Run Girl: Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers Prequel Novella (9 page)

“We’re looking for a missing person,” she explained. “An eighteen-year-old girl who we believe may have checked in here this morning.”

The receptionist frowned at her. “FBI? Do you have any jurisdiction here?”

Great, Ingrid thought, a wise-ass.

“Check with the American embassy, if you like.” Ingrid handed him a card she’d been given by Sol Franklin. “An American citizen is missing and it’s my job to find her.”

“If you’ll excuse me one moment, madam.” The man turned away and made a phone call. He hung up and invited Ingrid and Angelis to take a seat.

“We’re very happy to stand.”

“The manager will be with you shortly.”

Ingrid glanced around the front hall. A smooth-faced bell hop was hovering next to a grand brass elevator. He made eye contact with her. She nudged Angelis on the arm and said under her breath, “Keep the receptionist busy.”

Angelis leaned on the low desk, instantly obscuring the receptionist’s view of Ingrid and the elevator.

Ingrid wandered over to the bell hop. “Hi. I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for someone who I think could be in a little trouble. She would have checked in earlier today. She’s very young, long brown hair, real pretty, slim. Did you see her?”

“Might have. What’s it worth to you?”

Ingrid pulled her wallet from her purse and plucked out three twenty pound notes. It was all the cash she had. She handed it to the young bell hop, who deftly slipped it into a pocket. Ingrid glanced over her shoulder—Angelis was still shielding her from the attentions of the receptionist.

“Do you know which room she’s in?”

“Carried her bag there myself.”

“She had a bag?”

“Just a little backpack.”

“Which room?”

The bell hop swiped a credit card sized rectangle of plastic along a sensor beneath the elevator up and down buttons. The elevator doors opened. “Level four, room 443. Turn left out of the lift.” He passed her the plastic card. “This’ll get you in. Be sure to bring it back to me.”

Before she disappeared inside the elevator, Ingrid glanced once again in Angelis’ direction. He was still occupied at the reception desk.

The doors pinged open on level four and Ingrid found herself stepping onto thick, deep pile carpet. She headed left, down a corridor that was decorated with fine silk-woven wallpaper. It really was another world. She followed the numbered signs and quickly reached room 443. She leaned in toward the door and listened. There were no sounds coming from inside. She didn’t see how announcing her presence would help any, so she slipped the key card into the lock and levered down the handle. The door clicked open. Ingrid took a deep breath and pushed it wide.

The main room was empty.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she stepped inside. There was an interior door to her left. The bathroom, she supposed. Again she leaned in close and listened. The low burbling of running water filtered through the door. Ingrid tested the handle. The door opened without resistance. She pushed through the doorway, expecting to see a figure inside a steamy shower cubicle. Instead, she discovered water gushing from the mixer faucet into the unplugged drain of an empty bathtub. She spun around 360 degrees. The bathroom was empty. Opposite the door,
 
something caught Ingrid’s eye. Written on the mirror above the sink in bright pink lipstick, were the words:
nice try, but too late.
A large pink ‘X’ filled the remainder of the space.

16

Ingrid made a quick search of the room. The closet was empty, as were the safe and mini refrigerator. Apart from the scrawled message in the bathroom, no sign of Rachel Whitticker remained.

They’d been out maneuvered by a precocious teenager once again and Ingrid was starting to
 
feel decidedly dumb.

Goddammit
, there had to be some way of turning things around.

She returned to the grand reception hall via the bell hop and handed him back the key card.

“Find what you were looking for?” he asked her.

“Not quite.”

“If there’s anything else I can do…”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

She marched back to the reception desk to find Angelis arguing with a gray haired man dressed in a suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a wedding.

“We have to protect the privacy of our guests. I’m sure you understand that,” she heard him tell Angelis in an unmistakable and no doubt well rehearsed supercilious tone.

When Angelis spotted her, he turned away from the desk while the manager was still in full flow. “Well?”

“We were on the right tracks. Just one or two hours too late.”

He followed her back out onto the street. “She was here?”

Ingrid told him about the message Rachel had left them.

