When The Devil Whistles (24 page)

Connor relaxed, but only a little. “One of my… colleagues disappeared suddenly, and I want to make sure she didn’t take anything with her. Check my portfolio first, then the family’s, and then the foundation’s. Liquid assets, then illiquid.”

“Understood. And don’t worry—we’ll be very discreet.”

Connor reddened. “She’s a
professional
colleague. I’m about to go into a meeting. Text me the results.”

He hung up and shook his head. His stomach felt like it was full of cold gravel.

The phone on the credenza rang. The caller ID showed the reception desk. “Hi, Janet.”

“Hi, Connor. There’s a Mr. Clayton here to see you.”

“On my way.”

Connor walked out of the conference room and down the long hallway to the reception area. He walked fast and the air seemed to clear as he went.

It would be good to talk to Julian Clayton. He was a good detective and a good friend. He also went to Connor’s church and shared his interest in World War II planes, which didn’t hurt.

Connor walked into the lobby and Julian rose to meet him. He always reminded Connor vaguely of Charles Barkley. He had the same intense eyes and perfectly spherical bald head. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice, Julian.”

They shook hands warmly. “Not a problem, my friend. How are you?”

“Been better, been worse. How about you?”

“Same. So, what’s the emergency?”

Connor took his friend by the elbow and guided him toward the conference room. “Let’s save that for the meeting. How was the Giants game last weekend?”

They chatted about the game as they walked through the firm. Connor’s mind was elsewhere, of course, but that hardly mattered. He had learned to make conversation at the same age that he learned to walk, and both skills were equally unconscious for him.

Connor closed the conference room door behind them and sat at the table. Julian poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up a cookie, and sat down opposite Connor. He pulled out a notepad and pen and looked up expectantly. “Well?”

“One of my clients just disappeared. I need you to help me find her.”

Julian stopped in the process of breaking a piece from the cookie. “What’s her name?”

“Allie Whitman. You did some work for her.”

A frown tightened Julian’s forehead, drawing his gleaming scalp taut. “I remember. What happened? Is there a police report?”

Connor pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not yet. Probably not ever.”

“Why not?”

“No crime. They’ll probably conclude that she disappeared voluntarily—at least that’s what I see happening based on what I know.”

The detective nodded and popped a piece of cookie into his mouth. He brushed crumbs off of his notepad and jotted something down.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

He shook his head as he chewed. “I’m not,” he said around a mouthful of oatmeal and chocolate chips. He swallowed. “Disappointed maybe, but not surprised.”

The shadow on Connor’s heart deepened. He waited for a moment, but Julian didn’t elaborate. “Can you tell me why you’re disappointed?”

Julian shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t say anything more than that. Client confidentiality. You understand.”

Connor nodded. “I understand.” He very much wanted to know why Allie had vanished, of course, but he appreciated Julian’s scrupulous ethics. The two of them shared the same uncompromising moral compass, and it was one of the reasons they worked well together.

But client confidentiality surely didn’t cover everything. “Any idea where she is?”

“None.”

“Do you know whether she engaged in any… financial crimes before she left?”

Julian’s eyebrows went up. “No idea. Do you want me to look into that?”

Connor nodded. “It’s… Well, it’s possible that she might have taken money from accounts belonging to me or my family. Not certain, you understand. But possible.”

The detective shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, man. Truly sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not yet. We don’t know whether she stole a dime.”

“You used to trust this girl, didn’t you?”

Connor looked down at the table. An inscrutable black reflection looked back. “Yeah, I did. We worked together pretty closely.”

“And then she pulls a Houdini on you and leaves you wondering whether you’ve been grifted.” He shook his head again and looked Connor in the eyes. “That’s what I’m sorry about.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Connor took a deep breath, leaned back, and crossed his arms. “All right, so our private banker is looking into it too. I’ll put you in touch with him.”

Julian looked at him silently for a moment, then nodded. “Got it. Anything else?”

There was one more question gnawing at the back of Connor’s mind. “Just one more thing—do you know whether she’s safe?”

Julian thought for a moment. “No.”

40

M
ITCH STOOD IN FRONT OF
E
ILEEN
,
A HAMMER IN ONE HAND AND A PAIR
of wirecutters in the other. In two minutes, he could turn her into a worthless hunk of metal. If he cut the right wires and smashed the camera lenses and key circuitry, the ROV would be nothing but scrap.

No one would stop him. He and Ed had been tinkering with Eileen off and on the entire trip, so the North Koreans wouldn’t think twice if they saw him “working” on her now. Once he was done, it would be impossible to retrieve missiles—or anything else—from the sea floor.

