for his attention. “Paging Mr. Clint Masters. Mr. Clint Masters. Please pick up the white courtesy phone.”

Good news never came over a courtesy phone. He found the receiver. “Clint Masters, here.”

“Mr. Masters, we have a message for you from a Mr. Avi Kalush.” The woman sounded young. “He said he’s very sorry, he knows your meeting is important, but he missed his flight out of Tel Aviv. His mother had a medical incident but is fine. He won’t be arriving until tomorrow at the same time. He’s taking the same flight and would like you to pick him up.”