Authors: Michael Connelly
“Where’d you get this?”
“I had a lot of time to kill yesterday, so I was walking around the District and went into this jewelry store near FBI headquarters.
I guess they know their neighborhood clientele because they were selling bullets as jewelry.”
I nodded as I turned the bullet in my fingers.
“There’s no name on it. You said the theory was that everybody’s got a bullet out there with someone’s name on it.”
Rachel shrugged.
“It was a Sunday and I guess the engraver was off. They said I’d have to come back today if I wanted to put anything on it.
I obviously didn’t get the chance.”
I opened the clasp and reached up to put it around her neck. She lifted a hand to stop me.
“No, it’s yours. I got it for you.”
“I know. But why don’t you give it to me when it’s got your name on it?”
She thought about that for a moment and then dropped her hand away. I put the chain around her neck and clasped it. She looked
at me with a smile.
“You know what?” she asked.
“What?”
“I’m really starving now.”
I almost laughed at the abrupt change in direction.
“Okay, then let’s order room service.”
“I want a steak. And more rum.”
We ordered and both of us were able to get showers in before the food arrived. We ate in our hotel bathrobes while sitting
across from each other at the table the room service waiter had rolled into the room. I could see the silver chain on Rachel’s
neck but the bullet had been tucked inside her thick, white robe. Her hair was wet and completely uncombed and she looked
good enough to eat for dessert.
“This guy who told you about the single-bullet theory, he was a cop or an agent, right?”
“A cop.”
“Do I know him?”
“Know him? I’m not sure anybody really knows him, including me. But I’ve seen his name in a few of your stories in the last
couple years. Why do you care?”
I ignored her question and asked my own.
“So did you show him the door or was it the other way around?”
“I think it was me. I knew it wasn’t right.”
“Great, so this guy you dumped is out there and he carries a gun and now you’re with me.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“This is so not an issue. Can we just change the subject?”
“Fine. What do you want to talk about, then? You want to finally tell me about what happened in D.C. today?”
She finished a bite of steak before answering.
“There is nothing really to talk about,” she said. “They had me. I had misled my supervisor about the interview at Ely, and
he authorized the flight. They did their little investigation and did the math and said I used about fourteen thousand dollars’
worth of Jet A fuel and that constitutes misuse of government funds on a felony level. They had a prosecutor out in the hallway
and ready to go with it if I wanted to push it. I would’ve been booked right there and then.”
“That’s incredible.”
“The thing is, I was planning to do the interview at Ely and that would have made everything fine. But things changed when
you told me about Angela being missing. I never got to Ely.”
“This is bureaucracy at its worst. I have to write about this.”
“You can’t, Jack. That was part of the deal. I signed a confidentiality agreement, which I’ve already violated by telling
you what I just told you. But if it makes its way into print, they will probably end up charging me after all.”
“Not if the story is so embarrassing to them that the only out is to drop the whole thing and restore your status as an agent.”
She poured another round of rum into one of the snifters that had been delivered with the bottle. With her fingers she transferred
a single cube of ice from her water glass to the snifter, then rolled the glass in her hand a few times before drinking from
it.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one betting that they will see the light instead of seeing a way to put you in
jail.”
I shook my head.
“Rachel, your actions, no matter how ill-advised or even illegal, saved my life for sure and probably a bunch of others’.
You’ve got William Schifino and all the victims this Unsub will never get to now that he is known to authorities. Doesn’t
that count for anything?”
“Jack, don’t you understand? They didn’t like me at the bureau. Not for a long time. They thought they had me out of sight
and out of mind but then I forced them to move me out of South Dakota. I got a piece of leverage and I used it, but they didn’t
like that and they didn’t forget it. It’s just like anything else in life. One false move and you are vulnerable. They waited
until I made the mistake that made me vulnerable, and they moved in. It doesn’t matter how many people I may have saved. There’s
no hard evidence of anything. But the fuel bill on that jet? That’s evidence.”
I gave up. She couldn’t be consoled. I watched her take down her whole snifter of rum and then spit the ice cube back into
the bottom of the glass. She then poured herself another shot.
“You better have some of this before I drink it all,” she said.
I held my snifter across the table and she poured in a sizable shot. I clicked my glass off hers and took a long pull. It
went down smooth as honey.
“Better be careful,” I said. “This stuff is easy to get blasted on.”
“I want to get blasted.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll have to leave here by about nine-thirty tomorrow morning if you want to make our appointment on time.”
She put her glass down heavily and drunkenly on the table.
“Yeah, what about that? What exactly are we doing tomorrow, Jack? You know I have no badge anymore. I don’t even have a gun
and you want to just waltz into this place?”
“I want to see it. I want to figure out if he’s in there. After that, we can call in the bureau or the police or whoever you
want. But it’s my lead and I want to get in there first.”
“And then write about it in the paper.”
“Maybe, if they let me. But one way or another I’m going to write about this whole thing. So I want to be there first.”
“Just make sure you change my name in your book, to protect the guilty.”
“Sure. What do you want to be called?”
She tilted her head and tightened her lips as she thought about it. She raised her glass again and took a small sip, then
answered.
“How about Agent Misty Monroe?”
“Sounds like a porn star.”
“Good.”
She put her glass down again and her face turned serious.
“So… enough fun and games. We go in there and we what, just ask which one of them is the serial killer?”
“No, we go in there and act like prospective clients. We take a tour of the place and meet as many people as we can. We ask
questions about security and who has access to the sensitive legal files our firm will be backing up in storage. Things like
that.”
“And?”
“And we hope that somebody gives themselves away or maybe I see the guy from Ely with the sideburns.”
“Would you even recognize him without his disguise?”
“Probably not, but he doesn’t know that. He might see me and make a run for it and then—
ta da!
