Counterfeit Conspiracies (6 page)

"It is that after all," I said, practicing my upcoming speech as I searched for my wallet. "Accounting still has to reimburse me for expenses incurred last week in Italy. If he would issue me a corporate card—"

No point in going on with that tack; there was no way he would. The high balances I carried on five bankcards gave him ample reason to resist giving me another to run up to the limit. I dragged my purse closer and rummaged, looking for the wallet that carried the one credit card I thought I could still use, and my phone. In the process, the business card Jack Hawkes gave me surfaced again.

My first impulse was to crush it under my heel, but first impulses aren't always best. Little benefit in letting him in on my secret just yet. I tossed the card into the brass trash bin next to the table. No doubt, he would feel silly following around a British rubbish truck in the early morning. Then, feeling almost paranoid, I picked up the coral and returned the thumb drive to its secret center before putting the heavy sea beauty back in my jacket pocket. While a little unusual, it seemed like as good a hiding place as anywhere else I could come up with at the moment. I scooped up the key from the table beside my purse, and slipped my wallet under one arm.

I stopped at the door. Should I pretend to pull Hawkes in, give him my financial state as a reason to call? Play the damsel in distress angle? His clothes always looked like he had a few bucks, even if he never wasted a dime on personality classes.

"Don't be ridiculous." I mentally slapped myself. It was too soon to try an extemporaneous approach. I opened the door, and again hooked the ear bud above my left lobe.

 

At the front desk, I picked up the first audible signal since I'd started listening again. It was a scratching sound I couldn't readily identify.

"I realize there must be some mistake, Miss Beacham, but it appears we will need to access another of your credit cards." The front desk clerk presented the rejected authorization by my credit card company.

"Let me make a phone call to my corporate headquarters, and I think we can get this taken care of to everyone's satisfaction." I dialed Max. As the phone rang in my right ear, my left heard Hawkes opening a door.

"Laurel! What information do you have?" After calling me at the airport at a time that had been the middle of the night for him, he'd apparently been up ever since. Or Max was just crankier than usual. Time to be authoritative.

"There's a problem with my credit card, Max, and I need you to approve—"

I wanted to pull the phone away from my ear—he was that loud. Instead, I pushed it closer to my head and stepped farther from the front desk, hoping to muffle his aggrieved response.

"We can discuss everything later, after I've been refunded for Italy and I get a credit from the airlines and my rental company for Tahoe. In the meantime, you must get the particulars from this nice, helpful person . . ." I smiled at the clerk ". . . and send him the necessary corporate credit information to cover my hotel stay here in London."

"We need to talk about this—"

"And we will, Max, but not right now." I really wanted to reach into the phone and rip off the little toad's lips. I lowered my voice, turning away from the desk as I warned, "Right now, you need to come through or I will change this morning's ticket from a credit to a seat on the next flight to Tahoe. And I will be on it—since I have luggage already there and accommodations paid for in Nevada."

"Touché, Laurel. Let me speak with the hotel employee."

As I handed over the phone, through the ear bud I heard,
"Who travels with their stuff in shopping bags instead of suitcases. Is this woman crazy?"

The bastard was in my room! I clenched my teeth. I heard the bags rustling, but no noise of anything actually being unwrapped. Probably figured he couldn't search them without my noticing. Then I heard a slight metallic ringing, and a growl, so I figured out he'd found his business card in the trash can.

Next, I heard the whirr of the computer booting up, soon followed by a curse that obviously signaled the password screen. I was listening to keys clicking in his attempt at stumbling onto the correct "open sesame" as the desk clerk completed his conversation with Max and handed back my cell phone.

"Things are taken care of, Laurel," Max said.

"For the time being. I don't know when I'll be on the move again."

"So you do have information!"

Damn! I was so busy concentrating on the audio from my room I let myself fall right into that one. "Not really. I'm still waiting to see if I can connect with Simon. He wasn't at his office when I got there."

"That's what I've been hearing. Any thoughts?"

"Not yet. He had a meeting earlier. It may have run longer than anticipated."

