Hidden Trump (Bite Back 2) (16 page)

He tried to get height advantage back by standing up, but that put him in the subordinate position. He realized that too late and thought about sitting right back down again, but couldn’t stand to appear indecisive. I almost smiled.

“You don’t seem to be taking this seriously—” he started.

“You can’t even remember whether it’s Miss or Ms., you’ve apparently forgotten that I said an hour, and you’ve wasted over fifty minutes of that already. You’re the one who’s not taking this seriously.”

“If you think I haven’t got other—”

He’d walked right into my trap. “So, it’s not a priority then. I’ll let you get back to your
important
work.”

“Miss Farrell—”

“It’s Ms., and you’ve wasted the opportunity to talk to me with bad manners and stupid attempts at mind games.”

I swiveled my butt off the table and made for the door.

He grabbed my arm. I stopped and glared at him.

Another agent breezed in, as if completely by chance, and I mentally grimaced. This one wasn’t an idiot asking to be pushed around. He was tall and silver-haired, carried a bit of a belly, but comfortably. His face was tanned; this guy got out a lot. His bright blue eyes had little laughter lines running back from them and he had a nose that twitched like a fox’s.

“Howdy, I’m Hal Ingram,” he drawled, Texas slow, and offered his hand. “Is there a problem here?” He made at least two syllables for every one in each word.

I wrenched my arm out of Griffith’s grip and shook Agent Ingram’s hand.

“I’m not sure,” I answered. “Master Griffith seems to think I’m under arrest.” I had to fight my demon not to stretch all the words out like Ingram did. I bet I could make four syllables in arrest.

Ingram’s eyes smiled, while his face remained solemn. “Absolutely not. Nu-uh. We were just fixing to see if you could come in and shed some light on a couple of incidents. I surely must add that the Denver police made a point to inform me just how valuable your assistance was in those incidents.”

“Thanks.” The police had only known about the drugs shipment at Crate & Freight because I called them. And they’d still be negotiating at the Nexus building if I hadn’t gone in and rescued the hostages, including Captain José Morales. Yeah, my help was invaluable. “That’s what I thought I was coming in for, an hour ago. It’s a shame I’ve spent the hour I said I could spare, in this room, without a single question to answer.”

“Maybe—” Griffith tried to wrestle the initiative back. He shouldn’t have tried it with a sentence starting with ‘maybe.’ Didn’t apply to me, of course.

“Maybe we could rearrange. Pick a date and a place where other important things don’t get in the way. Send me a text or an email.” I retrieved one of my cards and handed it over to Ingram. If he made a joke about it I was going to punch him. Tullah’s choice of my skin tone for the color and the tag line ‘reliable—efficient—discreet’ made me seem like a hooker. But I’d gotten kind of attached to them.

And now that Tullah was running her own cases, she’d have to have one as well. Ha! See how she liked it.

Agent Ingram exchanged it for one of his, which was a boring business card, but at least gave me a number to bypass the office idiot.

They trailed after me as I made my way back to the reception area, and let me through the scanners.

At the front desk, I handed in my visitor’s badge and turned around.

“You have about two minutes left. I guess there might be time for your two most important questions,” I said to Ingram. Mistake.

Ingram let Griffith ask the first. “We’re having a bit of difficulty tracing you in the period before you returned to Denver—”

“I was in the military. I have to refer any questions regarding that to Colonel Laine.” I had prepared for this one and gave Griffith the colonel’s name and number on a blank card. “That’s his contact information.” I turned. “Agent Ingram?”

“Well, I thank you for that, Ms. Farrell. Happens I do have a question, too,” Ingram said, as if he were just shooting the breeze. “Y’know, what with all the drugs and guns and gangs and hitmen, you’d think it would be about that. But I kinda like odd questions.” He chuckled. “And y’know the craziest thing that’s being asked?” His nose twitched and I got a bad feeling. His hand came out of his pocket with a little Dictaphone. He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe those good ole boys down there would come up with a question like this. “Homeland Security’s question. What’s this here language?”

He pressed the ‘play’ button and my heart sank. Crap. It was Athanate, two or three of them talking over a conference call. Double crap.

“Umm. I can tell you it’s not Spanish and it’s not Vietnamese,” I said, truthfully. “Doesn’t sound like Arabic. Beyond that, you really need an expert.”

