Critical Space (41 page)

He stopped focusing on his notepad for a moment to look at her. "You threatened him?"

"I never have needed to."

I spoke up. "Does Oxford use the same procedure? A banker and a trust, like that?"

"Not the same, but almost certainly similar."

"How much money do you think he has?" I asked.

She considered, adjusting her weight slightly and frowning down at her left leg. "Probably more than I do. I'd guess -- and this is only a guess -- in excess of twenty million dollars."

"How often do you think he contacts his banker?"

"Fairly frequently. Certainly he makes contact whenever a payment is expected, in order to confirm delivery."

"Do the people who have hired him, do they know who the banker is?" Scott asked.

"No. They would be asked to transfer the money to dummy accounts and the like. The banker then handles the rest."

"So the contractor or contractors can't contact Oxford through the banker?"

"No, though whoever has hired him, they must have a way to contact him, and vice versa. In most instances this would give him power over them, but not here -- if he is tied to a government agency, working with someone in Langley, say, then he is their employee, beholden to the organization."

"Is there a direct line of contact?" Scott asked.

"I'm not certain I understand your question."

He adjusted his glasses, trying to find a way to rephrase. "Say someone at the CIA decided to bring Oxford in, to use him for this job, to kill you and Atticus and Havel. Is that person the same one who actually made contact with Oxford, negotiated the deal, things like that?"

She started shaking her head. "No, no, that would not happen. In a private contract, yes, A hires me to kill C, and either A hires me directly, or A uses a contact, B, and B hires me. But that can be traced back. With a government job one thing is universal -- there is always insulation. The person or persons who gave Oxford the job, who have set up the accounts with which to pay him, they will not be the same people who decided to hire Oxford in the first place."

"So how do you find the source, where it started?"

"You don't. You can't."

Scott looked over to me, then to Natalie, then back to Alena. "I can't accept that."

"Agent Fowler, that has nothing to do with anything," Alena said. "We are not talking about a hiring that started with an individual. We are talking about a decision of policy. Oxford will be funded until he completes the job. Or until he becomes more of a liability than an asset to the people who wish to use him."

"And he becomes a liability when?"

She smiled. "When he allows a book to be written about him."

It got laughs from both Scott and Natalie, and it made her smile a little brighter.

"Is that the only way?" Scott asked.

"There are others. If Oxford were to begin blowing up buildings in Manhattan, if he began killing people without due caution, if his behavior became erratic, the contracting party would have to sever the relationship. Anything that would cause them embarrassment, that would do it, if used properly. The information I have given you will have the same effect."

Scott scribbled quickly on his pad, then looked at me. "How embarrassing would it be if you paid a visit to Gracey and Bowles?"

"Depends how we did it," I said. "If I contact them and ask for a meeting, they're likely to say sure, how about someplace dark and deserted at four in the morning, and why don't you bring that lovely lady friend of yours. And then they'd tell Oxford where to expect me."

"But if I contact them, ask to meet, and you arrive with me?"

"That'll give them pause."

"And then we tell them that we know about, say, the prime minister of Moldova, or a certain military officer in Africa."

Alena coughed softly. "That is precisely what you
should
do."

"The result being they'd leave you two alone?" Scott asked.

"Ideally."

"Is that likely?"

"They will stop. Whether or not Oxford will, too, that is another matter entirely. Either way, it would force an action."

"What kind of action?" Natalie asked.

"They might cancel the contract, call him off altogether. They might put the operation on hold, although that seems less likely. They might attempt to buy Atticus off, bring him into the fold, encourage him to sell me out. There are any number of choices."

"I won't sell," I said.

She looked at her crutches propped against the table. "I know."

When Scott's cup had been emptied for the seventh time, I refilled it from the pot and then set another to brew. The smell of the coffee was strong, just a little burnt, and I was surprised that I didn't want any. Alena and Scott were still talking, and I was feeling stiff after all the sitting, so I headed down the hall to the foot of the stairs, where I used the banister as a makeshift
barre
and did some stretching. Natalie came and shut the door from the kitchen, leaned against the wall, watching me. She tried to stifle a yawn.

