The Miraculous Plot of Leiter & Lott (14 page)

"David?" Doug Etherton called.

"We should get you to a clinic," Doug insisted, applying an ice pack to his head in
Nasheed's
bathroom. "He might have cracked your skull. Quite a knot here."

David clutched at the purple silk bathrobe that now covered him, wincing at the pain. "Just get me a pair of pants from the guest room. I'll be fine."

"You sure about that? Could be a hairline fracture, with brain swelling to follow. There's drugs to prevent it."

"Couple aspirin will do." He held the ice pack onto his head while Doug got his clothes. Then, as he dressed, he watched Doug survey
Nasheed's
bedroom. "Anything missing?" he called.

"I wouldn't know. There's been some rummaging, for sure."

Etherton examined a latched footlocker near the wall beside the bed for signs of tampering.

"Where were you when I called?" he asked. "With Swann?
Aazad
?"

"Neither. I'm afraid they don't have much faith in our theory, my friend. Until this moment, I'd almost given up on it, myself. About your call,
Nasheed
is on his way back now, and you shouldn't be here alone when he. . ." Etherton broke off. "What makes you so sure your guy wasn't C.I.A. or police, anyway? And that the girl was our Japanese hooker?"

David repositioned the cold pack on his head, getting up. "It's just a hunch. I don't know. Maybe more than that. Like I said, I didn't see the girl."

"So you think," Doug suggested, "they're both in bed with
Seacrest
? Because obviously your guy Vaughn was lying about
Nasheed
."

"If you say so."

"I do. Even Gulf News mentions
Shakil
in Shanghai." Etherton watched as David hobbled forward, out of the bathroom. "But if it is
Seacrest
behind them, why do this, anyway? What were they looking for?"

"If I had to guess," David contended, "they were looking for evidence of what we know. Then again, they know we suspect
Seacrest
, so why let me live, other than that you weren't here and they couldn't get us both? And why risk this at all? They could be caught, interrogated. There could be a link in their backgrounds back to. . . whoever."

"Unless Swann Tower is next on the hit list," Doug said. "Like tonight, for instance. In which case maybe they
would
take the risk, considering the bigger risk of launching an attack without knowing what we have. Since that would definitely validate our theory."

David tottered into the room, toward where Etherton now examined an ebony dresser, careful not to disturb any latent fingerprints. "Right," he said.

"Here's another bizarre thought," Etherton added. "What if they didn't intend to hit Swann's family directly at all? What if the strike was supposed to be like the first one? Random."

David tried to absorb it, squinting across the dim room through a dull veil of pain. "You mean, in keeping with our diversion theory, it makes no sense to hit Swann's family if you're going to hit Swann Tower next?"

"Bingo. It's too risky a coincidence. So if the family
was
the target, the aerial attacks end with that, but if not. . ."

"Then they're looking to catch Swann without his bodyguards, and make it look like suicide?" David completed Doug's logic. David steadied himself against the wall. "And since Swann doesn't have a condo or office here, this is a likely place he'd visit as
Nasheed's
friend?"

"Exactly."

"So when was the last time he was here?"

"Swann? About a month or so ago, before he went to Africa.
Nasheed
had him over for dinner one night while I was out. I'm thinking now that
Aazad
was here too."

"What about dragon lady? Did you ask
Nasheed
if he knew her?"

"No, I didn't talk to him," Doug said. "Swann did."

David pinched the bridge of his nose. "Whoever Vaughn is, he seemed to know
Nasheed's
schedule. So why would Swann be here without him? And why search the place, then make it look like theft, and like I was with a hooker?"

"In case
Shakil
arrived before you woke up? Who knows. Let's just hope there's a clue here somewhere, or
Nasheed
can tell us what's missing."

David sighed, wondering what he would tell
Nasheed
himself--
that he fell for misdirection, a magic trick. . . so convinced that he didn't even ask for I.D.?
He looked at Etherton, standing idly in the overhead beam on
Nasheed's
bachelor-pad Star Trek set. "Aren't you going to call building security, and at least warn Swann, if not the police?"

Distracted, Etherton went over to
Shakil's
computer in the far corner of the room to examine the tower console beside the screen and keyboard, both lit by a focused beam of recessed lighting there. "Uh oh," he muttered, at last.

"What is it now?"

"Guess we'll have to call somebody. Looks like they got into this thing. Screws missing." Doug bent closer. "Yeah, here's one on the floor, right here. How much you want to bet the hard drive is gone?"

David imagined the girl in the room, with the man who said he was Paul Vaughn, C.I.A.. "I'll take that bet," he said.

"You will?"

"Because what if the girl really
has
been here before this?"

"Dragon lady, you mean."

"Right. Dragon lady."

"So?"

"So if Swann mentioned her to
Shakil
,
that's
why he's coming back. He knows her. He knows our theory now, too. Where were you when Swann told you he'd talked to
Nasheed
?"

"I was here, on the phone," Doug said.

"Well, that's it, then. Maybe this was a theft, or maybe it wasn't. But I think the real purpose for their visit wasn't to steal something. It was to remove a bug or two she'd planted earlier."

"Bravo, Sherlock," said Etherton, clapping slowly. "Maybe somebody should hit you on the head more often. But it still doesn't prove dragon lady isn't
also
C.I.A.. Or just a rather
un
common thief."

