Dead Wrong (27 page)

“Promise.”

She hugged herself. “I sort of weirded out down there. Got this nutsoid feeling like I was being watched. You know the bike area with the cyclone fencing?”

“I do.”

She raked her fingers through her hair again. “This is going to sound four plus paranoid, but the light over the space was out. It was in almost total darkness … gave me this creepy feeling like someone was hiding in there watching.”

With all the weirdness going on, he didn’t think her crazy at all. In fact, it made perfect sense if Sikes or the cops were watching his car.

“You don’t believe me, do you.”

He took hold of her shoulders. “Actually, I do.” Even to the point of wondering if Sikes might have attached a GPS tracking device to the car. Wouldn’t put it past him, not after what had happened. He told her about the missing DVDs.

She continued hugging herself, the news of the stolen DVDs triggering another shiver. “C’mon, let’s just get out of here. The longer we stay in this building, the creepier it feels.”

McCarthy checked the street below the window one final time, the same street where she would pick him up if he made it out the basement exit several floors below. The parked cars appeared empty, but you couldn’t really be 100 percent certain from this angle. Still, it felt reassuring to see no pedestrians or traffic.

“You really felt it, huh?” he asked her, thinking there must be more to the story. “What’d you do?”

“It was really intense.” She paused. “So, I sort of freaked and ran up the stairs. And, well, I’m positive I heard footsteps coming after me.”

The bad gut feeling from earlier returned. He hadn’t noticed it subside, but now that it was back. “Footsteps? You sure?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He glanced at his watch and thought again about the car being tampered with and decided it could be more than a tracking device. How about an explosive? Naw, that was too paranoid. Still.

“You’re right. We need to get out of here. Those things in the car can wait. I’ll get them another time.”

“Good.” She pushed off the table, heading for the door. “Same plan. I’ll pick you up, and then we go straight to Davidson’s office.”

He was at the door window, checking out the hall. “Right, but there’ll be one stop on the way. I need to stop at my place before we see Davidson.”

“Are you nuts? The police or Sikes will be all over your place.”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down.” He put a hand on her shoulder and considered how much of his plan to tell he. If caught, the less she knew, the less she could disclose to Sikes. “Davidson said the police are watching his office, so there’s no point going there. We’ll have to meet somewhere safe. After that, I need to get as much evidence as possible to support my side of the story.”

“But I thought Davidson was working on setting up a safe surrender.”

“He is, but that’s not going to happen. At least not immediately. Besides, once I’m in custody, there’s nothing I can do to help myself. Anything I can get my hands while I’m still free will help, and the only way that’s going happen is if I do it now.”

“I understand, but to go to your house when you know it’s being watched is crazy. I don’t care what you say, that’s nuts.” She stepped away from the door and folded her arms over her chest. “Sorry, but I won’t be part of that.”

That left him two options: go it alone or try to change her mind. Yeah, he could try escaping on his own, but she could be a tremendous help. No question, he’d be better off with than without her. “Sarah, trust me on this. I can get into my house from the back without being seen.”

“That may be, but what if someone’s inside?”

“That’s a risk I have to take.”

“But what’s so important that you need to take the risk? We can get you a change of clothes somewhere else, if that’s a worry.”

He realized he had to tell her a little more of his plan. “I’m going to need another ID.”

She recoiled in shock. “Another ID?”

“If we’re going to Everett to verify Baker’s story, I can’t show up as Tom McCarthy. That’s a sure way of getting caught.”

Sarah studied him a moment. “You have another ID? I mean, like, another name?” She sounded incredulous.

“Yes.” He wished he hadn’t mentioned it because it brought up more questions than he felt comfortable answering.

She continued to study his face, almost as if she expected him to say he was joking. “Why?”

He took her arm and gently pulled her toward the door. “It’s a long story. One we don’t have time for now.”

“No it isn’t. It’s a short story if you make it short. And I’m not leaving this room without an explanation.”

Ultimatums. He hated them. But he also needed her help. Trying to persuade her would eat up more time that an abbreviated explanation. Right now, he needed to be out of the building with as much distance as possible from Sikes.

“When I was a grad student I spent time in Israel because there was a lab there doing similar work to my interests. Before I left, someone in the State Department contacted me to ask if I would keep my eyes open for things that might be of interest to them. So, I did.”

“In other words, you were a spy?”

The term made him uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t use that word for it. I just relayed information about things I happened to see. I wasn’t breaking into offices or going through file cabinets. Nothing like that.”

“That still doesn’t explain having another identity.”

“That was my idea. I figured if things got difficult I could leave the country easier if I wasn’t traveling under my own name. Can we leave now?”

She stepped past him. “I’ll go first.”

Sarah opened the door and stepped into the hall. “Looks clear.”

They moved quickly along the corridor to another back stairway, then started down. They were almost to the first floor when she stopped abruptly and turned to him. “Oh crap! I just thought of something. When I came this morning in the lot was full so I parked over in the annex. This time of night, the only way to get there is through the lobby. The last time I checked, security was still all over it.”

“Shhh.” Tom touched a finger to his lips and glanced back up the stairwell. He couldn’t see past the next landing but was certain a sound just came from that direction.

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

He tapped his ear and pointed up the stairs.

For thirty seconds they listened.

Finally, he shrugged and muttered, “Must’ve imagined it.”

Sarah leaned close and whispered, “Just thought of another route. Go to the basement just like we planned. Know the corridor to the Sanderson building?”

He’d walked the tunnel only a handful of times. He nodded.

“Are you familiar with that northeast stairwell?”

He couldn’t remember it very well. “No.” In fact, he couldn’t remember any exits.