“Well, they are that, Ms. Farrell, over there, I do assure you. They know every documented language in the world. They got guys speak, whadya call it, Klingon and Elvish.” He beamed at me. “But they never heard this.”

“Wow. Freaky. Why should I know?”

“Well, Ms. Farrell,” He scratched his ear. “’Cause folk you speak to on your cell, they speak this a lot.”

Ingram didn’t wait for me to bluster through any other lies, or ask him whether tapping my cell was being done illegally.

“Anyhow, we’ll clear that up next time, over a coffee someplace. And I’m real interested in hearing all about how come you learned Vietnamese, too. I thank you for your time today, Ms. Farrell. Been a pleasure.” He stuck his hand out again and we shook.

He wheeled away, gathering Griffith with a friendly arm around his shoulders.

“That was useful, Ray, dontcha think?” he was saying as he guided him back through the security gate.

I fled.

Chapter 17

I parked outside of the Quinns’ at 6 p.m. I spent fifteen minutes checking for trackers without finding anything. Not that I didn’t trust the FBI,
of course
, but if they were bugging cells, what else where they doing? I’d have to get a warning to Bian. I just couldn’t do it until after I’d squared Larry away, one way or the other. If Bian was going to yell at me for holding out, at least it would be for something concrete.

The light was already fading, but the Quinns’ job wouldn’t take long.

“Niall, sorry I’m late. I’m outside now,” I said into the intercom. “Do you want to come out to play?”

Niall tried to shield the phone, but I heard some comments about my punctuality from his wife. Regardless, he said he would be down.

We stood at the base of his building while he tested out his borrowed camera. I showed him how to turn on date and time, zoom in and out, and we were ready.

“On me, Niall, in close.” He focused in on me.

“Hi, my name is Amber Farrell, I’m a private investigator in Denver. I’m outside the building where Niall Quinn owns an apartment and I’m about to demonstrate how to get to any balcony on this building, from the outside.”

I trotted to the small boundary wall, leaped up and launched myself at the lip of the first balcony. I hadn’t done this in ages, but I guess it was like riding a bicycle. You can fall flat on your face anytime. I was already gripping the edge when I thought that a straight lift might not be the best demonstration of how anyone could do this. I changed to a one-armed swing and caught hold of the iron railing and hauled myself up that way. From the first balcony, I balanced on the top of the railing and repeated the process. In two minutes I was outside the Quinns’ apartment. Mrs. Quinn was trying to ignore me through the balcony doors, but I wasn’t going back inside anyway. I twisted over the railing and made my way back down, which was actually more difficult and dangerous.

At the bottom I signaled Niall to zoom in close again.

“That’s taken less than five minutes, up and down. I used no equipment, no one driving past has stopped, no one in the apartments noticed. I’m not a professional climber; it’s just a hobby I used to have. Not only is it
not
impossible to reach a balcony this way, it’s relatively easy.”

I gestured for him to cut and it was done.

“Amber, that’s great. Here, hold this for me, will you?” He passed me an envelope while he fiddled with the camera memory card. Like a dummy, I took it and he wouldn’t take it back. It was my fee. Arguing that took us back to the door, where he tried to apologize for his wife.

“Look, don’t take any notice of Ruth. She’s upset at the moment.”

I let that pass. “Niall, you said there were two things you wanted to talk to me about.”

He fussed and fiddled and didn’t meet my eye. “It’s not important. You’ve done us a great favor. I’ll pass your contact stuff to Cassie. She’ll be coming out this way soon.”

He stuck his hand out. I ignored it.

“You know who stole it, don’t you?”

“Don’t
know
anything.”

“You’ve got a good idea or you’d never have mentioned it. You’re convinced, aren’t you?”

He grunted, but didn’t deny it.

“Spill it, Niall.”

“Floyd,” he sighed eventually. “Ruth’s brother, Floyd Underwood.” We leaned on the railing next to the door and Niall spoke quietly.

“He’s a collector. Been wanting me to hand over the medal for ages. Kept coming around the apartment, getting me to bring it out. Always calling Ruth.” He ran a hand over his head. “Got to saying that money he’d lent us a while back was down payment, stuff like that.”

