3 Lies (23 page)

Merlin ditched the car in an open spot and jogged over to Clint. His excitement rivaled Louie’s first run of the morning. “It’s grand, don’t you agree?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “They gave me no trouble in hiring it, and it goes like the clappers.”

For Clint, the glee of a grown man over renting a car burrowed to surprising depth. Even last night, when he asked Merlin to rent the car for him, he never considered that the older man couldn’t rent a car as simply as ordering a burger at the drive-thru. The crimson wash over Merlin’s face should’ve been his first clue. But all the attention, the time, the worry was directed toward Clint. Merlin was a minor character in his drama. But on center stage, from the warm glow of a borrowed spotlight, the pirate’s role blossomed.

Sorrow bubbled like a reagent’s froth. For Merlin. For Abe. For Paige. For Beth. For the baby.

He resisted the urge to harbor this particular discomfort. He could only hold so much. “It’s a beautiful car.”

“I popped into the office to get someone to cover for me the next few days.” Merlin hefted a manila envelope to Clint’s eye line. “This door-stop came by courier at daybreak.”

The legal minds of CatSat Labs had whirred through the night. A bit of a libertine in his personal life, Todd’s attitude toward business matters rivaled the jaws of a committed pit bull. His word was worth every karat of its golden weight.

Merlin fished in his pocket. He withdrew several messages and passed them to Clint. “I haven’t heard any news about the Chief Justice. If the heart attack, you know, if he’d passed, it would have been on the news.”

“And then some. I’ve been listening too. So far, so good.” Clint shuffled through the pile. Paige. CatSat board. They could wait. He shoved the messages in his pocket and opened the large envelope from Todd.

He clapped Merlin on the shoulder. “C’mon. I’ve got our breakfast warming in the oven.”

Merlin jangled Louie’s collar in an aggressive head rubbing “And he cooks, too? God certainly does give with both hands.”

“Save it. You haven’t tasted anything yet.”

Clint scanned the lawyerly stack of case notes on the walk back to the
No Moor
. Louie tromped along with Merlin in the rear. The cover letter stated that the package contained details on eleven cases, cases that involved Middle Eastern defendants, Islamic defendants, or outright terrorists. In all of these cases, the Supreme Court recently had granted certiorari with the decisions still in question.

He found a reference to a website where the legal staff gathered the bulk of the data. Even if he’d dug through the site himself, he’d never have culled through the cases as quickly as the CatSat team stormed through them. They weren’t all leeches on humanity. Todd hired the best, and that’s what Beth deserved. The best.

These days Clint operated at a level considerably lower than the best. If the FBI or some group already claimed this case, great. He prayed they’d find her. But he couldn’t sit around waiting for their success or failure. He had to try. Each day without dialysis left her blood more polluted.

He didn’t want to think about the note from Paige. She said they would have the test results within a day. It loomed like a billowing sail on the horizon. The ship’s flag yet unknown. The scenario was familiar to the point of pain. He was a man adrift, quivering for rescue, but resigned to a certain death.

Marina regulars interested themselves in the comings and goings of anyone unknown. At least two people took note of the newcomers on the docks. Clint casually greeted a man dressed and moving as if he were headed to the office. Another older man leisurely waved to them from two docks away. They reached the boat and climbed aboard.

Downstairs in the galley, they sat at the dinette where Clint served ham and scrambled eggs on paper plates. He’d risen early and hungry and cooked the food before Louie’s needs became urgent. The men poured through the legal cases as they ate.

“What do you hope to find?” Merlin sipped his coffee. He kept a napkin close under the mug.

Clint noticed for the first time that Merlin had shaved. His clothes appeared cleaner than usual, the earring was gone, and his ponytail several inches shorter. Even his shoes were shined.

“I wish I knew. I keep hoping something will click.”

“Why these cases?”

Clint explained how he’d found the note in Arabic at Beth’s house.

“And you’re retrieving a translator today?”

“Right.”

“That should prove most interesting.” Merlin turned the page.

“It’s my best shot. But I don’t want to leave anything on the table.”

“You think somebody nicked the loved ones of the members of the Supreme Court to compel a decision.” Merlin played the skeptic.