~ * ~

They sat on the couch in
Nasheed's
media pit, the TV screen above them tuned to CNN, while commentators anxiously tracked news from Dubai, speculating about a possible
 
imminent attack. Etherton held his cell phone in one hand and a remote control in the other as they debated their options. "What if we call the American embassy," he wondered aloud, "and tell them a guy claiming to be C.I.A. just hit you over the head. Call their bluff. Fight fire with fire."

"What hard evidence do we have to show anyone yet," David asked, "other than the lump on my thick skull?"

Doug glanced down at his watch. "I don't know, but we better come up with a plan pretty soon. The El Haj party starts in just over three hours. Same time as
Nasheed
gets here."

David looked up at the ceiling next to the TV monitor, trying to imagine such a thing. "Almost forgot. What is it, a nine-eleven party? Like a hurricane party?"

"Hopefully without fireworks," Doug replied. "Either way, I'm not going to be there. Swann and
Baloum
won't either. But your buddies might."

"My buddies," David repeated. "They don't deserve to be warned, but the others do."

"On the other hand, everyone who shows up must know there's a risk. Just not as much of a risk as
you
think there is."

"Me, not
you?"

Doug hesitated before speaking. "No one says you have to go, David," he said. "I wouldn't blame you, either, for not wanting to dance the night away after being hit on the head. Especially when there's a chance a buzz bomb might crash through the window and make it your last dance. And we shouldn't stay here, either. We should both get rooms at the Marriott, and distance ourselves from this. Whatever it is."

"How could you sleep? I know I couldn't."

"We'll sleep better after I make my calls."

"Calls?" David asked. "To whom?"

"To
Shakil
, for one," Etherton replied, opening his phone. "Then to building security to ask them if they've finished checking the lobby's surveillance videos, looking for someone matching the description of the dragon lady. Swann ordered that much, at least."

David took the remote control, and cut down the TV volume while Etherton speed dialed. An image began to form in his clouded mind. He environed a party, but at ground level, not atop a tall building. Everyone looking up. Etherton interrupted his vision, saying, "Hi,
Shakil
, this is Doug again. Give me a call before you get here. It's urgent. Thanks." Etherton ended the call, then punched in another number. After explaining the situation to that respondent he listened intently to the answer to his question, "What other surveillance cameras?" Finally, he closed his phone and grinned.

"Well?" David asked.

"Well," Etherton said, "We can add to the lobby and parking garage entrance videos everyone getting off on this floor in the past few hours. There's no camera in the hallway, but there is one in every elevator and stairwell. In the elevator it's a little red fish eye, right next to the floor display above the door. It takes a photograph every time the door opens or closes, and includes a record of which floor the elevator is on when it does."

"There's our evidence, then." David stood and went to the telescope next to the window. Swiveling it to the extreme left, toward the oblique form of the
Seacrest
Tower, he began a downward scan of the rooms visible below theirs at this angle. Left, right, and left, he moved the scope in jerky cadence down, tracking the short swings on the lowest focused power.

"What are you doing?"

He started to explain his chance trance, but when he passed an anomaly, like a visual bump in the sweeping, narrow field that dipped below the level plane, he stopped and reversed his tracking only to settle on a single rectangular space. Between partly open curtains he could now see the triangle shape which had attracted him, and after only a moment he realized what it was. The triangle of a tripod had--at the apex--the glass eye of a telescope, and although he could not see the barrel of the scope, he knew that was because it was perpendicular to his line of sight. The scope was aimed directly at them. There was no one at the eyepiece, though, and the room behind it was empty. For the moment.

"Do you have a. . . a camera mount for this telescope?" he asked, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, his chest and his heart like a metronome winding tighter.

"A what?"

"A mount. A camera mount or a camera with a zoom lens."

He left the telescope. He had to get out of there. He head began to pound again. His chest felt even tighter.

Etherton went to the telescope, where he'd left it positioned. Looked through it, then looked back at him as he moved toward the guest room, where his luggage was.

19

He was halfway down to the lobby, Doug having promised to follow soon, when he remembered his passport. He stared up at the electronic floor display above the door, noting the inconspicuous tiny camera eye there, and wondered if the American embassy idea held the most merit. He should lay out everything that had happened, just as Doug would with building security, and see if they could get the damn thing back. Then he could book a flight to Paris, rent a room, visit the Louvre, sit in some parks and sidewalk cafes with espresso and pastries, and forget about the top one percent who dominated the tabloids and Vanity Fair profiles with their scandals and excesses. He'd skip the castle tour of the Loire Valley, too, or the French Riviera, in favor of simple villages in wine country. Maybe take a canal cruise through Burgundy and along the Rhône.

Instinctively, just as the elevator door slid open, he put a hand to his forehead, shadowing his face as he pretended to scratch at his hairline.
Guilt?
he wondered. No, there was no reason for that. Etherton would see to it Swann was informed of their new suspicions.

So why run?

He decided it must be the same reason he hadn't looked at himself in the mirror in
Nasheed's
bathroom, and it had something to do with not trusting his own instincts, not just illness. That he didn't feel well had seemed like an excuse to take Doug's suggested out. Having come to face the two men who most typified the sleaze who'd taken his mother's remaining nest egg before her death, was he now, on the eve of possibly meeting one or both of them, going to let his fear for his own safety dominate his actions? He'd consoled himself that the party might be cancelled, although he didn't yet know that for sure.

He stepped out in the lobby, exiting the elevator. He pulled his suitcase behind him, the little wheels at two of its corners spinning and clattering across the hard marble floor as the unwieldy case rocked unsteadily toward the main glass doors.

"Mr.
Leiter
?" a commanding voice suddenly called from behind him.