The Widow File (26 page)

He huffed and gave her a long-suffering look. “Like this? If I give you this, we all die. This is a pigeon drive, Ev. Do you know what that is?” Ev shook her head, still scowling. “It’s a relay drive. It’s designed to automatically dump its data into whatever computer you plug it into. As of this moment, this drive is completely empty. Now unless you want to explain to those nice people that we’re stealing their computer as a matter of national security, let me reload the drive.” He started typing, not looking up as he spoke. “I’m assuming this classified notation means we don’t want to share this with the entire world.”

“Okay.” Ev didn’t sound wholly convinced. “But make sure you erase every trace of the drive. I’m calling this in. If you fuck this up, I swear I’ll be the one who kills you.”

He shooed her away with a flick of his long fingers and she stepped toward the door, pulling out her phone. Dani watched him type. “I’ve never heard of a pigeon drive before.”

He still didn’t look up. “That’s because I just made it up. Ev is an idiot and this file is a nightmare. I recognize some of these names—these are political prisoners. Some were supposed to be at Guantánamo, some were supposed to be fugitives. I can’t even imagine who some of these men are or what they’re accused of.”

“And so the CIA is looking for them?” she asked without hope.

“If anything Ev says is true and there are prisoners moving through Rasmund, I’m going to bet this is a list of those prisoners. And if it’s called
the Widow File, I’m guessing this isn’t a rescue operation. The question is, are we working for the CIA or, equally terrifying, are we working for someone willing to steal from them?”

She could see Ev pacing on the sidewalk outside. “Whatever you’re doing, you’d better hurry. She’s not going to stay out there forever. What are you doing?”

“I don’t suppose you have a thumb drive in any of your many bags of tricks? No? Next best thing. I’m hiding a copy of this in that woman’s documents with our names and, hang on, what’s your social?” Dani rattled off her social security number. “There’s no way to include pictures of us but I’m telling her to take this to the police and media and anyone else.”

“What makes you think she’s going to do that?”

“Look at her, Dani. She’s wearing brown socks with blue loafers. She’s got a PBS tote bag and I’d bet anything she bought that hideous sweater in some fair-trade shop. Does anything about that say she’s backing the Patriot Act?”

“Stereotypes! And she may never even find the file.”

“I have a backup. I don’t have a Facebook account, do you?”

“I know about eight people. No.”

“Well then we’ll do the next best thing. I’ve done screen shots, you know, taking pictures of what’s on the screen, and loaded them as pictures on Twitter. I’m hash tagging every news source I can think of. I happen to have a large following on Twitter.” When Dani said nothing, he nudged her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain it later. Trust me when I say that it’s going to be very, very difficult putting this genie back into the bottle. Let’s just hope whoever gets this understands that you and I are the good guys. I really don’t want to disappear.”

He closed the program, removed the drive, and shut the laptop. Ev stood in the doorway, looking red and aggressive. She pointed to the door. Dani adjusted the repacked pouch underneath her heavy shirt and pulled on her purse. She felt as if she were girding for battle.

“Here we go.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Booker wandered southeast from Dupont Circle, not headed anywhere in particular. He didn’t bother checking the time—judging by the emptiness of the streets he guessed it was somewhere after midnight. There was no point in going back to Dani’s apartment. His skin prickled with anticipation—whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. He might as well stay in motion. He wished he hadn’t picked up his briefcase now, though. Whatever was going to happen would most likely require both hands. He needed to find somewhere to stash it.

He looked around to get his bearings and smiled. Directly across the street stood the National Geographic Society. Booker decided to take that as a positive sign. He jogged over to the wide shallow steps that rose toward the white square building, dark now except for the trim of lights around the exhibit windows. Low slabs of marble served as benches and Booker sat with his back to the street to open his case.

He took one gun, the SIG Sauer, the one with the most reliable action of all his guns. Something told him there would be plenty of guns in play tonight. There was no need to pack too many of his own. He could just help himself to those of anyone he killed. His knives, however, were another story. The one short blade with the finger hold sat warm and solid in a sheath at the small of his back. He pulled another sheathed blade, long and serrated with a nasty hook at the end, and attached that to the waistband at the front of his pants. He liked his blades warm when he worked with them. A well-used piece of piano wire with caramel-colored oak handles he left coiled in the case along with the laptop containing the
client’s contact information. No trace of him would be found on the hard drives no matter how carefully someone searched them. He never used a laptop for more than one job. On the off chance that something went wrong tonight, whoever found the computer would have enough to ruin the client’s life. Assuming the client was still alive. Considering the direction the plan was taking, that seemed unlikely.

He used a handkerchief to wipe off every surface inside and out. He was always careful to wear gloves but it never hurt to double check. Knives stowed on his person, Booker closed the case, locking in two guns, the laptop, and his garrote. The only thing he’d miss, he thought, was the wire weapon. It had been a part of some exciting jobs but this was no time for sentimentality. He had to travel light and be ready for anything. Stripping off his wool jacket, he draped it over the briefcase and shoved it under the bench. Since 9/11 D.C. was still jumpy about unattended baggage left in public places. If he didn’t return to pick it up after tonight, he imagined the presence of the innocent-looking case would cause quite a stir in the morning. He thought Dani might like that the client’s identity was unearthed here.