“You can’t sell it,” I said. “It’s illegal to sell a Medal of Honor.”

He just shrugged. “Floyd didn’t care what it was called, just that it ended up with him. But anyway, all the calls stopped as soon as the burglary happened. I hadn’t told him. Ruth says she didn’t either, and we haven’t heard from him once since it happened. Ruth says it’s coincidence. Now what do you think?”

I figured Underwood had ‘thief’ stamped on his forehead, but I’d need to look into it. I didn’t immediately know what I could do, and it was getting late for Cheesman Park.

I got Niall to let me in to change into my running gear in the lobby restroom, then I gave him a hug and trotted off into the evening, tucking my hair under the black ski cap.

Cheesman Park was just a block away and a whole lot less easy.

Chapter 18

A minute later, I was trotting the mile circuit in the park. It was getting dark, and joggers would be thinning out, but this was better than just walking up to the pavilion.

Cheesman is large and ringed with trees, giving the inner park an open country feel despite the roads that came in and the apartment buildings visible over the trees. The acropolis pavilion on the east side has gardens behind it and reflecting pools in front. It’s slightly raised with good lines of sight all around. It wasn’t the ideal meeting place, but it’d work.

The perimeter circuit passed a few yards from the pavilion, giving me an opportunity to look it over. I couldn’t see anyone standing inside. There were lots of reasons for him to not be there, of course: Hoben had sent him somewhere else; he’d gone back to New Mexico; Matlal had killed him. Or simply, he hadn’t gotten here yet.

I did another half circuit. There were groups in the park, but nothing suspicious or threatening.

I trotted into the pavilion and started doing stretches, making sure I changed position and checked every angle. The pavilion was open on all sides, just columns and a roof. It did feel vulnerable, but I figured that the last thing Hoben or Matlal wanted was to attract attention to themselves. I guessed that wouldn’t stop a sniper. I kept moving randomly. The columns seemed much thinner than I remembered them.

Of course, a second kill option would be up close with a silenced pistol. Okay, I was not going to stand around if someone came in.

What about a capture? I started thinking how I would run a trap for someone in the pavilion without anyone else in the park seeing what really happened. Getting out was easy—a fake ambulance picking up a ‘sick’ woman or a group with a ‘drunken’ friend.

How would I keep the target in the pavilion distracted long enough to get my people in?

Send someone in to talk to the target with information they really wanted to hear.

I tried not to fixate on that thought. Give Larry a chance.

I checked the HK in my jogging bag. I would use it only as a last resort. I had a concealed weapon permit, but firing in the park would get me hauled in by the police, and the FBI would be two paces behind.

Next to the HK, I had Matt’s scanner. It wasn’t intended for this, but it was the best I could do at short notice. I’d set it to hunt short range frequencies. It might, just might, give me a hint if someone was using a tactical comms unit in the area. At the moment it was picking up occasional static, but real trick comms sounded like that to eavesdroppers.

And then, I had Mary’s bracelet on my wrist. I didn’t want to rely on it because I didn’t understand how it worked, but it had warned me before when I was in danger from someone close by.

A panting group trotted by on the circuit behind me, encouraging each other to raise it for one last lap.

Where was he?

I owed it to Larry to wait, but my jogging outfit wouldn’t be a good disguise for much longer—once it was full dark, it’d make me stand out. And I was starting to get an itchy feeling about this. Five more minutes and I was gone.

Looking through the gloom made me aware of another step my body had taken towards being Athanate—my good night vision was being helped by sensitivity in the infrared end of the spectrum. Without actually changing the way I saw things, there was an overlay, a slight glow to warm bodies and a hint of air haze around them. Way cool.

With that advantage, I was able to see a man emerge from the darkness under the trees at the northwest corner and start across the park towards the pavilion. Alone, which made him stand out. Moving erratically, as if he were drunk. I guess that could be a disguise. If this was Larry, his tradecraft sucked. And if it wasn’t, I was out of here.

I kept to the shadows and slipped around a pillar as he came in, silently re-entering behind him. It was Larry all right, stinking of cheap bourbon and waving a bottle. My hand caressed the textured grip of the HK. He’d changed his cargo pants and sweatshirt for a wrinkled suit and a shabby coat, but he wore running shoes.