Undercover Genius (31 page)

“Procedure says to file into the street until the fire
department gives the okay,” Patra shouted. The message echoed nicely in the shaft
and was repeated up and down the stairs. If anyone recognized her, they didn’t
seem to care. It was an entertaining break in the gerbil wheel of their day.

With one hand, she texted Ana that she was okay, just in
case Graham was monitoring a police scanner. She hoped she was okay. She kept
an eye out for Sam in the mob, but he worked on another floor. She had to
assume the fire alarm was his parting gesture.

As the mob obediently filed out the stairwell door marked
for the first floor, Patra left the secretary and the crowd behind. She slipped
around the corner and down to the basement level. She’d rather not make it easy
for any remaining goons watching the lobby. Sean’s basement trick seemed
reasonable in this situation. And she still had some mace left.

* * *

I muttered a very dirty bad word as I trotted after Leonard
down a dark alley. I needed to reach Patra, then find out what had Graham
shouting. The whole world could be blowing up, and I was sneaking after a
sawed-off drug dealer with a grudge. I wore my armed camouflage coat, but from
the looks of the lump under his jacket, Leonard had started carrying a gun.

Guns are for men of small intelligence and limited
imagination, which certainly described Leonard. With a sigh, I accepted the
role reversal and stalked the little scum.

He took the train I’d take if I was heading home. I got an
uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and began hunting news stories on my
phone as I stood at the back of the crowded car. Keeping an eye on Leonard and
the news at the same time wasn’t easy. Headlines like
Shocking Revelations
and
Broderick
Media Accused of Murder
had a tendency to make my insides roll.

My eyebrows probably reached my hairline as I speed-read
that last article
under my sister’s bylin
e.
Patra
had set the hell hounds lose
.

My sister was officially crazier than I was. Broderick was
going to kill us all, even if the FBI reached him first.

She’d done her research, or her father had done his. A lot
of the story dated back ten years and had to have come from Patrick’s
unfinished book. No legitimate media would have released this story without a
warehouse of evidence. Could Broderick sue himself?

Patra had listed all the international media outlets owned
directly and indirectly by Sir Archie. She listed dates of inflammatory
articles and ensuing rebellions. And of course, since the story was written
under her byline, she mentioned that her father had been murdered while in the
same war zone with General Smedbetter, a Broderick executive, while
investigating this story.

If that didn’t set Leonard squealing, nothing would. Our
biggest problem would be keeping him alive, if my suspicions of his involvement
were true. Aiding and abetting the murder of Patrick Llewellyn to protect
Broderick and his henchmen put Riley squarely between the Feds and a lot of
rich madmen.

Maybe he could just confess to Bill’s murder, and they’d
tuck him away somewhere safer than the prison Reggie had been in. Except I
really didn’t think Leonard had the spine to murder anyone.

My text message buzzed again.
NO FIRE
, it read.
I’M
FINE
.

I exhaled a small sigh of relief. Now I wasn’t quite as torn
between finding my sister and following Leonard.

Leonard got off and scurried for another train. I hastily
tucked my phone away and followed. I’d wasted a few years of my life following
Magda around. It wasn’t as simple in a Metro station as in Baghdad, but I didn’t
think he noticed me.

The little sneak got off at Dupont Circle.

Traffic was worse than usual. So were the crowds. Leonard
was short and it was easy to lose sight of him, but by now, I had no doubt of
his direction. His intentions might be murky, but I had to assume the worst.

I caught sight of him taking the street behind the house
undergoing renovation, the one just before our street. I didn’t like the looks
of the cars backed up at the intersection. Graham had been shouting for a
reason. I didn’t have time to see what it was. I had to stop a dumb bunny with
a gun before he got himself and everyone else killed.

The scaffolding had been moved to windows on the side of the
house, mostly out of view of the street since the houses were so close. I
watched Leonard slink down the alley and in the basement door.

I stopped to ponder the situation. I didn’t have a gun and couldn’t
nail the twerp if he appeared in a window. Not that I condone shooting people
on sight, mind you, but I had a slight anger management problem. Some days, I’m
simply tempted to murder, and this was one of them. My only solution was to
follow him. I just didn’t want to do it inside.

