Cyber Genius (11 page)

“You know Kita?” she asked in angry, accented English after
I’d bought her some obscenely expensive espresso concoction. “They insult a
good, good man.”

My over-priced tea landed me solidly on the side of deciding
Graham owed me an expense account. I followed her to a table near the window.

Given the lady’s level of hysteria, I assumed she knew Kita
was dead. “You know the police found him?” I asked, treading carefully in case
flinging hot liquid was her hobby. Boiling coffee in the face wouldn’t be any
less painful than soup.

She bit her lip and stared out the window. “He wanted too
much, too fast.” She wiped away a tear.

“That’s the American curse.” I blew on my boiling tea and
went with my gut instinct in prodding her. “You have to choose your friends
wisely.”

She stiffened and glared, so I knew I’d hit pay dirt. “He
was a
good
chef. He deserved this
position. He should not have to pay anyone to get it. If he’d just waited for
his papers to be fixed...”

Paying someone to land a job smacked of all sorts of
illegalities. What kind of place was this posh hotel? I shrugged in response to
her cry. “Waiting for papers might have taken years unless he knew people in
the right places.”

She wiped angrily at her eye. “Americans are bad as
Communists. Everyone has hand out. Tray say he get him this job. Kita just need
to do favors for these men.” She glared at me suspiciously. “I don’t want job
for favors. I am excellent saucier. My papers are correct.”

“You’re not going to get a great reference after scalding
Goatee Man. Who is he?” I let her change the course of the conversation until
she was feeling more confident.

“Goatee Man.” She snickered. “He is Nazi Adolph hired.”

I bit back a snicker. Nazi Adolph was even better than
Goatee Man, but she was referring to Goatee as the Nazi. Because he was German?
I needed names.

Unaware of my distraction, she continued, “Adolph did not
want to hire Kita because his papers were not correct. Now, Adolph fears he’ll
lose his position and reputation and everyone fears losing their jobs.” She sighed.
“I do not know what to think.”

I thought we needed to talk to the police, but I was afraid
she would shut up if I suggested it.

I held out my hand. “I apologize for my rudeness. My name is
Patty Pasko. I have a rather large family with a lot of connections, some of
whom are interested in finding the killers behind Kita’s and Stiles’ deaths.
They can help you find a new job.” I only half lied. I had every intention of
following through.

She hesitated, then reluctantly offered a brief shake. “Euon
Yung,” she replied, half-Americanizing her name. “I was Kita’s friend. We went
to school together. Our families know each other back in Seoul.”

I’d done my research. Yes,
fugu
was a Japanese dish. But Koreans fished the same waters. Their
traditions were different and not as regulated as the Japanese, but they made
blowfish dishes too.

“I know about large families,” Euon said. “Why does yours
want to catch Kita’s killer?”

“We have a family member who may have learned too much about
the murders,” I improvised. It could be truth—who knew? “We won’t feel safe
until the killer is behind bars.”

“I don’t think American justice any better than Korean,” she
said regretfully. “Rich men brought Kita here. Rich men died. Now Kita dies. I
do not see justice for a poor man like Kita. Rich men control too much.”

I wouldn’t argue that, but I was a cynical citizen of the
world. I had a pretty good idea of how these shady immigration deals played out
and how difficult it was to nail the villains. I still needed the names of the
rich men
.

I pulled out my Patty-the-accountant card with my public
email address on it. “Send a resume to that address. When we’re done here, I’ll
make a few phone calls about jobs. First, do you have any names you can give
me? Who did Kita do favors for?”

“I don’t know. Tray Fontaine was his boss in Seattle. He may
know. Kita was waiting for his belongings. There might be papers there or in
his room at the hotel. The police must have them.” Sullenly, she sipped her
caffeine.

I went for direct this time. “Would Kita have deliberately
poisoned Stiles for cash?”

Euon didn’t take offense but merely shook her head. “No,
nothing like that. The request for the soup was made in advance, possibly
through Tray from his superiors. This is not unusual. Kita practiced to be
certain he remembered the details of cutting up the fish. It is very
complicated knowing which organs to remove. Regulation requires that he test
the soup on himself every time he made it. The police do not believe me, but it
is so. If the soup was poisoned, it was done after it left his stove.”

