No Way to Die (29 page)

“You owe me for the cost of a hospital stay,” I said.

“Ah yes, an unfortunate occurrence, that,” he said.

“Especially from my end,” I said.

“Sorry things worked out that way,” he said.

“I’ll bet you are,” I said. “I guess the good news, though, is that at least we’re all out in the open now. No more cloak-and-dagger, no more games. You’re looking for the box and the key for the Starfire Protocol. No more pretending like you want to buy it from the company. You’ve moved on to just saying, ‘fuck it—we’ll just go ahead and steal it.’ You know that’s pretty crude, don’t you, Nick?”

“Unfortunate,” he said. “But expedient.”

“It’s only expedient if it works,” I said. “If it doesn’t work, it just pisses people off. You wouldn’t think I’d be so stupid as to keep the key in an unsecure place like my office, would you? I’m a little offended that you’d underestimate me like that.”

“Well, first impressions and that,” he said.

“Watch it, there, Nick,” I said. “Here I call you to arrange a sale on behalf of the owner, and you go and insult me?”

“A sale?” he said, sounding interested. “Am I to understand that you have Katherine Rasmussen’s authority to sell Starfire?”

“No. Selling Starfire wouldn’t fly with the Commerce Department. Not that you're concerned about little things like that. But she is. And you know that. Instead, I have Mrs. Rasmussen’s authority to sell her 90 percent interest in ACS to a local company called Madoc Secured Technologies.”

“How much?” he asked.

“Ten million dollars,” I said. “Cash.”

The line was quiet for a moment. “You have power of attorney?” he asked.

“Better than that. I’ve got a signed, notarized document already made out in MST’s name assigning Katherine Rasmussen’s interest to you guys. I assume that’s what you were hoping to accomplish by going through Holly Kenworth, correct?”

He didn’t answer, so I continued. “And there all you had to do was just ask,” I said. “By the way, I also have an agreement of sale document. All neat and legal.”

“I’m assuming your father drafted the documents?” he asked. Apparently, he knew that Dad represented Katherine.

“He did. There won’t be any trouble with them.”

“I trust you’ll be well compensated?” he asked.

“That’s none of your business,” I said.

He laughed. “Very true. Anyway, am I to understand that once we sign those papers and give you the money, you’ll give us the device and the key?”

“Exactly.”

“And you want me to simply hand you ten million dollars in cash? Would you like me to put it in a paper bag for you?”

“Nope. I’d like you to wire it to me. Here’s the information.” I gave him the account and routing numbers.

“When I have confirmation that the wire’s arrived, you get the key.”

“How will we know it’s the real key?” he asked.

“Bring a computer,” I said. “Plug it in. Watch it work.”

The line was quiet again. Jennifer studied her fingernails, looking remarkably composed. Toni looked at me.

“Okay,” Marlowe said. “When and where do you suggest we make the exchange?”

“Somewhere public,” I said. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you or your crew.”

“Now who’s being insulting, Mr. Logan?” he asked.

“Who’s the one who got hit on the head with a baseball bat?” I asked. “Speaking of which, if I even so much as see that bald-headed motherfucker, first I’ll kick his ass, and then this deal’s off the table.”

He laughed. “Mr. Logan,” he said, “you should know it’s when you
don’t
see him that you need to worry about him.”

“That’s supposed to make me more comfortable?”

“I don’t really care if it does,” he said. “Where do you propose we meet?”

“Starbucks, University Square, 4:00 p.m. tomorrow. Just you and me. Nobody else.”

“Really?” he asked. “Just the two of us? And here I was, hoping you’d propose bringing along that delightful Ms. Blair with you.”

“Just you and me,” I repeated. “No tricks. I’ll bring the hardware and the papers. You be ready to wire the money.”

“No tricks—right you are. See you tomorrow, then,” he said. Then he hung up.

* * * *

“Perfect,” Jennifer said, after I hung up. “That couldn’t have gone any better.”