What would the North Koreans do when they found out? And almost as frightening, what would
Ed
do?

“What’s on your mind, Mitch?”

Mitch turned and saw Ed, a coffee mug in his hand and a suspicious look on his face.

“I was just wondering what we’re gonna do now.”

“And you were thinking of trashing Eileen.”

Mitch shrugged and looked past Ed’s shoulder. “I—”

“Don’t worry about it. I was thinking the same thing.” Mitch blinked. “You were?”

“Yeah, but—” He patted the ROV. “I’ve got a soft spot for hard women.”

“I know. I met your ex-wife.”

Ed relaxed and his face split into a gargoyle grin. “I remember. She thought you were cute. Should’ve known right then that she was a nut job.”

“You should’ve known that when she said she’d marry you.”

Ed barked a laugh and punched Mitch in the shoulder. “Seriously, don’t talk about scrapping Eileen. At least not in front of her.”

Mitch wasn’t sure whether that was a joke, so he changed the subject. “So, what are you thinking we should do?”

Ed scratched his stubbly jaw. “Here’s the thing: let’s say Eileen had a cable break underwater or something. What are we after she’s gone?”

“Uh, an ROV pilot and co-pilot without an ROV?”

Ed nodded. “And that’s just a long way of saying ‘dead weight,’ isn’t it? You know what else we are? Witnesses.”

A chill went through Mitch. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I kinda guessed.”

“Would it be so, you know, awful if they just got the missiles or whatever it is they want from down there? I mean, North Korea already has nukes, right?”

“Yeah, but not in America.”

“Couldn’t they just put one on a missile?”

“You don’t read the news much, do you?”

Mitch’s face got hot. “Not as much as you, but—”

“Two things. One, they haven’t been able to build a missile that’s anywhere near able to get across the Pacific, and they’ve been trying for years. Two, we’ve got all sorts of defenses in Hawaii in case they ever manage to build a decent rocket.”

“Okay, so—”

“And here’s the other thing: let’s say they manage to shoot a missile at America and it gets past Hawaii and blows up L.A. or something, what happens then?”

“Um, there’s a war?”

“Yeah, for as long as it takes for our missiles to reach North Korea. Then there’s a big, glassy crater where their country used to be.”

Mitch pondered that for a moment. “Okay, so if they’ve already got nukes and they don’t want to blow up L.A., why are we out here?”

Ed nodded and glanced over one of his lumpy shoulders, as if he felt eyes on his back. “Yeah, I was wondering the same thing. Here’s what I think: firing a missile starts a war, which they lose. But things might turn out different if they just happened to know of a couple bombs already hidden in the U.S.—not that they planted them or anything, but they know who did. They know some terrorists who know some terrorists who managed to get some bombs into the country. Something like that. And if America does them a favor or two, they’ll let Washington know where the bombs are. Maybe they even have a bomb go off first to get the country’s attention, so the U.S. will be willing to do pretty much anything to keep another one from going off.”

“Oh.” Mitch thought through Ed’s theory. It made sense. Too much sense. Then a new fear hit him. His stomach muscles suddenly tightened and the hairs on the back of his neck went up. “That plan doesn’t work so well if we’re still around, does it?”

Ed shook his head and took a swig of his coffee.

The cold realization sank into the pit of Mitch’s stomach. They weren’t just in danger once they stopped being necessary for the ROV. They were dead men walking. “So why not just wreck Eileen and at least keep them from getting the bombs? We’re dead either way.”

Ed’s eyebrows went up, making his narrow forehead nearly vanish. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

A spark of hope lit in Mitch’s chest. “Really? Why not?”

“If we can get a call out to the Navy, they can save our behinds and take care of our Korean friends.”

“But how do we make a call? They’ve got people in the radio room 24/7, and we don’t have an excuse to go in there.”

“We don’t.” Ed drained his mug. “But an officer does. I’ve seen Jenkins head up there every couple of days. I’ll bet he’s making regular reports to the company.”

“But if one of the North Koreans is always in there with him—”

“Let’s say there was a disturbance while Jenkins was in there—a fire or a fight right outside the door. I’m thinking there’s a good chance the Korean would leave, at least for a minute.”

Mitch felt like laughing with relief. “You know, that could work!”

Ed grinned. “Yeah, I
do
know—that’s why I suggested it. We’ll talk to Jenkins tonight.”

41

T
OM
C
ONCANNON WALKED INTO
C
ONNOR
’
S OFFICE AND CLOSED THE
door behind him. “Connor, we need to talk right now.”