Trader of Secrets: A Paul Madriani Novel (32 page)

“It’s your computer,” I tell her. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“After what we’ve been through this morning, who knows?” she says. She does it anyway.

When it opens, there are two folders inside, one that says
“T Data” and another that says “Notes.” She opens the first one and gets a long list of files. They run for pages.

I put the glasses back on the bureau and stare at the computer screen.

“What in the world is this?” says Joselyn. “Look at the size of some of these. And they’re all execution files. See the exe after the dot?”

“What does that mean?” asks Harry.

“That means they’re program files,” I tell him. “Applications. Software of some kind.”

“Could be malicious for all we know. I’m not going anywhere near that stuff.” Joselyn closes the folder entitled “T Data” and opens the one called “Notes.” Inside is a single file. It is entitled “Intel Notes.” “This should be safe. It’s a Word document.” She opens it.

It is not long; single spaced, it’s a little over a page in length. We start reading.

“What in the hell is Project Thor?” says Harry.

“Something having to do with NASA. He mentions it twice,” I tell him.

“And what’s AHIRST?” says Joselyn.

“I don’t know. It could be code name or maybe an acronym. A government program of some kind.”

“It sounds more like a government agency,” says Harry. “He says he wants the information forwarded to AHIRST immediately. Says it’s urgent.”

We start to concentrate on the stuff about Mexico, the Yucatán Peninsula.

“This place called Coba, I know where that is,” I tell them. I’d had a case that took me down into that area some years ago. It is where I first met Herman. “Coba is an ancient Mayan city. Ruins as far as you can see. It’s surrounded by thousands of square miles of nothing but jungle.”

“It sounds as if there’s something there now,” says Harry. “An antenna array and a facility of some kind. From the tenor and tone of these notes, this man seemed to be pretty worried about it.”

“That’s probably why they killed him,” says Joselyn.

“What has Liquida got to do with all of this?” says Harry. “This would be out of his league.”

“Not necessarily. Not if he was hired to tie up loose ends,” I tell him. “Who knows why he killed the man. Maybe he was looking for this. I have to assume that Liquida is headed for Mexico, so that’s where I’m going.”

“Just because of this note?” says Harry.

“At this point it’s the only lead I have, and I’m not giving up. Nothing has changed. The reason I have to find Liquida is still there. If I don’t find him, sooner or later Liquida is going to find me or my daughter, and we’re going to end up like that bundle in the alley. I can’t ask either of you to risk your lives any further. I recommend you go back.”

“Just like that?” says Harry.

“You never wanted to come in the first place,” I tell him.

“Yes, but that’s when you wanted me to come,” says Harry. “Now that you’re telling me to go back, I have a sudden yearning to see Mexico.” Harry, always the contrarian.

“So I guess you and I are going on to Mexico.” I smile at him.

“Not without me, you’re not,” says Joselyn. “And I suggest we put a move on it before Thorpe grounds all three of us right here in Paris.”

Chapter
Forty-Three

W
hen the phone rang, it was just after eleven. Sarah knew that only one person would be calling this late at night. “Can we stop it?”

Adin pressed the button on the remote and stopped the DVD, the movie they were watching in the living room of Sarah’s condo.

She leaped across the room and grabbed the phone, but not before it rang one more time. “Hello.”

“Sarah. It’s Dad.”

“Where are you?”

“We’re still in Paris. How is Herman doing?”

“Grouchy as ever,” said Sarah. “When are you coming back? I’m worried about you.”

“Soon. Is Herman awake?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check in a minute. First I want to know, when are you coming back? Is Harry all right?” Sarah had seen enough of the legacy of Herman’s wounds to worry about her father, Harry, and even Joselyn, whom she did not know all that well.

“Harry’s fine.”

“And Jos . . . ?”

“We are all fine. Not to worry.”

Paul was not about to tell Sarah about the body in the alley. That would be enough to make his daughter go ballistic. “I need to talk to Herman.”

“Let me see if he’s awake. Gimme a second.”

Before she could take half a step, Herman hollered from the other room: “I’ll take it in here. And do me a favor, watch who you go callin’ grouchy, girl.”

She laughed, waited for Herman to pick up the phone in the other room, and then hung up the receiver. As Sarah headed back toward the couch and the movie, Adin stood up.

“Your father?”

“Yeah.”

“As long as we’re taking a break, I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” said Adin. “Don’t wait for me. Go ahead and turn it on. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

Adin slipped quietly down the hall, stepped into the bathroom, and silently closed the door and locked it. He didn’t turn on the light because it would trigger the overhead fan. Instead he stood in the dark and listened. The guest bath and Herman’s room shared a common wall.

“Yeah, I ’member the place,” said Herman. “Ruins in the Mexican jungle on the Yucatán, a ways out of Tulum, as I recall. Yeah, I remember Coba. That’s the place you hired me, right? Sure.”

Silence for a few seconds, then: “It’s been a while since I been down there, but I think I still got some friends in the area. Why do you ask?”

More silence: “I don’t understand. You’re in Paris. Why would you be needing security in Mexico?”

Herman listened. Adin waited. “You sure you want to do that? Why don’t you just call Thorpe and tell him? . . .

“What do you mean, he hasn’t followed up?”

*  *  *

I was wearing a headset with a mic, using Skype to talk to Herman through Joselyn’s laptop while she and Harry used the landline in the room to book our flight and get a taxi.

I had to be careful what I said to Herman. I knew that the front desk at the condo would be listening. While I wanted the message to get to Thorpe, I didn’t want it to get there too quickly. If it did, Thorpe would put us on the no-fly list immediately and we would never get out of Paris.

