Authors: Patricia Rice
Patra’s perspective
Sean led the way through an office packed with ancient
desks overflowing with file folders and yellowing documents as well as aging
gray computers. In comparison with BM’s modern cubicle farm, this fifties-era office
reeked of old cigarette smoke and Jack Daniels. She didn’t know where the other
employees were hidden, maybe another floor.
“Don’t modernize much, do you?” she asked.
“We’re small change compared to the
Post
and BM. Competitive newspapers are a losing proposition in the
computer age. Our on-line edition costs more than it earns, from the way the
upper echelons make it sound.” Sean dumped the boxes in a cramped conference
room. The table was dusty and half the chairs had disappeared. Old computers
littered the floor. “Essentially, to earn market share, print papers have to
appeal to the old, the barely literate, and the poor who lack technology. Or
those too set in their ways to change.”
“That’s harsh.” She unloaded her boxes on the table and
began looking through them. “Basic journalism hasn’t changed. People still buy
papers to read about themselves and their friends. It’s just harder to do in a
metropolis where most of the population are strangers.”
“And not profitable on a small local basis given the cost of
newsprint, hence, national scandal rags like Broderick’s. Gossip is
internationally popular.” Sean lifted one of his heavier boxes to the table and
began ransacking it.
“Great minds discuss ideas. Small minds discuss people,”
Patra said absently, flipping through an invoice file.
“Eleanor Roosevelt, nice.” He set aside the big box and
opened another. “You quote Americans and don’t speak with a Brit accent.
Magda’s work?”
“And American teachers on military bases. We all have
citizen-of-the-world accents.” Ana had said she could trust Sean except on
topics of Graham, so Patra continued with a shrug. “Except maybe my
half-brother Tudor. His father pays for a Brit boarding school. Right chip off
the old block, he is,” she mimicked her younger brother’s mocking imitation of
his father.
She shut up to study the invoice she’d pulled.
A phone buried on the desk amid the debris of boxes began to
ring. Patra didn’t glance up from her reading but was aware Sean had located
the source of the noise. She tuned in when his tone registered urgency.
“Call the cops. Warn anyone else in the building to go into
lockdown. Lock the elevator, if that’s possible. And if it’s not, blast them to
hell if they get near my car!”
Anticipating his next command, Patra began cramming file
folders into a fold-up tote she carried for just these impromptu occasions.
Running with stacks of boxes while wearing a skirt and pumps simply wasn’t a smart
idea.
Sean slammed the phone and began tossing a few folders he’d
sorted out into one of the smaller boxes.
“Not the white sedan, but a black Escalade just pulled into
the garage. No one here drives tanks like that.”
“That was a black Escalade limo at Bill’s apartment the
night he was killed.” Patra grabbed another handful of files.
“Worse yet if they’ve set the thugs on us.” He crammed a few
more folders in the box. “We’ve only got one guy on security, and he’s eating
lunch and just watching monitors. I don’t know if he can lock elevators, and I
don’t plan to take any chances hanging around to find out.” He grabbed her arm
and tugged her toward a rear exit.
“I just found a file on Broderick!” she protested, digging
deeper into the largest box. “They’re just invoices, but where there’s smoke —”
“You want to get caught in the next fire?” Realizing he
couldn’t budge her, he started flinging boxes beneath the table. “Shove the rest
of your boxes under a desk and grab what’s loose.”
Patra added handfuls of folders to her tote. “Surely they wouldn’t
set an entire
office
on fire?” she
asked, glancing at all the lovely information they were leaving behind.
Sean snatched a sheet of plastic from a stack of monitors
and flung it over the desk concealing the large cartons. “We’ve got sprinklers
and fire walls, but they won’t protect cardboard, if these guys are your
arsonists. C’mon, out the back way.”
Carrying their loads, they ran down a hall of empty executive
offices. Sean opened a door marked “maintenance only,” and they dived into a
concrete jungle of deteriorating metal staircases and peeling paint.
“You’re like a rat with bolt holes all over,” Patra said
breathlessly as they raced down the stairs. She hoped sounds didn’t carry as
their shoes rattled the metal stairs.
