The Guise of Another (23 page)

At first, Alexander thought he misunderstood Ianna, and he asked her to repeat what she'd said. And she repeated. “I know where the flash drive is…at least I think I know. I didn't put it all together until just now. I didn't know Jericho had anything like that hidden away. But when you told me that he had stolen that flash drive, I started thinking about hiding places. That's when I remembered his key ring. It held the key for his car, one for the door of the condo, and another key, which, I believe is a key to a safe-deposit box.”

Alexander sat up in bed, excited by this revelation. “Did Jericho ever talk about that box—what was in it or anything?”

“He never mentioned it, and I never asked. I just figured it was stock certificates and stuff like that. But it always struck me as odd that he would carry that key on the ring with his car keys.”

“If he had that key on him when he died, it will be in the evidence room at City Hall. I'm still in charge of that investigation, so all I'll have to do is ask for it. I've subpoenaed his accounts and holdings at Wells Fargo, so if the box is there…hell, we could have that flash drive in our hands in a matter of hours.”

“And then we can run away together,” Ianna said, kissing Alexander before he could respond.

Something in Ianna's kiss made it easy for Alexander to forget everything bad that had happened over the last three months. She opened him up and let his true nature breathe. But something in her kiss also made it easy to ignore the quiet voices that called out from the more vigilant corners of his mind—voices that whispered warnings that fell lost behind the feel of her body and the taste of her lips. Alexander closed his eyes and immersed himself in her kiss.

In the morning, Alexander and Ianna drove to City Hall, where Alexander visited the evidence room while Ianna waited in the Charger. He brought his laptop in the hope that the flash drive might be in their hands soon, and they could see for themselves this treasure that made money fall from the sky.

The evidence clerk, a pleasant, nunish-looking woman named Sheila retrieved a box that contained Jericho Pope's belongings from the accident. Alexander pulled items out of the box and spread them across a table, as though doing a simple inventory. He found the key ring and saw that it held a safe-deposit-box key. Not wanting to draw attention to the keys, he set them down and went to the next item.

After a couple minutes, he had the table cluttered with car manuals, ice scrapers, maps, and the minutia of crap that a guy keeps in his glove box and under the seats of his car. He continued digging, waiting for Sheila to cast her attention in another direction. As he neared the bottom of the box, the phone rang and Sheila turned around to answer it. Alexander grabbed the key ring, twisted the safe-deposit-box key off, and placed that key in his pocket. When Sheila came back, Alexander started putting items back into the box. After he restacked everything, he shrugged to Sheila and bid her farewell.

As Alexander slid into the Charger, he pulled the key out of his pocket. He and Ianna looked at it like it was the Holy Grail itself. Alexander then placed a call to Calvin Johnson at Wells Fargo, the one who dealt with the subpoena of James Putnam's accounts.

“Mr. Johnson, this is Detective Rupert. We spoke recently regarding James Putnam.”

“Of course, Detective, what can I do for you?”

“When we talked, you didn't mention anything about a safe-deposit box.”

“Well, I don't mean to sound pedantic, Detective, but you never asked about a safe-deposit box.”

Alexander sighed. “Well, Mr. Johnson, I'm asking now. Does James Putnam have a safe-deposit box with your bank?”

Alexander could hear the clicking of a keyboard. “As a matter of fact, he has one here in our downtown branch,” Johnson said.

“That subpoena you received covers all his holdings at the bank. That includes safe-deposit boxes. I'm going to need to see the contents of that box.”

“Would you like to set up a time—?”

“I'll be there in four minutes. Could you meet me in the lobby?”

“I…um…sure. I guess I could.”

“Great. Thanks.” Alexander hung up. Then he powered the phone off, knowing that Max and probably Commander Tiller would be calling soon, looking for him, wondering why he failed to honor his subpoena. He glanced at Ianna. “Want to see what Pope had in his box?” He gave Ianna a smile. She returned the smile and launched across the console and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Mr. Johnson was waiting for them when Alexander and Ianna walked into the lobby. Johnson had the subpoena in his hand; Alexander had the key in his.

“It's good to meet you, Detective.” Johnson spoke to Alexander, but he had his eyes locked on Ianna, who looked nothing like a cop—no gun, no badge, just a bright-yellow, low-cut dress and a matching purse.

