Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 02 - A Deadly Bargain, Plan C (16 page)

I glanced down a row of cubicles and checked my watch.  It was nearly five.  Anxious employees packed up their things and made small talk while they watched the hand on the clock sweep past the twelve.  I strolled down the aisle and watched as the obedient employees logged off of their computers before going home for the night.

I
made my way
to Stan Parker’s office.  Stan had left in such a hurry
that
he failed to lock his door.  I slipped in and sat down in front of his computer, which he’d also failed to log off of.  I must have really panicked him with my call.  His screen-saver password glared at me, daring me to try it.

I glanced around the sterile-looking office.  There were not many clues about
hobbies, interests, loved ones
—in fact, the only hint that he had a life outside this office was a photo of him and a small boy of about eight or nine, fishing from a pier.  The San Francisco skyline was etched in the background, and they were laughing and obviously enjoying each other’s company.  I assumed it was his son.

Stan Parker was not a savvy computer user, but I was hanging my hat on the chance that he, at least, had administrator privileges to the network.  I tapped my fingernails on the desk and stared at the screen, still prompting me for a password.  I checked my watch.  I only had twenty minutes before Jason would come to my rescue.

I remembered something Spencer told me back when we worked for San Tel.  I
turned
the keyboard
over and found a label stuck to the bottom with a cryptic code printed on it
.
  I typed it into the password box and was in.
  “Shame on you, Mr. Parker,” I whispered as I opened the explorer window and scrolled through the folders.  I found one labeled “
aziz
” and brought up the first of six documents contained in it.  A local printer was connected to Parker’s computer and sat on a table in the corner of his office.  I clicked on the print button and let the document finish spooling to the printer before I brought up the next document.

I checked my watch.  I’d have to be on my way out in five minutes.  “Hurry up,” I whispered as I impatiently waited for the printer to spit out the last two documents.  I snatched them up and raced out of the office.

I stepped into the lobby in time to see Jason standing outside the locked glass doors.  I smiled at him and pushed my way through.

“How was I supposed to come get you when the doors were locked?” he grumbled.

“Doesn’t matter.
  Let’s go.”

As we headed for the airport, I read through the stack of paper I’d generated in Parker’s office.  “Oh, man!  We hit
paydirt
!” I
said
, bolting upright in my seat.  I skimmed rapidly through the pages in my lap.

Jason glanced at me.  “
What’s it say?”

“
Remember all those rumblings about an antitrust lawsuit the government threatened Gerald Bates with last year?”

“Yeah.
  I think so. 
Haven’t heard much about it lately.”

“And you’re not
gonna
, either.  They cut some sort of deal with Bates.”

“Deal?”

“Yeah.
  He’
d established
some sort of
rapport with Mohamed Aziz, that oil guy I told you about,” I explained as I continued reading. 
“Looks like they got to be pretty friendly.
  Aziz bought a Mercedes and gave it to Bates as a gift.”
  I stopped for a moment and re
read the sentence.  “Huh, this is weird.  Aziz bought the car in San Diego and had it delivered to Bates’ home.  I wonder why he’d buy it the
re when Bates lives in the Bay
A
rea?
”  I pondered the question for a moment,
then
dismissed it.  “Anyhow, the government wanted Bates to help get undercover agents into Iraq. 
Looks like they were suppo
sed to pose as Bates’ employees
—aids, assistants, secretaries.”

“What happened to Bates?” Jason interrupted, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Don’t know.  Nothing here says.  Dan Cooper’s our best bet right now.”

We turned the rental car in and rode the shuttle bus to the airport terminal.  Our flight was delayed thirty minutes.  Jason nudged me.  “I’m
gonna
get a hotdog.  Want anything?”

I pondered my choices. 
“Yeah.
  See if they have
some kind of chicken sandwich—
not deep-fried.”

“If they don’t?”

“I don’t care. 
Anything.
  I’m starving.”  I knew it was risky giving Jason free reign to choose my food, but I was desperately hungry.

He came back with two hotdogs, smothered in mustard, ketchup, and relish.  I didn’t say a word as I practically inhaled the preservative-packed wiener.  I hated to admit it, but it tasted wonderful.  I just blocked out the thoughts of everything I’ve ever heard about what goes into hotdogs.

We touched down in San Diego and pushed our way through the crowd as we struggled to get out of the congestion at the gate. 

