No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) (18 page)

He looked solemn. “Can I see you in my office?”

Uh, oh, I thought. Paul had gone and spilled the beans. Damn, I’d known he couldn’t be trusted to keep a secret. Standing, I followed him to his office, all the while trying to figure out how I would explain everything and still manage to keep my job.

Jonathan’s office was barely bigger than a box, but it had a window and at the NSA, that alone made him important. He sat down behind his desk and I perched in one of the two chairs angled in front of it. Folding his hands primly on top of the desk, he looked at me for a long silent minute.

“Is everything all right?” he finally asked.

“All right?” I said, my voice coming out a tad higher than usual. “Me? I’m right as rain.”

“And your absence yesterday?” he asked, providing me with the opportunity to finish.

“Oh, that,” I said, thinking quickly. “I just had a twenty-four-hour flu bug or something. I had lots of stomach problems, as well as problems with the other end. You know what that’s like.”

He looked kind of grossed out and I cringed inwardly, forcing myself to shut up. I was babbling like a guilty idiot and the fake smile I plastered to my face probably didn’t help much either. The problem was I knew
he
knew I was lying and that made me all the more nervous.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

“Tell you? About what?”

He was silent for a minute. “I want you to know, Lexi, that you are a valued member of my team.
Team
being the operative word here. I’m available if you need me for anything. You can trust me.”

I studied Jonathan, but his elegantly pale face was completely impassive. Now I knew what a true poker face looked like. I couldn’t figure out if he knew something, suspected something, or whether he was simply concerned about my welfare. Slash had warned me not to say anything to Jonathan, but so had Beefy and Mr. Middle Eastern Guy. Who was a gal to trust?

“Thanks, Jonathan. I appreciate your concern. But everything’s okay. Really.”

I saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “I see. Well, just remember that in my department, we work together. No heroics. Got it?”

Not really, but I didn’t say so. “Sure, thanks,” I said and stood stiffly, my muscles screaming in pain.

“So get back to work,” he said, dismissing me.

I returned to the cubicle, half limping, my anxiety level climbing. His little pep talk had made me really paranoid. He knew something, or at the very least suspected something. But what? And if he suspected something then why didn’t he just come right out and say so?

Unless…I picked up the phone and called Elvis.

Xavier answered the phone. “Hey, Lexi,” he said. “How are things going?”

“From bad to worse,” I said, lowering my voice. “Any progress cracking into the system?”

“Not yet. It’s a tough one.”

“Bummer. Is Elvis around?”

“How come you always want to talk to him? What am I? Chopped liver?”

“More like a T-bone steak, which by the way, I happen to adore. Look, I just need to ask him a question. I swear I’m not playing favorites.”

“If you say so,” Xavier said. He was a pretty agreeable guy. “Have you heard from Basia yet?”

He really did dig her, I marveled. I couldn’t remember Xavier ever asking about any woman before. Maybe I needed to do something to facilitate that relationship. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I thought Xavier might be good for the free-wheeling Basia and vice versa. Weird how I’d never thought about that before.

“Yeah, she called,” I admitted. “But I wasn’t home. Unfortunately she didn’t say where she was or what she was doing. She just left this weird cryptic message on my machine.”

Xavier was silent for a moment. “When did Basia call and leave this weird message?”

“Yesterday.”

“You sure it was her?”

“I think so.”

“Then that’s good enough for me,” he said. “May the Force be with you. Here’s Elvis.”

Sheesh, sometimes talking with the twins is like an out-of-body experience.

“Hey, Lexi,” Elvis said, coming on the line. “If you’re calling to chart our progress on the mission, sorry, no luck.”

“I know, Xavier already told me. Actually, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Sure. Why are you whispering?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to hear,” I said, cupping my hand around the receiver. “I’ve got a hypothetical question to ask you.”

“Fire away.”

“Do you know if the NSA ever tests its employees?”

“Tests? As in multiple choice?”

“No, I mean like testing by having someone do something to see how an employee reacts.”