—we have our guy.”
I raised my hands palms-out like a magician who has completed a difficult trick.
“This doesn’t sound like a plan, Jack. It sounds like you’re making it up as you go along.”
“Maybe I am and maybe that’s why I need you to be there.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that.”
I got up and came around to her side and got down on one knee. She was about to raise her glass for another drink when I put
my hand on her forearm.
“Look, I don’t need your gun or your badge, Rachel. I want you there because if somebody in that place makes a false move,
even a small one, you’re going to read it and then we’ve got him.”
She pushed my hand off her arm.
“Look, you’re exaggerating. If you think I’m some sort of mind reader who can—”
“Not a mind reader, Rachel, but you’ve got instincts. You do this work the way Magic Johnson used to play basketball. With
a knowledge and sense of the full court. After just a five-minute phone conversation with me you stole an FBI plane and flew
to Nevada because you knew. You
knew
, Rachel. And it saved my life. That’s instinct, and that’s why I want you there tomorrow.”
She looked at me for a long moment and then nodded so slightly I almost didn’t see it.
“Okay, Jack,” she said. “Then I’ll be there.”
T
he rich rum didn’t do us any favors in the morning. Rachel and I were both moving pretty slowly but still managed to get out
of the hotel with more than enough time to make our appointment. We stopped at
Hightower Grounds
first to get some caffeine
moving in our veins, then doubled back to Western Data.
The front gate of the complex was open and I pulled into the parking space closest to the front door. Before turning the car
off, I took a final drag on my coffee and then asked Rachel a question.
“When the agents from the Phoenix office went in here last week, did they tell them what it was about?”
“No, they said as little about the investigation as possible.”
“Standard procedure. What about the search warrant? Didn’t it lay it all out?”
She shook her head.
“The warrant was issued by a grand jury that has a blanket mandate to investigate Internet fraud. The use of the trunk murder
site fits under that. It gave us camouflage.”
“Good.”
“We did our part, Jack. You guys didn’t do yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
I noted her use of the word
we
.
“You’re asking if the Unsub, who may or may not be in this place, is aware that Western Data might fall into a greater focus.
The answer is yes, but not because of anything the bureau did. Your newspaper, Jack, in its account of Angela Cook’s death,
mentioned that investigators were checking the possible connection to a website she had visited. You didn’t name the site
but that only leaves your competitors and readers out of the loop. The Unsub certainly knows the site and knows that if we
are onto it, then it may only be a matter of time until we put it together and show up here again.”
“We?”
“Them. The bureau.”
I nodded. She was right. The story in the
Times
had blown it.
“Then, I guess we better go in before
them
shows up.”
We got out and I grabbed my sport coat out of the backseat and put it on while on my way to the door. I was wearing the new
shirt I had bought the day before at an airport shop while waiting for Rachel to land. I wore the same tie for a second day.
Rachel was wearing her usual agent outfit—a navy suit with a dark blouse—and she looked impressive, even if she wasn’t an
agent anymore.
We had to push a button at the door and identify ourselves through a speaker before being buzzed in. There was a small entrance
area and a woman sitting behind a reception counter. I assumed she was the person who had just talked to us through the speaker.
“We’re a little early,” I said. “We have a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. McGinnis.”
“Yes, Ms. Chavez will be showing you the plant,” the receptionist said cheerfully. “Let’s see if she’s ready to go a few minutes
early.”
I shook my head.
“No, our appointment was with Mr. McGinnis, the company CEO. We came down from Las Vegas to see him.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not going to be possible. Mr. McGinnis has unexpectedly been detained. He is not on the premises at
the moment.”
“Well, where is he? I thought your company wanted our business, and we wanted to talk with him about our particular needs.”
“Let me see if I can get Ms. Chavez. I’m sure she will be able to speak to your needs.”
The receptionist picked up the phone and punched in three digits. I looked at Rachel, who raised an eyebrow. She was getting
the same vibe I was getting. Something was off about this.
The receptionist spoke quietly and quickly into the phone and then hung up. She looked up and smiled at us.
“Ms. Chavez will be right out.”
“Right out” took ten minutes. A door finally opened behind the reception counter and a young woman with dark hair and dark
features stepped out. She came around the counter and held her hand out to me.
“Mr. McEvoy, I’m Yolanda Chavez, Mr. McGinnis’s executive assistant. I hope you don’t mind my taking you around today.”
I shook her hand and introduced Rachel.
“Our appointment was with Declan McGinnis,” Rachel said. “We were led to believe that a firm of our size and business would
merit the attention of the CEO.”
“Yes, I assure you that we are very interested in your business. But Mr. McGinnis is home ill today. I hope you understand.”
I looked at Rachel and shrugged.
“Well,” I said. “If we could still get the tour, we could then talk to Mr. McGinnis when he’s feeling better.”
“Of course,” Chavez said. “And I can assure you that I’ve conducted the plant tour several times. If you can give me about
ten minutes, I will show you around.”
“Perfect.”
Chavez nodded, then leaned over the reception counter and reached down for two clipboards. She handed them to us.
“We first have to get a security clearance,” she said. “If each of you could sign this waiver, I will go make copies of your
driver’s licenses. And the letter of introduction you said you had.”
“You really need our licenses?” I asked in mild protest.
My concern was that our California licenses might raise a security flag since we had said we were from Las Vegas.
“I’m afraid that is our security protocol. It’s required of anyone taking the facility tour. There are no exceptions.”
“Good to hear. I was just making sure.”
I smiled. She didn’t. Rachel and I handed over our licenses and Chavez studied them for indications they were counterfeit.
“You’re both from California? I thought you—”
“We’re both new hires. I’m doing mostly investigative work and Rachel will be the firm’s IT person—once we reconfigure our
IT.”