We started down the corridor toward the exit when Jason pointed toward the restroom sign.  “I’ll be right back.”  He disappeared through the door and I leaned against the wall to wait for him.

I noticed two uniformed men talking with each other.  They glanced at me, then conferred some more.  I moved away from the wall and started for the ladies room.  They beat me to it.  One on each side of me, they took my arms and ushered me down the hall.

I stumbled over my own feet.  How could they have found me?  They were just waiting for me, like a pair of cats at the mouth of a mouse hole.  I glanced up and noticed the odd panels placed strategically in the ceiling. 
Cameras.
  They must have caught me on video in the San Francisco airport.  It would have been
easy
to track down my destination and lay in wait.  How could I have been so stupid?  “What are you doing?” I
demanded
.

“
Devonie
Lace?” the one on my right asked.

“What do you want?  Let me go!”  I struggled to free my arms.

“You’re under arrest.  You h
ave the right to remain silent—
“

“Under
arrest!
 
For what?”

The man in blue released my right arm and pulled the arrest warrant from his pocket.  He read down the list.  “Let’s se
e.  Where to begin: Grand theft
auto, Assault with a deadly weapon, Forgery,
Possession of na
rcotics with the intent to sell,
Driving und
er the influence—
“ 

I cut him off.  “You forgot fishi
ng without a license.”

The officer smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper in his hand and ran his finger down the list.  “Give me a minute.  I’m sure I can find that in here, somewhere.”

“You’ve got to b
e kidding.  This is a
setup.  I didn’t do any of those things,” I insisted.

My captors smiled, and the one still grasping my arm w
inked at his partner.  “
That’s what they all say.”

“But it’s true.  You’ve got to believe me.  I’ve been framed.”

“Tell it to the judge,” the one on my left
said
as he and his partner hauled me down the long corridor and continued informing me of my rights.

I wasn’t interested in their version of the Miranda speech.  I’d heard it a thousand times on old Dragnet reruns.  I cranked my head around to see Jason wander out of the men’s room.  I called out to him.  “Jason! 
Call Dan Cooper!”

Jason gawked at the two officers escorting me away.  “Where are they taking you?” he hollered.

I turned to the usher on my right.  “Where are we going?”

“Eighth Precinct.”

I called back over my shoulder,
“Eighth Precinct! 
Hurry!”

Chapter
Twenty

I
slumped in the back of the black-and-white squad car as it worked its way through the heavy traffic of San Diego.  I stared blankly at the metal grate separating me from officers Robins and Cowen.  They conversed as though I didn’t exist.  As far as they were concerned, anything behind the grate was on equal ground with rattle snakes and rabid skunks.   As we passed the “Eighth Precinct” sign, Cowen swung the car around into the parking lot.  On the other side of a tall chain-link fence, I noticed an unusual car.  It was a bright pink Mercedes Benz.  Robins noticed it, too.

“Oh
,
no.
  Mrs.
Grovesner’s
at it again,” Robins grumbled.

Cowen chuckled under his breath.  “You’d think someone with the kind of money her husband brings home could kick the habit.”

“You
kidding?
  I bet she shoplifts on purpose to pay him back for giving her that ridiculous pink car,” Robins shot back.  They both laughed.

I noticed the license plate frame as we passed by the Mercedes.  It was from
Grovesner
Mercedes, a d
ealership in downtown San Diego—the same dealership where Aziz had purchased the car for Gerald Bates.

Cowen parked the squad car in a slot close to the police station.  “He proba
bly got it for next to nothing—
couldn’t sell the thing on his lot
—
not with a paint job like that.”

Cowen set the brake, cut the engine, and broke into his tour guide routine.  “Here we are.  And on your left, we have the historic Eighth Precinct building, home of the next Pig Bowl champions of the Southland.”

Robins pulled me from the back seat and slammed the door. He grinned at his partner.  “Those CHP wimps are
gonna
cry to their mammas after Saturday’s game.”

I glared at the cavalier pair as they led me up the steps.  As we entered the building, a well dressed woman walked toward us, heading for the exit.  She had
mascara-stained tear streaks down both cheeks and one of her teal-green pumps had a broken heel, causing her to limp like a broken down old horse.  Her outfit was expensive, probably from one of the finer department stores in the area.  Her perfume was strong, but not unpleasant.  Its scent arrived well in advance of her physical self, and I thought she could probably stand to be a little more conservative when applying it.  I noticed the huge diamond ring on her left hand.  She wiped her nose with a wad of tissue and tried to avoid our stares.