No workmen stood on the scaffolding. I peered between the
houses to see if I could catch a glimpse of the street in front of the house,
but shrubbery blocked most of the view. I thought I caught the red that might
have been a news van. Graham could handle that for another few minutes.

I verified that the scaffolding seemed to be up to code and
began climbing up it. Scaffolding really wasn’t built to be a ladder, but a few
judicious shinnies and good arm muscles can accomplish a great deal. It wasn’t
as if I was worried about my clothes.

I flattened against the wall when Leonard peered out the attic
window. The maggot was carrying a P90! Personal defense weapon my foot and
three eyes. That was an automatic assault weapon, except small enough to
conceal. He could blow away anyone standing on our front porch across the
street — and probably half a crowd with it. No one should be allowed to
buy a gun like that. It shouldn’t even be legal to make.

Apparently reassured that no workmen stood on the
scaffolding, Leonard moved away from the window. I moved up. Using my army
knife, I cut off a long length of the rope the workmen used for their safety
belts. I’m pretty good at knotting nooses.

I fastened a second safety belt around my waist. I was
pretty damned furious but not enough to forget all caution.

At the top of the scaffolding, I could see over the trees.
Our street was mysteriously blocked by huge vehicles and a crowd. No wonder
Graham was screaming. My gut tightened, but I had to stomp a termite first.

I knotted the other end of my noose rope to the scaffolding.
Then I hefted a crowbar, and with the power of my frustration, helped the nice
workmen remove an old window. Smashing heavy metal into glass created a
satisfying racket and probably caused Leonard to poo his pants. After bashing
out the frames, I flattened against the wall again, bracing my hand and my prepared
rope above the attic window.

Stupid Leonard. He cursed and stuck his head out to see what
had caused the noise. I was tempted to knock his block off with my crowbar, but
I wanted him squealing down at the police station. Seeing me, he aimed the gun
in my direction.

“Leonard, this is about the stupidest thing you’ve ever
done,” I informed him, counting on his not wanting half the world to see him
murdering me now that we were above the trees. “If that gun goes off, you’ll
probably kill two babies in the next house and a news reporter on the street and
the cops will really take off your head.”

“You set us up, didn’t you?” he snarled. “This time, the
boss ain’t gonna be so lenient with you. Get inside here before I blow out all
them brains of yours.”

“Which boss, Leonard? DeLuca? General Smedbetter? Archie? Do
you really think any of them want to see my smiling face? Don’t be stupid.
You’re fish bait. They’ll feed you to the sharks if I don’t first.”

“DeLuca’s my buddy. He’ll back me up. C’mon, get moving.
We’re going downtown.” He gestured again.

I leaned against the wall, holding the crowbar in the one
arm he could see. I really didn’t have time for this. But Leonard was the
puzzle piece that would make the picture whole.

And who was out here getting the information? Me, that’s
who. Not omnipotent Graham. Our landlord could just suck up a few news vans a
little longer.

“Leonard, old buddy, I’m trying to help you out here. DeLuca
can’t save you if he’s running from the cops. They’ve already picked up your
buddies at the apartment,” I warned. “That’s what happens when you work the
right side of the law. I don’t need friends in low places. I’ve got authority
on my side. Your best bet is to work with the cops before you end up like all
Archie’s other enemies.”

I was taking shots in the dark. Since he paled a little, I
figured I’d come close to the mark. But as I’d said, men with guns have no
imagination. They think bullets will take care of everything for them. Stupid,
stupid, stupid.

He fired the gun at my feet to get me moving. I swore and nearly
jumped off the scaffolding before I got my heart beating again. I glanced down.
He’d taken out a few aluminum scaffolding poles, tilted the platform, and
blasted a hole in the ground three stories down. I’d been serious about bullets
hitting babies in the next house. That’s the kind of weapon it was. I lost all
sympathy with him.

