Undercover Genius (30 page)

She palmed her spray can, removed her Taser and other
weaponry from her purse and tucked them into her blazer pockets. She stepped
off the elevator on the floor expelling the most passengers, ready to aim and
fire.

Two black-suited goons zoomed in on her like homing pigeons.
She maced one, who went down grabbing his eyes and screaming curses. She zigzagged
and placed a couple of slow-moving, lard-butted office jockeys between her and
the second guard. She raced for better cover as the gas spread and burned eyes
and panic broke out behind her. The spritzed goon shouted, but he was still
stumbling and incoherent.

Patra could hear curses as the second goon stepped on toes
and shoved bystanders to clear a path through the frightened crowd.

She dashed into cubicle hell and had nowhere to run but over
people. And desks. Patra tossed a rolling office chair in the path of the goon
still in a condition to chase her. More screams. One idiot jumped on his desk,
bringing the flimsy platform crashing down and causing a domino collapse of
fabric partitions. Jolly fun, if only she knew where to run.

Taser in hand and looking for an opening where she wouldn’t
shoot the wrong person, Patra thumb dialed 911. She had no idea what the cops
would make of this chaos, but she was pretty certain assault and battery were
illegal — as soon as she assaulted and battered someone.

More goons appeared in the doorway. Rats. Ignoring the
gaping jaw of the office manager, she climbed up on his more substantial metal
desk in the corner. Keeping her back to the wall, she aimed her Taser while
reporting a terrorist in the Broderick offices to the police dispatcher. Trying
to remember the office address while staving off furious, testosterone-pumped
guards did not add to her peace of mind.

She shot the first thug who approached and watched in glee
as he yelled and jerked spastically. She didn’t want to kill the guy, so she
let up on the trigger once he hit the floor. She hadn’t secured one of the new
multiple-shot weapons and had to pull the stun gun out of her other pocket. She
loved well-tailored suits.

Two guards came after her at once, attempting to tackle her
from the desk. Stupid. Her pointed-toe shoe clipped one in the balls. She
stunned the other, then kicked him in the jaw as he staggered. Maybe she’d use
her metal heel on the nose of the next jerkwad who approached. She was starting
to steam, if only because all the sheep in the room simply stared helplessly
while three big men attacked her.

As if the heavens heard her fury, the fire alarm screamed
and sprinklers drenched the office.

* * *

Generally — I postulated as I huddled on the roof and waited
for action — gorillas and Neanderthals ruled the world because they were
stronger. They had learned they could get what they wanted with power, whether
that power was guns, fists, wealth, or the law. But every once in a while, diminutive
David’s intelligence and knowledge could take down a powerful Goliath.

I prayed like heck this would be the case today, because the
first car to the curb was a black Escalade. I maneuvered to the end of the roof
where I could see the license plate, took a photo, and sent it to Graham.

Because nothing more interesting was happening on the
street, I moseyed over to the far side of the roof and examined the alley. If
you’ve ever lived in Kabul, you’d know to keep your eyes on alleys.

Sure enough, Leonard Riley — who probably had been in
Kabul at one time or another — was sneaking down this one. I wished I had
a water bomb.

Graham’s return message said
DeLuca,
along with a lot of angry gibberish that I ignored. Maybe I
should tell him I was on the roof so he’d send a helicopter after me, but I
wasn’t ready to leave yet.

Through my earbuds, I heard angry grumbling and thumps in
Bill’s apartment as the Escalade gang trashed what remained of the place. Dang.
I needed names.

Leonard slipped in through the apartment house’s back door,
out of my sight. Seeing no one else, I cruised back to the front. A battered VW
was pulling up behind the SUV. It could be a resident, but I bet most of them
used the Metro and didn’t own cars.

I frowned as a Hispanic female climbed out. I really didn’t
want Carla going in there with DeLuca’s thugs, if that was Bill’s
almost-girlfriend.

I grabbed a pebble off the roof and flung it at her.
Startled, she glanced up. I gestured to come upstairs. Stupid of me, and showed
I was getting soft. In my old life, I would have just waited for the fireworks
and taken no chances.

Through my earbuds, I heard Leonard enter the apartment
before the VW owner reached the roof. I strained to catch his words through the
cheap electronics.