“I'm in a bit of a hurry,” Alexander said. “If we could—”

“There's just one thing,” Johnson said. “I'm not sure that the subpoena grants the proper authority to search a safe-deposit box. I believe you need a warrant for that. I have a call into the Legal Department to make sure.”

“You read the subpoena, didn't you? It grants me authority to access his accounts and holdings.”

“Certainly. And if the subpoena is all we need for that, my Legal Department will give me the go-ahead. But there's another issue here, Detective. The safe-deposit box has two owners. I'm not sure that I can honor the subpoena because the second owner has rights.”

“A second owner?” Alexander said. “Who is that?”

Johnson opened the file folder and said, “When Mr. Putnam leased the box, he put it in his name. But later he added a Ms. Ianna Markova. Ms. Markova has the right to—”

“Hold on, there.” Alexander looked at Ianna, who shrugged, and shook her head no. Alexander smiled at Mr. Johnson. “So Ianna Markova is the joint owner of the stuff in the box?”

“That's correct.” Johnson opened the folder and showed the rental document to Alexander. Ianna moved in to look over Alexander's shoulder. She whispered into Alexander's ear, “He must've forged my name. I had no idea.”

“Well, Mr. Johnson, this here is Ianna Markova.” Alexander put his hand on Ianna's back and moved her in front of Mr. Johnson.

Ianna reached into her handbag and pulled out a wallet with a driver's license and handed it to Mr. Johnson, who studied it for a minute. Then he said, “Well, I guess that takes care of that. Follow me.”

Mr. Johnson led them to a vault lined on both sides by safe-deposit boxes. At the entrance to the vault, Mr. Johnson had Ianna sign in as the owner of the box's contents. Mr. Johnson signed as the vault attendant and led them to box number 2414 and inserted the bank key. Alexander handed Ianna the key he pulled from Pope's effects. She inserted it and opened the door. Mr. Johnson pulled out the drawer, placed it on a table, nodded his regards, and left.

“I swear,” Ianna said. “I had no idea.”

Alexander opened the lid and found a package about the size of a brick, wrapped in brown shipping paper. An envelope had been taped to the package, and on the envelope was a message: “Upon my death—give the contents of this box to Ianna Markova.” He handed the package to Ianna.

Ianna opened the package, unfolding its wrapper with great care,
peeling the cover back to expose a stack of hundred-dollar bills. She fanned out ten stacks total, each stack bound with a paper band that read “$10,000.”

“A hundred thousand dollars,” she said. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the beauty of the crisp currency.

“But no flash drive,” Alexander said. “What's in the envelope?”

Ianna cut the seal on the envelope with a fingernail and pulled out a letter. She read it aloud.

Ianna, if you are reading this, then I am dead. By now you probably know that I've been keeping secrets from you. I'm sorry about that, but it was for your own safety. Someday, you may know all there is to know about me. You are a smart woman and resourceful as hell. If you apply the secret of my success, you'll do just fine in life. I probably should have trusted you with my darkest secret, but I just could not take that risk. I'm sorry. Love James (Jericho). Postscript: If you are not Ianna Markova, and you are reading this letter, tell Wayne Garland to go fuck himself!

Ianna looked at Alexander, her eyes about to crest with tears. “I'm not sure what to think of this. I mean, it's sweet of him to think of me like this, but it would have been nicer had he left that flash drive in here.”

Alexander took the letter and reread it. “Wait…I think he's trying to tell you something,” Alexander said, pointing to the letter.

“Yeah, he's trying to tell me, ‘Good luck, kiddo. You're on your own.’ At least he gave me some money to start over—”

“No. Read it again. He's trying to tell you something. Read between the lines.”

Ianna read the letter to herself again. “I'm not sure…”

“He knew he'd be dead when you read this letter. He put your name on the box so that you would get notice of the box renewal if he ever died. He knew that notice would lead you here. But Jericho had no way of knowing if he would die by an accident or if he would be murdered.
He knew that Patrio was hunting him. If he was murdered, and his assassin found this safe-deposit box, Jericho wouldn't want the flash drive lying here, and he wouldn't spell out where he hid it, either. He put the big fuck-you at the end because he thought it just as likely that the bad guys might beat us here.”

“So what's he trying to say? I don't see it.”