"You can go to sleep," I told her.

"Not quite yet." She rubbed her eyes. "What is that, ballet?"

"Yeah."

"She taught you ballet?"

"No, that would have taken eight or nine years."

"Russian school," she noted.

"Well, obviously."

"I took lessons when I was a kid." Natalie moved from the wall around to the stairs, sat down on the third step, still watching me. I went through a couple more motions, trying to get loose. The ballet wasn't as effective as yoga, but it helped. "Bridgett said you'd gone diesel. I didn't believe it until I saw you."

"Is diesel a bad thing?"

"Hell, no." She tapped my hand where it rested on the banister, getting me to look at her. "So, are you going to tell me what's going on between you two?"

"Me and Bridgett?"

"I've got the you-and-Bridgett part figured pretty well. The defining moment was when she blew into my office and called you a brainwashed fool and a fuckin' son of a bitch, to boot."

"She'll divorce you, too, she finds out you're helping me."

"Maybe so, but she's probably more inclined to cut me slack."

"Meaning she'd call you a fool and omit the brainwashed part."

"That's my thinking. So talk to me about you and Alena."

I stopped stretching. "It's kind of like working with you, actually."

"I think I'm flattered." She cocked her head. "Is that all?"

I sighed. "Why is it that everyone thinks I'm sleeping with her?"

"I'm not sure everyone does. I don't. I didn't. But if I had, it would be because you're a heterosexual male who has never showed an aversion to sex, and who spent a large amount of time with a not-unattractive woman who conceivably held a position of great power over you. And because it's not beyond the realm of possibility. And because I have a dirty mind."

I leaned both hands on the banister, looking at Natalie past the supports. "You put it like that, I'm wondering why I didn't."

"Because you were involved with someone when you left. And because it would have been icky."

"Both true. Bridgett didn't seem willing to get that far, though."

"It's probably easier for her to believe that you've fallen for Alena than for her to accept that you changed of your own free will. And the fact is, you cheated on her once."

"That was your fault, you tempted me with your feminine wiles," I said.

"Well, you know, when I'm drunk off my ass I'm extremely seductive."

"Bridgett said that I'd fallen for her?"

"Not in so many words. But the brainwashing comment and the repeated references to Patty Hearst made it clear to me that she wanted to believe you were a victim rather than a participant, that you'd been manipulated emotionally."

"And what do you think?"

"I actually don't think you've changed that much," Natalie said. "I'm in the minority, but I think I know you pretty well. You've always tilted at windmills. You know what's funny?"

"What's funny?" I asked.

"I like her, too," Natalie said. "I know who she is and what she's done, I spent three hours this morning with her discussing wind shear and ballistic drop, the relative merits of bolt versus semiautomatic rifles, and I had a thoroughly enjoyable time. It's not just that I like her, it's that she's
likable.
Why is that?"

"She wants to be liked."

"Yeah, but why?"

"I don't know. It could be psychological. From what she's said, I expect a large portion of her childhood was spent seeking approval from adults who rarely gave it. Oxford was almost the same way, though he didn't seem to want me to like him, so much as to understand where he was coming from. He wouldn't shut up once he got rolling. These are people who don't have many honest interactions, who every time they speak to someone, they're always calculating a result or an angle. I'd think it's pretty liberating to just be able to say what's on your mind."

She chewed her lower lip for a couple of seconds, and then the door from the kitchen opened and Alena came through on her crutches.

"All finished?" I asked.

"Yes. Agent Fowler is using the bathroom, I think all of the coffee caught up with him."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired and my leg aches. I want to sleep."

Natalie got up, clearing the stairs, but Alena stopped before reaching them, at my side. She touched my elbow.

"What he and you are thinking of doing is very dangerous," she said. "I tried to explain that to him, but I'm not sure he understood."

"I'm sure he did, he's a smart guy," I said.

