Hot Pursuit (29 page)

“And no more mistakes. The Navy doesn't need bad publicity. Is that understood?”

Jack bit back an angry answer. Braden's rash decision had opened Taylor to danger, but the man wouldn't admit that. She should never have been allowed to attend that gala, and everyone knew it.

Braden stared from one man to the other. “Any questions, either of you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get over to the store. After that go baby-sit your second-level mystery writer before she gets into any more trouble.”

Second-level? Taylor would fry him for that particular remark.

The thought almost made Jack smile.

Chapter Thirty-two

Jack stepped over a piece of heavy tape and pushed open the door to the men's room. “How'd they get to him, Izzy? The Feds had people all over the building.”

“Not in here, they didn't.” Izzy gestured at the utility closet on the opposite wall. “No one was expecting
that
.”

A bucket leaned against the wall, surrounded by cleaning rags and mops. Directly above, a section of plaster had been removed, leaving a three-foot hole. A rope ladder dangled inside the wall.

“Tight, but manageable. They must have gone up and crossed the corridor from inside.” Izzy rubbed his neck. “A maintenance area leads to a loading dock less than eight feet from here.”

“And no one saw anything?”

“Not so far.”

Jack paced the room, eyes narrowed. “Heads are going to roll.”

“Tell me about it. I've got people talking with the kitchen staff, even though they've been interviewed twice already, and we're checking the area around the loading docks. We've got films of all the guests present, and I'm running recognition algorithms for known criminals, but it's a long shot. At best, it's going to take hours.” His face was grim. “Hours that we don't have. Any ideas?”

Jack was walking slowly through the room. “He had to be frightened. The fear would make him especially cautious. They could have taken him the same way they tried to take Taylor—knock him out with a dose of ketamine while the lights were out, haul him in here and up the ladder, then bye-bye Rains.” He ran a hand along the cold tiles by the sink. “In fact, I bet if you search the women's rest room, you'll find a similar panel pre-cut but never used, because Taylor didn't go in there.”

“I'll check it out.”

“But something doesn't fit. You said there was blood on the floor near the wall?”

Izzy nodded. “And several broken tiles, as if there was a struggle.”

“So he was still partially awake when they brought him this far. Maybe he dropped something during the struggle. I'd love to find that bag Taylor said he was clutching. Help me go over the room.”

“Put these on first.” Izzy pulled out rubber gloves and tossed a pair to Jack, then opened the soap dispensers and checked underneath each sink. “The Feds have sent a team through here already, you know.”

“Won't hurt to look again,” Jack muttered. “If Rains was carrying anything important, he'd have tossed it as soon as he got the chance.” He checked the stalls one by one, then climbed up, inspecting the top of all the doors, but with no success. “Any luck out there?”

“Nothing so far.” Izzy was checking the garbage can.

Jack ran a hand inside each toilet paper holder.

Nothing.

Frowning, he went out to join Izzy. “Did you try looking inside the paper towel dispenser?”

“Not yet.”

Jack slid his fingers underneath the front metal plate. Then he removed the paper and checked every inch of the empty compartment inside. One by one, they covered all six.

And found nothing.

Jack stood up slowly. “Looks like that idea was a bust. Unless—”

Frowning, he bent over the first paper towel unit, which was farthest from the door. He ran his hand lower into the metal bin holding used paper towels. “This is empty. What happened to the waste paper that should have been in here?”

Izzy's eyes gleamed with excitement. “Damned good question. Let's go ask our friendly store staff.”

 

Twenty minutes later they were staring at three neatly tied bags of garbage at the back of the kitchen, while a graying man made anxious explanations.

“It was Francisco, Mr. Teague. He was new on the custodial team. We have a clearly posted cleaning schedule, but he decided to clean up his bathrooms early so he could take a break.”

Probably to go have a smoke in a quiet spot, Jack thought. “And he left all his bags here in the kitchen?”