It was a half truth, but until I knew more I didn't want to tip my hand and inadvertently put Simon in any more danger than he already might be. I trusted Max, but there was no telling whom
he
trusted.

I said my goodbyes and turned to stab the button to call the elevator. Hawkes had apparently given up on the computer and was moving around my room. After a few minutes, I heard the sound of material being cut. When I heard the distinctive clink of the decorative chains on my Prada, I knew my bag was his latest victim.

I officially hated him.

After a few more seconds, I heard,
"There."

Finally, the elevator arrived, but I had to wait while a German family of five departed. A businessman jumped on to join me at the last second, and pushed the button for the third floor, so I had an additional stop before I could reach four. As the car rose, I heard the ear bud deliver the sound of a door open and close. The door to my room. Unless he was waiting to greet me when the car arrived, I'd missed my chance at catching him in the act.

The fourth floor lobby was empty. Just as well. The longer I could be the cat in our little game the better, I supposed. Still, I wished I knew who the man really was.

Everything looked as I'd left it, except for my purse. The designer bag had a new design feature, a small tear that had been camouflaged by rejoining the leather with a bit of adhesive. Using my fingertips, I discovered the dime-sized disk that now lived under the bottom lining. Irritation made me want to flush it down the toilet, but professionalism stopped me from making such a mistake. If Mr. Hawkes wanted to play follow-the-bouncing-disk, I would just have to make sure he had a good enough journey to make his efforts worthwhile.

 

 

 

 

 

Whether Simon was in trouble or in hiding, the last thing he needed was for me to lead Hawkes right to him. I needed time to make plans and lose my tail, and the best way to do that was to get lost in a crowd and plant Hawkes's bug on some unsuspecting tourist. Luckily, the hotel lay near Buckingham Palace, offering me a perfect option. I packed a couple of outfit changes, a pair of stiletto heels and another of high boots, and a few toiletries into the two largest shopping bags. Besides a little black dress, I included a new all-black cat suit. Like most women, I know the virtues of the LBD, but in my line of work being able to blend with shadows is as critical as becoming part of the monochrome at cocktail parties. I swaddled the laptop between the layers, and nestled it halfway down the pile. Once I added my picks and new gizmos into the customized pockets in my Prada, extracted the bug from Hawkes's handiwork and reclosed the slit, I was ready. I slung the new trench coat over one arm. This was London in fall, after all, and the garment afforded my best camouflage as I moved through the city. I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and bid the suite a fond adieu.

The desk clerk had assured me following Max's intervention that the room was paid for as much as a week if necessary, and the rest of my things could stay without worry. But worry remained my constant companion whenever I gave myself the opportunity, so I grabbed my Prada and the shopping bags and made my way to the nearest tourist trap.

Buckingham guards had made their daily change hours ago, but the masses still happily filled the area. Young and old perched on the fountain, and laughing groups milled along the pavement, posing before the massive, black-and-gold-topped iron gates, and generally squealing about finally arriving at the royal pilgrimage. I allowed myself to breathe a bit and take in my surroundings. A quick look didn't reveal Hawkes obviously about, but I knew he was too good for that anyway. My ear bud only offered road noise and footsteps. Yet, it was the same road noise I'd been hearing in my other ear, which proved he was close by, if invisible.

I sauntered a bit. Pulled out my phone and snapped a few shots. Helped an elderly couple decipher their map.

Finally, I spotted him. Gerald O'Toole. That wasn't his real name, but his old-moneyed, banking family preferred he use the nom de plume since he'd decided about a decade ago that grifting was his preferred occupation. He was the one who taught me how winning at poker required more talent at reading faces than reading cards. I used those same lessons beyond the green baize table every day and counted Gerald one of my best early mentors.

"Hi, handsome."

"Laurel, my love!" He enveloped me in a hug. I held my purse tight to my body, then checked my pockets when we broke free.

"Ah, your actions wound me," he said.

That's when I noticed my missing phone. He and a partner used to regularly run a scam at places like Buckingham Palace, where Gerry dressed as a London bobby and his compatriot was a pickpocket. Gerry would drift through the crowd in a 'public service persona' warning people to keep their valuables safe, as he explained pickpockets were common in the area and sure to be mere meters away. Which, of course, caused every tourist to pat pockets holding wallets, cameras, or other valuables, and allowed Gerry's partner to collect the booty with minimal effort.