"I don't dispute his intelligence, Atticus. But I am worried that if too much pressure is put on Oxford's masters, Oxford himself will become even more unpredictable. It could make things worse, not better."

"I'll tell him you said so."

"Please do." She moved to the stairs, started painfully up them, Natalie and I watching, and after the fifth step it began to feel very awkward, and I wanted to help her. A shine of perspiration appeared on her forehead, and her hands on the crutches turned white from the strength of her grip.

When she reached the second floor she looked down at us.

"How long did it take me?" she demanded.

"Eighty seconds, about." Natalie sounded embarrassed.

"Eighty seconds. Tomorrow I'll do it in seventy."

Natalie went up shortly after to double-check that Alena had gotten settled, and I joined Scott in the kitchen where he was finishing his notes. My watch read three minutes past four when he capped his pen and stowed his pad, and I walked with him as he went to his car.

"She's a fucking gold mine, you know that?" he asked. "She practically gave me too much information, I'm not even sure where to begin. We can hit Gracey and Bowles tomorrow."

"Not yet," I said. "I want something more to hold over Oxford, not just his bosses."

"Like what?"

I didn't answer, and we continued along the path to where he had parked. The rain had stopped early in the evening, and everything smelled wet. It was cold enough outside, now, that a slight film of frost had covered the windshield of Scott's car. He wiped it off with a gloved hand. A few leaves blew across the lawn.

"Alena is afraid you're not aware of the danger here," I said. "She's afraid that if we pressure Gracey and Bowles, it could backfire."

"Everything I took down tonight I'm forwarding to the SAIC," Scott said. "He'll send it straight to Washington, you can bet on that."

"That may not be enough insurance."

"Can you think of anything else to do?"

"That's the problem. Oxford's going to keep coming until either he's dead, we're dead, or he's been called off. And I'm not so sure about that last one. That's why I want some insurance."

"And again I ask, like what?"

"His money."

He opened the door to the car, slipped behind the wheel, then started the engine and cranked the defroster to full. "I'll start sending faxes tomorrow morning, but I have to tell you, based on what she said, I don't think we're going to get very far. If Oxford's drawing government pay, they're in a very strong position to block any inquiry I make."

"Then don't inquire," I said. "Let me handle it."

"You asking me to sit on my hands?"

"I'm not saying that, I'm just saying don't go looking for his money. If you've got other avenues to pursue, do it. Oxford made some noise about cash moving between me and Havel, you could look into that, see how he managed it. But if you start trying to dig up stuff about his funds, that'll set off alarms."

"You just said we need to find his money."

"I'll handle it."

He blinked at me. "Jesus, you will, too, won't you?"

"I'm going to be gone for a week, maybe longer. If you need to contact me, go through Natalie."

"Do you have that much time?"

"Oxford was wounded when he left Bequia, and we've been careful since then. It'll take him time before he finds us again."

"Long enough for you to be gone a week or maybe longer?"

"I'm optimistic."

"That's fine as long as the optimism isn't foolish."

"I think I've got the time," I said.

Scott grunted and swung his legs into the car. I put a hand on his door, pushing it shut. He drove away, the gate opening automatically as he approached it. I watched the specter of his taillights disappear behind the trees.

He'd gone out of sight when I realized that I'd forgotten to tell him to be careful.

Alena was already up when I woke, and I joined her in her room for some yoga. We kept it short, and she took it easy, then went to take a shower in the master bathroom. I headed downstairs and put together some breakfast, coffee for Natalie, and some rather lumpy smoothies for myself and Alena. She came into the kitchen as I was finishing up, moving energetically on the crutches, and when she saw the bottles for all of the supplements I'd bought, she laughed.

I waited until she'd finished her drink and her vitamins before telling her what I was planning. Natalie came in as I was starting, but since the coffee didn't kick in until I was almost halfway through, I ended up repeating myself a lot. Alena listened intently, and after I'd finished she told me that the plan sounded solid enough, but that I should use Austria instead of Switzerland if everything worked out as I intended.