He paused. “You mean like you’re thinking this whole mess with Basia is some kind of psychological test?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” I said. “I mean, I think Jonathan suspects something is going on. He just called me in his office, pumped me for information that I didn’t give him and gave me a pep talk about being a team player. But Slash said not to tell Jonathan anything. Am I doing the right thing?”

He fell quiet for a moment. “I don’t know, Lexi,” he finally said.

I rambled on. “Maybe some higher-ups at the NSA are just seeing how trustworthy I am because I’m up for a promotion or something. If so, I think I’m flunking big time. Given your experience, is any of this even in the
realm
of possibility? I mean you worked for several years at the NSA and you know how peculiar it can be here. Should I trust anyone?”

Several seconds passed then he said, “There are some strange dudes at the NSA, no question. We know for a fact that NSA methods are often highly irregular. It keeps the bad guys on their toes. Therefore, I suppose the answer to your hypothetical question is…maybe.”

There you have it. Wisdom dispensed from a computer genius. I sighed. “My life is a mess.”

“Chaos is the true state of the universe anyway.”

“My universe was fairly orderly before all this.”

“It was only an illusion.”

“Oh, God.” He was probably right. After all, I was asking for life advice from a guy named Elvis.

“Would you mind if I asked for another favor?”

“I live but to serve you.”

“If only. Can you see what you can dig up about an embassy guy from Yemen named Rashid Bouker?” I spelled it for him. “Just in case this isn’t some kind of employment test.”

“Sure. I got some other stuff to do first, but I’ll get back to you.”

“You rock it, Elvis.”

“Yeah, and don’t I know it.”

I hung up and stared at the pile of work in front of me. I knew I’d better do something to earn my paycheck. I turned to my computer and got to work. About an hour and a half later, Paul stopped by.

“Hey, Lexi,” he said. “Are you ready for the big date tonight?”

“About that date…”

“You’re not going to try and back out on me, are you?” he said accusingly. “You gave me your word.”

I lifted my hands and the effort of doing so hurt. “Of course, I’m good for my word. I’m not backing out. It’s just I’m not sure about the dancing part of the evening. I’ve got some serious muscle pains from karate.”

“You taking karate? No way.”

“What’s so hard to believe?” I said, annoyed.

“Well, you’re not the type to do karate.”

“And what type is that?”

“I don’t know. Coordinated, athletic, fit.”

“Jeez, Paul, you sure know how to compliment a girl.”

He shrugged. “Just telling it like it is. So, how long have you been doing karate?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Then you’re only stiff because your muscles haven’t had much exercise.” He had a membership at a gym so I guess that made him a lot more knowledgeable than me. “Dancing will be the perfect therapy. It will warm and stretch your muscles even more. Trust me on this. I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

I didn’t want to warm or stretch my muscles. I wanted to date a guy who suggested a soak in the hot tub and a Swedish back rub. But no, I had to get stuck with a John Travolta wannabe.

“But Paul—”

“No buts. Just trust me.”

I rolled my eyes. It hurt. Then I sighed. Sometimes there are things in life that are unavoidable, like yearly pelvic exams, root canals and dates from hell. Why is it that I seem to have more of those things than other people?

Paul took pity on me. “Hey, I’ll let you decide where we eat,” he offered.

“Gee, thanks. How generous of you. I’ll think on it.”

He finally left me alone and I got back to work. Shortly after noon, I drove to my apartment. It was nice driving on the Parkway in the middle of the day. No traffic, so you could actually crank the car up to sixty-five.

When I pulled into the parking lot, the van for Natty Neatniks was already there. I parked the car and limped over. Three young Hispanic women climbed out of the car and smiled at me.

“I’m Lexi Carmichael,” I said, holding out my hand to the one in front.

She shook my hand and smiled back at me shyly. “You let us in, yes?”

I nodded. “Follow me.”

We trudged up the three painfully long flights of stairs where I unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. The three girls walked in and gasped at the mess.

“This isn’t my fault,” I said, but I don’t think they understood.

The woman I had shook hands with whipped a cell phone out of her pocket and punched in some numbers. She spoke in rapid Spanish with someone and then hung up.

“Sorry,” she said. “Big mess. Long time here. This cost extra.”