Officer Cowen held the door open for her and gave a huge smile as she passed.  “Evening, Mrs.
Grovesner
,” he
said
.

She nodded and mumbled something I couldn’t hear as she scurried out of the building.  I would have shed a tear for the poor thing if I hadn’t already been feeling so sorry for myself.

My delightful evening ended by being ushered into a cold, dreary, holding cell.
  The unconcealed stainless steel commode in the corner sent a shiver up my spine.  I wondered how long I could hold out without using it and wished I hadn’t drank that last glass of water on the plane.

I
lay
on the hard bunk and stared up at the gray ceiling.  The place
reeked
of Pine Sol, trying to cover up all the other unpleasant odors, but not succeeding.  Women in neighboring cells shouted obscenities at each other, revealing their true natures and making it perfectly clear why they were here in the first place.  But why was I here?  I’d been trapped in this cell for hours and I felt the tears
welling up.
I’d ju
st about reached the end of my tough-woman
performance
.
  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to redirect my focus.

“When do I get my phone call?
” I yelled at the top of my lungs, assuming no one was listening.  I bolted upright when I heard the jingling of keys clanking against the lock on my cell.  The voice on the other side laughed and said, “Just settle down, Miss ‘I’ve been framed.’”  The bars swung open and a hefty woman in a drab uniform marched in.  The guard pointed at me.  “You got a ticket out of here, Missy.  Got friends down at the FBI, do we?”

I raised my eyebrows and held my hand to my chest.  “Me?”

“Yes, you
.
  Come on.”

I followed the guard out of the cell and down the hall.  We pushed through a door.  My eyes lit up when I saw Jason and Dan Cooper waiting for me.

“Am I glad to see you
guys.
  I was afraid I’d be spending the night here.” 

Dan shook his head and wagged his finger at me.  “What sort of trouble are you in now?”

For someone
whose
long-term goal was to attain a carefree, happy-go-lucky existence, I’d failed miserably.  “Big trouble,” I moaned.

“I guess so.  Had to pull some mighty big strings to get you released to my custody.  Officially, you’re my prisoner.”

“Well, get me out of here.  You won’t believe the story I have for you this time.”

I sat in the passenger seat of Dan’s car and listened to Jason point out every fast-food restaurant between the Eighth Precinct and the San Diego Marriott.  Dan pulled into the hotel parking lot and drove around to the back.

“Got you a room on the seventh floor.
  Jason can crash in my room.”

I eyed the elegant resort hotel hedges, shimmering in the moonlight.  It was almost eerie without so much as a leaf moving
.  The grounds were immaculate—
perfectly manicured.  The palms were flawlessly trimmed.  Lights shone on every tree.  “Jeez.  Tax dollars keep you up in style.”

Dan po
inted his finger at me.  “
Don’t complain or I’ll put you up at the Motel 6 down the road.”

I checked my watch
—two in the morning.  “You think room service is still operating?  I’m starving.”

Dan opened his door.  “I doubt it.  Room’s got a snack bar.  Help yourself.  It’s on the taxpayers.”  He winked.

We rode the elevator to the seventh floor and Dan let Jason into his room.  Jason plopped down on one of the beds and was out cold before his head hit the pillow.

Mine was the adjoining room.  Dan handed me the key and followed me in.  I made a beeline for the bathroom
.
  I washed my hands and splashed cool water on my face.  Feeling somewhat refreshed, I wandered back out to the room and collapsed on the bed.

“D
on’t you fall asleep
yet.
  I want the Reader’s Digest cond
ensed version of this fiasco—
right now.  In the morning, you can fill in the details.”  Dan sat at the table and scribbled some notes in his little black notebook.

I
lay
on my back and stared at the ceiling.  “Jeez.  Where do I start?  It’s all a blur.  Oh, yeah.  It started back in Long Beach, when I bought the trunk from Clancy.”

The last thing I remember mumbling was something about Mohammed Aziz and I wondered how he fit into the picture.

I was deep in
to
one of my Tom
Selleck
dreams when the phone on the nightstand rang in my ear and startled me out of my happy little fantasy.  I glared at the clock.  Seven
A.M
.  My hand reached for the phone and
dragged
it across the pillow to my head.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Dan Cooper’s voice boomed, cheerily, into my ear.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, waking me up at this hour,” I grumbled into the phone.

