Hidden Trump (Bite Back 2) (35 page)

I didn’t want to appear too eager, and this was another weak point in my plan. I needed him out of the office and this was the least intrusive way. After a couple of seconds, Underwood cleared his throat. Collectors collect, it’s what they do. He wanted to see the photos. Just in case.

“Well, if they were of interest to me, maybe I could make time today. What are the photographs of?”

“Some family shots and portraits of people, weddings and funerals. Let’s see, businesses, y’know, store owners and bankers. I guess these’d be the ones people didn’t pay for, so maybe not the best shots. Have to say, they look good enough to me. Some gold mining, too. Now, they got labeled; they say Breckenridge and Russell Gulch. Some of dead people lying on the ground, looks like they’d been in some fighting. That’s got a date, says 1862. You interested or not?”

Underwood was. I’d baited it with the names and the date and he had to see them. A collection like Grabill’s or O’Sullivan’s would make his name. Everyone knew there had to be some out there, but what had survived, undamaged, would be extremely rare. He took the address I gave him, and it would take him over an hour to get there and back. About five minutes later, I logged into Victor’s system to see that he’d left the office.

Weak points started multiplying. He couldn’t trace my call, but I’d had to give him a cell number, and he might try calling it on the way. If he couldn’t get through, he might turn back. I’d need to be quick.

The next task was to get the secretary out of the office.

I gave it as long as I dared and then set the octopus up for a female voice.

“Mrs. Ellis? This is State Patrol. There’s been an accident out on the I-25. First, I want to say that Mr. Underwood is fine. He’s going to the hospital purely as a precaution, but he was very concerned about some old photographs in his car. I can stay here another half hour, say…”

In five minutes, Underwood’s secretary was out the door and chasing wild geese on the I-25.

I was back in the building. As I watched her car come out of the parking garage on the security cameras, I turned off the electricity and security systems in Underwood’s office. Then I got the security cameras for that floor to replay video from that morning. There would be nothing to alert the security guard and no video record of my being there.

Still, I walked out of the elevator with my heart in my mouth. Yes, I’d been on the wrong side of the law as soon as I turned on Victor’s security override system, but this was where it came down to outright criminal behavior. When I went into Underwood’s office, I was breaking and entering. The judge might take into consideration all sorts of mitigating evidence, but I couldn’t get into that, I had to be at the Assembly.

Get a grip! Just don’t get caught
, I said to myself.

There were other offices on the floor. Someone came out of one of them and headed for the elevator. I pretended to be making a call on my cell and walked slowly down the corridor until I heard the elevator doors shut.

The double doors to Underwood’s office suite were locked of course, but the left panel was held by a simple flush bolt at the bottom. My laptop bag held a car tire iron with a good spade end. I slipped it under the door, pressing the carpet down. This was the worst time. There was no disguising what I was doing if someone came out of one of the other offices. I felt a prickle of sweat on my brow. It seemed to take forever before the bolt lifted out.

I pulled the door open and slipped inside, resetting the bolt. The base of the door was visibly damaged; I had to get out of here before that was noticed. I jammed it closed temporarily with a door wedge.

The suite was dark, but I didn’t need lights and Underwood’s office wasn’t locked. His desk drawers were. I had expected that. It was a nice desk, too. Shame. My lever shattered the lock.

The crack as it broke made me freeze, but there was no one to hear it but me.

I took the box out and opened it.

Just a medal. It was a strange feeling as I held it. I’d expected anger against Underwood to return, but it was more like pity. I turned it over and ran my fingers over the inscription.

“Above and beyond the call of duty.” Hairs stood up on my arms. Captain Quinn’s medal was going home to his grandson.

The telephone rang and went to voicemail. Underwood, trying to get in touch with his secretary and check if there had been any calls from Mr. Soule. I retrieved the camera bug.

As I walked to the door, voices passed in the corridor outside. My stomach clenched, but they didn’t notice the damage.

Enough of this. Past time for me to remove Victor’s security system and leave.