“Very handy when the boss wants me to do something I don’t
want to do.” He caught her elbow as they reached the basement level. “This last
part’s tricky. Careful where you step.”
The dank, dark basement smelled of must and old cleaning
fluids. Obviously, this portion of the building was older than it looked and
once had a coal cellar. Patra could hear mechanicals rattling beyond the
dividing walls, but this maintenance area had been abandoned for all practical
purposes. Water dripped somewhere, and moisture seeped through her soles.
Ewww.
“Up here,” Sean said triumphantly, tackling a metal door at
the top of a couple of concrete steps. “When the
Times
still owned this whole building, they used to hand the papers
out to newsboys here, fresh off the old printing presses.”
“They don’t keep it locked?” she asked incredulously.
“Can’t open it from the other side.” He peered down what
seemed to be an alley. “Shit.” He shut the door again. “There’s a suspicious
suit blocking the alley. They definitely want us as much as the boxes.”
“A suspicious suit?”
“He’s wearing a suit coat to cover his shoulder holster.
Ring bells?”
Patra already had her phone out, dialing Ana. This time, her
sister answered. “We’re at Sean’s office. Goons to the left of us, possible
arsonists to the right. How far away are you? The
zoo?”
She glanced at Sean.
He snorted. “She can’t get any further away and still be on
the Metro. Want to try calling Graham?”
If that’s what Sean was after, he was out of luck. She’d die
before she broke her vow to Ana to leave Graham out of their lives.
“Not even Graham could get here in time,” she whispered,
dialing 911 even though they had no real emergency to report. Yet.
* * *
I watched EG admiring the ugliest, largest bat I’d ever
known existed, while listening to Patra’s explanation of events. “So we have no
idea who’s after you? Okay, Nick is chatting up a chimp somewhere. Keep your
phone on vibrate. I’ll get back to you.”
My protective mother radar instincts were gearing up, but
they were torn in two directions. Patra was old enough to take care of herself.
EG shouldn’t have to live as we had. Ergo, I couldn’t destroy a rare normal
family outing by haring off downtown to blow up an Escalade, no matter how much
I’d enjoy it.
I punched in Nick’s number to drag him out of the chimp
house. I didn’t think it was the animals Nick was admiring.
It would take much too long to travel downtown. While I was
waiting for Nick to put in an appearance, I ground my teeth with impatience and
fear and contemplated my next step. I hated calling in Graham. Patra’s bad guys
were related to Bill. We had no evidence of a connection to BM.
But Broderick was one of Graham’s targets in his Top Hat
investigation. Graham was inordinately interested in Patrick Llewellyn’s files.
And Bill had Patrick’s media manipulation file. Close enough.
I’d never willingly called Graham’s number, but I’d nabbed
it back when EG had been kidnapped.
He answered with gratifying promptness and a grumpy, “What?”
“Patra is trapped with Sean at the
Times
office. They were followed from Bill Bloom’s house. There is
apparently a man with a shoulder holster preventing them from escaping. They’ve
not been threatened yet, but I told Patra to call 911 anyway. What are the
chances this has something to do with Broderick?”
“It’s as likely to have more to do with her father, but the
two could be related,” he admitted. “You need to finish de-coding your sister’s
files so we know the scoop. I’ll handle the newspaper office. Send me a photo
of the zoo’s flying fox bat.”
He clicked off. He wanted a
picture
? Of a
bat
? Did I
dare ask why? Nope. I was praying he had contacts on the police force who would
check out the Escalade
before
a crime
happened. Or maybe Graham had his own hit men. I just wanted Patra to be safe.
I sauntered over to where EG was happily snapping her camera
at a creature with wings bigger than I was. Sure enough, there on the
descriptive sign was the common name, the
flying
fox
bat. And yeah, judging from the sign, it kinda looked like a fox. It
was too dark to tell much in the cage.
I snapped and sent a photo of both sign and bat. In my
thoroughness, I went online and found a better image and sent that. I needed
something to occupy my head besides worrying about what was happening back in
town. Out of sheer devilment, I gave EG my phone and let her snap more pics to
send Graham.
