When The Devil Whistles (13 page)

Erik nodded as if she had said exactly what he expected. His hair fell into his eyes and he flipped it back. “It’s all part of the front. So they can fool people like you and me.” He tapped his temple and smiled. “But we’re too smart. We know everyone’s got their guilty little secrets.”

“Uh-huh.” She made a mental note to talk to Connor about this later. “So, how was practice today? Hear anything more about that record contract?”

“Great session today. Toob had a new guitar riff that really rocked, and they loved those lyrics I showed you last night. Alex thinks we should cut a new CD for that executive down in LA, but…” He glanced at her and continued quickly. “We don’t have enough money to rent a studio, so we were wondering if, you know, you could spot us a couple grand.”

“And you’ll pay me back as soon as you land your record deal, right?”

He fidgeted with his beer and leaned forward. “Uh, yeah.”

“Hmmm. I’ll think about it. You guys already owe me from your last studio session.”

He smiled nervously.

Allie smiled back. She’d already decided to loan them the money, but she didn’t want Erik to start expecting it. She paid for enough of his lifestyle already. Besides, he was more attentive when she made him sweat a little, and she liked being attended to.

Allie woke with a jolt. She must have fallen asleep on the couch after Erik left. A big meal and a couple of beers tended to do that to her, even when she wasn’t already tired. She opened her eyes and winced at a familiar sting. Her optometrist had warned her that she’d have to give up contacts if she kept falling asleep with them in her eyes.

Her cell phone blared Beck’s “Loser” from the coffee table by her head. She groaned. That was the ring tone she had given Andy Duong. She’d been ignoring his calls for nearly a week, and his messages had grown increasingly agitated.

She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“You’re lucky you answered. If you didn’t, I was going to send out an e-mail blast with that press release we discussed.”

Not likely while I’m still poking around Deep Seven for you.
“Nice to talk to you too, Andy. What do you want?”

“Tell me that you’ve sued Deep Seven.”

“No can do.”

“What? Why not?”

She smiled in the darkness. After the meeting where he and Sandy Allen ambushed her, she had realized that they wouldn’t follow through on their threats while they still had something to gain from letting her keep her secrets. Blowing her cover while she was still investigating Deep Seven would be stupid. And if Devil to Pay did wind up suing, it would be stupid to give Deep Seven her identity while the lawsuit was pending. After that, they’d probably send out their press release no matter what she did. And then she’d tell the whole story to Connor, and he’d find a way to shred them in court.

Once she had gamed out all of that, she had lost all fear of Andy and Sandy. Which meant she could yank Andy’s chain if she felt like it. “False claims complaints are sealed. I can’t even tell you whether or not one has been filed.”

“Don’t mess with me, Allie! You either tell me whether you’ve sued them or that press release goes out now.”

“Relax, Andy. If they’re as dirty as you say, we’ll sue them when we’re ready. But if they’re
not
dirty—or even if I just can’t prove they’re dirty—I’m not going to sue them. DOJ investigates every lawsuit we file, and I’d have to lie to them about Deep Seven. Not going to do it. There are worse things than your press release.”

“Like going to jail.”

“Exactly.”

His thin, unpleasant chuckle dribbled through the phone. “Does the name Jason Tompkins mean anything to you?”

She sat up. “Should it?”

“Jason was a sixteen-year-old boy who lived in Salina, Kansas. Eagle Scout, according to his obituary. Liked going camping with friends. Sounds like a nice kid.” He paused for emphasis. “Six weeks ago, he died in the emergency room at Salina Regional Health Center. Meth overdose. You wouldn’t happen to have been in Salina then, would you?”

Allie’s heart pounded and she tried to breathe. A cold and familiar weight crushed down on her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let me try jogging your memory. It seems Jason bought the meth at a concert. No one knows who sold it to him.” He paused. “No one except us.”

The memory forced itself into her mind: Erik in the parking lot after a show. He was behind the band’s van, out of sight except from the stage door, where she stood. His handsome face was pale in the streetlight and his forehead gleamed with sweat. His hair was lank and tucked behind his ears. He didn’t see her because he was talking to a group of teen boys. She had thought they were fans basking in the glow of her “pet rock star,” as Connor called him. She had smiled to herself. And then she saw Erik handing them little baggies.

After a moment, Andy went on. His voice was smooth and satisfied now. “You know, if anyone knowingly helped the dealer who sold that meth—say by driving the dealer around or paying the dealer’s hotel bills—that person could be guilty of Jason’s death just the same as the dealer. Exactly the same.”

The room spun and Allie put her head in her hand. Bile burned in the back of her throat. “I’ve got nothing more to say to you.”

“But you do have something more to do for me. I don’t care how you do it, but you will find evidence that Deep Seven has been ripping off the government—unless you’d rather spend a long time in a Kansas jail.”

