The Kill Order (12 page)

“How’s this different from any other intelligence agency?” Donovan said. “There’s the FBI. They’ve had a few. Robert Hanssen. You can’t ask for a bigger intelligence disaster than that.”

“Hanssen wasn’t bending the president’s ear. Kane is. Couple that with the Devil’s Key and the nightmare if that gets out, that we’ve had the capability to spy on every country who’s running that software. Even worse, that it’s not the SINS program at all, but the chips, which makes us
all
vulnerable—”

“Maybe,” Griffin said, “we can buy some time.”

“How?”

“We have Sydney do a second sketch. A fake one that looks like anyone but the real suspect. If nothing else, Kane won’t know we’re looking his direction.”

“She’s already on their radar,” McNiel replied. “I don’t think we want to draw any more attention to her. Like I said, if that is Kane in the sketch, and everything points to it being him, he knows we have Piper. He knows she saw him, and that there’s every chance she’s already told us. And he knows that’s all we’ve got, which isn’t enough. You can’t convict a man of twenty years of espionage based on the testimony of one girl unless you have twenty years of proof. And if he manages to get a copy of the Devil’s Key, he’ll have the means to eradicate twenty years of evidence no matter how condemning, and re-create enough evidence to exonerate himself.”

“It’s that powerful?” Donovan asked.

“So I’ve been told. Why do you think we’ve worked so hard to destroy every known copy?”

“We’re batting zero, boss,” Donovan said. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“Right now our best bet is to get this girl into witness protection. Get her out of here, somewhere safe, so we can regroup. As a matter of fact, call them and verify that they’re on their way. The sooner we get her where we won’t have to worry, and free up Marc and Lisette, the sooner we can go after the real threat.”

17

“W
itness protection?”
Piper suddenly lost her appetite for the pizza on her plate and stared in disbelief at Lisette.

They were seated at the kitchen table in Lisette’s apartment. All Piper had mentioned was that she wanted a job similar to Lisette’s, so she could see Europe, maybe eat real pizza made in Italy, not the frozen stuff, and Lisette just sprang it on her.

“Like on TV?” Piper asked. “Where they change your name and make you live in some small town without any of your friends?”

“The key word being
live
.”

“Why can’t you just find the people who did this and take care of it? Isn’t that what you guys do?” she said, looking from Lisette to Marc. “You’re secret agents. You’re supposed to be able to stop people like them.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“It seems pretty simple to me. If your friend had called the police when I told him to, they’d probably have those guys by now.”

“They might,” Lisette said, getting up to take her empty plate to the sink. “But the people who are after you will simply send two more. And then two more after that.”

“I don’t believe that. I didn’t even see their faces. I saw that other guy. And he left before the murder. Why would they want me?”

“For what’s in your head,” Marc said. “They have one goal in mind, and that is to get you to tell them, number for number, what you saw. They’ve even been known to torture—”

Lisette took a frustrated breath. “Marc . . .”

“She needs to know what the dangers are.”

“Don’t you have a report to type?” she replied, then gave him a pointed look.

“This is not something to sugarcoat.”

“I am sure McNiel asked for that report to be finished.”

Piper pushed her plate to the center of the table. “How? How are they going to find out about me if there’s no one there to tell them?”

“Your prints,” Lisette said, “are all over your friend’s warehouse. The moment they learn your name—and they will if they access the police department’s records—you will be on their radar. Even if they don’t yet know about you, it’s only a matter of time before they do, and from there all too easy to discover your ability to retain entire documents in your head. Unless you can guarantee that no one knows. That no one has ever mentioned this anywhere electronically . . .” Lisette looked over at her, her brows raised. “Facebook? Twitter?”

“This is stupid.”

“It is what it is. Are you done? I’ll rinse your plate.”

Piper handed it to her, then stalked over to the couch, throwing herself onto the cushions and crossing her arms. “How long will I have to stay in hiding for?”

“We don’t know. But you won’t be alone. I promise.”

Alone . . . Piper reached over, picked up the remote control and turned on the TV, done talking about this. Her whole life had gone wrong ever since her parents’ divorce, her mother’s spiral into drugs, her father’s heart attack that sent her and her brother into foster care. And then there was that stupid accident, when her foster father took her to see a baseball game at spring training where the line drive hit her in the head and caused this stupid eidetic memory thing to happen. Everything had sucked, all because of some stupid baseball game.

And now this. She stared at the TV through a blur of tears, trying her hardest not to cry.

Marc took one look at her face and said, “I should go work on that report now . . .” He grabbed his laptop from the table and carried it to the bedroom.