“Who sent that damned message?” was Riley’s first
intelligent question.

“Don’t know. Boss just got orders to come look,” a deep bass
replied.

“Nothin’ here,” a younger male voice said. “No hidden
nothin’. No treasure.”

Okay, sounded like this trio knew each other.

Unless one counted Riley, Deluca’s people were hardly the
legitimate media contacts I’d texted. Since that was DeLuca’s SUV, I thought I
was on pretty firm ground guessing DeLuca had tapped Bill’s phone — or
worked for someone who had. And Leonard was in on it.

The VW owner arrived on the roof. I gestured for her to be
silent and pointed at my earbuds. “Carla?” I whispered as she approached.

Her eyes widened. “And you are?”

“Bill’s associate. Just call me Linda.” I really would have
to change that name soon. “That’s DeLuca’s gang down there.”

“You know how to text a gang boss?” she whispered in
incredulity.

“No, but Bill’s phone was tapped. I figure they got the
message, which means they did the tapping.” I held up a finger to silence her
as Leonard started talking again.

“Son-of-a-bitch, someone else has already found whatever he
was hiding,” Leonard said. “How the fuck did they get the geek’s phone?”

I heard footsteps, as if he was pacing. And kicking walls. I
winced at a loud thump too near my spy gadget. He called and reported the loss
to someone. A moment later, he announced, “The client has the girl cornered. If
she’s hidden the files, he’ll find out, but my bet is on her interfering
sister. Let’s get moving.”

I stuck my thumbnail in my mouth and chewed to keep from
going ballistic.
They had Patra?
I’d
go down there and rip off their faces finding out who their
client
was.

“DeLuca says we’re not getting near that Maximillian place,”
Bass Voice protested. “He says it’s bad juju. The general will just have to get
it out of the girl.”

The general.
Smedbetter?
My heart started pounding harder. The general who was now an exec at BM, where
Patra was working
right now?
I
started texting Graham as fast as my thumbs would allow.

Then I stared at the screen and deleted it. We were
not
relying on that man again.

I saw Patra’s screen name on a message and opened it while
the thugs below argued. She’d sent me an audio file of Smedbetter. If she’d
gone to work today to get that, she’d risked her life for nothing.

At least she was still alive, although if she was recording
BM execs as this message indicated, I had to wonder for how long. I had to get
over there.

Before I could tuck my phone away, a screaming text in all
caps crossed the screen:
GT YR ASS BK HERE
NOW!

Graham
. I whistled
at the all caps. Graham never shouted. What was happening at home?

Through my earbuds I heard Leonard say, “Smythe is in jail.
We don’t have to worry about him getting to Bloom’s files before us. We just
need to eliminate them before anyone reads them.”

It sounded as if he was talking on the phone again.
Interesting. Leonard and the general had feared Smitty would find Bill’s files
first, and they didn’t want the good reverend to have them? Why?

Because they feared blackmail?

BM might be the mouthpiece for R&P, but as far as I had
determined, Smitty had never been a partner in war zone games. The sneaky
reverend was the type to plant bugs in presidential offices. He collected
information on powerful people who may have been in war zones. If Smitty had
proof that General Smedbetter had ordered Patrick’s death, or anyone else’s . . .

Smitty was a stupid troublemaker if he thought he’d pin
anything on any of Broderick’s execs. No wonder he’d ended up in jail. They’d
probably set him up for the fall. I’d tell his lawyer to check his phone for
spyware. Someday.

Leonard was the imbecile who had the facts I needed. Leonard
was a squealing coward. How could I work that?

Carla was watching me with puzzlement. Was she the only media
person who cared enough to follow up on my text message? I glanced down to the
street again and smiled. Sean’s little MG had just pulled up. Bless his little
heart. His newspaper had been in Bill’s address book, but I hadn’t texted Sean
directly. I stoned him the instant he stepped out of the car. He glared up at
me, not in the least surprised.

I punched in his phone number and watched him lean against
his car and answer.

“We’ve got part of your Pulitzer story in Bill’s apartment. Leonard
Riley seems to be working with DeLuca’s gang, General Smedbetter, and
presumably, by association, Broderick Media. They’re in there now looking for
that treasure trove you’re here to find. They’ve been worried that Dr. Smythe
would get to the files before them. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Because Smythe thinks Smedbetter killed Llewellyn or he’s just
nosy?” Sean asked snidely.

