Exit interview, p.18
Exit Interview, page 18
I picked up one of the pistols. It was heavy to my hand, ugly, too. Black matte, textured grip with a small medallion that said “P226R” on the side of the grip. I set it aside and picked up one of the knives, a long flat one in a sheath. Also black. I pulled it out and saw a seven-inch blade, serrations at the base near the handle. It was marked “KA-BAR.”
“Kay-Bar. Great knife. Please put it down before you get hurt.” Marie loaded a magazine, racked a round into the chamber, then removed the magazine and added another bullet.
I put it back into the sheath carefully. Just looking at the blade’s sharpness scared me. I picked up one of the coins. A Sacagawea dollar, but it felt oddly heavy.
“Hang on to that,” Marie said. “Don’t spend it.”
“Why? You got a thing against the dollar coin?”
“No. Inside is a tracking device. If we get separated, I can find you.”
I stuck it in my pocket.
“Here.” She handed me one of the Triathlon watches after making sure it matched the time on hers, down to the second. “Don’t wear it now—it doesn’t fit your cover—but hang onto it. And this…” She picked up the little round pistol and thought a moment, then shook her head. “I’m not sure we’ll need it, but we’ll hang on to it for backup. Ape was thinking of you.”
“Great. I get the girl gun.” I put it aside.
“Hey, it was nice of her; she wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable with a SIG. It’s a problem, for women with small hands. Not that it’s an issue for you, you damn yeti.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“My opinion? It’s not the caliber, but the placement that counts. And never rule out anything, when you haven’t got much.” She handed me the smallest of the square guns—she’d holstered the others. “I’ve got a suppressor and ammo. I don’t want to load you down. Just keep this in your bag. Want a knife? No, best not to get too complicated. I just always feel a little better with one. Or three, you know?” She might have been talking about spare keys.
“I’ll stick with my Swiss Army knife, thanks.” To think I used to worry about overloading my handbag. We arranged things so my shoulder bag was reasonably balanced and the stuff in it was accessible and didn’t clink.
Marie looked a lot happier, now that she was heavily armed with her old gear and her courier bag was full of comforting things that scared the bejeezus out of me. We set out the plan. She’d be lookout, and we’d communicate using the radios Ape got us. If everything was fine, I’d walk to the Starbucks on the corner, out the other side, and she’d pick me up. If things went wrong, I walked the opposite direction, then I’d return to the room and wait. If she didn’t show up by midnight, or if the place was being watched, I would head out on my own.
“Where? I mean, what happens after this?” I asked in the car.
She shook her head. “Can’t tell until we get that clue. If there is one.”
My pulse pounded as we neared the square.
“Okay, first make sure you’re not being followed. There’s a good cut-through, off this side street.” As we drove by, I saw a brick-walled alley that ran behind the shops and restaurants. “And remember the contingency plan.”
“I keep my finger on the send button. If I run into trouble, I punch it and get out. Keep under the radar.”
“You got it. Good luck, Amy. See you in a few.”
She dropped me off on M Street, and I found myself alone in the crowd. I did a quick look around to orient myself and see who might be following me, then went down the side street and up the alley. I came out back on M Street: No one was following me. Hey, Baby! was a store so expensive that there was a waiting list to get on their registry. I’d had to restrain myself from spending the better part of my 401K on presents there when Lucy was born.
The store was just a few feet away, along with several other shops. I had to keep myself from running. I felt so exposed. There’s nothing like doing something wrong to ignite your sense of paranoia. Every face I saw was full of suspicion, and I forgot how an innocent person walks.
Don’t break character, I told myself. You’re picking up a teddy bear that contains a nanny cam or a hideously expensive layette set. An organic cotton onesie embroidered with silk. Walk. Act like you’re enjoying the day, a little warm, maybe, but…
I was outside the shop. I paused, took out a tissue to blot my face. I made sure I didn’t recognize anyone.
I took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and entered.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Nicole Bradley
My next step is a long-stay business hotel, a dreary, anonymous chain that smacks of fatigue and making do with its unsuccessful attempts to create a sense of home away from home. I’d prefer a suite at the nearest five-star boutique property and this is assuredly not my style. It does, however, meet my needs for cooking and coding, and, with my VPN, has Wi-Fi that I can use for my own purposes.
I walk off my hurt pride and the fear that comes from such a close call as I just escaped. After a hot shower, I feel better. It’s fine. That’s over. Now is now, and time’s wasting.
I make a list of the places that the Kolas own and the places Philomena Kola frequents. And then I proceed to visit each place. At each stop, I pause briefly and steal her blind.
Oh, I don’t take her money or her real estate or her jewels. I use a “zero-day” exploit to help myself to her passwords, her security codes, her digital life. I install spyware on her tech, so that any time she moves money among her accounts, texts her driver, or looks at porn, I know about it. I add insult to injury, and make her IP address one of mine to put to work for me when I prowl the dark web.
You’d think that someone in her business would keep her patches up to date, but she’s a businesswoman and not terribly technical.