“Is that possible? Poisoned livers dropped in the bowls
maybe?”

She shrugged. “Possible, I suppose. I do not cook fish. I am
vegetarian. When he heard people got sick, Kita called me. He was scared. He
said he must go to police. I did not understand then. I told him he did nothing
wrong, let police come to him.”

“But his reaction was not that of a completely innocent man.
He knew something,” I concluded, watching her expression.

She sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly. “I think so. I
think he was frightened of those men. He made soup, like they ask, and people
died when they shouldn’t have.”

“Do you know who served the soup?” That was the best way I
could see that the poison could have been delivered.

She shrugged. “I was not there that night. Maggie O’Ryan,
probably. She’s our best server, and they usually call her in for VIPs.”

The woman in the video? I made a mental note and continued
while we were on a roll. “Have you seen these men? Or did Kita describe them at
all?”

She pondered a moment. “He said once that businessmen were
like sharks, and he was swimming in deep waters, but they got him his papers,
and now he could work anywhere. These do not sound like people who poison.”

“No, they sound like predators who hire poisoners and cover
their tracks with the bones of the innocent. I’ll need your resume so my people
will know what kind of job will suit you, but let me start the process so you
know I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.”

I knew I had to establish trust. It’s a necessity in any
business, not just with potential witnesses. While Euon watched, I texted Tudor
to tell him to look into positions for
sauciers
—Graham
could figure that out. Then I called Nick at the embassy, so she could hear me
asking about chef positions for a hotel cook.

He laughed at my request. “Oh, right, in case we want to
poison any foreign diplomats? I’ll get right on it.”

“Not funny, Nicholas,” I said, using his full name so he
knew I had an audience. “I’ll forward her resume so you can see where she’ll
fit in. She already has a low opinion of American authority. Let’s not reduce
it. Come to dinner tonight and I’ll explain.”

He cackled again but agreed to ask around. I hung up and
offered my hand again. “If you learn anything else, you can reach me at the
number on my card. If you run into any trouble, don’t hesitate to call. Women
in the work force must stick together.”

She almost smiled at that. She shook and carefully placed my
card in her pocket. “You are one of the sharks, correct? Perhaps I will return
to Seoul.”

I tilted my head and tried to think of dowdy me as a shark.
I couldn’t. “No, I believe I’m more of a puffer fish. Treat me with respect,
and I’m good.”

She laughed then. “I am but a minnow. I will stay out of the
way of sharks.”

That was probably a safer attitude than mine. And more
normal. But doing nothing just wasn’t in my genetic make-up.

I picked up my portfolio and walked out, carrying my
undrinkable tea. I wandered around the block until I found the tavern where Sean
had said I could find him. I glared at the blaring sports TV and almost walked
out again. A wolf whistle from a dark corner made me roll my eyes, but I turned
to study the interior and found him.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Sean said as I approached.
He scanned my outfit in appreciation. He stood like the gentleman he usually
wasn’t and pulled out a chair for me. His dark curls looked rumpled, as if he’d
been ramming his hands through them. It was a good look, but he wasn’t Graham.

“It takes a skirt to make me unrecognizable?” I asked
sourly. I appropriated a spoon from his side of the table and lifted ice from
his iced coffee to drop in my tea.

“It’s the hat. You look like a Russian princess.” He turned
his laptop around and shared the screen.

I skimmed the story he’d written. “Tell me you’ve learned
something new and interesting since you sent this.” The story didn’t mention
Graham.

“The kitchen staff stops in here before and after hours to
complain about Adolph,” Sean said smugly, retrieving his toy. “I’ve compiled a
dossier on him and sent it to you. Patra gathered a few nice tidbits from her
celebrity contacts. The head chef’s an asshole with numerous drunk driving
convictions, but he’s never poisoned anyone that we know of.”

“He didn’t want to hire Kita,” I said, texting Tudor to ask
about the limo’s whereabouts. “It sounds like Tray Fontaine at MacroWare may
have had something on Adolph that forced him to employ our dead fish chef.
Adolph has hired a tall lanky fellow with a pathetic goatee. Has he been in
here?”

