Hardy announced, “Franklin. Firearms, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Explosives.”
Laurel said, “Johnson. Firearms, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Explosives.”
Jason said nothing.
Hardy asked, “You got ID?”
Both Judith and Jason produced driver’s licenses.
Franklin handed Judith’s back. “Mr. Peters, your license shows an address in Chevy Chase. That your residence?”
Jason shook his head. “That’s my US address. I reside outside of the US.”
Franklin and Johnson exchanged glances.
“And just where might that be?”
“Most recently, Italy. My employer requires I live abroad.”
“And just who might that be?”
Jason handed them a business card with his name on it. Below that was “Contract Defense, Inc.” If anyone checked, they would find the company in good standing with the State of Maryland. A closer inspection would reveal a lawyer in Baltimore was the sole agent named in public documents, all that was required for a corporation whose stock was not publicly traded. The attorney-client privilege would block further inquiry.
Johnson put the card in his wallet. “Any idea how that bomb, if it is a bomb, came to be in Dr. Ferris’s condo?”
“None whatsoever.”
Johnson’s eyes narrowed. “But you did recognize it as an explosive device, did you not, Mr. Peters?”
“People don’t usually leave gifts wired to other people’s cars.”
A sharp elbow from Judith dug into his ribs. “And I spent some time in the military. I have a good idea what a potentially explosive device might look like.”
Franklin opened his mouth just as the bomb squad emerged from the garage, signaling for their truck to move up. Both Johnson and Franklin turned away.
“Stay put,” Johnson said in what could be construed as a command. “We’ll want to talk later.”
Judith watched them go. “Do you always smart-ass federal agents?”
“Only when they ask stupid questions.”
She took a step back, looking him up and down. “Just who are you, Jason Peters?”
“You know who I am.”
She shook her head. “I thought I did. Oh, I know what your service jacket says and that you work for a ‘private contractor’ who does jobs for the government. But what kind of work? I had to kill a man to save your ass and I almost got killed myself in San Juan. Now people are putting bombs under my car. What next, I get machine-gunned down on the street? I like you, Jason Peters, maybe even a little more than that. And I appreciate the excitement you’ve brought into my life. Oh, man, that scene on the George Washington campus was a total rush. But enough is enough. Whoever you are, I’m not willing to die for you.”
Jason had the distinct feeling he was being told good-bye in much the same manner he had departed from a dozen or so women. He didn’t like the feeling of being dumped.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I don’t like the odds of my reaching retirement while I’m around you. Looking over my shoulder the rest of my life isn’t what I intend to do.”
“I told you, once GrünWelt is exposed as a criminal organization, you have nothing to fear.”
“And in the meantime? And what about whatever is involved in your next ‘contract’? I’m getting nothing but negative vibes here. Either I’m with you, risking my neck or I’m sitting home wondering if you’re coming back. Not very attractive options.”
Jason started to say something but she put up a hand and continued. “It would be all too easy to fall in love with you, Jason. Then I’m hooked, really hooked. Let’s say I’m cutting my losses here.”
“I understand.”
The hell of it was that he really did.
He backed away slowly. “Tell our two federal friends whatever you want when they come back. In the meantime, I’m outta here.”
“Leaving me holding the bag to explain everything?”
“Your idea, not mine.”
“But they have your business card; they’ll track you down.”
“Better men have tried. It’s been great.”
By this time, Jason was at the periphery of light from the condos and the emergency vehicles. Another step and he disappeared like a phantom, leaving Judith to wonder if she had done the right thing.
54
Phineas Simpson rarely came to work this early but a client needed a current balance sheet in a hurry to satisfy a potential purchaser. So, here he was, pulling his Prius into one of the dozen empty parking places in front of the three-story, black-glass office building that was the twin of a dozen such structures, each on its own eighth of an acre of manicured lawn, grass now shining in the early morning light with the rainbow colors of water supplied by a sprinkler system.
At the moment, Phineas’s interest was not in the grass, the sprinkler system, or even the day’s work ahead. He was watching as a huge black Lincoln Town Car slid silently into a parking place in front of the building next door. In the three years he had worked here, that building, or rather, its occupants, had been the subject of speculation. There was no flow of workers, only an occasional visitor, most of whom arrived in that same car, or one just like it, visitors who uniformly had coat collars turned up or hats pulled low and who inevitably looked around before walking swiftly inside as if fearful of being recognized.
This morning’s arrival was different.
The driver, a black man in a black suit, opened the passenger door. Out climbed the largest woman Phineas had ever seen. A brightly patterned cloth was wrapped around her in a manner that matched the turbanlike headgear she wore. Phineas had never seen her before, although several of his coworkers had reported sighting such a creature. She had, of course, been the subject of wildly divergent speculation. An African ruler of some sort in exile? An extension of an African embassy?
The small plaque beside the front door was no help. It only bore the street number and a single word: “Narcom.”
Whoever she was, she exhibited none of the furtiveness of her infrequent visitors. Instead, she waved a cheery good morning to Phineas as he sat in his car and walked in no particular hurry to the building’s front door, leaned over presumably to insert a key, and let herself in.
Phineas’s curiosity would have taken a quantum leap had he known a little more about what he was looking at but could not see. First, the golf-course quality of the lawn concealed dozens of buried weight sensors. The step of anything larger than an average dog would set off an alarm as well as show up on an electronic map. The smoked glass standard in the office park was absent here, replaced by darkened glass reinforced to withstand any projectile smaller than an artillery round. She had used no key. She had exposed her right eye to an iris-recognition system that automatically opened a locking mechanism that would have done credit to Fort Knox. Once she was inside, it locked itself again.
Momma passed through the indirectly lit lobby, treating the man behind the 24/7 reception desk to a smile. The desk itself served to conceal both a small armory of automatic weapons and an elaborate silent alarm that could be activated by a single button.
In her office on the third floor, a timer-activated pot yielded a single cup of black Haitian coffee. She took the cup to the sofa opposite a fruitwood-inlaid French desk from which she took several newspapers. She sipped as she read, nodding her approval.
The New York Times
August 3
BERN — In a surprise move, Swiss authorities have frozen bank accounts of GrünWelt, the international Green and anti — global warming organization, under international treaties waiving Swiss bank secrecy laws where international criminal activity is suspected.