“You think?” I asked, my nerves returning to normal. Having to be “on” with a bad guy is a surefire way to get your blood pumping. Now, I started to relax.

“Absolutely,” she said.

“Marlowe’s a particularly pretentious prick, isn’t he?” Toni said. “I mean, the guy’s a complete douche bag—doesn’t give a damn about whom he hurts—but he sits there with his polished accent and his fancy vocabulary and acts like he’s a knight of the realm or something.”

“Particularly pretentious prick?” I said, emphasizing the P’s. “I can barely get that out. Besides, what are you complaining about? He complimented you, didn’t he?”

“Great,” she said disgustedly. “I’ve been waiting for my knight in shining armor. Maybe it’s him.”

Jennifer laughed. “Maybe not. I happen to agree with you—he gives me the creeps. I’d like nothing better than to arrest him and see him sitting in prison.”

“That’d change his demeanor, wouldn’t it?” I asked. I switched to my best British accent, which, admittedly, is none too good. “It’d knock the old boy down a peg or two, wouldn’t it?”

The ladies turned and looked at me. “Eight hours a day you have to work with this?” Jennifer said.

Toni nodded. “I think it’s penance. I must have been mean to someone when I was a kid.”

* * * *

We agreed to use the parking lot at the tennis courts at U-Dub as a staging point the next afternoon at three. Toni and I said our good-byes and left for our five thirty meeting at the office.

“I’m worried about you meeting Marlowe alone,” she said as I headed north on Aurora. Traffic was heavy, and we weren’t moving very fast.

“I won’t be alone,” I said. “The place will be swarming with FBI agents. They’ll probably have one behind the counter acting like a barista, wearing one of those green aprons. With a Tommy gun hidden underneath.”

“You think Marlowe doesn’t expect that?” she said. “I think we’d be really silly to underestimate this guy.”

“You’re right. But he’s greedy. I think he’ll come to the meeting like a shark sniffing out a blood trail. He’ll make the swap. And that’s when I think we really have to be careful. After he’s got the key, I think he’ll circle around and try to rip us off later to get his money back. Something like that, anyway.”

“I think he’s going to see right through this. My prediction? You heard it here first: he’s not going to show—at least not the way everyone’s planning for. We have to be careful. This guy will manage to do what we least expect,” she said.

I thought about that. Those might have been the smartest words I’d heard all day. “Well said. But for me, anyway, I think the risk is reasonably low. If he suspects that there are FBI agents around, then he might not show up at all. But if he does show, starting a big brouhaha in the middle of a crowded market square only decreases his chances of getting out in one piece. Given that, it seems to me that he’ll try to have his own people in place to protect him, just in case something goes wrong. He’ll rely on them to get him out.”

“So the whole seating area will be filled with innocent-looking people—only half of them will be FBI agents and the other half Marlowe’s guys.”

I nodded. “Something like that,” I said.

“You know, there's a word for that," she said..

“What?”

“A clusterfuck, that’s what.”

I laughed.

“It’s a technical term,” she said. “But I’m serious—you’ll need to be really careful. No telling what might happen. This guy’s already hurt you once.”

“This?” I asked, pointing to my bandage. “That’s just a little scratch delivered blind side by a chickenshit.”

She looked at me for a second. “You really are amazing,” she said.

I looked over at her and smiled. “Yep.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, you are such a macho hot dog. How do you actually fit that fat head of yours through a door?”

I laughed. “Macho hot dog—that’s me,” I said happily. I love it when she abuses me like that.

“HEY! WHAT ARE you doing here?” I asked, seeing Richard sitting at his desk. We’d just walked into the office at 5:10. “Toni told you we’re on the buddy system, right? Who’re you with?”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “So I heard,” he said. “Allow me to introduce you to my buddies.” He swung his coat back to reveal a huge .44 Magnum revolver in a shoulder-holster rig on his left side. “This is Mr. Smith.” Then he swung the other side of his coat back to show another gun—exact same type—on the right. “And this is Mr. Wesson.”

“Holy crap, Richard,” I said, laughing. “How can you even move with those cannons on?”