“Cheeky bloody minx.” He shook his head. “Although I can’t help admiring her style.” He looked around for the doorman.

The motorcycle arrived a couple of minutes later.

“We’re no nearer finding her,” Ingrid said as Angelis handed her a helmet. “I’m beginning to think I’ve been missing something really obvious.”

“We have some of the finest brains in the intelligence service working on this case.”

“Maybe you should put them through an IQ test. Math genius Rachel Whitticker is making us all look stupid.” Ingrid pushed her short hair off her forehead and tucked it into the helmet, but kept the visor up. “I just feel I need go back to law enforcement basics.”

“Which are?”

“First thing is to put yourself in the shoes of the perpetrator.”

“She hasn’t actually committed any crime.”

“You know what I mean.” Ingrid climbed onto the bike ahead of Angelis. “You certainly can’t describe her as a victim.” She ran a hand along the handlebars.

“Want to take her for a spin?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You bet. Just as long as you make sure you grab the back of the seat and not my ass when we turn corners.”

“When have I behaved in anything less than a gentlemanly manner?”

Ingrid thought about it for a moment. It was true. Angelis acted the part of a smooth operator, but he hadn’t actually made any moves on her. For which she was immensely grateful.

“I’ll give you directions,” Angelis told her.

“Where are we headed?”

“Back to the embassy.” Angelis swung his right leg over the bike. He settled himself on the rear of the seat. “So tell me, what theories have you come up with, putting yourself in her shoes?”

“She’s planned this whole thing quite carefully. She came to the UK today. Not yesterday, or the day before. I think she’s definitely here for a specific event.”

“And there’s some sort of romantic liaison involved?”

“Uh huh—with someone that’ll piss off her parents.”

Angelis pulled a face.

“You don’t like my theory?”

“I want to, I really do, but isn’t it all a tad far-fetched? What if her grandmother had refused to bring her to Europe?”

“From what we know about her, it seems Rachel Whitticker has the Secretary of State wrapped around her little finger.” Before Angelis had time to consider his response, Ingrid started the engine and accelerated into a gap in the traffic.

*

Sol Franklin was waiting for them in the underground parking lot when they arrived. “The administration clerk in the Criminal Investigation Unit is at your disposal,” he told them as soon as Ingrid had switched off the engine. “She’s great at digging up information. They invented the phrase ‘dogged determination’ with Jennifer in mind.”

“I thought we couldn’t risk accessing the Bureau’s files, in case it raised an alarm,” Ingrid said.

“Given the time constraints, we may be past worrying about that. Besides, I’m sure we can be creative with our digging.”

“That’s great. There are a couple of angles I’d like to pursue.”

“There are?” Angelis raised his eyebrows.

“I still need to get under Rachel’s skin a little to work out what she’s planning.”

“If you think that’ll help.” Sol Franklin didn’t sound at all convinced. Ingrid decided to change the subject.

“Any update on the expected end time of today’s negotiation session?”

“We’re still working on twenty-two hundred hours.” He looked at his watch. “You have less than four and a half hours to save the day.”

Sol led them up to the third floor and into a low-ceilinged office, about twenty feet by thirty. There were three desks: two backed up against one another on one side of the room, the third, slightly larger than the other two, stood on its own pushed up against the opposite wall. Sitting at one of the paired desks was a slightly heavy, sandy-haired woman in her early twenties. Sol strode toward her, told her not to get up, and introduced Ingrid. It seemed the woman already knew Angelis. In fact, her cheeks started to flush as soon as he approached her: the many freckles on her face merging into an pinkish-brown blush.

“As ever, a pleasure, Jennifer.” Angelis treated her to a roguish smile.

The clerk giggled like a school girl and dipped her chin in faux bashfulness.

Ingrid glanced at the two empty desks. “All on your own?” she asked the clerk.

Jennifer nodded, then glanced at Sol. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod before she started speaking. “There’s another clerk, who sits right here next to me, but he has a day off today.” Her accent was pure southern California.

“And this desk?”

Again Jennifer sought Sol Franklin’s approval before speaking. That’s… I mean… that
was
Agent Mulroony’s desk. He… ah… he doesn’t work here anymore.”

