The Manolo Matrix (32 page)

Made sense to me, and so we went to work, pacing through a dusty, abandoned apartment as we tried to figure out an obscure clue. And tried to ignore the creaking and groaning of the resident ghost. (That might be a slight exaggeration, but now that we’d heard the ghost once, every creak of a floorboard caused my pulse to race. The only benefit was that it kept my adrenaline high. If Birdie or Belasco showed up, I’d be out of there like a shot.)

“On display,” I said, quoting the clue. “So like on a sign?”

“Probably,” Devlin said. “It says it’sbeside the patriot, so that would make sense. We should
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probably figure out who the patriot is and work backwards.”

“Right. So who’s a patriot?”

“A Broadway patriot,” Devlin clarified.

“Irving Berlin,” Brian suggested.

“Good,” Devlin said. “So what would be beside Irving Berlin?”

“Is there an Irving Berlin Theater?” I asked. “I can’t think of one, but maybe…”

Devlin shook his head. “I don’t know of one. Not here, anyway.”

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“Me neither,” Brian said.

“A statue,” Devlin said. “Surely there’s a statue of Irving Berlin somewhere in this city.”

“Right. Right. Sure,” I said. “There has to be.”

We all looked at each other. Finally, I shrugged and checked the computer. “Nothing,” I said.

“I’m not finding anything.”

“Try ‘patriotic statue,’ ” Devlin said. “Actually, try ‘patriotic statue Broadway.’ ”

I did and—well, what do you know? “You’re brilliant,” I said, smiling. Because three hits down on the list was a reference to George M. Cohan, who wrote a whole slew of patriotic musicals, and has his statute right in the middle of Times Square, where he can watch over them all.

But that still didn’t answer the more important question. What the hell was the password that was on display beside good old George?

“Let’s go look,” Brian said. “Probably something on the statue plaque, right?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, it says ‘beside.’ The plaque would sort of be underneath George.”

“Duffy Square’s not too big,” Devlin said. “We’ll spread out and each walk the area. Hopefully one of us will figure out what the password is.”

“And if we don’t?” I asked.

“We will,” he said, with a firm look in my direction.

I nodded. He was right. We would because we had to.

Brian checked his watch. “It’s still early, so hopefully the line at TKTS won’t be too long. I’d hate for them to be standing on some brick or something with the clue etched on it.”

“Good point,” I said. “Maybe we should start at that end of the square and work our way down to

George. This might take awhile, after all.” TKTS is the discount ticket booth that’s set up at one end of

Duffy Square, and pretty early in the day, tourists flood the area, all trying to snag cheap seats to a hot show. It’s madness, but a controlled-queue madness, and one I’ve been a part of on more than one occasion. I mean, why pay full price if you don’t have to?

I started to pack up the laptop again so we could get out of the theater and head over to the square. I

was just about to close the browser and shut the thing down when I had a little flash of inspiration. “You guys,” I said, “what if…” But I never finished. My fingers were already way ahead of me, and as I’d been talking, I’d typed “TKTS” into the little box on the screen.

My finger paused over theENTER key, startled by the low drone of the elevator, once again moving the ghost of David Belasco up and down.

“Devlin?” In front of me, Devlin had pulled his gun, had aimed it at the still-closed doors.

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“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said firmly. “But I do believe in Birdie.”

Oh, hell.

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My first reaction was to run, but then I remembered. I had the key to ending this whole thing right in front of me. If I was right, we could end this right now.

My finger didn’t even wait for me to finish gathering those thoughts. I pushed theENTER key, and as

Devlin kept steady aim on the door, I kept a close watch on the screen. The hourglass whirred and the computer purred. The elevator creaked to a stop. And then, just as the doors started to slide open, the computer beeped and a message appeared.

GAME OVER

THE ASSASSIN’S ASSIGNMENT HAS BEEN TERMINATED

OFFSHORE BANKING INFORMATION FORWARDED

TO YOUR MESSAGE CENTER

CONGRATULATIONS.