My stomach took a dive. I had a feeling I’d be lucky to get out of this for under three hundred dollars.

“How much extra?” I asked warily.

“One hundred dollars.”

“A hundred dollars
extra?
”

“Big mess,” she repeated as if I were an idiot. Maybe I was. “Long time here.”

I looked around. She was right. It was a big mess and one I didn’t want to deal with.

“Okay,” I said, suddenly afraid they might leave. They looked ready to bolt and seemed hopeful I’d change my mind. “I’ll pay extra. But don’t forget to do the laundry.”

The head lady nodded and said something to the other two girls. They took off for the bathroom and bedroom respectively while I whipped out my checkbook, added up all the extras and gave the woman her check.

“Just lock up before you leave,” I said.

“What about alarm?” she asked. “You give me code?”

“Forget it. Just lock the door.” Who did the alarm really keep out these days anyway?

I left my apartment, entered the McDonald’s drive-thru and ordered a cheeseburger, large fries and a Diet Coke. I unfastened the top button on my skirt and ate in the car as I drove back to work. To hell with eating right. I was stressed out and depressed. It was no fun being in the poorhouse, having sore muscles and getting stuck with a guy who thought disco dancing was cool.

When I got back to my desk the message light on my phone was blinking. I pressed the button.

“Hi, Lexi. It’s Elvis. Got the info you requested. Call me.”

I picked up the phone and dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, Elvis,” I said.

“I’ve got rather lukewarm news to report,” he said. “There’s not a whole lot of data available on Bouker other than he’s the military attaché to the Yemeni Embassy in Washington. That means he’s likely their spook. He was assigned to the post just over a year ago. He’s married and has three kids ages eleven, nine and three, all boys. He lives in a condo on Massachusetts Avenue. His kids go to the Islamic Saudi Academy in Northern Virginia and are taken there by a driver every day. On the weekends, he frequents a Middle Eastern restaurant on Connecticut Avenue near the zoo called the Ali Kabab House. He’s got an international driver’s license and likes fast cars. As far as I can tell, he’s traveled to Pennsylvania, California, Arizona and Florida, presumably on vacation since he’s been in the country. Not surprisingly, the FBI keeps tabs on his movements. He looks pretty clean, meaning no known or obvious associations with terrorists. Seems to be your run-of-the-mill embassy guy.”

Except for the fact that he broke into my apartment and threatened me with a gun. “Thanks, Elvis,” I said. “Oh, and there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you about.”

I filled him in on my meeting with Finn Shaughnessy and told him what Slash had suggested about using Finn to plant a program in the company network that would give us immediate access to CGM.

“Cool. You think this Finn guy would do it?” Elvis sounded excited.

“I don’t know. If you think it’s a good idea, I’ll ask him.”

“It’s a good idea. Hold on, Xavier wants to talk to you.”

I waited until Xavier came on.

“You said you got a call from Basia yesterday,” he said, “so I asked a friend of mine at the phone company for a favor and he tracked down the number for me. I don’t know if Basia is still there, but the number came from a swanky restaurant in Stockholm.”

“Stockholm? As in Sweden?” I asked in surprise.

“The one and only.”

“That was good thinking, Xavier.”

“And that’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he said and hung up.

The revelation startled me and I sat in my chair thinking. Another Swedish connection. I
was
on to something and he was big, blond and had a black belt. My gut instinct had been right. Lars Anderson was involved in this somehow because no way in hell did I consider this a coincidence. But how could I get him to talk? I didn’t think my roundhouse kick would be threatening enough.

I placed my elbows on my desk and rested my head in my hands before nearly jumping out of my skin when I saw Paul standing quietly at the entrance to my cubicle.

“Now what?” I said crankily. I sincerely hoped he hadn’t overheard anything important while I was talking to Elvis and Xavier.

“I came to see if you had decided where you want to go for dinner tonight.”

That had been the last thing on my mind. I closed my eyes and suddenly had a brilliant idea.

“Actually, I have,” I said, smiling. “I’d like to try a restaurant in D.C. that I’ve heard a lot about.”