“That's right. He's a good worker, Francisco. Sometimes forgetful, but he doesn't miss anything when he cleans.”

“No one else has seen these bags or examined them?” Izzy asked quietly.

“No one, sir.”

Izzy's face was blank. “Thank you. You can go now. I'll notify your supervisor that you were very helpful.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

Alone in the kitchen, Izzy looked at Jack. “We could probably wait for the Feds to get a team over here,” Izzy mused. “Probably take two hours, and then we'd get cut out of the loop again.” He glared down at the neatly tied bags. “I don't like that scenario much, do you, Broussard?”

“Personally, I think it sucks.”

Izzy pulled out clean gloves, tossed a pair to Jack, his face grim. “Be damned careful and keep contact minimal. Do not remove
anything
from your bag without my okay. Now get to work.”

Jack smiled grimly. “It will be a pleasure.”

 

They worked with infinite care, silently sifting hundreds of crumpled paper towels. Jack was sweating when he reached the bottom of the third big.

Suddenly he stiffened. “I've got something here.” He dug deeper, his eyes narrowed.

When he stood up, his gloved fingers were holding a cell phone very carefully at the top of the bag.

“Not bad, Broussard.” Izzy slid the phone inside a plastic evidence bag and smiled. “Let's go see what we've got.”

 

Three hours later Izzy was muttering over a pile of printouts. Around him, computers hummed on metal tables piled high with data disks, cords, and empty coffee cups.

“You still alive?” Jack sat down in the only empty chair.

Izzy looked up, his face lined. “Just barely. What's the news?”

“Braden wants us both upstairs.”

“Works for me.” Izzy pushed to his feet, smiling tightly. “It took me awhile to get Rains' battery juiced and hack his password.”

Jack stared at the nearby computer screen. “Did you check his call log?”

“Not yet. He's got some kind of secondary password I'll have to break. I need another hour for that.”

“Anything on his voice mail?”

“Don't know yet. When does Admiral Braden want us upstairs?”

“Yesterday,” Jack said dryly.

“Then we better get moving.” As Izzy pulled off his headphones, the telephone whined next to Jack. “Can you get that?” he called.

Jack started for the far wall, then realized the sound wasn't coming from the desk phone. It was Rains' cell phone, wrapped in a plastic bag on the table, which was ringing.

Izzy swung around in his chair and looked at Jack. “Does the press know about Rains yet?”

“Definitely not. Whoever's calling has to be a close contact.” Jack nodded at the bag. “You want me to handle this?”

“Better let me.” Izzy attached a wire to the phone, flipped a switch on his computer console, then answered. “Hello?”

His eyes widened. He pulled off the wire and cursed softly. “Please tell me this
isn't
happening.”

 

Sitting in pajamas, Taylor frowned at the phone. Her clothes hung neatly in the closet, and her face was covered with green cucumber gel. “Hello? Is this—
Izzy
?”

“I wish it weren't.”

Moonlight streamed around her. There was a long silence as Taylor stared at the phone. “Izzy, are you there?”

“Yeah. How did you get this number?”

“It was on my cell phone. According to the call log, you dialed me at 7:42 last night.”

Izzy's voice was hard. “How did you know it was me?”

Uh-oh.
He had his professional voice on, Taylor realized.

She sat back slowly, wincing as the movement tugged at the stitches in her side. “Nothing technical. I decided to hit the redial button.”

Izzy muttered something that sounded like
why me
.

“What's going on, Izzy?”

“Believe me, you don't want to know.” He took a hard breath. “I can't talk now.”

“Why? Is Jack with you? Are you in some kind of trouble there?”

“Look, I can't
talk
.” His voice sounded very tight. “I'll get back to you. And don't call me on this number again.”

The line went dead.

Taylor stared at the moonlight dusting the Berkeley Hills and listened to her heart pounding. Something was
definitely
wrong. If Izzy hadn't placed that call to her, then who had?