AND HAVE A NICE DAY

“It’s over!” I shouted. “You bitch, it’s over!”

But I didn’t trust Birdie to have gotten the message…or to comply even if she had. The doors squeaked, Devlin braced himself, and I ducked.

The elevator was empty.

I started to breathe once again.

Behind me, I heard Brian exhale, too.

“She’s not here,” I said. “God, maybe this place is haunted.”

“I don’t believe that,” Devlin said, his jaw tight, his body tense. He stalked to the elevator, making sure it really was clear, then turned back to me. “Something’s going on, Jenn. Why is this elevator moving?”

“It moves by itself all the time,” Brian said. “That’s why the place has the rep for being haunted.

Personally, I think it’s a short in the system.”

“It’s over, anyway,” I said. I turned the laptop so he could see. “We won. Birdie’s been pulled off. The game’s done.”

He scowled at the screen, but didn’t do anything.

I put my hand on his arm. “Devlin,” I said. “It’sover . She’s not here. How would she have even found the place? We tossed the tracking device.”

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He still didn’t look convinced, but after a moment he nodded. “Even so. Let’s get the hell out of here.

Haunted or not, this place gives me the willies.”

I had no argument with that, and I moved to shut down the laptop again.

“Hang on,” he said. He nodded at the machine. “May as well check the message center.”

I nodded, and we navigated over to the PSW site. Sure enough, there was a message for Devlin, complete with all the information about how to access a Cayman Island account with a balance

“in excess of twenty million U.S. dollars.” Nice.

We were just about to head over to my message center (I wasn’t expecting nearly as big a reward from my role as protector) when another message came in for Devlin.

I stared at the screen, my entire body going cold. “That’s got to be from her,” I said. My finger hovered over the key. “Should I?”

Devlin nodded, and I clicked. And sure enough…

>>http://www.playsurvivewin.com<<

PLAY.SURVIVE.WIN

>>>WELCOME TO REPORTING CENTER<<<

You have one unread message.

New Message:

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To: G-Man

From: Birdie

Subject: Playing by the Rules

Congratulations. I just received the news of your success on my PDA, and considering our close, personal relationship, I thought I would personally alleviate any concerns you might have regarding your continued safety.

I play by the rules, Agent Brady.

I had my chance at you during the course of this game, a game at which I’m sorry I failed. I would have liked watching your brains splatter on the wall.

But I keep my commitments. It’s a point of honor with me. If you’ve read my file, as I know you have, you already know that’s true.

Just one other thing: You’re safe now, because you won the game. But come after me, seek me out, try to find me again so you can put me back in a cage, and it’s no longer about the game.

Then it becomes personal. And then, I will kill you.

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XXOO

Birdie

DEVLIN

They rode down the elevator in a silence, but this time it wasn’t the morose silence of people trying to figure a way out of the mousetrap. This was a happy, contented silence. In fact, beside him, Jenn was doing a little jig.

She caught him looking at her, then reached over and squeezed his hand. “We did it,” she said, then pulled herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed him.

He returned the kiss with enthusiasm, then stroked her face. “It’s over. For you, anyway. You can concentrate on getting famous.”

One eyebrow arched. “For me,” she repeated. “You mean that you’re—”

“Going after her,” he said, but he was watching Brian, not Jenn.

“Fifi,” Brian said in a whisper. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what I do,” Devlin said. “Or at least I will, as soon as I get my badge and gun back.” He shifted as he spoke, feeling the comfortable heft of his clutch piece back at his ankle.

Oh yeah, once he had a badge and a gun, he was going to make sure the bitch went down.

“Good,” Jenn said simply, and then she kissed him again. “I’ll worry, of course. But this time you’ll be the one chasing her. And you’ll have the FBI to back you up.”

“Exactly.”

The elevator groaned to a halt and they stepped out, then maneuvered the short distance to the stage.