Before he could really hurt someone, I whacked his gun hand
with my crowbar. He hollered but clung to his precious P90. Not taking any more
chances, I dropped my lasso over his head and yanked. This time, he had to
release his weapon to grab the rope before I strangled him. I wouldn’t have
wept if his hands had slipped, but survival was probably Leonard’s strongest
instinct.

The P90 bounced against the scaffolding. I kicked it with my
cowboy boot and sent it flying into the bushes below. Leonard cursed and tried
to lunge after his substitute penis. My lovely knot caught him right below the
ear, and he gagged.

I had the handcuffs out of my pockets and on Leonard before
he knew what hit him. I slipped a wireless bug under his shirt collar while he
was screaming. The cops probably wouldn’t let me hear him squeal, but I
intended to be there, one way or another.

When he refused to cooperate and answer my questions, I
yanked the rope down around his arms and gave him a shove off the scaffolding.
His yells as he dangled over the side couldn’t be heard over the circus noise
in front. I really needed to investigate that once I was done here.

I checked my knots to be certain they’d hold and called
Sean. He was sitting at the police station with Carla. I told him where the
cops could find Leonard and his gun.

And then I slid down the tilted platform to go home.

* * *

I was hot, cranky, and worried after nearly having a heart
attack several times over. I was not in the mood to deal with Graham’s fury.
I’d wanted to stay and watch the cops bring down Leonard. I had to pray that
Sean and Carla handled a scene that I’d created, and that
really
irked. I actually debated ignoring Graham’s summons and
going down to the police station to throw in a few accusations of my own just
to get the ball rolling.

But noooo, I had to come running for our landlord just as if
he were part of the family.

Leaving Leonard shouting, I shoved past the shrubbery into
our street. That’s when I fully comprehended what had Graham up in arms.
Crikey! I gazed in awe at the spectacle filling our quiet, respectable
neighborhood. Leonard’s shouts were drowned in the commotion. I doubted anyone
had heard the gun.

Satellite trucks and mobs of reporters with microphones and
cameras blocked the narrow pavement and sidewalk. Idiots had set tripods over
historic wrought iron fences and aimed long-range cameras at elegant mansions
with security systems that were probably filming them right back. Cop cars with
strobe lights were everywhere, trying to break up the gathering mob.

How very convenient for dangling Leonard. A policeman was
already talking into his phone and running toward the shrubbery where I’d told
them they’d find the dangerous weapon. Leonard was a little easier to spot.

I didn’t have time to duck, prepare, or escape an armada of
media. I was wearing an army coat, cowboy boots, and a long braid and didn’t
look anything like the celebrity images of me the media had caught a few weeks
back. So, I’d caused a riot at an embassy dinner once. I shouldn’t be
recognizable now.

But some astute observer still spotted me. He elbowed a
camera man who turned his lens my way. A talking head shoved a microphone in my
face. Before I could retaliate, two over-eager reporters caught my arms and
shoved me into their truck, sticking another microphone in my face.

“Is it true that Patra Llewellyn is your sister, Miss
Maximillian? Does she have evidence that Sir Archibald Broderick murdered her
father?”

Frazzled and so far beyond annoyed that another planet was
involved, I didn’t hear the rest of his inane questions. It wasn’t as if I
intended to answer them. He’d
grabbed
me.
He’d
physically
hauled me into his
van against my will, just because I’m small and unassuming. Maybe his giant ego
thought I’d enjoy being the center of attention, or maybe he thought that he was
protecting me from a crowd, but it was assault and kidnapping in my book.

While the camera whirled, I snatched the microphone out of
butthead’s hand and beaned him with it. Startled, he didn’t fall but dodged out
of my way when I elbowed him aside and took the driver’s seat. I was operating
on high anxiety and pure adrenaline. I had just dropped a gunman off
scaffolding, and they thought they’d get away with kidnapping?

“You want to see what real media manipulation feels like?” I
yelled.

They’d left the van running to operate all the equipment.
With malice aforethought, I put the shift into gear, and we were rolling.

While the reporters scrambled for safety, I leaped out the
wide open door.