Another reassuring nod from Franklin.

“Has Sol told you about the girl we’re looking for?” Ingrid asked.

“Spoiled brat who also happens to be a genius. Fights all the time with her parents but is her grandmother’s favorite.”

“Yep—that pretty well sums up everything I know about her.” She smiled at Jennifer. “I’ve been thinking about her relationship with her parents. If we assume Rachel sees herself as a rebel and the people she most wants to rebel against are her parents, then maybe we need to work out exactly what would piss them off the most.”

“Running away to Europe aged eighteen would have freaked my parents out. They weren’t too happy when I did it aged twenty-two! Even though I was working for the government.”

“Their loss is our gain.” Angelis winked at her.

Jennifer flushed in an instant.

“We’re currently working on the assumption that Rachel’s here for some kind of special event and to meet somebody—”

“And that somebody is a man?” Jennifer interrupted, doing her best not to look at Angelis.

“For the sake of argument, let’s assume that too,” Ingrid said, “I’ve been giving it some serious thought and I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s only one kind of individual Rachel
 
could date that would really piss off her mom and dad.”

Angelis shrugged at her. Sol Franklin did the same.

“A Republican.” Ingrid wasn’t at all sure her theory was strong enough to stand much scrutiny, but she braced herself for a barrage of doubting questions. They didn’t come.

“Her parents were huge fundraisers for both Obama campaigns,” Sol Franklin said. “If she were to date a Republican, it would certainly embarrass them.”

“My God, it actually seems blindingly obvious now you’ve mentioned it.” Angelis beamed at her. “I think you might be on to something.”

“So we’re looking for a Republican right here in London?” Jennifer’s fingers were poised over her keyboard.

“Who presumably moved to London fairly recently,” Ingrid said.

“How so?” Sol Franklin was leaning over the desk.

“I’m supposing Rachel met him in the US. I can’t imagine her having the patience to deal with a long distance relationship for very long. It can’t have been going on long enough for her to get bored.”

Sol Franklin checked his watch. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I have a meeting with the chief. You keep me posted.”

They waved their goodbyes.

“So… we need a Republican in London,” Ingrid said. “How many can there be?”

Jennifer turned toward her computer and started to type rapidly. “Should I check for senators and congressmen who are visiting at the moment?”

“I doubt it would be anyone that high profile,” Ingrid said. She wondered how she could make such pronouncements when in reality she didn’t have much more of a clue than either Jennifer or Angelis. But somehow she felt the longer the search went on, the more it was her responsibility to find Rachel, having gotten so close at the hotel.

“Not that high profile or that old,” Angelis added. “Unless Rachel has some father figure fixation. Given how she feels about her own dad, I would imagine that’s not the case.”

“OK—just look for anyone under thirty.” Ingrid looked at the clerk’s computer screen over her shoulder. “They’d have to have some kind of reputation, be notable in political circles at least—otherwise the relationship just wouldn’t have the same impact on Rachel’s parents.

“Then why don’t I check all Republican members of both houses—and major fund raisers for the party—and see if any of them have sons who are the right age? Then we’ll find out if any of them are working or studying in the UK.”

“You’re bloody brilliant!” Angelis said and pecked Jennifer on the top of her head.

The clerk blushed again, this time more vividly than she had before. “You may want to sit down. It could take a while.”

Ingrid looked at her watch. “Fine, just make sure you’re no longer than twenty minutes.”

17

“How’s it going?” Ingrid asked Jennifer at the nineteen minute mark. The clerk had made it clear she didn’t want to be scrutinized as she worked, so Ingrid had been relegated to former Agent Mulroony’s desk. The first thing she’d done when she’d sat down was rummage through the drawers beneath the desk, eager to keep her hands occupied, if not her mind. All the drawers were empty. Not even a pencil or an eraser remained. The guy must have taken every last item of stationery with him when he left.

“I have a list of eligible Republican sons and another list of work permits and student visas issued to US citizens in the last six months. Now I just need to cross reference the two lists,” Jennifer announced.