She drew her knees up to her chest, shivering, suddenly very cold.

 

A clock ticked in the quiet office.

Jack looked at Izzy, waiting for an explanation that didn't come. “You going to tell me what that meant?”

Izzy simply stared at the cell phone. Abruptly, he kicked a box across the room.

Jack cleared his throat. “I take that as a no.”

“It meant nothing. Less than nothing. It was a wrong number,” Izzy growled.

Wrong number, hell.

“Who was it, Teague?”

“Fine, it was Taylor. She had a call at 7:42 last night, and she hit the redial button.”

Jack sat back, blowing out a breath. “So you're telling me that Taylor was the last person Rains called last night before he vanished?”

“I'm afraid so.” Izzy put the cell phone back in its bag and sealed it tightly. “For the moment I suggest we forget this call ever happened. Otherwise, things could get very ugly for Taylor.”

Jack frowned at Rains' cell phone. “I thought they already had.”

“What about you?” Izzy crossed his arms. “You still going to ask Braden for reassignment?”

Jack stared at the pile of pictures of the gala. “I should, but I'm not sure I trust who Braden would replace me with.”

“It's a concern,” Izzy agreed. He watched Jack pull out two photos. “Something wrong?”

“Take a look at these waiters.” Frowning, Jack held the photos beneath Izzy's halogen desk light. “They're definitely familiar, especially the one with the thin mouth. I think they were in the crowd after the convenience store robbery. Can you check with the television people and see if they have any B-footage from the robbery that we could borrow?”

Izzy was already lifting the phone. “Consider it done. It's about time we had another face to look for.”

 

Viktor Lemka stared at the bound-and-gagged man lying unconscious on the grimy floor.

The cabin was surrounded by dense woods north of Lake Tahoe, and the rental records showed that it was leased by a commercial airline pilot named William Stallone.

He'd always loved the movie
Rambo
. Classic Americana. A big hit in Albania.

He nudged the man on the floor with his foot, irritated that he'd come this far, set all his traps, and now he had to wait for the drugs to wear off.

He shoved again, harder this time, and the man made a sleepy sound.

Viktor walked to the big cabinet on one wall, unlocked a drawer, and took out a new syringe. “Time to wake up, Harris. Just you and me now. No games, no more clever escapes.” Whistling softly, he expressed some of the potent amphetamine he'd brought in from Mexico on his last trip. “Now you're all mine.”

He sank the needle into Harris Rains' arm, then stood back, watching the pale green eyes open and flash awake with pure, terrified recognition.

“That's better. I'm glad to see you remember me.”

Harris was drooling through the gag, trying to crawl away on the floor.

“I think it is time to talk, you and I.” Viktor moved in closer and whispered, “Where is it? The
real
ricin we paid you to make, not the fake samples you gave me two weeks ago.”

When Harris tried to wrench away, Viktor hit him hard against one cheek. “I can't hear you.”

Harris whimpered through the dirty cloth at his mouth.

Kneeling, Viktor untied the gag. “Tell me again.”

“Taylor O'Toole,” the scientist rasped. “The writer—I gave it to her. I knew no one would think of looking there. I was about to speak with her when your people found me.” Rains' voice was high, pleading. “She'll give it to me, Viktor. All I have to do is call her and say Candace is in trouble. She'll meet me wherever I say.”

“But how do I know you'll give it to
me
?”

“I wouldn't lie to you,” Rains whined.

Viktor sighed. “Wrong answer, my dear Harris. You always lie.”

“What—do you mean?” Rains was gasping as if the fear would kill him.

“You lied every day for months. Then you took our money and lied again.” Viktor's eyes hardened. He refused to think about the bungled job on the American woman. “Where did you put it?”

Rains whispered painfully, clutching his side. “It was there, I swear it.”

Viktor shook his head. “You were told, my friend. We paid you, and you gave us nothing. You know the consequences.”