“No, but the staff hates him and think he’s Adolph’s lover.
Name is Wilhelm but the staff calls him Wee Willy. Don’t have a full name yet.”
He two-finger typed on his tiny keyboard. “Patra can dig the dirt on Tray. West
Coast is more her bailiwick.”

“It’s really MacroWare we need to get inside,” I mused
aloud.

Sean laughed. “Right-o. There’s a job for Superman.”

“Or Superwoman.” I glanced down at my phone and Tudor’s text,
then up at the window. “My car’s arrived. Keep me in the loop, and I’ll do the
same.”—Up to a point, I amended mentally as I stood.

Sean didn’t gape as I left him for the gleaming black sedan
outside, but I liked to believe he was internally gawking—because
I
was. I knew Graham was filthy rich and
accustomed to limos and maybe even Air Force One. He and Mallard had picked us
all up in a Phaeton after one dangerous evening. I was pretty certain Graham
had not taken the Metro to the hotel the night he met with Stiles. So
apparently he had a car regularly in service, like all the other D.C.
diplomats.

I had a sedan at my
disposal.
How cool was that? The luxurious leather black seat concealed by
smoked glass was almost as relaxing as my private hidey-hole. Here, I could
look out on the world and pretend I really was invisible.

But invisibility wasn’t always useful, especially if Tudor’s
future was on the line. I wasn’t sure I trusted Graham to protect my brother before
himself. I didn’t know how messed up his head was, and he didn’t owe us
anything.

While I pondered world—or at least, familial—domination,
Graham actually deigned to call me. I stared at the phone in incredulity. We
were hitting new firsts all over. His masculine baritone grumbling in my ear generated
a visceral thrill.

“Interesting hiding place for your hard drive,” he said in
greeting. “I’ve provided a better solution so you don’t have to make people
suspicious with an empty computer.”

“You’ve been in my office again,” I said accusingly, knowing
I’d locked my door.

“I kept the cat out,” he offered without repentance. I’m
allergic to cats and he had a bad habit of letting his into my room when he
sneaked around. “Delete this number from your phone. I have Tudor’s number set
up to show as your mother in Poland. Use that to reach either of us.”

“Aye, aye,
mon
capitaine
,” I mocked. “I want inside MacroWare. Can you arrange that?”

I was nuts asking for that. I didn’t work well with others.
I wouldn’t know programming code from Mandarin. But I couldn’t send Tudor into
a nest of vipers, and I needed faces to put to names.

“Possibly,” Graham agreed with reluctance. “The hole appears
to be in random versions of the new beta software they’re testing—or maybe not
so random. I need to process their files to see who arranges the distribution.
The leaks are only planted in DC sites currently, so I’m concentrating on the
local sales office.”

“No apparent connection between the sites affected?” Knowing
I was thinking people and he was thinking computers, I added, “Same repairmen,
salesmen, IT department, anything?”

“Huh, I’ll get back to you on that.”

I gave an unladylike snort as he clicked off. So, we were
both so messed up that we understood each other. Scary, but workable.

My mother’s lack of success in the relationship department
prevented me from ever thinking about finding a permanent partner. Note, it did
not keep me from thinking about sex, and currently, Graham was the only man
stirring my hormones.

The car dropped me off in front of the house. The driver
gave me his card in case I needed him again. If he was billing Graham, I’d
certainly consider it. I liked the anonymity of the Metro, but sometimes, speed
was a factor.

I hadn’t eaten lunch and headed for the kitchen when my
phone pinged again. I opened it to a text from Tudor.

WORM INSIDE NSA. DATA ANNIHILATED. I’M GONNA DIE.

Cynically thinking that total annihilation of NSA’s spy
files couldn’t be all bad, I continued down to the kitchen. Tudor’s frantic cry
barely registered on my personal Richter scale. Teen boys were always going to
die. It was an adolescent hazard. I didn’t intend to handle world domination on
an empty stomach.

We’d known the cookie monster had fallen into government
servers and done some damage. It must have done more than Tudor had known for
him to go ballistic.