“
Rise and shine.  Come on.  Breakfast here is great!  I’ll give you ten minutes.”

“I don’t know what planet you’re from, but typical Earth women require a
minimum
of twenty minutes to
get presentable in the morning
—and that’s just barely
presentable.  I’ll need thirty
—at least,” I groaned.  I clumsily hung up the phone and staggered out of bed.  My number-one priority was to find a toothbrush and a long shower.

I sat in the corner booth between Jason and Dan.  Jason ordered pigs-in-a-blanket.  Dan watched, incredulously, as Jason proceeded to smear mustard and ketchup on his breakfast. 
Jason
looked up at the two of us, gawking at his plate.  “What?  It’s not that much different than a hotdog,”
he said
.

Dan shook his head.  “I made some calls this morning.  Your hunch was right about Mohammed Aziz.  He is in town.  Has a place here, somewhere. 
Showed up a couple days ago, with a friend.”

I swallowed a bite of my bran muffin. 
“Friend?”

“Yeah.
 
One of the bad guys.
 
Known terrorist.
  We keep a close eye on our Middle-Eastern visitors.  Haven’t given us any clues what they’re up to, yet.”

I shoved a whole strawberry in my mouth, bit it twice and struggled to keep the juice from running down my chin before I tried to speak.  “Great.  You must know where they are.  We can go check them out,” I
said.

He smirked at me.  “There’ll be no ‘we.’”

“But I want to—
“

“But, nothing.
  You’ve managed to get yourself in enough trouble.”

“I can help, really
—“

“When I need your help, I’ll let you know.  Until then, you do as I s
ay—
got it?”

“No, I don’t ‘get it.’  Spencer could be in real trouble and it’s my fault.  How can you expect me to just sit her
e
and do nothing?” I persisted.

“Are you hearing impaired?” Dan complained.

Jason laughed.  “That’s funny.  She is hardheaded, isn’t she?  I like to think of her as ‘authority challenged.’”

I glared at them both.  “Go ahead, m
ock me, but it’s a free country.  L
ast I checked, and you can’t keep me prisoner here against my will.”

“Correction.
You
are
my prisoner.  Remember?  Willis and I can go check out Aziz and his amigo.  He’s meeting me here at ten.  You, my dear, are planting your little fanny in that hotel room upstairs, and Jason is going to make sure you stay put.”  He pointed a threatening finger at me.

“Willis?  But I-–“

“Yes, Willis.  You remember him? 
My partner?
 
The one who’s highly trained in dealing with terrorists.
 
The one who can shoot the cap off a beer bottle at a hundred yards.
  The one I trust with my life.”

I slid two inches down in the booth like a child who’d just been scolded for talking in church.  He’d taken the wind out of my sails when he reminded me that I wasn’t nearly as free as I thought.

Jason gulped down the last swallow of his Coke,
then
signaled the waitress for a refill.  “Don’t worry, Dan.  I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble.  Some great movies are playing on Pay-Per-View.  We’ll just
veg
out in front of the TV until you get back.”

I smirked at Jason,
then
turned to Dan.  “That’s right.  We’ll just become vegetables and sit idly in front of the idiot box waiting for your return.”  The sarcasm in my voice was obvious.

“Good.”

Dan paid the bill, then escorted Jason and me back up to his room.  I filled Dan in on every detail I could think of since the whole caper started back in Long Beach.  At nine forty-five, the phone in Dan’s room rang.  He grabbed it.

“Cooper.  Oh, hey Tom.  I’ll be down in five.  Meet me in the lobby.”  Dan hung up the phone.  “Okay.  I’m out of here.” 

He stood and pointed his finger at me.  “You, young lady, had better not budge from this room.”

Jason grabbed the remote control off the nightstand.  “Not to worry.  I’m in charge now.”  He powered on the TV and started flipping through the channels.

Dan flashed me an uneasy smile,
then
let himself out of the room.

I parted the curtains and glanced down the seven floors to the parking lot.  A collection of cabs were lined up along the curb, waiting to take busy travelers to the airport, or wherever else they needed to go.  I watched Dan Cooper and Tom Willis
pile into their government-
issue car and pull out into the heavy traffic.  I thought about Spencer and what kind of trouble he might be in.  The heavy weight of guilt felt like it might overwhelm me.  I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.