Favors and Lies (30 page)

—

Dan opened the passenger door and with a swoop of the hand, gestured for Sue to enter Ebony and Ivory's burgundy sedan. She grudgingly accepted the offer, still miffed over the demise of her phone and the possible implications of the dead man in the well with a gunshot wound in his chest.

As her derrière found the passenger seat, Dan grabbed her wrist with his vise-like grip. A second later her arm was strapped with a zip tie, attached to the handle above the passenger door frame. Her arm extended upward as if stuck in a perpetual pose of asking a question.

“What the . . . ?”

“Additional insurance.”

“You still don't trust me?”

“Not yet.”

Sue struggled with the tie-down, frantically pulling her arm as Dan walked to the front of the car, staring at her through the windshield. He stopped near the front left fender and started to dial.

—

The National Harbor's new casino drove the commoners back to their middle-class neighborhoods on the weekends with a fifty-dollar-per-hand minimum. The policy kept the welfare checks away from the chip-and-cash windows between Friday night and Sunday night when bigger fish were likely to swim by and test the waters of the new establishment.

Joseph Cellini exchanged five thousand dollars at the roulette table and the dealer slid five stacks of hundred-dollar chips in his direction using both hands. Cellini peeled a few chips off the top and placed them on red and even.

The neckless muscle he kept in tow was standing behind him, uncomfortable in his spruced-up, on-the-town attire. His slacks pulled at his thighs, his shirt stretched at the seams, his poorly knotted tie lashed around his massive neck.

The dealer set the roulette wheel in motion and with a flick of the fingers the white ball jetted around in the opposite direction. As the two opposing forces of the roulette wheel performed their dance, Joseph Cellini stood from his seat. He motioned for his neckless accomplice to take his place and surveyed his environment for a quiet corner. A dozen paces away, Joseph Cellini found a modicum of solitude near a group of senior citizens at the Pai Gow poker table.

Joseph Cellini flipped open his phone and simply said, “Speak.”

“You know who this is?” Dan asked.

Joseph Cellini took a moment to process the voice and responded. “What do you think?”

“I'm going with yes.”

A slot machine in the distance dispersed a ten-thousand-dollar jackpot, accompanied by flashing lights, buzzes, beeps, and the shriek of a lone victor celebrating with a standing pelvic thrust.

“You at the new casino?” Dan asked.

“I am,” said Joseph Cellini.

“Well, if you are still interested in the guy responsible for injuring your daughter, the bomb maker himself is currently unconscious in the basement of a house in Old Town Alexandria named for a Civil War General. The front door is open.”

“Will he be expecting me?”

“Depends on how long it takes you to get there.”

“Something you did?”

“No.”

“Do I need to provide maid service?”

“There won't be time. You can be at the house I described in less than fifteen minutes from your current location. If you are interested, you need to hurry. And if you can make it, ignore the problem with the water supply.”

“I assume that is self-explanatory.”

“Should be. I can delay calling the police but not all night. So if you are interested, get moving.”

“What about a financial settlement to cover my art gallery losses?”

“As I said in the hospital, these guys were never going to negotiate a settlement.”

Joseph Cellini breathed heavily into the phone.

Dan continued. “But in the spirit of good neighbor relations, I have a solution to your financial concerns that you will find amicable. I'm requesting a meeting. Good Time Charlie in Prince Georges County. Be there. Sunday. High noon.”

“I'll be there.”

—

Dan slid into the driver's seat and put the key into the ignition.

“Secret phone call?”

“I don't think we should be talking about secrets.”

Sue pulled at her wrist and scowled.

“Probably not going to break the zip ties with that angle,” Dan said flatly. “Sit there while I make another call.”

Sue scowled again and Dan dialed another number. Detective Wallace answered on the second ring and Dan recognized from the sound of the detective's voice that he was smoking a cigarette. Dan imagined the detective in his car, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the phone, a cloud of smoke, and a cancer stick hanging from his lips with an ash tail that was ready to drop. Dan pushed his own sudden desire for a smoke from his mind.

“I see you called,” Dan said.

“I did.”

“I was occupied. Did you find the gray BMW?”

“Are you aware that the gray BMW M5 is a particularly rare vehicle?”

“I heard that rumor. I didn't have time to check it out myself.”

“Well, it was an important piece of information.”

“Do you have an address?”

“I can do better than that.”

“You have eyes on it?”

“Two cars ahead of me. We crossed the Key Bridge five minutes ago. Unfortunate for the driver. Now we are in my jurisdiction. My rules.”

“I remember your rules. See if you can give them an hour in a cell at DC general.”

“Still complaining about that?”

“Did you get an ID on who owns the car?”

“I called it in as soon as I picked up the tail and had the tags in sight. It is owned by Michael and Kate Smith. Leesburg, Virginia.”

“There is no way those are real identities.”

“I was thinking the same thing. The names seem a little too generic.”

“How did you find the car?”

Detective Wallace took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled slowly. Dan recognized the sound and buried a pang of envy.

“I followed the car from a gas station at Kirby Road and Route 123.”

“You must have spoken with Alex the Russian.”

Detective Wallace took another long drag. “Da.”

“Very funny.”

“I told you I was still on the case. Alex told me where I could likely spot the car and which direction it would be heading.”

“Why would he tell you that?”

“Let's say I owe him one.”

“I'm sure that is a story in itself. Where are you?”

“Wisconsin North. Turning onto Idaho.”

“The next turn is going to be a right onto Porter.”

“How could you know that?”

“They are heading back to the scene of the crime.”

“Your sister-in-law's house?”