Lucky for me, Gerry wasn't the pickpocket because he stank at the craft. I held out my hand. "You think that wounds you, I'll do far worse if you don't hand over my phone."

"Just a joke."

"I'll believe it this time, but don't push me, Gerry." I pulled the card with the bug from my jacket pocket and used my fingers to hide it from public view. "But you can redeem yourself. Someone is using this to track me."

"A stalker?"

I frowned. "Not sure yet, actually. Could use your help maybe to find out, though."

"Anything, love."

Closing my fingers lightly, I found the bug fit perfectly in a loose fist. "I'm going to walk away, and I need you to see if you can spot the guy following me. He's about your height, and has a Cary Grant-Clark Gable look about him. At least he did the last time I saw him. Dark wool jacket."

"Old Hollywood?" Gerry waggled his eyebrows.

"Good point. Probably a disguise. Anyway, I'm going to wave goodbye and walk away. I need you to go in the opposite direction and see if anyone matching his description takes off after me. He'll stay back a bit, probably using his phone to follow the signal."

"Gotcher. Same number as of old?"

"Yes. Text me if you notice anything I need to know right away."

His eyes drifted, and I knew he'd spotted a mark, so wasn't surprised when he took a step back, waved, and said, "Good seeing you, love. Talk to you soon."

Luckily, he headed in the way I wanted him to go.

Two kids splashing in the fountain created a believable diversion. I had a brief word with their mother, then smiled and hurried off to tag behind a horde of nearly a dozen students moving toward the Tube.

"Are all of you on holiday?" I asked one of the teens, as I slipped the bug into her knapsack.

"Trekking across Europe for gap year," the tallest guy said, a redhead who reminded me of Prince Harry. "Got a friend getting us into a West End play tonight, so just hitting tourist sites in the meantime."

"Dude, we need to speed it up," a blond guy in front called out. "We gotta hit the subway before the day's prices go up."

"Oh, you do," I agreed, and pushed my way through to the front. Rush hour prices on the Tube were quite the
gotcha
for the unaware. "Come on and I'll show you a shortcut to Victoria Station."

My phone buzzed with a message, and I looked to see that Gerry sent a picture of Jack. I sent a
Thx m8
reply as I walked and kept up a fast pace as I darted through alleys, leading the team through bustling lanes. Just in case Jack realized where we were going, and the group hadn't shielded me completely from sight, I nipped inside with them, using an excuse to help them find the right platform. They moved through the gate, and I slid into a shadowed corner to watch. It would have been faster to grab a ride there and hop off at South Kensington, but I didn't want to run any new risk of getting trapped in a subway car with Jack. Especially since I spotted him moments later as he made his way through the same turnstile the group just used.

I returned to the surface as soon as I could safely manage and called Gerry. "Thanks so much." I lengthened my stride toward Sloane Square, heading for the Victoria and Albert Museum. The V and A was a perfect place for me to hide until dark. I knew someone in the restoration department who could slip me into a hidey-hole, and keep my things safe while I did my targeted wander aimed at locating Simon.

"Anytime, love." Gerry said.

"You didn't happen to know him, did you?" I asked.

"Not really . . ." He hesitated. "But somehow he does look familiar to me. Probably at some event I worked once."

Worked. Yeah, right.

"You'll let me know if you remember."

"Absolutely."

"Great, Ger, thanks. Got to go, but keep in touch. Okay?"

"Will do, Laurel. You watch yourself, too."

It felt a little lonely when Gerry disconnected. He wasn't the best person to have in my corner, but at least he was someone right then. I may be young, blonde, and too much of a spendthrift for my boss, but that didn't mean I wasn't a cautious and intelligent person. The dangers in my life were real. Simon, my contact for this case, was missing. The only clue I'd been able to locate that could possibly help find him was on a drive with corruption problems. And I was playing cat and mouse with Clark Gable.