“Ah,” he said, “there’s the question.”He stood and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a slim-cut bulletproof vest. “Made all the more perplexing by the unobtrusive presence of the stylish Maverick vest.”

“Look at that,” I said, laughing again. “I couldn’t even tell you had it on. Is it any good?”

“Of course. Level Three-A,” he said, referring to the stopping power of the vest. “Very light, very comfortable.” He held his arms up and twisted back and forth to demonstrate how flexible he was, even with the vest. Admittedly, he was pretty spry. I know he worked out every day—worked out hard, as a matter of fact. And it showed. He didn’t seem handicapped by his age at all.

Still, he was human. “That’s all well and good, but it won’t help you if someone sneaks up on you from behind and bashes you in the head with a baseball bat,” I said, pointing to my bandaged head.

“This is true,” he said. “This is true. And on that score, you can relax. Bobby’s with me. He’s my wingman today. He’s in the conference room drinking a cup of coffee.” Bobby Rutherford had been Richard’s partner on the Seattle Police Department homicide squad for almost ten years before Richard retired and opened the predecessor of Logan PI.

“Good,” I said. “That makes me feel better.” I hesitated before leaving, and Richard, being one of the best judges of nonverbal communication I’ve ever seen, immediately picked up on it.

“Sit down, my boy,” he offered, smiling warmly. “Take a load off.”

“I’ve got a few minutes,” I said. “Don’t mind if I do.” I flopped wearily into one of the chairs across from his desk.

He pointed to my head. “How’s the head?”

“Slight headache, but not too bad,” I said. “Good thing Brits don’t know how to swing a baseball bat, right?”

“Indeed. Nothing like a dangerous bad guy and a good bop in the noggin to set you to thinking, am I right?” he said.

“Yeah, that’s the truth.”

“How you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“You mean aside from the bashed-in head?”

He laughed. “No offense, Danny, but if he’d really wanted to hurt you, he should have hit you somewhere else, right?”

I chuckled. “So I’m told.” I thought for a second. “Actually, I seem to recall hearing Toni say something about me needing a new bat.”

“My point exactly!” he said, beaming.

It was quiet for a second, and then he said, “So do we have this thing under control? Are you about to tell us how the fine folks at the FBI are going to tidy up this little mess for us?” He thought for another second and added, “No offense intended as pertains to your current lady-friend over there.”

I shrugged. “None taken. After spending a couple of hours with them this afternoon, I’ve got to say I’m not sure I’d trust those guys to find a lost puppy. They have a pretty odd way of looking at bad guys.”

“Really?” he said. “Do tell.”

“It’s just that they seem to have a good deal of respect for Madoc and his troops when it comes to firepower. They probably recognize that Madoc—I mean Marlowe . . . oh, I forgot, you don’t know yet. Madoc’s real name is Gordon Marlowe. He’s wanted on about nine continents for theft of sensitive technology, murder, extortion, and probably a bunch of other shit, too. Anyway, his boys are almost certainly going to show up to the party better armed than the FBI. I mean, the FBI will be there, and they’ll have their little official issue Glock 23s. Not a bad little gun—fine for busting your average solo bank robber. But, unfortunately, Marlowe’s guys aren’t bank robbers. They’re likely to have AKs, Mac-10s, and sawed-off Benellis. The Feds are going to be seriously overmatched by the heavier stuff—and they know it. They know they’re likely to be outgunned. They factor this into their plan, and their idea is to compensate for it by trying to overwhelm the bad guys with numbers and, especially, with surprise.” I shrugged. “And basically, I’ve got no problem with this.”

“But. . .”he said, probing.

“But I think they underestimate the bad guys’ brainpower—particularly Marlowe’s. Toni said something interesting on the way over. She said, ‘We can count on Marlowe doing something absolutely unexpected.’ The more I think about this, the more I worry that she’s right.” I paused for a moment, and then added, “Actually, I don’t think the FBI underestimates Marlowe’s brainpower. I think they don’t consider it at all.”