Lattimer snaps another color into line. “I gather we’re about to hear an ‘or else’?”
“If you want to put it that way, fine. Here’s the way I’d put it. In an unprecedented move for the benefit of public safety, and one which I must admit I’m not convinced is acceptable, we’re willing to give you raw information. In exchange for some access.” I cross my arms across my chest and lean back in my uncomfortable chair. “Your call.”
I’m halfway hoping he says no. Then we will have at least tried, and then we can do this on our own. But I’m just an employee. And would prefer to stay employed.
“Chief? May I say something?” Keresey is frowning, and fingers the necklace cord that holds her badge around her neck.
Lattimer raises a hand, giving permission.
“No offense, Charlie. And I know we’ve worked together in the past. But not like this, Chief.” Keresey shakes her head, and her frown deepens as she turns to her boss. “Making deals with the news. That never works. Always some snafu. Something goes wrong. We need to handle this ourselves. In-house.”
For several moments, the only sound is the mechanism of the cube. And then all the colors fall into place. Lattimer looks up, showing off proof of his achievement. “Generally, I’d agree with Agent Stone. But the agency does have some history of, shall we say, agreements in principle with the media. In this case, it appears Miss McNally and her colleague believe they have something valuable.”
“But-”
“Agent Stone, you’re overruled. Let’s hear what these two have to say.” Lattimer sets his elbows on the desk, then tents his fingers. One raised eyebrow telegraphs I dare you. “Miss McNally?”
I pause, knowing this is an irrevocable step into journalism quicksand. A step I’d rather not take. But I have no choice.
“We know it’s happening in Boston, and in Hartford and in Baltimore,” I begin. I outline our discovery of the duplicate claim checks and my confirmation of the system in a stall of the Logan Airport ladies’ room. I reveal my visit to the purse party, noting that Kevin had taken our video of Sally-who-I’m-sure-is-Sarah to Detective Yens, then my meeting at the Hartford baggage claim with the red bag, and the retrieval of the beeper.
“I can’t let you take it, but I can let you see what it says,” I say, showing him the beeper.
I push the button, and the message lights up. I hold it so the agents can see. FLIGHT 1017. ATL. LOGAN. MON. CC NUMBER 2 COME.
“So we figure they’ll send the claim check number later,” Franklin says. “And that flight arrives at 9:00 p.m.”
“Tonight,” Keresey says.
“Which means we have to move fast.” Lattimer looks at his watch. He points to Keresey, then me. “You two. You’re both going to the airport.”
“And me,” Franklin says. “I can shoot the video.”
“Negative. No video.” Lattimer picks up his cube. “Here’s our M.O. Agent Stone will wear-”
“But the video’s part of the deal,” I interrupt. “We’re television. If we don’t have video, it didn’t happen.”
“We’re the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Miss McNally. And we’re in charge now. And if you two are capable of doing what I tell you, you’ll get your exclusive. But not on tape. Understood?”
What I understand is, I’m screwed. And trapped. And I’ve just given away all our leverage. Which is why trading info for access is always, always a bad idea. I’m silent. Fuming. Franklin, too.
“As I was saying,” Lattimer continues. “We’ll accompany you to Logan Airport. I’ll be stationed on the balcony overlooking the claim area. Out of sight, but keeping you under surveillance. Agent Stone will wear the same clothing you used as-Elsa? She and I will be in radio contact. You two look enough alike to begin with. She’ll shadow you. If there’s a snafu, she’ll move in to take your place. Or take them down.”
“Chief, may I interrupt you here? Why not just let me do the pickup? They’ll never know the difference. And if something happens, I can handle it. There’s no basis for putting Charlie out there.”
Lattimer is shaking his head, clearly ready to reject her idea.
“And what’s more,” Keresey continues, “if I do the pickup, the bags will never be out of federal custody. The chain of evidence will be stronger. We don’t want to risk losing our case based on some legal technicality.”
“Duly noted. Thank you for your input, Agent Stone.” Lattimer, dismissive, turns back to me. “Miss McNally, you’ll do the pickup as I outlined. You hand over the bags you collect. We’ll use the claim-tag routing numbers to trace the issuing ticket clerk and convince that person to give us the principal players. All we need. Chain of custody is not a consideration. We’ll be there. We’ll witness the exchange.”
“All the more reason for me to shoot it,” Franklin persists.
“But what if it goes wrong?” Keresey, both palms flat on Lattimer’s desk, leans toward her boss, pushing. “What if this move puts Charlie in danger? Should we check it out with the director in D.C.?”
“You’re over the line, Agent Stone,” Lattimer replies. “I’m in command of this operation. If these guys have someone staking out the exchange, they’ll expect to see Miss McNally. And, if she’s willing…?
I nod.
“…it’s Miss McNally they’ll get. And we’ll proceed as planned.”
“Nice purse,” I say to Keresey, pointing to the black shoulder bag on the front seat. She’s driving our nondescript unmarked car, procured from the FBI motor pool. “Is it loaded?”
“Government issue,” Keresey replies, accelerating up the winding ramp into Logan Airport’s central parking. “Assigned to me fully equipped with one loaded Smith & Wesson. Marren’s going to give me a radio set to airport emergency frequency. Under the seat, there’s another bag just like it for you, too. Put on your Elsa makeup, then you can stash your own purse in the trunk. You won’t need anything else from it.”
“Is mine fully loaded? Gun and radio? I’m still quite the hotshot, you know, after your lessons.” I point my forefingers and shoot some parked cars, making the appropriate noises.
“In your dreams,” Keresey says. “Your bag is empty. Counterfeit, you might say. But we have to match. And remember, that course was just at the firing range. I’ll take care of the bad guys. You stick with your pad and pencil, sister.”
Even now, we actually do look like sisters. We’re both still in jeans and boots, our hair down, wearing Audrey Hepburn-sized sunglasses. While I hide in the ladies’ room, she’ll soon be shopping for the accessories that will transform us into identical twins.
“Where’s Franklin, by the way?” Keresey asks, pulling into a parking space.
I shrug. “Maybe home with Stephen. Sulking.”
That’s not true. I hate to mislead Keresey, but we’re not missing these shots. If it’s not on video, it didn’t happen. I figure Kevin will approve.
“Listen, now that we’re alone,” I say, changing the subject. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Lattimer, but we heard from Katie Harkins.”
Keresey clicks the car into Park, and turns to me, her eyes wide with surprise. Or fear. Or questions.
“I didn’t say anything in front of Lattimer, because thinking back to that day on the bridge, I didn’t remember whether you had told us he knew you were asking about her,” I continue. “But I got a text message from her. Yesterday.”
“We got a message from her, too,” Keresey replies, her face grim. “Early Saturday, Lattimer said. What did yours say?”
“Just that she wanted to reschedule our meeting. So where is she? What’s up with her? I thought she was the big insider? What did she say to you?”
“Off the record?”