A psychedelic screen saver swirled and undulated, a rainbow of streamers in a starry night sky.
He tapped the keyboard, and the screen saver vanished and a password prompt came up. He stared at it for a few seconds. Hit RETURN, just in case it didn’t really require a password.
PASSWORD INCORRECT.
He typed the word password and hit ENTER.
PASSWORD INCORRECT. Well, it was worth a try. He typed 12345678 and hit RETURN.
PASSWORD INCORRECT.
He typed abc123.
PASSWORD INCORRECT.
He hesitated. Maybe the machine would lock up after a certain number of wrong tries. He typed 999999, then paused, then added two more 9s, for a total of eight.
PASSWORD INCORRECT.
Hold on, he told himself. You don’t need to access their laptop. Leave that to the computer experts at the FBI. The laptop would have all sorts of compromising information on these phony DEA agents. It would be serious leverage. It would enable him to make an excellent deal with the Department of Justice.
Just take the damned thing.
He closed the laptop. Picked up the neatly stacked sheaf of papers. On top was a printout of an e-ticket. A boarding pass, actually:
Flights 401/2470 Flight 2470
operated by AEROLITORAL DBA AEROMEXICO CONNECT
Depart:
12:45 AM
New York, NY (JFK)
Arrive:
8:20 AM
Nuevo Laredo, Mexico (NLD)
Connect in: Mexico City
The ticket was in the name of Arthur Duncan, and the flight departed in three days. Maybe Arthur Duncan was the real name of one of them, or maybe it was an alias. The destination was a place in Mexico called Nuevo Laredo. Jay Poskanzer had said that Slocum and Yeager had been working there for the DEA when they were fired. But why Arthur Duncan was going there now was a mystery.
He folded the paper in quarters and slipped it into a pocket.
The door to the room came open.
Danny picked up the gun and spun toward the door.
It was Philip Slocum.
71
Slocum pushed slowly into the room. His eyes widened as he took everything in. Then he smiled. The door slammed shut behind him.
“That’s it,” Danny said. “No farther.”
With his right hand he aimed the Beretta at Slocum’s chest. At center mass. He’d read somewhere that aiming for center mass increased the odds of hitting your attacker, especially if you weren’t confident in your aim. He thumbed the manual safety off. The gun was solid and fairly heavy, maybe a pound or two.
Slocum stood no more than fifteen feet away. It would be hard to miss.
If he could bring himself to pull the trigger.
He brought his left hand up to steady his grip. “Hands up.”
Slocum seemed to be calculating something. He hesitated, looked twitchy. He seemed to be contemplating making a run at Danny.
But he shrugged and lifted his hands as high as his chest, grudgingly, palms out, a tolerant grin on his face. As if Danny were an annoying child who insisted on playing patty-cake. As if the whole thing amused him and he was putting up with it just to be a good guy.
“All the way.”
Slocum exhaled. Lifted his hands up. His smile had morphed into something closer to a sneer. He didn’t look as nervous as a guy who had a gun pointing at him should.
“Step around to the side. That way.” Danny indicated, with a wag of the pistol, the armchair by the window. The reading chair. Next to it was a standing lamp with a big white cylindrical shade. “Sit over there.”
The TV in the adjoining room came on, muffled but audible through the thin walls. The other impostor, Yeager, was home now, too.
“Maybe you’re not aware that killing a federal law enforcement agent is a capital offense,” Slocum said, standing defiantly.
“Yeah? What’s the penalty for killing a former law enforcement agent who’s gone bad? Sit down.”
Slocum nodded and grinned and remained standing. Their secret was out, and he knew it.
“Twelve feet away and you probably think your chances of hitting me are pretty good,” he said. “Well, guess what. You’re more likely to drill a forty-caliber round through the drywall and kill or maim an innocent civilian. A hotel guest you can’t even see. An employee, maybe. That’s why police are instructed never to fire a gun in circumstances like this unless they’re absolutely certain of the stopping range. Are you, Danny?” He shook his head. “You haven’t really thought this through, have you?”
The surge of adrenaline was making it hard to collect his thoughts. What should he do now? He wasn’t going to shoot the guy, and he had no name or phone number of anyone at the FBI. Call the police? By the time the police got here, Danny would be long dead.
Suddenly, Slocum lunged at him, hands outstretched like claws. Danny sidestepped, then swung the Beretta hard. Gripping it tightly, he slammed it into the side of Slocum’s head. Slocum grunted and yowled in pain and then sprawled backward to the floor. Blood seeped from his eye. “You just screwed up big-time, you pathetic bastard,” he snarled.
Behind him Danny could hear the faint metallic clunk of the door to the adjoining room coming open.
Danny turned and saw Yeager coming through the doorway. “Oh, Daniel, this is not good,” he said as he trundled in. A gun drawn.
On Danny’s left, Slocum was scrambling to his feet. Rivulets of blood streamed down one side of his face. The gun had apparently gashed the skin just below Slocum’s eye. Danny turned and pointed the weapon at Slocum, then moved it around to the right, aiming at Yeager.
“Put the gun down, Daniel,” Yeager said patiently. “Don’t be foolish.”
“Back off,” Danny warned Slocum, jerking the gun at him.
“Daniel, I see you hurt Phil,” Yeager said. “Looks like you kicked ass beyond your wildest dreams. I salute you for that.” He tipped a hand to his brow, making a salute. “Sure, you could try to shoot my friend here, which would be ill-advised. You’d be shocked at how quickly I can put you down. Which I really don’t want to do, because frankly you’re far more useful to me alive than dead. So please, let’s both lower our weapons so we can have a civil conversation. We have some things to discuss.”
Slocum swiped a hand over his bloodied face. He gave Danny a poisonous glare. As if he’d go after Danny if Yeager weren’t there.
Yeager was utterly calm. He could have been discussing football scores.
“Daniel, if we wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead, I promise you.”
He was right: They still needed him. It wasn’t in their interest to kill him. This was pointless.
He lowered the gun.
“Thank you,” said Yeager. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I’m onto you guys,” Danny said. “You’re frauds. You don’t work for the DEA anymore.”
“Busted,” Yeager said. “You’re right. We’re not with the DEA. You should be so lucky.”
“All your threats about sending me to prison-they were all lies.”
“Also true. We’re not going to send you to prison. No, Daniel, if you don’t cooperate, you’ll wish you were going to jail. It will be far, far worse. Am I making myself clear?”
Danny stared. He’d begun to feel cold.
“You mean to tell me you still haven’t figured out who we work for? I’m disappointed in you. Here, here’s a hint.” He pulled something from his jacket pocket and tossed it at Danny. He grabbed it with his free hand: a necklace of green and black beads with a pendant of a robed woman holding a scythe. “Look at all familiar?” Yeager said.
“That-that-” Danny had last seen that necklace around the neck of Galvin’s driver in Aspen. He’d thought it was the Virgin Mary. But it wasn’t. With that scythe it looked more like the Grim Reaper.