They’d just stepped on and were heading across when Jenn stopped, then turned and stared out into the house. “Wow.” She drew in a breath, then started in on “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” from

Spamalot, bouncing around the stage as she did until she finally goaded him into joining in the silly song with her. She had a wonderful voice, clean and pure and big. So big it seemed to fill the theater. It sure as hell surrounded him, and as they blew through the last lines of the song, he swung her around, then gathered her in his arms and pulled her close for a kiss.

“Wow,” she said as she came up for air. “You’ve got a great voice to go along with great kissing.”

“I would say get a room,” Brian said, “but maybe you guys should stay and I should go.”

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Jenn pulled back and rolled her eyes. “Mind out of the gutter,” she said.

“On the contrary,” Devlin said. “I think it sounds like a fabulous idea.”

She stamped on the stage, the sole of her sneaker making a dullthwack, thwack ! “Nah. Floor’s too

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hard.”

He couldn’t stand not touching her, so he pulled her close again. “We’ll find someplace with a Serta.”

“Just not your apartment. Not until it’s fumigated.”

“I think I can afford a hotel now. How does the penthouse at the Waldorf sound?”

She made a skeptical face, then nodded. “Yeah, well, if that’s the best you can do…”

He laughed, then kissed the top of her head. She’d been brightening his world since the first moment she’d pulled open his drapes. “Come on,” he said, and they started across the stage once more.

After a few steps, she pulled him to a halt. “Wait. I can’t just leave.” And then, while Devlin looked at her curiously, she made puppy-dog eyes at Brian.

He shook his head. “Come on, kid. I’ll get in trouble.”

She dropped to her knees, her hands clasped. “Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeeze?”

Apparently Brian found her as irresistible as Devlin did because he crossed his arms, put on a stern face, but nodded anyway. “Okay. Fine. Let me go turn it on and get the harness.” He moved off into the wings, Jenn’s delighted squeal echoing behind him.

As Jenn got up and started jumping around the stage making happy noises, Devlin watched, amused.

She really was alive on stage, and he wondered how much more energy a full house would pump into her. From what he could tell, so far, she hadn’t tried nearly hard enough to get her theater career off the ground. But if she focused, if she really put that wonderful mind to it, he was certain she could manage anything. It was just a question of how she wanted to look at her life.

He moved upstage and leaned against one of the fiberglass trees, watching her from several yards away.

At first, Devlin had been clueless about what she’d wanted so much to do here on stage. But as soon as she’d headed for Puck’s house, he’d realized. Jenn wanted to fly.

Well, he couldn’t fault her for that. Hell, if Brian got the gadget working, he just might take flight up to the catwalk, too. After all, it had been a while since he’d had fun on a stage. The theater used to be his playground. Now it was the streets and courthouses of New York. Big change, that.

A few days ago, he’d been so lost in guilt and grief that he hadn’t had the energy to push through the administrative muck and get his badge back. He wanted it now, though. Hell, he needed it.

Because how else was he going to take Birdie down?

She may have said that he was off the hook, but she wasn’t. Not after killing Fifi. Not after poisoning

Jenn.

And, frankly, he didn’t believe her claim that she was through with him. Why should she let him go?

Birdie wasn’t the type to lose gracefully, although he did have to admit that she always played by her own personal code of conduct, her own set of rules. So her declaration that she was playing by the rules now shouldn’t surprise him.

Still, something about her message to him bothered Devlin. Not so much in what she said, but in what

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she didn’t say.

He was missing something.

He reached a hand back and stroked his sore neck. Damn, his muscles were tight. He needed a long, hot shower, preferably with Jenn right there with him. An image of them together whipped through his head, and he fought the urge to tell her to screw fun and games with Brian’s prop.

He had some other fun and games in mind.

But they could spare some time. Now that the game was over and they weren’t worried about Birdie finding them, they could lounge in bed for days if they wanted. And he definitely wanted.

Wanted to purge this game from his system. Wanted her warm and naked under him. Wanted to forget the horror their lives had been and remember just the good part, the part where they’d found each other.