With the internet of things, I could probably work out a way to kill her in her sauna or electrocute her as she sits on her very expensive Japanese toilet—even with her ridiculous wealth, she can’t avoid the most humbling of human biological processes. But right now, like Heath, I need her alive, because she might be the one who leads me to her dead husband’s weapons.
The Cave Girl can keep her crude bullets and blades, because under the right circumstances, I’m empress of my digital universe. States, laws, and money are meaningless to me, because I can reshape them—or my self—to be whatever I need. I only need people, as dull and dreadful as they can be, to muddle along until I find the best way to exploit them from afar.
I sigh. I’m not usually so bleak in my outlook. I must still be feeling the sting of performing so badly in the ambush.
Okay, I also need people to make chocolate chip ice cream.
And I need that delicious young man who works at the high-end butcher shop I frequent. And the exquisite woman who always seems to be working when I visit the wine store for a tasting.
I guess I’m feeling better. Forward progress.
I stay strictly away from anything that has to do with the Department, instead focusing my attention on where Rogers is and what she and Blondie are up to.
After my recent incursion at my old job, checking on the local police and emergency services should be a cakewalk, but I have to assume that most of those channels for two hundred square miles will be surveilled, looking just for me. That, I can work around.
I notice a lot of message traffic around Georgetown, and wonder what could be going down. When I check Rogers’ location, it looks like she’s right in the heart of it. I try to get a look at license plates and the parties present with the local surveillance cameras, but I don’t recognize them. A little research shows that they’re probably working for Kola.
As much as I don’t want to, I realize that it might be time to join the meatworld again, much sooner than I’d hoped.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Amy Lindstrom
Refrigerated air washed over me as I opened the door to the posh baby store. I slowed my breathing, then found my way past piles of tiny clothes rolled up to resemble sushi rolls in take-out containers, plush blankets shaped like animals, socks that looked like ballerina slippers, and ridiculously large stuffed animals until I reached the young female associate at the cash desk.
“Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon. How can I help you?”
“I’m picking up a special order. For Kola.”
“Certainly. Do you recall what it was?”
“I’m afraid Mrs. Kola didn’t tell me. And now Mr. Kola has passed…” I tried to look appropriately somber.
“Let me check in back.”
She was gone for what seemed an interminable amount of time. Too late, I worried about a receipt, but clients like Kola probably had an account.
She came out smiling, a moment later, carrying a flat box, about the size of a notebook. “Here we are. Would you like to have a look?”
No, I thought. I want to get the hell out of here. But if it was a special order… “Yes, please.”
She removed the cover and pulled back the tissue to reveal a silver picture frame. “And the inscription is correct?”
I glanced down; a blur of initials and a date. I was anxious to leave. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“We were surprised by the change in the initials. He was always shopping for his grandson, Marcus.”
I thought quickly. “Oh, it’s a family friend.”
The woman frowned. “I thought it was for his assistant’s new baby.”
“It is,” I said. “I’m standing in for her while she’s on parenting leave.”
“Ah.” Her face relaxed into a smile. “Would you like me to wrap it?”
“No, thanks. We want to put a photo in, first. Had Mr. Kola put it on the account?” I suddenly wondered how much the swanky silver frame cost; I had about two hundred dollars. But cash would be suspect, here…
“It’s been taken care of,” she said.
She wrapped the box in tissue, sealed it with a metallic sticker, and put it in a perfectly sized bag.
I took it, thanked her, and tried not to pelt from the store.
“Oh, Miss?”
I froze in my tracks, deciding not to bolt. I was close enough to the door if things got hairy. “Yes?”
She smiled. “I forgot—did you want a gift card?”
My life, which had been passing before my eyes, quickly went into reverse. “No, thank you.”
“Have a nice day.”
“You, too,” I said. Don’t ever do that to me again.
I texted for two coffees, then walked down the street, crossing, and cutting through another store, until I reached the Starbucks. I called. “I’m done.”
“Thirty seconds.”
I was at the door as she pulled up, the passenger side door unlocked for me. She must have driven around so I wouldn’t have to cross the street. Nice move, Marie.
I got in, juggling the package and tray of drinks.
“You stopped for coffee?” Marie was incredulous as she pulled away.
“Well, it was a coffee shop. I…I thought it would be a way to lose a tail.”
“Yeah, but…” She shook her head. “Next time, don’t waste time we could spend boogeying.”
“Does that mean you don’t want this?” I held up the cup.
“Hell, no. Just let me get us out of here, first,” she said as she navigated through the heavy traffic. We were held up at a construction site. There was no cop to reroute us through the detour.
A moment later, she frowned. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“This street. I don’t know. This construction, the detours…it doesn’t feel right to me. Let’s get out of sight.” She looked around, made a choice. “The office space, over there. It’s got the FOR LEASE sign on it.”
“I see it.”
“There’ll be another door on the side of the building. Let’s try that.”