“Do you think I care? If Dr. Smythe is smart, probably both.
Broderick’s goons put spyware in Patra’s phone, Bill’s phone, and probably
Smythe’s phone. That’s how Leonard’s goons got to your newspaper office after
you lost the white Cadillac.”

“Wait a minute,” he interrupted my hasty explanation. “How
do you know we lost the Cadillac?”

“Patra said the car following you from the Blooms was a
white sedan, not a black SUV. She said you lost him on the way to the office. She
said the one that entered your garage later, carrying gunmen and arsonists, was
a black Escalade. That vehicle you’re parked behind is probably one of a fleet
of DeLuca’s SUVs, like the one that Patra saw at Bill’s apartment. He has a
limo service,” I explained with as much patience as possible. I handed my
earbud to Carla who grimaced but listened with me.

Sean caught on quickly. “I figured brother Ken called the
R&P guys and the white sedan was theirs. So Broderick had nothing to do
with the boxes.”

“At that point,” I agreed. “When Smitty’s men lost you, they
called their boss. Phone tap on Smythe relayed that info directly to Broderick
or his minions. If they identified you, then your office would be the first place
BM’s men would head. They are apparently a bit superstitious about Patra’s
abode. Have your garage cameras verified the Escalade’s plates yet?”

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “Cops have questioned DeLuca,
but he says it was rented out by a guy whose credit card failed.”

“Yeah, Leonard and company. They’re in the apartment now.
Want to let air out of some tires while I call the cops?”

“On what charges? Bullying?”

I didn’t care if he was being snarky. I could see he was
already working on the tires. Those big heavy vehicles lose air quickly. I know,
and not because I ever owned one.

“Breaking and entering for now,” I suggested. “Manufacture
some murder evidence and Leonard will squeal like a teenybopper at a Justin
Bieber concert. We just have to make it happen before Broderick’s goons catch
and kill him.”

Listening to both me and the apartment, Carla had excitedly
yanked out her phone and was hitting buttons. I didn’t need her broadcasting
just yet. I snatched her toy away and scrolled through the menu to find her
phone number. Before Sean could comment on my assessment, I gave him Carla’s
number. He stopped messing with tires and hastily scribbled it on his palm.

“That’s Carla. She’s up here with me if you need
reinforcements. I’ve got to go. Patra’s in trouble, and Graham’s probably
pitching people off the roof. Love ya.” I pushed off and met Carla’s frown.
“Sean O’Herlihy down there works for the
Times
.
I can’t tell you more than you just overheard except that the guys in Bill’s
apartment are most likely killers. Take care.”

I handed her the rest of my spyware and ran for the exit,
dialing up Graham as I went.

On the way down, I saw Leonard Riley getting away out the
back door. Damn, I needed the little squealer.

Could I give up my mother hen instinct and hope Patra could
take care of herself?

Patra’s perspective

The sprinklers and fire alarm — on top of the
crashing desks, dividers, and goon chase — instigated full-out hysteria. Patra’s
cubicle-farm audience screamed and dashed for the door as if the apocalypse had
arrived.

Patra didn’t waste time standing on the desk in stunned
astonishment at manna from heaven. She screamed “
Fire!
” Then she leaped down, maced a goon stupid enough to get in
her way, and sent more waves of panic through the crowd. With chaos
established, she blended into the mob pushing and shoving into the corridor. No
way would the big goons break past an ocean of terrified office workers running
for their lives.

“Single line!” she shouted, using her smaller size to sidle
in between people to put distance between her and the Goliaths. She grabbed the
arm of a secretary tottering on a leg brace and helped her along. “Don’t use
the elevators. Take the stairs,” she called over her shoulder, verifying that
her strategy was working. The goons had fallen farther behind.

Like good little sheep, the crowd did their best. A few frantic
ones jumped on the elevator. A few more shoved for the head of the line and got
pushed aside for their efforts. But mostly, everyone obeyed orders and
attempted to calm each other down. Not until they were all filing down the dry
stairwell together did anyone realize that they didn’t smell smoke.