“Or time. Look, just start with the traffic cams. I need to get going.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch. I have an idea.”
71
Walter McGeorge, a.k.a. Merlin, was doing a sweeping job at a law firm in Alexandria when I reached him. He called me back an hour later, when I’d returned to the hotel.
“I thought you were never going to talk to me again,” he said.
For a moment I’d forgotten what he was so sheepish about. Then I remembered about the burning paper in the strong room at the law firm, and the file he left behind. It felt like months ago.
“Come on. Screwing up is part of the job. Keeps it interesting.”
“I feel terrible about what happened. I’m really sorry.”
“Well, now’s your chance to make it up to me.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to need a bunch of gear. A miniature tracker.” I explained. “Any hunting stores near you? I need a tranquilizer rifle or pistol and maybe ten darts. A kit’ll cost you a couple thousand bucks — do you have the cash?”
“I can charge it on my credit card as long as you pay me back soon.”
“No problem. Now, this’ll be the hard part. A couple sticks of dynamite.”
“Dynamite?”
“Either that or ammonium nitrate.”
“It’s getting really hard to buy ammonium nitrate. I don’t know, man. They’re both hard. Dynamite or ammonium nitrate, this is going to take me a couple of days.”
“We don’t have that.”
“When do you need it by?”
“Noon tomorrow at the latest.”
“Impossible.”
“Okay,” I said, ignoring him. “And a couple of electric blasting caps.”
“Blasting caps?”
“Electric. And zip ties. The heavy duty kind.”
“Okay.”
“A couple of five-gallon cans of gasoline.”
“This is a goddamn Nick Heller scavenger hunt.”
“And a weapon. Semiautomatic pistol, if you’ve got one to spare.” Like the others in my Special Forces team — operational detachment Alpha, as the lingo has it — Merlin was comfortable around weapons and kept some in his home, though in reality I’m sure he never had call to use one.
“You care what caliber?”
“No.”
“How about a Ruger Mark II twenty-two LR?”
I smiled. That was what we used in the field. Same for Mossad. There’s a general misconception about the twenty-two-caliber pistol, that it’s not a serious weapon, that it’s only good for plinking. Wrong. The truth is, both Special Forces operators and Navy SEALs use twenty-twos when they need to kill someone reliably and quietly. For subsistence hunting or sentry elimination. With a well-aimed head shot using twenty-two long rifle hollow-point rounds, the brain will explode.
“And LR hollow-points,” I said.
“Okay.”
“And some kind of piece for yourself.”
“Why do I need one?”
“I’ll explain when you meet me at my hotel. As soon as you can. Can you be here in two hours?”
“Not if I need to pick up all this crap, too.”
“Okay. We’ve got tomorrow morning, too. Be here inside two hours. But one of the items I’m going to need for sure tonight.”
“Which one?”
An hour and a half later, when I still hadn’t heard from Kombucha, I called him.
“You know how many traffic cams the MPD has in DC?” he said. “I mean, total, everywhere?”
“No idea.”
“Forty-eight. Total. In southeast, a grand total of seven.”
“Shit.”
“The closest one to the Anacostia metro stop is at Suitland Parkway and Firth Sterling, about half a block away. And I didn’t find anything on that one. Nada.”
“We need other cameras in the area. Banks and liquor stores and supermarkets and convenience stores and gas stations.”
“Well, we’ve got an intel analyst unit now. Twenty-four-seven. I filled out a request. They’ll search the area for known CCTVs and pull the footage and burn it onto a DVD for us if they find anything.”
“How fast can they work?”
“I don’t know, Nick. It’s a laborious search. It’ll take a while.”
“I see.”
“But there’s good news. I have an arrest warrant for Richard Rasmussen. I haven’t entered it into NCIC yet — I’m holding onto it, keeping it out of the computer for now.”
“Oh, shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t arrest the guy yet.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you want to get the ringleader? Give me a little time and you’ll have Vogel, too.”
Balakian expelled a mouthful of air. “Not the way I want to play it. Once I have Rasmussen, he’ll give me Vogel. Or we’ll serve a search warrant on him and maybe get the connection that way.”
“Just... give me twenty-four hours.”
“Give... you? Dude, you’re not running this show.”
I spoke quietly, but he could hear the banked fury in my voice. “You arrest Rasmussen now and Vogel has no more reason to make a deal. Which means he’ll have his guys kill Mandy Seeger. She’ll only be a witness against him. She’ll have no more strategic use.”
A long silence, then he said, “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t do it. You arrest Rasmussen, you’re killing Mandy. I mean it.”
By the time I hung up I felt fairly certain I’d gotten through to him. He agreed to hold off on arresting Rasmussen for the murder of Kayla Pitts.
That was a relief, but his news about the cameras was a big disappointment. That had been my Plan A. Now it seemed dubious. It was time for Plan B.
I turned to Dorothy, who’d been listening to my end of the conversation while munching on mixed nuts from the minibar. “Now it’s crucial we find Vogel’s home address.”
“I’m on it, Nick, but it’s not looking good.”
“There’s always a way. No one’s entirely off the grid.”
“This guy seems to be. Everything goes to his post office box in Thurmont, Maryland.”
“The guy has electricity. And Internet. That’s two utilities right there that require a service address. Time for a little social engineering.”
She paused, shrugged. “Worth a try.”
“Do me a favor and get me the customer service phone numbers for the biggest Internet providers in and around Thurmont, Maryland. Time Warner Cable, Comcast, DirecTV — let’s start with the biggest ones. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” I glanced at my watch. “Where the hell is Merlin? He should be here by now.”
“Okay. What else you need?”
“Pull up all the pizza places in and around Thurmont. Can’t be that many.”
“Pizza places?”
“Yep.”
“Pizza places, huh. Okay. What else you need?”
“Phone number for Southern Maryland Electric.”
“That it?”
“Oh, and go down to the concierge desk and see if they have an express mail envelope.”
“FedEx okay?”
“No, not FedEx. Got to be US Postal Service express mail. If not, see if they can find us one.”
“How big?”
“Just a regular flat-rate envelope. But if Merlin’s not here in the next half hour, we’re going to miss the cutoff. But maybe I won’t need it. Maybe we’ll get a hit from the electric company.”
“That it?”