At Niall’s, I called him on his door intercom and told him I was outside, with the medal. I wasn’t surprised when he told me to wait rather than buzzing me in. He walked out slowly, leaning on his cane, five minutes later.

“Oh God, Amber! How…” he stopped, looking at it in its presentation box. “I better not know, eh?”

I just nodded, my hands behind my back so he couldn’t give me anything to hold. He was carrying a suspicious folder tucked under his arm.

“Look, can you drive me somewhere?” he asked.

I blinked. “Sure. Whereabouts?”

He held out a card. I looked carefully, but it was just a business card, so I took it. A museum down in the city.

“I’ve decided I can’t keep it,” he explained quietly, as we drove off. “It’s not just Ruth and this whole problem. You see, when I really thought about it, I realized it’s not mine. I’m just holding it. It’s time to pass it on to the right place. These guys have the setup that’ll allow them to display it for everyone, to show it in context. They’re creating a whole new section on the First World War. That’s where the captain would have wanted it to be, in among the story of what happened and why.”

“I think maybe he would,” I said quietly.

I left him there. The curator knew what he was getting and immediately saw how Niall felt about it. He ushered him in to give him a special viewing and promised he would drop him back afterwards.

The sneaky bastard had left me an envelope with payment tucked in beside the passenger seat.

As I drove away, I called Skylur on the secure cell again. A short recording told me to leave a message. I disconnected the call to think about it.

I didn’t know how secure this phone was. The connection might be untraceable and the message encrypted, but who had the physical device at the other end? Someone had gotten hold of Bian’s cell phone at some point. Might the same person have access to Skylur’s cell phone? I wasn’t going to discuss Arvinder unless I was sure that it was Skylur talking to me, but I needed to get the outline of the meeting back to him. In the end I called again and left a message, speaking of ‘our friend’ and keeping it to the bare bones.

Then I turned the cell back off. Regardless of how secure the communication, all cell phones used the same infrastructure. If security was completely breached, someone had a fix on my position. The smart thing was to leave the cell off and drive away quickly through some side streets, but the continual suspicion was wearing on me. I wanted to see what happened.

I pulled over and eased the Jeep into a parking space off the main drag where it couldn’t be seen. Down near the intersection, there was a café with window seats. I ordered a burger meal and sat there half-hidden by posters, looking out at the traffic.

What did I expect to see? A car with Mexican plates, full of guys in suits and dark glasses? How many of them would have moustaches as well? Team Matlal jerseys?

I ate the burger, laughing at myself.

She didn’t have a moustache and luckily she was too distracted to see me. The woman I’d fought at Cheesman Park trotted past outside. Silver hair, tightly tied back, shone in the sun and she was wearing a loose jacket. Ten to one there was a gun hidden under that. Fifty yards down the street, a big SUV pulled up and she climbed in. The SUV made a U-turn and picked someone up from the other side of the street before driving slowly the way I’d been going. A second SUV pulled out behind it.

I ate the last of the burger, more to give me some time to think than from appetite.

They weren’t gone, I didn’t buy that at all. The reason for her to be trotting along the road was to check the side streets. The Jeep couldn’t be seen from the main drag, but anyone going a dozen yards down the side street would see it. She’d spotted the Jeep. Once they’d realized I wasn’t inside, they’d cleared the area, trying to not spook me. The Jeep would have a tracker now and they’d be waiting to close in on me somewhere less public. I’d seen two cars, and I’d bet there was a call going out for a couple more.

Checking the Jeep, I found their tracker wasn’t as neat as the FBI’s. It was a standard electronic store gizmo, and with Matt’s scanner I found it magnetically clamped to the frame in less than a minute.

The most sensible choice would be to ditch the Jeep. Second would be to toss the tracker and get out of here.

I grinned and pocketed it, swung the Jeep out and burned rubber, heading east on Colfax Avenue.

There was no sign of them behind me, of course. They’d be sitting half a mile back, watching a blinking arrow on a laptop screen. If they were organized, there’d be outriders pacing me a block to either side and probably one in front somewhere.

Enough to give me second thoughts on one of my clear thinking days.