I had just let someone
else handle a danger to my family
. It made me uncomfortable not to be
running to the rescue. Had I trusted Graham to help because he’d dared to kiss
me? No, probably because I thought he was my diamond-cufflink hero. I’m not
always
rational.
Nick arrived, cheerful as ever despite my interrupting a
possible tryst. “Did EG steal one of the darlings for her collection?”
EG sent him a dark look and proceeded to the next cage. I
backed off where she couldn’t hear us.
“I just sicced Graham on some creeps following Patra. Am I
getting old and weak?”
Nick hugged my shoulders. “No, you’re turning human. Maybe
now you’ll even get a life. Although admittedly, I’d love to see what the
spider is doing right now.”
So would I. I glanced at EG, who was enrapt by another
flying rodent. Mammal. “We’ll never keep her out of the family occupation, will
we?”
“Nope. Curious minds and all that. If we tell her where
Patra is, EG will want to go see, too, and she’ll probably concoct stink bombs
out of train trash and annihilate the enemy upon arrival. All we’re doing by
taking her to the zoo is feeding her more ammunition for her lethal mind.” He
shrugged and checked his watch. “I’m ready to ditch babysitting. Want me to go
see and tell you what’s happening?”
“Graham sure won’t,” I said in irritation, even though I was
relieved that Nick offered. “But you won’t arrive in time.”
EG snapped one last photo and returned to us. “Okay, it’s
time to go now.”
We stared at her in incredulity. I spoke first. “We came all
the way out here just to take pictures of bats?”
“Yes.” And she began marching for the exit. “I have a report
to do.”
“Rock, paper, scissors?” I asked Nick as we followed her
out.
I held out my fist — rock. He opened his palm — paper.
Damn.
We took the Metro back to
Dupont Circle. EG and I got off. Nick went downtown.
Patra’s perspective
Patra paced the moldy basement, waiting for security to
give an all clear signal. Sean used his cell phone to keep in touch with the
guard, who was busy notifying the newspaper’s offices to lock down.
Sirens sounded on the street outside. At the same time, the
security guard reported the cameras shutting down in the garage.
Sean cursed, shoved his phone back on his belt, and looked
from door to stairs.
“Want to go up and watch the fun, or stay here and wait for
Sam to tell us the cops chased the baddies off?” He sauntered toward the
stairs.
Men were so predictable. He was worried about his midget
car.
“If there are no cameras, how do we know the baddies have
been chased off? There could be creeps roaming all over the place.”
Sean shrugged. “You stay here. I’ll call if the coast is
clear. Right about now, I wouldn’t mind a good look at these thugs.”
She really ought to let him go. It was relatively safe down
here. But she didn’t like basements, and she was as curious as Sean. With the
police right outside, how much trouble could they get into?
“Won’t the other people working up there scare them off?”
she asked, following him up the stairs.
“What, after telling them to lock down, you want me to tell
them to stick their heads out?” He eased open the door on the first floor and
listened. He dialed up his security guard again, then put his phone back in his
pocket. “Sam’s not answering.”
“Fifty-fifty, he’s answering the door for the cops or the
baddies have him at gunpoint.”
“Can’t leave a friend in jeopardy,” Sean replied
insouciantly, stepping into the hall.
The building was eerily silent. Patra looked for a weapon in
the offices they passed, but there was little more than mail and copy rooms in
this back hall. More sirens sounded outside. It seemed sensible to just walk
out the front door.
The front door was apparently half a block away. They crept
down the battered tile to the corner where the floor became polished marble.
That should lead outside, according to Patra’s calculations. Sean held up his
hand to halt her, and keeping his back against the wall, he peered around the
corner.
His muttered curse told her all she needed to know. She
peered around the corner to see a man in a black suit accompanied by a slug
with a gas can enter an elevator. She swallowed hard and clutched her tote of
papers tighter. Sean pressed her back against the wall.
She swung around to look for another exit. A suit-coated man
with an AK-47 stepped into the corridor from one of the offices. She uttered a curse
of her own.
Not tall, but square, the gunman deliberately raised his
weapon. “About time you turned up. We’re going for a walk. Hurry it up.”