“How are you doing? How are you healing up?” I ask him.

“Me. I’m fine,” he says. “Fit as a fiddle. I’m back on my feet. Why don’t I just meet you in Mexico? . . .”

“No!” With Herman you never know whether he’s telling the truth or just being stoic. I wouldn’t put it past him to jump on a plane tomorrow. “You just get better. Take care of yourself. We’ll be fine. Listen, I can’t talk long. I’ll call you again later. What time is it there?”

It took a second for Herman to check. “Twelve minutes after eleven.”

“Do you have something to write with?” I ask.

“Gimme a sec.”

I wait.

“Got it,” says Herman.

“Wait until noon tomorrow. Then I want you to call Thorpe’s office. Make sure you get through to him. Tell him to call the Paris police and ask about the package in the blue tarp that was left in the alley behind the Hotel Saint-Jacques early this morning. You got it?”

“Slow down,” says Herman. “I don’t take shorthand. Saint-Jacques. Blue tarp.”

“That’s right, blue tarp. The French police will know what he’s talking about. Tell him that the package was done by Liquida. We don’t know who it is, but I’m sure Thorpe will find out. Tell him Liquida is no longer in Paris. You got that? Tell him to check the area around Coba. I don’t know exactly where, but he can look for a large antenna array . . .”

“Slow down. Large antenna array . . .”

I am trying to keep the information cryptic so that Thorpe will not land on us too quickly, either before we can get out of France or before we land in Mexico.

“That’s what I said. There should be a large building there as well. In the jungle. I don’t know exactly where. We’re guessing that that’s where Liquida is headed. And tell him we found some strange-looking software inside the package.”

“What do mean? What kind of software? What’s it for?”

“We don’t know. But maybe Thorpe will. Tell him the French police don’t have it, we do.”

“OK, police don’t have it. You do. You didn’t talk to the police?”

“No. We didn’t want to stick around. Oh, and Herman, listen. Tell Sarah not to worry. Tell her I’m getting closer to home. You can tell her about Coba, but not too much. You know the area, give her some details, but tell her not to worry. I’ll be back there as soon as I can.”

“Got it. Where can I catch you, assuming I get ahold of some people to set up security down there?”

“I don’t know. I’ll try and call you from Mexico when we get there.”

“OK.”

“Catch you later.” I tap the red button with the computer’s cursor and the Skype screen closes.

Chapter
Forty-Four

T
his morning Thorpe was in and out of his office like a jack-in-the-box. His ear to the phone, hand over the mouthpiece, Thorpe was talking to his secretary who was standing in the office doorway. “Get ahold of somebody in authority in the Paris Police Prefecture. Check our computer contacts. We must have a name and phone number for somebody somewhere.”

The secretary looked at her watch. “It would be early evening over there.”

“I don’t care. Get ’em at home. Get ’em out of bed. Tell them it’s urgent. I need to talk to someone in the prefecture immediately.”

The secretary turned and headed for her desk.

Thorpe went back to the phone. “Where did he go? . . . What do you mean, you don’t know? He called you, didn’t he? . . . When did he call, what time? . . . Well, damn it, why didn’t you call me last night? . . . I don’t care. You could have called down to the duty desk. They would have called me at home. What else did he say?” Thorpe listened as Herman conveyed the message given to him by Madriani the previous evening.

Everything was coming to a head at once. Earlier that morning, information from immigration in the United Arab Emirates had finally come back showing that the Spanish passport with Liquida’s picture on it had moved on to Thailand.

Thorpe immediately called Bangkok to have his people check and see when it arrived, whether the passport was still in the country and if not, where it had gone from there. Deep down, Thorpe already knew the answer. His worst fears were being realized. The information from Madriani was correct.

Thorpe’s people were already preparing a warrant for Liquida’s arrest in Paris when Madriani’s investigator called to tell him about the dead body in the alley behind the hotel. It was too late. If bodies were popping up, Thorpe knew that Liquida would already be gone from the hotel. His only hope now was to stop him from getting out of France.

“What do you mean, software? What kind of software? . . . You mean he found it with the body? What was he doing messing with the body? Listen, never mind! If he calls again, you find out where he is and tell him to stay there. Do you understand? And call me.” Thorpe hung up. “Susan!”

Two seconds later his secretary was back in the doorway.

“Find out who was on the desk last night at the safe house, Madriani’s condo. Tell them I want the telephone records for last night, all the audio recordings from Madriani’s phone. Tell them to transmit them over here immediately.” When Thorpe looked up, Bill Britain was standing in the doorway right behind the secretary. “What is it?”

“More bad news, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all, Susan.” Thorpe motioned Britain into his office and told him to close the door.

The second Britain got the door closed he started talking: “Our embassy people in Paris just called from the hotel . . .” He looked at his notes. “Saint-Jacques, I think it is. When they showed the people on the desk the poster with Liquida’s picture, they recognized him. Said he was a guest but that he checked out very early that morning. According to them, it was about forty minutes before they heard all the sirens behind the building in the alley where the body was found.”

“Did they have a passport with a name?” said Thorpe.

“Again, another Spanish passport, only this time the name was Jorge Menold.”

“They know he can move around on those things,” said Thorpe. This was because there was no visa requirement for Western Europe, the Americas, much of Asia, or the Middle East. For Liquida’s purposes, a Spanish passport was almost as good as one from the United States.

“French authorities have already put out the name to have him picked up if he shows at any of the airports under that name,” said Britain. “But so far nothing.”

“He’s not that stupid. By now he’ll have a stack of passports like a deck of playing cards, dealing off the bottom as he moves,” said Thorpe.