"Yes, until he doesn't need our help anymore." She went back to work, ignoring the tall, gangly man. She thought, That felt kinda good.
Pelly heard the colonel call out, "Who is it?"
Pelly smiled, knowing this was not what his employer expected either. He stood aside so the guest could enter. "Please, Dr. Tuznia, come in."
The forty-year-old woman did not look like a nuclear scientist. She was very well-built with dark hair that ran across her pretty face. If it weren't for her Slavic cheekbones, she would have looked Hispanic.
Her hips swayed in a very unprofessorlike way in her midlength skirt. Her large breasts jigged slightly as she walked. Pelly didn't even mind the fascinated look she gave him. As she stepped through the door, she ran a confident hand across his overgrown face and winked.
"That is impressive," she said, her accent sounding like a Russian spy in a cartoon. "Hypertrichosis?"
Pelly nodded.
"I like it." Her long straight nose was the perfect highlight to her high cheeks and white teeth.
Pelly didn't want to miss the look on the colonel's face as she walked into sight. This was the spitting image of every woman he had ever ordered whipped. She even looked like the secretary the colonel had beaten for using the phone for personal calls.
Staub stood inside the office, smiling at first, then, failing to hide his surprise, said, "Who the hell is this?"
The professor stepped into the office and offered her hand. "Marise Tuznia."
Staub took it, his mouth still agape. He didn't give his name.
"I thought Dr. Tuznia was a man."
"He was. That was my father. I am also a Ph.D. in physics. I could call my brother. But he is a doctor of dentistry."
Staub stood speechless.
Pelly enjoyed every second of it.
The professor said, "Now, Mr. Ortíz, do you have my money?"
Staub nodded. He stepped over to the crate he had had brought up to the office, popped opened a big folding knife and cut the seal around the top. Then he pried off the top of the crate.
Even Pelly had to catch his breath at the sight of the U.S. currency stacked inside the box.
The good-looking professor stooped down to the crate and ran her hand over a couple of rows of cash.
Staub said, "Do you wish to count it?"
She gazed down at the fifty-dollar bills and shook her head. "Even if you are off by a million or two, I'm still rich." She stood and said, "Where is the device?"
"On its way."
The professor looked at Pelly and smiled. "What could we do with the free time?"
Pelly smiled until he saw the look on his employer's face.
49
ALEX DUARTE NAVIGATED THE STREETS OF HOUSTON CAREFULLY as they looked for the entrance to the industrial park that housed the address about which the hotel clerk had said William Floyd had asked. It was almost dark now, and traffic had quieted to the occasional big rig tearing out on a late delivery.
They knew Floyd was no longer using a Ryder truck, but had no idea what he was driving. What concerned Duarte most was, if they were done with the truck, what had happened to whatever they were transporting?
"Wish I could've talked to Forrest Jessup. I think he would've known what was going on and clued us in."
From the backseat, Félix mumbled, "This guy Floyd is the key. He'll tell us if Ortíz killed Gastlin."
Duarte thought about that as he shot a look to Lina, who was giving him a glare back. Had Félix lost track of what they were doing?
The DEA man said, "Lina knows this guy, and she hasn't given us shit. That's the fucking FBI for you."
Lina turned to face him. "What's that mean?"
"You probably already know about this asshole, Ortíz."
"No one knows who he is. I only know Floyd, and I guarantee he didn't do anything in Panama."
"Why don't you tell us everything you know about Floyd, then?"
"Because he's a source, and some of it's not for release."
"We're not fucking reporters. What's that mean, 'not for release'? Does that mean it's classified?" His speech was slurred.
"Yeah, pretty much."
"You said you guys got him on a child pornography beef. What sort of information could he give that would get him out of that? I'd never make a deal with a child molester." Félix folded his arms like he had just had the last word.
Duarte was concerned about his friend's demeanor and insistence on focusing on a single murder when the possibility of some kind of dirty bomb was a very real threat.
Lina said, "Let's just say he knew some very dangerous people."
"When?" asked Félix.
"The mid-nineties."
"And you still keep track of him?"
"He's involved in the whole white-power scene. He knows militiamen, Klan guys, Nazis. His latest group of friends are the border-protection people. They've been preaching to him about the need to secure our borders before something catastrophic happens."
Félix said, "Not all terrorism comes from other countries. Look at Oklahoma City."
Duarte looked over at Lina, who was silent and obviously tired of this conversation.
Félix threw down another beer, settled into the backseat and started snoring almost immediately.
Staub steamed at the behavior of this Ukrainian whore who apparently had one, overpriced skill. He sent Pelly to help her drive her Audi in through the big bay door into the central receiving area. Pelly then had to retrieve a huge case out of the new car's trunk.
Staub said, "Nice car on a college professor's salary."
She looked up from watching Pelly set down the heavy case and said, "Expecting this windfall from you, I took out a loan."
"Do you care what we do with the device?"
"I will be relocating, so I do not care. I believe your cash will ensure a very nice life for me anywhere I choose. And I promise I never willingly chose Houston."
She turned to her case and patted Pelly on the back. "Thank you so much, Pelly." She smiled and leaned in close. Her breasts pressed against the young man's back.
Staub couldn't believe someone would show this kind of disrespect to him. Ignore him and slobber over Pelly. He felt the blood rush to his face as he couldn't escape the image of his father and María.
He wouldn't let that happen again. Not with this arrogant bitch.
He worked to control his voice. "Pelly."
"Yes, boss?"
"Why don't you start cruising the area looking for our friend Mr. Floyd?"
"You don't think he can find the place?"
"I'll be surprised if he can find Houston."
"Yeah, sure, boss." Pelly smiled and nodded to the female professor as she started to set up some tools and supplies.
William "Ike" Floyd had trouble reading the street signs in this dark and dirty part of town. The lights all seemed to be in front of the big warehouses and nowhere near the street signs. He had a map from the slow girl at the Jacinto Arms, but it didn't seem to be helping him as he puttered up and down streets looking for the specific address.
The Ford pickup truck drove smoothly and attracted a lot less attention than the big rental truck.
It was just late enough that he couldn't find anyone to ask directions of either.
Finally he got a glimpse of the sign that looked like his street. He turned and slowed immediately when he saw the length of it and the number of giant warehouses lining both sides of the extra-wide road.
In the first parking lot, a small car sat under one of the parking lot's streetlights. A man stood outside the driver's door, looking down the street, too.
Ike pulled into the lot, hoping the man might have a better idea of where the address might be.
Ike rolled his window down as he approach the tall, fit-looking man with dark hair who was wearing a light-colored windbreaker.