“On my way.”

—

Dan turned the engine, checked the mirrors, and put the car in drive.

“What about the guys inside?” Sue asked.

“I don't think we have to worry about them. When they don't check in with Reed Temple, you can bet someone will show up to sterilize the location. They won't be there in an hour.”

“You're probably right.”

Dan checked his mirrors again and noted the empty street behind him. “Time to hear what you have to say. Who do you work for?”

“I am employed by the Central Intelligence Agency. I was assigned to follow you and to provide daily reports in order to ensure your safety.”

“Reports to whom?”

“A superior. Someone I've never met. I was called into my director's office and ordered to an offsite location. I was given hard copy orders from an administrative assistant who provided a file for me to study. The file was about you. After I studied the file, I was briefed by someone behind a two-way mirror.”

“What were your orders, exactly?”

“I was told that contact with you had already been established and I would be meeting you under the auspice of an internship. It was my understanding you had interns in the past.”

“How did you know about past internships?”

“Standard operation. Your email account was compromised to identify access opportunities—a way to enter your life without raising undue suspicion. Your email history was dissected at the most granular level. We found references to past interns. We researched your friend, Professor Davis. The relationship between you and the professor was examined in detail. Once we felt comfortable about our chances, we created a student that fit our description. That student was me.”

“My private emails are encrypted.”

Sue cocked her head to the side. “Really?”

“What if I had called the professor?”

“Could have. But I think we've learned enough about phone manipulation to acknowledge there are ways to circumvent that possibility. If we didn't want you to reach the professor via phone, we could have made that happen. But all that aside, it was an acceptable risk. No cover assignment is perfect. No assignment is risk free. And if you did catch me in the lie, so what? We would have looked for another access point.”

“What was in the file you were given at the time of your assignment?”

“Most of the things I learned about you I disclosed last week when I was trying to impress you with my research skills.”

“I am no longer impressed. You had the CIA database at your disposal.”

“Actually, a majority of the information I shared with you was supplied to me in hard copy. There is surprisingly little information available in the standard agency databases on you and your background. At least not at my level of security clearance.”

“So you were reading from hard copies?”

“Yes.”

“Which means someone was controlling all of the information you had. Everything you know about me could have been completely fictitious.”

“It could have been, I guess. But it wasn't. I could tell by your reaction.”

“But you didn't know that until after the fact.”

“True. But I am not sure why it matters. All-in-all, nothing in the file given to me about your background would surprise you.”

“The existence of the file surprises me. Why would I have one at all? The content is less intriguing.”

“Never thought about it. I was just doing my job.”

“Was there any information beyond what you have already told me?”

“Several additional items were discussed at the assignment briefing. A few other tidbits of a more subjective nature. Likes and dislikes. Sexual orientation. Alcohol and drug use tendencies. On the whole, the file portrayed you as a bit of a loner. I am sure there is some additional information I do not have access to. Access at the Agency is limited by a variety of parameters. It is not unusual to have limited access or partial access.”

“Hierarchical controls and compartmentalization.”

“That's how it works.”

“What about your knowledge of forensics and death? You were pretty convincing in your conversation with Tobias on the great killers and afflictions of humankind.”

“I studied both subjects in real life. Well, uh, in college. Real college. The college I went to.”

“I get it.”

“I was told one of the reasons I was selected for the assignment was based on my educational background. But it had been a while since I graduated. I had to re-study. I downloaded all the syllabi from all the classes I would have been required to take if I were a student at Marymount. Crammed for eighteen hours a day. I was even assigned a tutor. Took a few exams.”

“And the story about your parents passing away? The pimp with the whiskey bottle in the neck. I checked the legal records for you and the information was verified. There was also a brief mention of it in an old issue of the
Baltimore Sun
. Or was that information all planted?”

Sue looked Dan in the eyes. “Oh, that part was true.”

“So your name is Sue Fine.”

“I was told it was likely you would do a background check and that you had access to information normal people may not have. I also have a legal record, and was fingerprinted, so it was decided I would use my real name. It was more plausible to create a background for my real name, to augment what is already publicly available, than to create a fictitious person you would likely debunk. Of course, your background check would have no way of identifying me as a CIA employee.”

Dan nodded as the car passed Reagan National. Minutes later, they approached the onramp to the Roosevelt Bridge, heading into the District.

“Do you know our man, Reed Temple . . . Clyde Parkson?”

“I don't.”

“You are aware you both receive paychecks from the same employer.”

“I was not given any information on him. After you took pictures of Ebony and Ivory at the coffee shop stakeout, I submitted the photos for analysis and identification. I never received a reply.”

“Convenient.”

“Yes.”

“So your task was to follow me?”

“Yes. You can trust me.”

“That is to be determined.”

“If I wanted you dead, I would have put a bullet in you while you were in the cellar. I had a loaded handgun at your back. I could have easily shot both of you.”

“Maybe you were aiming for me and you missed.”

“From fifteen feet? I doubt it.”

“Maybe you don't want me dead. Maybe you want me captured.”

Sue had no rebuttal. Under the same circumstances she would be equally suspicious.

“What happened after you left the hospital? How were you acquired by our two dead guys?” Dan asked.

“I took a cab from the hospital. You had my car, mind you. I needed to check in with my superiors. I returned to my apartment and was acquired before I could get inside.”

“So they followed both of us from the hospital,” Dan said.

“It would seem so,” Sue responded.

“I was checking for a tail.”

“Not very well. Or maybe you were being tracked somehow. I had to travel by cab. There was very little I could do about surveillance.”