The streets thinned out. The outriders would have to join the party behind me and they all had to have dropped back to keep out of sight. But they’d be happy, watching that little arrow heading for the prairies and thinking of all the options to jump me out there. In Ops 4-10, we’d called it the tech tunnel—when technology leads you down the rabbit hole, but you just keep believing it.

As Colfax merged with the I-70, I pulled alongside an 18-wheeler, reached out and stuck the tracker on it, just shy of the big interchange with the toll road. Then I drove the Jeep off the road and straight up the crossover embankment. The big beast barely noticed it wasn’t on tarmac.

With the Jeep parked where it was invisible from below, I knelt and watched the traffic stream out across the prairies towards Kansas. I’d almost started to wonder if they were coming when I recognized the SUVs passing below. They were being extra cautious and hanging a long way back—too far, really. There were another three of four cars that were close enough that they might have been with them. That could mean something like fifteen to twenty of Matlal’s people were chasing me. I was flattered. I watched them until they were out of sight, laughing.

Well, that would keep them busy for a while, but I’d have to stop driving the Jeep. I was running out of options for cars. Rom’s Harley wouldn’t be practical and I wouldn’t want to get him involved anyway, but I couldn’t walk everywhere.

And was that all the Matlal teams chasing my electronic ghost out into the wheat fields?

Back in Denver, I headed for Diana’s apartment on University Boulevard. Her parking space was out of sight and I could leave the Jeep there safely. That was assuming that her apartment was still a secret from whoever was spying in Altau.

Arvinder had said she hadn’t gone to New Mexico. Maybe she was at the apartment. Maybe I was supposed to figure that out and find her. But why? Why would she let everyone think she was heading for New Mexico and then stay in Denver?

I parked in her space. Trying to puzzle everything out made me stupidly careless; I left everything in the Jeep and went upstairs into the neat foyer. Outside her apartment door, I could smell the calming Altau marque welcoming me, lulling me.

I went in with a sigh, pushing the door closed behind me, and walked into the living room. It was cool and dim and quiet. And there was someone inside. I leaped forward, tucking into a ball and clearing the sofa, coming down behind it, frantically reaching for the gun that wasn’t there.

Chapter 32

She clapped slowly.

“Very good, Round-eye.”

I peered over the top of the sofa, feeling dumb.

“Unfortunately,” Bian went on, folding her arms, “you’re now trapped. You do realize it’s Matlal’s
best
people looking for you?”

“And why the hell aren’t the Warders doing anything about it?” I snapped back as I straightened my skirt. “Do they want Matlal to catch me?”

“You could always come back to Haven with me.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Bian didn’t answer, which told me I was right. She pulled away from the wall, flicked on the lights and sauntered over to the sofa. She had her hair pulled up into a tie on top and then falling over her shoulders like black horsetail. She was wearing skinny indigo jeans that could have been painted on, a light college sweater with a hood to hide her tattoos and luminescent green running shoes. Restrained, for her.

“Pretty, pretty suit.” She smirked, kneeling on the sofa and looking at me over the top. “Are you coming out?”

“Is it safe?” I wasn’t sure this was Leopard Bian.

She just smiled. That looked like the Leopard, but even though the actions were there, there was a brittleness about her, as if she were a wire stretched too tautly.

I cleared my throat. “Well, is there coffee at least?”

“I’m going to have tea, but I’ll make you coffee. Come on.”

We walked over to the open plan kitchen. Neat, functional and looking barely used. Bian made me coffee and an orange oriental tea for herself. She concentrated on working in neat, precise movements.

We sat back on the sofa and I looked around the apartment.

“How did you know I’d come here?” I asked.

“I didn’t, but Diana said she would tell you about our place and I thought I’d leave a message here just in case. Then you turned up and played gymnast.”

“You and Diana share this place?”

“Yeah. It’s restful, not like Haven.” She sighed and looked around, keeping her face blank. “It won’t be used much now with Basilikos itching to restart the war. Not secure enough. Still, we want to keep it our secret, you understand.”