“After confronting Hizzoner, I’m sure of it.”

“That kind of nerve doesn’t come cheap.”

“The whole thing has a suicide-bomber clumsiness about it. The kidnappers can’t specify the exact case without implicating themselves. Early last month they approved a batch of cases for hearing.”

“You think the plans could have been set in motion then?”

“Maybe. Maybe they were waiting to see if the case even got a hearing. Maybe if it hadn’t, Beth would be home right now.” The words scratched on the way out.

Merlin pushed his food around his plate then laid down his fork. “Let’s get on it then.”

Clint gathered the papers and returned them to the envelope. They climbed topside, locking the door to the cabin. Louie stayed behind with clean water and a snack.

Merlin insisted that Clint should drive the car to the library, but Clint refused under the pretense of reviewing his case notes and because of the possible outstanding warrant, but mostly, to let Merlin enjoy the thrill.

Clint hung low in the car as if sensing the dragnet in the water. He felt less conspicuous that way, and the slumping posture rather matched his mood.

His cell phone sounded from the console. The NY PI. An early riser.

“That’s right. Oberman is a go. We also confirmed Justice Delancey’s involvement. A guy she knows has been gone since at least Wednesday. I’m not certain of the relationship between the missing gentleman and the good justice. Maybe friend. Maybe more. He’s married. Not that it stops everyone these days.”

“So we’re three for three.”

“Yes, sir. Three for three.” The PI cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, nothing else. Thanks.” Clint snapped the phone closed. It hid neatly behind his large hand. He hadn’t owned a cell phone in almost three months. Convenient, wireless, but not without strings.

Merlin turned onto the northbound ramp of the Pilgrims Highway while Clint made another call.

The Chicago PI sounded a little groggy when he answered, but brightened when he heard Clint’s name. “Yeah. It’s not definite but damn close. Justice Talbot’s attorney has been ineptly nosing around, looking into the whereabouts of a retired schoolteacher. She’s an aunt of the Justice. No one’s seen anything suspicious, but she’s been missing several days. The neighbor says she goes to a cabin in Wisconsin for days on end. That’s what we’re still checking. My man on the scene senses it’s a go, but me, I like to be certain.”

“Call when you’re sure.”

“Understood, boss.”

Clint called the PI in LA. He sounded winded, as if he’d finished a run.

“Sorry, I was on the treadmill. Confirmation came two minutes ago. Let me get my notes.”

Clint heard a door close.

“Yeah. Justice Millie Harkins. She has a missing cousin. He’s a restaurateur in New Orleans. It took him three years to rebuild after Katrina. He never travels without appropriate fanfare.”

“When did he go missing?” Clint already knew the answer.

“Tuesday.”

“Thanks.”

“So we’re done here?”

“That’s it. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

Clint shut down the call. “It’s up to eight. Eight out of nine justices. I almost feel sorry for Abe, the sonovabitch.”

“Now what?”

“Nothing’s changed. We search. We research. We look because the police aren’t—”

A siren erupted from behind, the ominous wail ascending and soaring, a shrieking banshee mocking his thoughts.

Clint’s breakfast lurched as if it were still alive. He slapped down the sun visor and looked through the vanity mirror. The light bar on top of the state police car blitzed lights in a synchronized pattern of red, yellow, and blue. Merlin changed lanes. The state police car followed.

“Oh, shite. I’m to pull over. Sorry, mate.”

Merlin let off the accelerator and slipped the vehicle onto the shoulder. The statie tracked his moves. The siren’s cry droned to a whimper. His veined hands seized the steering wheel like a man given last call before his turn in the gas chamber.

Amir studied the art of surveillance for both his professional and personal needs. Alone in his shared cabin, he reminisced about a certain woman of the orient with tangential claims to royalty. He readily proved her indiscretion—she had been unfaithful to him. When Amir confronted her with the evidence, the woman’s unheroic lover left her. Perhaps Amir’s black hood and recently sharpened machete persuaded him. For the woman, Amir played a recording of her engaged in coarse conversation with another man. Amir later found out that the male voice on tape wasn’t even the same man he’d allowed to leave the room before he severed her head.