“Whatever you say.” I was nervous. I didn’t see why she should be anxious. And what if someone was in the building?
She pulled into the alley, killed the ignition. I followed her to the door she seemed to know would be there. She took the coffee with her, and when I asked why, she said, “People with coffee look innocent. They look like they’re where they are for a reason.”
“Keep an eye open, would you?” She handed me her cup, then pulled out a small flat package and picked the lock. “Bingo. In we go.”
I tensed, waiting for an alarm to go off, but none did.
“Upstairs. Avoid the windows,” she said.
The second floor was a shell. Wires and cables stuck out, waiting for some smart young start-up to take residence. She held out her hand, and I offered her the coffee.
“Thanks. I meant, let’s see the package.”
I handed it over, and she opened it. “‘WTT, 12-11-2019.’ Mean anything to you?
I shook my head. She took a picture of the front with her phone, just in case.
She removed the back. There was nothing but the backing board, and the paper.
I flipped them over. Still nothing.
But Marie was looking at the tissue paper that had wrapped the box.
“We’re hosed.” She stood. She showed me the foil sticker that had sealed the tissue paper. There was a minuscule dot on the back.
I shook my head. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Footsteps.”
She chucked the frame out a window, pulled out a gun, went to the staircase. She came back, silently, shaking her head. She gestured to a doorway across the room.
We no sooner reached it than a guy the size of an armoire with a gun was blocking our way.
“Gotcha,” he said. He seemed to recognize Marie. “Where’s Kola’s encryption key?”
“Huh?” I blurted.
“Rogers, Kola must have given it to you at the party,” he said to Marie. “Save your friend here some pain and give it to me now. His people weren’t too happy about the knife-job you did on their guy.”
“Morris?” Marie looked like she was going to cry. “You can’t possibly believe that I…?” She started to tremble. The cup she was holding tilted, spilling coffee all over the carpet.
Armoire’s eyes flickered to the coffee—just as mine had—when Marie dropped the cup. She stepped forward, shoved his gun hand against the door frame, and kneed up and into his sternum. Three quick slams, his head into the door jamb. He went down without a noise. Silence bought us time, I realized.
She stuck her head into the hallway. More voices there, none of them tech types shopping for office space. We went up two more flights of stairs.
“That way.” She shoved me down the hallway. “All the way to the end.”
There was another staircase leading to the roof. Emergency Exit indeed.
There were voices at the bottom of the staircase. And voices closer behind us in the hall.
“Up. Get going.”
She didn’t need to shove me again. But she didn’t follow. I turned back. “What are you doing?”
She pulled a tube out of her pocket and fixed it to the barrel of her pistol. “Suppressor. Go.”
I scrambled up stairs covered in dirt and cigarette butts. A series of slamming noises followed. I moved even faster. The door at the top was locked.
“Now what?” I hissed.
“Get your gun.”
I dug through my bag and found the pistol she’d given me from Ape’s stash, and I slotted one in. Shots echoed down the stairwell.
“Get down here.”
I put the extra clip in my pocket; she met me halfway.
“Anyone comes up the stairwell, you shoot them. Got it?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Check the roof. Count your shots. When you hit fourteen, call me. You’ll have one left. I’ll take over.”
“Oh shit.”
“You can do it.” She was up the stairs in an instant.
It was quiet in the staircase. I wanted to run down the steps or scream, just to break the tension. I kept swallowing, my mouth dry.
I gotta do this, I just gotta keep calm…
Suddenly, there was a guy staring up at me.
“Fuck!” I pulled the trigger, not bothering to aim. He dove away.
More shots. I returned them wildly, praying they’d keep away from me.
Then…quiet.
I felt a breath on the back of my neck. I jumped, whirled, and aimed.
It was Marie.
“Jesus! I could have killed you!”
She pushed my hand down, aiming the gun away from her. “No. Your clip is empty, and the slide is locked back. You didn’t count. Let’s go.”
I followed her up the stairs, through the door, out into the brutal afternoon sun.
“Take this.” She handed me her reloaded pistol. The silencer—suppressor?—made it awkward, unbalanced. She reloaded and affixed a suppressor to the pistol she took from me. “There’s a full clip in it. You still got a spare magazine?”
I nodded.
“Good. Get over there.” She jerked her head to the air-conditioning unit. “Get behind it. Any of them get past me, you get them.”
“Uhhhh…”
The door opened, and something rolled out, hissing, emitting a gas. Marie scooped it up, took three steps, and gracefully lobbed it into the alley. By the time she’d finished, the door opened. Four more guys busted through. I shot, realizing I couldn’t really count, aim, and plan all at the same time. At best, I could add to the confusion.
But I hit one of the men. He was so wide, I couldn’t miss. He hit the roof like a falling redwood. Marie had disappeared behind an HVAC unit and had nailed one herself. The two who were left split up and began to circle. I did my best, but it seemed all I did was spend a lot of bullets. Thank God for the construction noise; the jackhammers and truck engines were excellent cover for the shots.