The earlier mist started to turn to something just shy of rain and Booker appreciated the fact that the chill didn’t penetrate his skin. His early imbalance, his visceral reaction to stress, had faded. He felt like himself again, warm and light and free. When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he bit his lip in anticipation, not knowing what he wanted to hear more—sweet talk with Dani or word from the client that the plan was in motion.

He heard the latter. The client spoke in a wheezing whisper, rattling off his message quickly and hanging up before Booker could say a word: “They’ve got her. World War Two Memorial. Told me to stay at St. Regis. You’ve got to stop them.”

Booker slid the phone back into his pocket and turned the corner onto Sixteenth Street. The St. Regis hotel was only a few blocks down the street and just past that was the White House, the Washington Monument, and the World War II Memorial. Without even knowing it, he had positioned himself perfectly to be part of the action. Another excellent sign.

The doorman at the St. Regis pulled the heavy brass door open for him with a flourish, his eyes momentarily raking over Booker’s damp
shirtsleeves. The doorman wore a long wool coat, a scarf, and a furry hat and he still looked cold. Booker smiled and stepped inside. The lights were low in the lobby, the chandeliers casting a glow over the wide marble floor. High-backed couches and low-slung armchairs clustered together in intimate groupings. Booker headed for the rear of the room. He knew the client. If he had been told to stay in the hotel, he would want to stay somewhere public.

It hadn’t helped him though. Booker could tell before he even cleared the final sofa that the client was dead. Whoever had killed him had done a good job of covering it up. He looked like any old man dozing before a fireplace, the
Washington Times
open and draped across his chest. A glass of amber liquid with melting ice cubes left a wet ring on the end table. It looked perfectly serene but Booker knew a dead body when he saw one. Dead was dead. He didn’t think anyone could ever mistake it for sleeping.

Without breaking stride, Booker continued down the lobby, veering to the right and making his way back out the door. Whoever had done this, whoever the client had inadvertently been working for, was now targeting Dani. Booker planned to put a stop to that.

“Give me the drive,” Ev said as they headed down Massachusetts Avenue. Choo-Choo nodded and Dani handed over the tiny USB drive. “I can’t believe this little thing brought on such a shit storm.”

“Information is the ultimate weapon,” Choo-Choo said, linking his arm in Dani’s and pulling her close to his side. He kept himself bodily between her and Ev and Dani felt a wave of gratitude for her friend. She had seen more sides of Ev tonight than she had in the two years she’d worked with her; she’d seen more sides of the mercurial woman than she’d seen of almost everyone she’d worked with combined. Ev’s behavior morphed from rage to apathy to depressed to sullen faster than she or Choo-Choo could keep track. Now, drive in hand and destination determined, she looked hard. She looked dangerous and Dani really hoped Ev was on their side.

“They let me talk to her,” Ev said, her long legs covering ground quickly, forcing Dani to double-time alongside Choo-Choo. “She’s not hurt, thank God, and she says they’ll make the trade. She was glad we checked the drive. Good call on that. She said she was really proud of me, keeping both of you safe. She said I had surpassed her expectations.” Choo-Choo squeezed Dani’s arm against his side and Dani squeezed back. Ev was not getting any less frightening as she ranted.

“Where are we headed?” Dani asked, not that she had any choice but to follow.

“The Pacific side of the World War Two Memorial. It’s a standard Stringer drop point. Kind of fitting tonight, don’t you think?” Ev noticed their silence. “Heroes? People fighting for the American way?” Choo-Choo’s eyes widened and Dani squeezed his arm. Ev dismissed them with a grunt. “We meet at the wall, under the American Samoa wreath. Maureen says we’ll see them once we get there. I give her the drive, she passes it on, and we all walk away.”

“You can’t believe that, Ev.” Dani couldn’t hold her tongue. “They killed everyone we work with. They blew up our building. You think they’re just going to let us walk away?”

Ev bared her teeth in an ugly grin. “No, I don’t. That is, they won’t until we don’t give them a choice. Maureen gave me the code.”

“The code?” Choo-Choo asked.

“Yep, the code we worked out in case something like this ever happened. She said in our line of work it was crucial to have a code in place in case a hostage situation occurred. It isn’t unlikely, considering Maureen’s position.” Ev steered them through Scott Circle onto Sixteenth Street. Dani wished she’d worn fewer layers. This near-run had her sweating.

“She gave the signal that said she’ll have people in place.” Ev’s breath showed no signs of struggling from their fast walk. “We’re not alone out here. These sons of bitches are going to regret ever trying to fuck with us. Come on, let’s pick up the pace.”

By the time they made it to Lafayette Park, Dani’s legs ached with fatigue and her eyes burned with the need to close them. The White House shimmered under the misted lights and from the corners of her eyes she
saw flickers and flashes of light. Soft patches of fog lingered around bushes and trees and the rain made the black streets glossy when the occasional headlight shone on them. She clung to Choo-Choo, grateful for his solidity.

It took what felt like an hour to cross the pedestrian-only plaza, the Eisenhower Executive Office Building seeming to stretch on for miles. Turning the corner onto Seventeenth Street, she saw the Washington Monument glowing white and tall. It looked close but Dani knew it was an illusion. The
stomp-stomp-stomp
of their feet hypnotized her so that by the time they made it to the gentle sloping steps of the World War II Memorial, Dani had almost forgotten what they’d come for.