“He says that you may someday know his secrets. He tells you to be smart and resourceful. Then he says that you need to apply the secrets of his success. That's the clue.”

“The secret of his success…but that's…”

“The wisdom of Solomon,” Alexander said, his face pulling into a grin. “Was Jericho religious?”

“Just the opposite. He was an atheist.” Then a light opened up somewhere behind Ianna's eyes and her face lit up. “But he had a Bible…in his study, a big, ugly black one that he kept on a shelf next to his finance journals. It always struck me as odd, given his lack of religion.”

Alexander folded the letter and put it in his pocket. “Throw the money in your purse. We're going back to the condo.”

The laptop in Drago's hotel room gave a nudging
ding
to wake him, letting him know that Detective Rupert's car had left its garage. Drago sat up in bed, still wearing his clothes from the night before—his extra clothes having been left behind in the duffle bag along with the rifles and the remote-tracking monitor. Without the remote-tracking equipment, Drago could not observe the movements of Rupert's car from the convenience of the minivan. He could only track Rupert using an Internet connection to Patrio. New equipment was on its way, but he'd have to make due until it arrived.

He packed his computer, picked up his rucksack full of surveillance equipment, holstered his gun, and headed out the door to return to the home of Alexander Rupert.

Drago had assumed that Rupert would take the girl with him. But if the girl had been left behind, she would be guarded. If that were the case, he would kill her protector and use the opportunity to interrogate her. Ianna Markova would not like that interrogation, and in the end, she would tell him where his property had been hidden—if she knew.

Drago parked on the street in front of Rupert's house and walked up the driveway as if he belonged there. He broke into the garage in a motion so smooth that he looked like he had a key. Once inside the garage, he drew his gun from beneath his jacket and peered into the house. He saw no movement. It took him less than a minute to pick his way into Rupert's house.

Inside, he found pictures of Alexander Rupert hanging on the walls and cluttering up the shelves. Next to Rupert in almost every picture stood a striking woman with dark features and a dancing smile. Drago recognized her from Ianna's computer searches that he came across at Pope's apartment. He found no pictures of children or pets.

He moved to the master bedroom and found it a mess. The bedding had been thrown about, and some books that had once graced a bedside table were now on the floor. Drago picked up a pink robe and raised it to his nose. He could smell the scent of perfume—the same perfume that he had noticed in Ianna Markova's closet at the condo.

On the night stand he found a smartphone in a pink case. He turned it on, and a picture lit up. It was Detective Alexander Rupert, lying next to a naked Ianna Markova. Detective Rupert was asleep, unaware of the photo being taken. Ianna smiled at the camera, which she held in her outstretched hand, the frame set so that it captured both the sleeping detective and the smiling, bare-breasted Ianna.

At first, Drago wondered why she would take such a picture, and why she would set her phone to open to that picture. Possibly she took it as proof of her having seduced the sleeping Rupert. But proof for whom?

Then he went into the search engine on her phone and found her last queries. They all followed a single connecting thread; she was researching safe-deposit boxes.

Safe-deposit boxes. A hammer of clarity hit him in the chest. Somewhere out there, a safe-deposit box held Drago's property, and Ianna Markova had the key—or knew where to find the key. Drago threw open his laptop and accessed the tracking software. He located Alexander Rupert's car and zoomed in on the street and saw that car was parked in front of the Wells Fargo Center.

Drago's fingers twitched as he debated his next step. Assuming they had somehow located the flash drive, he would need to intercept them. But how? They would be gone from the bank before he got close to them. But if he waited, the flash drive would be found—taken into custody. His quest would come to a tragic end, and he would be exposed. If that happened, he would flee. Get out of the country. Begin his life as a fugitive before the pictures of he and Garland exploded across the world's television sets.

As he struggled with his thoughts, the dot on the computer screen began to move. It headed east on Sixth Street, then turned north on Third Avenue. One block from City Hall. Drago sucked in a breath
and cursed at the computer screen in his native tongue. The dot slowed as it crossed Fifth Street, the block where City Hall stood. He watched the dot creep past City Hall and keep heading north. Drago sighed his relief. Then he watched as the dot moved four more blocks and parked in front of the building that housed Jericho Pope's apartment.

Drago switched programs on the laptop, accessed the eyes and ears he left behind in the apartment, and waited.