He shook his head. “We need to get this shit in order before I get my people involved.”
I nodded. That was the way I wanted it, but we were taking a chance.
In the hall by the exit, there was a small table covered with keys and cards.
“Which one operates the executive elevator?” I asked.
Irma Rothmann looked away, so I jammed the muzzle of Dana Maltravers’s gun into her belly.
“If you prefer, I can drop your daughter down the stairwell,” I said savagely, remembering what had been done to Joe Greenbaum.
The woman swallowed and then pointed to a yellow card. I inserted it and the elevator doors opened. We got in and moved downward rapidly. As we reached the entrance-hall level, Clem muscled Fraulein Rothmann in front of him. I did the same with Dana Maltravers. When the doors opened, we moved out cautiously. To my relief, there was nobody around.
“The alarm system suffered a catastrophic failure,” Clem said.
“Something to do with that screwdriver you had in your pocket?” I asked.
“Something to do with the rounds I had in my service weapon. Let’s hit the sidewalk.”
We did so, then walked up the street to the car. A passing man in a sharp suit peered at us, but was satisfied by a flash of Clem’s badge. Irma Rothmann started talking in a loud voice, but stopped when the detective squeezed her forearm hard. We made it to the car. I got in the back between the two women.
We headed for Vers and the twins. I could tell that Clem was tempted to floor the gas pedal, but he restrained himself. Gwen and Randy had been calm enough, but what would happen when they were confronted with the woman they called the professor, their Fuhrer’s ice-veined twin sister?
Peter Sebastian’s eyes were fixed on the TV screen in the corner of his office. One of his team had called from home to alert him. There were live pictures of Detective Chief Superintendent Karen Oaten of the London Metropolitan Police climbing out of a Bureau helicopter at Reagan airport, followed by Levon Creamer of Financial Crime. The news channel was making much of the fact that the woman was unharmed from her kidnap ordeal, as well as stressing that the FBI had not yet given any details of how it had ended.
Sebastian knew Creamer, but he’d never worked with him. The bastard should at least have let him know what was going on. Then again, it had never been established that the British policewoman’s disappearance was linked to that of the suspect Matt Wells. Sebastian would have to talk to Creamer, but he had the feeling that now was not the time. The sight of the deputy director meeting Ms. Oaten and escorting her to a waiting car reinforced that suspicion. He would have to wait till morning.
In the meantime, he’d decided to call Dana Maltravers and make his peace with her. She deserved to know about the Document Analysis Unit’s ideas, too. But, to his great surprise, she didn’t answer her cell phone, which rang until the messaging service cut in. It wasn’t the first time that had happened recently.
Peter Sebastian wished he hadn’t behaved so offensively to his assistant.
Forty-One
I tried to get the women to talk on the drive to the safe house, but Maltravers was semiconscious, or was pretending to be, while Irma Rothmann just stared at me vacantly. I gave up and spoke to Clem instead.
“Call Vers,” I said. “Check he’s okay.”
The detective nodded and opened his phone. “Yo, man, you alive?” There was a long silence, which didn’t do much for my nerves, then Clem laughed. “Keep some for us. Be there in ten.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “The dog! He got the twins to cook dinner. Chili.”
“My favorite,” I said, noticing that Fraulein Rothmann suddenly looked curious. “Yours, too?”
She snorted disdainfully.
Then it clicked. “Ah, it’s the twins you’re interested in. They remember you.
“By the way, what are you a professor of?”
Irma Rothmann looked reluctant to answer. “Neuroscience,” she finally said.
“Have you by any chance been working on guinea pigs in the depths of Maine?”
This time she kept quiet. I would be following that angle up later.
When we got to the house, I asked Clem to take Dana Maltravers in first and see if the twins knew her. I waited in the car for his call.
“Nope,” he said, after a couple of minutes. “No obvious signs of recognition.”
“Okay, I’m bringing in the Queen Bee.” I opened the car door and pulled Irma Rothmann out.
“What is this ridiculous game you are playing, Wells?” she demanded, as I led her toward the house.
I wanted to mess with her-maybe the twins would lose their respect if they saw her in a distressed state.
“You have no idea how much shit you’re in,” I said, my lips close to her ear. “If I find out you had anything to do with Joe Greenbaum’s death, I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands.”
Her face went even paler than it normally was, but she held her nerve. “Greenbaum?” she said, twisting her lips. “Is that a Jew name?”
“It’s a German name.” The woman was trying to rile me, too. I smiled. “Rothmann. That sounds quite Jewish, too.”
She looked away. I reckoned I’d won that round, and pressed the bell. Versace opened the door.
“So this is what a Nazi looks like,” he said, in a low voice. “Welcome to hell.”
I frowned at him.
“Sorry, Field Goal,” he said, stepping back. “My best friend at high school was a Jewboy. His grandparents were gassed by pieces of shit like her.”
I pushed the women in after him, wondering in how many states Jewboy was an acceptable term.
Pinker led us into the dining room. The table was laid with plates and cutlery and there were large bowls of chili, rice and salad. The smell was enticing, but the reaction of the twins to Irma Rothmann made me forget the food immediately. In the seconds before they saw her, they were sitting quietly at the far end of the table. The instant they took in the tall woman, their backs straightened and their expressions became ultraserious.
“No introductions necessary,” Clem said.
I was studying Gwen and Randy. They still hadn’t spoken, but I had the impression some sort of silent communication was under way. I turned to Irma Rothmann. Her expression was pinched, her eyes flicking from one twin to the other.
“You can talk to them, if you like,” I said.
For a few moments, she didn’t respond. Then she moved her bound hands upward slowly and said, “We are not in camp now.”
Gwen and Randy relaxed slightly, then looked at Dana Maltravers.
“Who’s she?” Randy asked.
Fraulein Rothmann glanced at me. “She is my daughter.”
The twins stiffened again. It struck me that they gave no sign of fear, for all the talk of the horrors they had experienced at the camp.
“Right,” I said, “it’s time for a question-and-answer session. Where can I take contestant number one?”
“Upstairs,” Versace said. “Use any of the bedrooms, but don’t you dare make a mess.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Clem.
“Better not. Let’s not leave your partner alone.” There was a strange aura about the twins and the professor.
Clem nodded, though it didn’t look like he was tuning into the vibes I was getting. I took Irma Rothmann upstairs and pushed her into the nearest bedroom.
“Can you unfasten my hands, please?” she asked.
“No chance.” I had Dana Maltravers’s gun, but I’d seen the emptiness in her mother’s eyes at Woodbridge Holdings and I wasn’t going to give her the slightest opportunity. I sat her down on the bed.
“I’m not going to talk,” she said, before I opened my mouth.
“So you say.” I took the pistol from my belt and laid it on the bed next to her.
She gave a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t frighten me. You are very far out of your depth, Matt Wells.”
I raised my shoulders. “All right. I’ll go and get Dana.”