“Just go to the very end of the hall where it Ts. Turn right and you run straight into a stairwell that goes up a half floor. There’s a side door onto Cherry. It’s hardly ever used so no one should even think of watching it. I checked earlier. It was totally deserted down there, so it should be safe now. I’ll pick you up outside the door on the sidewalk.”

S
ECURITY OFFICER KEN Ritter was conducting a routine patrol of the southwest wing as he entered stairwell SW5. He routinely varied his patrol route at random so that anyone up to monkey business could never predict where he’d be at any moment. In addition, he took extreme care to open and close the heavy stairwell doors silently. He chose rubber-soled Eccos for footwear. Expensive puppies, those shoes, but worth every cent on account of they allowed you to sneak the stairs in silence and creep up on people doing funny business. Like smokers. Smoking in public buildings was illegal in Washington state. And there were nicotine addicts who showed total disrespect for the law. Worse yet, they left disgusting evidence of their vice—paper cups full of butts rotting in a layer of stale Pepsi—for someone else to clean up.

Only two minutes until break time and he was looking forward to enjoying a cup of coffee at his usual corner cafeteria table where he could read the
Seattle Times
without interruption. He made a point of reading the national section cover to cover.

Whoa, what was that?
He stopped to listen to hushed voices echo up the stairwell.

He leaned over the tubular metal rail and peered down the switchbacking stairs. Near the first floor a man and a woman talked in hushed tones. Very suspicious. Ears sharp, he crept down one step at a time, straining to listen. Closer now, he peeked over the rail again. Both suspects wore green scrubs. The woman had on a white doctor’s coat. The angle, along with the blue disposable surgery cap, made it impossible to identify the white male. But he heard her say, “Be careful, Tom.”

Tom? Could it be Tom McCarthy? An adrenaline surge caused all four of Ritter’s limbs to tingle. Holy Moly, could that be
him
? The murderer? The spy? He watched the woman reach for the door.

Oh man, what do I do now? Radio for help? No, they’ll hear me and take off
. Or worse yet, come after him.

Arrest him?
With what? Security officers weren’t allowed to carry weapons. Not only that, but Hansen had warned the team that McCarthy was armed and dangerous. No way would he be foolish enough to confront an armed killer without some serious Kevlar, a 12-gauge pump action, and SWAT team for backup.

The man called Tom started down the basement stairs and the woman opened the door to the main lobby. Holy Moly, they were splitting up. Now what?

The evening report echoed through his mind.
Armed and considered dangerous
. Meaning the woman would be the safer bet. Besides, it sounded like she planned to meet the man later so he could work with that. Ritter scurried down the stairs and opened the door to the lobby. The woman was now fifty feet away, walking confidently across the marble floor. Which meant the male suspect was probably already at the first basement level. Ritter jerked his handheld from his belt, keyed the transmit button. “Central, this is Ritter. Got a copy?”

“Ten four.”

With immense pride swelling his chest, Ritter said, “Suspect McCarthy is on stairwell southwest five en route to the first-level basement. Request immediate backup.” Hot damn, he’d caught a killer!

M
CCARTHY REACHED BASEMENT level one and turned left as Sarah had directed. Ahead of him stretched a block-long cement hallway. So far, so good. More optimistic about escaping the building, he continued toward the distant T in the hall.

Someone yelled, “Hold it right there, McCarthy.”

He stopped and slowly turned, praying it would be a friend, preferably someone who hadn’t seen the news. But he knew a friend wouldn’t sound so confrontational.

A hospital security officer maybe fifty feet away came jogging straight for him, a short Hispanic-looking guy, maybe five-nine, with shoulders as wide as a Hummer. The good news was he wasn’t armed. McCarthy looked past him for another exit, but the hall ran another fifty feet before turning right. He had no idea what lay beyond that. Could be another hall, could be a dead end. So much for the possibility of running that direction.

“Don’t even think about it, McCarthy. Stay right where you are!”

McCarthy tried to appear innocent. “You talking to me?” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was approaching from his blind side, saw no one.

The man jabbed a finger at him. “I’m talking to you, ass-hole. Now stay put.”

McCarthy knew he had to do something. What? Had the guard had already called other guards? Make a break for it? Try to outrun the guy to the stairwell? Would the guy’s radio work down here? Maybe, maybe not.

McCarthy said, “Who’s McCarthy? My name’s Wilkins.”

The officer stopped four feet away, giving him a careful once-over. “Party’s over, McCarthy. It’s been a long day for you, but it ends right here. Put your hands behind your back and turn around. I have to restrain you.”

Tom flashed his best puzzled look, said, “Obviously, you’re confusing me with someone else. My name’s Robert Wilkins. It’s been a long day, and I’m heading back to my office in the Cherry Tower. So if you don’t mind,” he tried to push the man aside.

The officer got in his face, blocking his path. “Oh yeah?” He gave him another head-to-toe inspection, but this time there was a specter of doubt in his eyes. “Where’s your ID badge? You’re supposed to wear it at all times.”

“It’s on my white coat.” He looked the man dead in the eye. “And my coat is in my surgery locker. Come with me and I’ll show it to you. But it’s getting late and I’d like to get home.”

“Don’t move.” Mimicking any number of real police he probably seen on
COPS
, Ortega planted both feet wide apart and jerked a radio from his right hip.

Before the man could press transmit, McCarthy kicked him in the groin, connecting solidly. Eyes bulging, knees buckling, Ortega gasped and started to slump. McCarthy grabbed a fist of black shirt, turned the guard ninety degrees and gently leaned him against the wall. “Hey look, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you don’t understand. When this is over, I’ll buy you a beer to show there’s no hard feelings.”