She hung up and started to cry.

20

A
SHARP WIND WHISTLED THROUGH THE
G
RASP
II
’
S SUPERSTRUCTURE AND
drove bullet-like raindrops against the windows of her lounge. Inside, First Mate Jenkins, Mitch Daniels, and Ed Granger talked over a table bolted to the floor, sitting on the U-shaped bench that was also bolted down. It had been a long, cold, wet day, and they were all drinking Irish coffee.

They had the lounge to themselves, which was a relief. Mitch had nothing against Koreans, but being surrounded by foreigners all day every day was beginning to wear on him— the buzz of incomprehensible language, the stink of strange foods, the unspoken rules that everyone understood except him. Pile all that on top of the hush-hush nature of their trip (they
still
didn’t know where they were going), and… Well, it was good to have a couple drinks with guys he knew and who only spoke English.

Ed apparently felt the same way. “I don’t like it,” he announced. “All these Koreans.”

Jenkins chuffed. “What’s to like? Buncha jerks.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I mean.” Ed sipped noisily from his drink. “Why are they here? Why not let us handle this? They aren’t the first ones to hire the G-2 crew for a treasure hunting trip. No one ever brought their own crew before. Why’d they do that?”

Mitch shrugged and stretched. “Maybe they don’t like Americans.”

Jenkins’s mouth twisted. “They don’t—and it’s mutual.” He swirled his coffee and stared down into his mug. “But is that a good enough reason to bring a whole crew from Korea?”

Mitch’s irritation with the Koreans bubbled higher. “They don’t trust us. They think Americans will screw up whatever it is they’re doing.”

Ed gave a lopsided smile. “So your reputation precedes you, Mitch.”

“If I wanted crap from you, Granger, I’d squeeze your head.”

Jenkins and Ed both started to laugh, but a clipped Asian voice interrupted them.

“Mr. Granger and Mr. Daniels, you should sleep. We will arrive at the search area tomorrow and the remotely operated vehicle and other devices must be ready to go down as soon as possible.”

Mitch looked up and saw David Cho standing behind Jenkins, who stood to face the newcomer. Cho was a tall man of around thirty-five. He was about the same height as Jenkins, but the first mate outweighed him by over fifty pounds—at least half of it muscle.

“We’re almost there?” Jenkins swayed slightly, either from the wave action or the whiskey in his coffee. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You did not need to know.” Cho turned back to Mitch and Ed. “You will need—”

“What do you mean, I didn’t need to know?” Jenkins leaned toward Cho. “I’m the first mate of this ship!”

Cho placed a hand in the middle of Jenkins’ chest and pushed him back. “Leave! I am done speaking with you.”

Jenkins stumbled back several steps, then grabbed a chair and steadied himself. His face was as red as his beard and shaggy hair. He bared his teeth and took a step toward Cho. The Korean moved sideways into the open part of the lounge and stood waiting, feet apart and hands up and open. He didn’t look mad or scared, just… expectant.

Jenkins stopped and the two men stared at each other for several seconds. Mitch held his breath and waited for the burly first mate to pound the obnoxious Korean. But Jenkins narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Without taking his gaze off of Cho, he said, “Better get to bed, guys. Since our
guests
screwed up and didn’t give us advance warning, you’re gonna have a busy day tomorrow.”

21

C
ONNOR WAS WORKING ON HIS SECOND CUP OF
P
EET
’
S WHEN HIS CELL
phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, though he could tell from the 415 area code that it was in San Francisco. “Hello, Connor Norman.”

“Hi, it’s Allie.”

He smiled and swiveled his chair to face the spectacular view of the San Francisco Bay outside his office window. Sailboats meandered lazily across the sparkling blue surface like giant white gulls, keeping well clear of the occasional lumbering freighter. Real gulls flew in sinuous flocks across the water or rested on the numerous docks and wharves that jutted out into the water like fingers of the land grasping the Bay and holding her tight. The view always made Connor want to go for a walk along the waterfront, but he could rarely take the time off work.

“Hey, Allie. It’s good to hear from you. Where are you calling from?”

“I’m at a pay phone in the Ferry Building. Want to get together for a cup of coffee or something?”

Get together? In public? He was about to object when he realized what she was telling him by calling from a pay phone and calling his cell rather than his office number. Concern knotted his stomach—what kind of danger was she in? “Uh, sure. I’ll meet you in front of the Ferry Building in ten minutes. Bye.”

Ten minutes later, he walked across the Embarcadero and scanned the crowd in front of the Ferry Building. She emerged from the building and walked toward him. She wore jeans that complemented her slender legs and a hooded UC Davis sweatshirt. Her shoulder-length hair was black. He wondered whether that was supposed to make her harder to recognize or whether she had gotten tired of brown and blond. Either way, it looked good.