Lisette eyed Piper. “You okay?”

Piper scoffed. “Perfect,” she said, then switched the channels on the TV, finally settling on
SpongeBob SquarePants
.

Lisette stood there a moment longer as if deciding whether Piper was about to do anything stupid, like run outside when she knew there were potential killers after her—
right
. Finally she walked toward the bathroom, saying, “Shout if you need anything.”

A few minutes later, Piper heard the water turning on in the bathroom. The moment the steady sound changed pitch, indicating Lisette was actually in the shower, Piper glanced at the front door, wishing she had the guts to leave. The memory of Bo’s black and white Converse shoes just visible as she walked past his office that night was enough to convince her that taking off was the wrong move, even if she did know the alarm code. Whoever these people were, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in their way, and she wondered what they would do to her once she rattled off those stupid numbers everyone was so hot to get.

What was so damned important about them that someone was running around and killing people?

Had to be money, she decided, getting up and walking to the window, peering out the blinds to the street below. Millions, probably. Otherwise why would anyone care? She looked around Lisette’s apartment, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere this nice, and if wherever they were going to take her would be anything similar. Well, hopefully not too similar. Judging from the lack of anything personal in the place, at least in the way of photos and the like, she had the feeling that Lisette wasn’t here much.

Her stomach rumbled, and deciding she’d have that pizza after all, she walked over to the kitchen, then noticed Lisette’s purse and cell phone. She glanced back, saw Marc’s door closed, and heard the shower running.

She liked Lisette. And one thing she didn’t do was steal from someone she liked. She was curious, however, and only meant to look inside the purse. There was no gun, not that Piper expected one. Lisette wore her weapon on a holster, and as long as Piper had been there, she never left it unattended.

The wallet was nice, soft burgundy leather, not like anything she’d ever seen in a store, and she opened it, surprised when she saw a passport. She recalled Lisette saying she was French. Piper had never been out of the country herself, and flipped through the pages, noting the different stamps. Just about every country she could think of was on there. And some she wouldn’t have thought of. A lot of visits to Italy, she noted, and the thought made her smile. She had seen the looks Marc gave Lisette when he thought Piper wasn’t looking. Different from the looks that Zachary Griffin had given the sketch artist.

There was a sadness about that man, she thought. One that hadn’t been there before they left California. Something had changed in him. Something between him and that sketch artist, she thought, and wondered what had happened to cause it.

She turned to the last page of the passport book, running her fingers around the edge, wondering if she’d ever be able to travel like that. See places she’d only read about in books . . .

It wasn’t fair that because of an accident that had happened through no fault of her own—that she’d seen documents that meant nothing to her—she’d never have the chance to go anywhere. She’d be stuck in some stupid little town, where everyone dressed in stupid pastel colors, living in some stupid state she probably wouldn’t even want to visit anyway.

Life sucked, she thought, as she slid the passport back into the wallet, then, because habits were hard to break, examined the credit cards as well as the bit of cash. Life had always sucked starting long before she’d been hit in the head with that damned baseball. That accident had only made it worse. Bo had been her first friend who didn’t look at her like a freak, and yet, when it came right down to it,
he
told those gunmen where to find her. And now these government agents wanted to hide her out for the rest of her life?

A knock at the door startled her, and she shoved the items into her sweatshirt pocket, then swiveled around, fully expecting Lisette to emerge from the bathroom and Marc the bedroom. When they didn’t, she realized they probably hadn’t heard the knock. In a moment of indecision turned to action, Piper walked up to the door, peered out the peephole.

She saw two men in dark suits standing there.

“Who are you?” she called through the door.

“We’re here for the pickup.” One of them held up a badge.

She took a deep breath. This was it. She didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to her brother, and she was going to be whisked away, given a new name, a new identity . . .

It wasn’t like she’d had the best life in the world. They were going to pay for her to get a house and a job. How bad could that be?

“Piper! Get back!”

She swiveled around, saw Marc standing there.

“I think it’s the witness protection guys.”

“I’ll check. Just get back from the door.”

“I wasn’t going to open it.” But she moved away, and Marc looked out, just as Lisette rushed from the bathroom, her gun drawn as Marc disarmed the alarm and opened the door.

Apparently they weren’t taking any chances.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” one of the men said, eyeing the gun pointed at him, and he held up both hands, one empty, one with the badge. “Palmer and Ramsay. We’re here to take the girl to WitSec.”

“ID,” Lisette demanded, not lowering her gun.

He handed it to Marc, who looked it over, then took his phone and called the U.S. marshal’s office. “Di Luca, DOJ,” Marc said. “Just confirming you sent two . . . ?”