Uncovering secrets that Salif chose to keep required a more nuanced approach. Amir’s options contracted aboard the ship. He had a laptop, satellite internet access, and knew of a website that promised to deliver what he considered a solution. He rose from his bunk. Staring at the ceiling helped his concentration, but his situation now required action.

The hallway along the lower deck was clear of any traffic, but he knew those on the upper deck could see him from the many LCD screens. Walking the halls served the crew as a valuable diversion. Their floating cage held both captive and captor.

Amir climbed the stairs, past the salon deck to the flybridge. Enjoying the brief moment in the sun, he walked to the rear cockpit and took the stairs down to the control room where no cameras monitored his movements.

When the laptop wasn’t in use, they stored it in the bench seat along the back wall. He found the USB-to- mini-USB cable stored in the large pocket of the case. He pulled the laptop out and started the operating system. Having the machine running would save him precious time later and was easy to explain if he was caught. A running laptop, at least, would not get him killed.

The clear morning weather promised a quick and steady internet connection for his transaction. A good omen. Once the machine fully booted, he plugged the cable into one of the USB slots at the side of the machine. Amir opened the browser window and entered the URL, high-lighted it with the cursor, and copied it to the system clipboard. He erased it from the browser window and returned the laptop to the bench seat. He checked his watch. Six-fifty. The laptop battery ran steady for three hours without needing a charge. If Amir calculated correctly, he needed less than half an hour.

The uninitiated assumed life aboard ship operated with either abandoned concern for time, schedule, and commitment, or with discipline rigid enough to make a Shaolin monk weep. This particular mission required mostly the latter, but a dash of the former, to keep them all sane. With the team’s current orders, routine naturally set in. Amir now counted on it as he considered his plan.

Other than their days in travel, Salif’s time in the shower was the same everyday. He took only a toiletry bag and his cell phone into the head and spent twenty-two minutes—give or take a minute—bathing, shaving, and relaxing under the water flow. He was in by seven, out, dressed, and back in command by seven twenty-five. He’d told them he kept the rest of his day free for action and that no one made important decisions until after lunch. Amir relished the irony.

Upstairs, Salif played cribbage with Binard and neither looked at Amir when he entered the salon. He pretended to watch the captives at the monitors. Salif turned his wristwatch toward him. He fidgeted in his chair. Binard glanced at the clock on the wall and seemed to recognize that the game would now end. At the end of the hand, they set their cards aside and Salif went below deck. Amir noted the time.

Jaman loaded the serving trays with cereal tubs, fruit juice boxes, bananas, and milk.

Binard took a shotgun from the rack. It was his turn to accompany the meal run. Amir stepped to the center of the room. “I will take this round. With any luck, one of them will try to escape.”

Binard eyed Amir a moment—mission aside, boredom was the common enemy—then threw the weapon to him with a two-handed chest pass. Amir lifted his chin and led Jaman down the fore stairs. They opened the men’s cabin first. Jaman set both trays down and removed the items intended for the men. Amir made certain they saw him, to dispense with any reckless notions they may harbor. Only nineteen minutes left.

Jaman served the women quickly but took another minute to inquire about golden hair. She was asleep, and her condition had deteriorated. Neither bit of information constituted news.

Seventeen minutes.

They doubled back and up to the galley. Jaman stopped there, but Amir continued through the salon and down the aft stairs. Amir detoured into the back cabin. He heard Salif bathing behind the head door.

The shower door did not face the main door to the head. Amir expected the cell phone to be on the counter next to the sink inside the door and on the left. It was where he left his own when he showered.

He wrapped his fingers around the door handle, pulling it toward him as he turned the knob. The tension of the door fell as it broke free from the jamb. He peered through the steam. The cell phone gleamed in the mist. He reached in and palmed it.

Fourteen minutes.

Back in the control room, he pulled the running laptop from the bench seat. He pasted the URL from the system clipboard into the address block of the browser window and hit enter. The web page popped up to the order screen. Using a fresh alias and credit card, he made his purchase. While the credit card charge was processing, he opened a webpage to his email account under the same alias. He plugged in the cell phone to the mini USB cable attached to the laptop.