He glanced at the second man. “Your ID?” He looked at it as well. “They’re here.” He listened, then said to Lisette, “It’s them. Names match.”

Lisette holstered her gun, while giving Piper a bittersweet smile. “You’ll be fine.”

What they always told her before every new foster home. And here she thought the feeling of being torn from her roots would be over and done with once she’d aged out of the system. “Sure.”

Lisette looked around as though forgetting something. “We didn’t even get a chance to buy her any additional clothing.”

“It’s okay,” one of the men said. “We’ll take care of all that.”

She went for her purse. “You need money?”

“No,” Piper said, worried Lisette would discover the wallet missing, and think Piper was trying to steal from her. If she was lucky, she could slip it somewhere where Lisette might find it. She hadn’t expected such generosity. “You’ve done enough.”

“We should go,” the dark-haired guy said.

Lisette nodded, and then with an awkward smile, walked up to Piper and gave her a hug. “Be good.”

“I will.”

One of the men held out his hand, indicating Piper should precede him through the door. They walked down the hallway. And as she stepped on the elevator, followed by the two men, the door whooshing shut, she wondered what on earth she could do with Lisette’s wallet. Maybe she should ask the men if they could go back up, pretend that she had to use the bathroom, and she could leave it there. But one look at the man’s face, and she nixed that idea. He didn’t look friendly at all.

18

F
unny, but Lisette didn’t really think she’d miss the girl, and yet the whole scenario reminded her of sending one’s kid off to college for the first time. That feeling that they were going to a safe place, but they were still out of your control. Wild parties in the dormitories, getting drunk, getting pregnant . . .

At least that’s what she assumed it was like, since she didn’t have kids of her own. And she wasn’t sure she ever wanted them. Not in this world, she thought, eyeing the dirty dishes on the counter. She picked up the tray with the half-eaten pizza and dumped the remainder into the trash, then started rinsing the dishes.

Marc watched her a few moments. “She’ll be fine.”

“I know. I guess I just didn’t realize— It’s silly, I know, but I miss her.”

She looked around the apartment, thinking how quiet it was, then noticed her purse was not how she left it. And then she recalled how quickly Piper turned down the offer of money. “Oh no . . .”

“What?”

She rushed over, looked in her purse, discovered her wallet missing. “I can’t believe I fell for that.” She picked up the leather bag, slammed it on the counter. “All my money.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. Sixty, seventy dollars. And my credit cards.
And
my passport.”

“Better call up and cancel the credit card at least.”

“The hell with that. Bring her little butt back here and have her give it to me with an apology. And to think I was feeling sorry for her.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Did you see how quick she was to turn down my offer to give her some money? Little thief. Call.”

“What are you going to do? Have her arrested?” he said, taking out his phone. He called the marshal’s office again, and said, “Marc di Luca. Two of your men just picked up one of our witnesses. Yes. I talked to them earlier. I know this is a bit unusual, but the witness took something from one of our agents and we’d like to get it back. Any way you could contact them and have them return . . . ? Probably left here about five minutes ago . . . Yes. I’ll hold.”

He waited and Lisette took the moment to look around, see if anything else was missing. Fortunately there was very little to take, a few clothes and personal items, since she used the apartment only on the rare occasion when she was staying in town.

“You’re sure?”

“Sure about what?” Lisette asked, alarmed by his tone, never mind the look on his face.

“She says they’re still en route. Palmer and Ramsay. They had to stop for gas and ended up with a flat tire.”

“What do you mean still en route? They just left.”

“As in they never arrived.”

“But you called.”

“They verified the names. They didn’t realize they weren’t here until they called them just now about your wallet.”

“Oh my God . . .” Lisette felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. That girl had depended on them. On her. “They showed us IDs. The names were the same.”

Marc held up his finger, signaling for her to be quiet, while he listened to whatever the person was saying. “Thank you. Yes.” He disconnected. “Apparently they’re on their way now. They’ll help in the search.”

“What do we do?”

“I’ll call McNiel. You call Griffin.”

She grabbed her cell phone, hit Griffin’s number, and the moment he answered, she said, “I lost her. I’m sorry. I—I don’t know how it happened. I—”

“Lisette. Wait. Slow down. What do you mean you lost her?”

“She was here, and two men who said they were from WitSec picked her up.”

“They had IDs?”

“Yes. We checked. They were legit. The IDs, I mean. Professional. The names matched.”

“How long have they been gone?”

She glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes.”

“Get me a description, everything you can remember about them.”

And that feeling she’d had about sending her kid off to college suddenly turned into a nightmare. She was so never having kids.