"Why should you help us?"
"If my boss knew I was in here, he'd kill me," Bailey said earnestly. "But I'm here because, for better or worse, I go with my gut. Always have. And my gut tells me you guys weren't bullshitting just now."
"You first, then," Tom said slowly. "What is it you think we're involved in?"
"Two weeks ago a guard was murdered and an Enigma machine was stolen from the NSA Museum in Maryland. We got a tip-off that a neo-Nazi group in Idaho called the Sons of American Liberty were involved. When we went to check out their HQ, someone had locked them all in a booby-trapped room. Every single person inside died. Gassed."
"But how did that lead you to me?" Archie asked.
"We had an eyewitness. His description was a good match to a man filmed boarding a flight to Zurich. When we checked out the names of Zurich-based major players in the military memorabilia game, Lasche's name came up, so we staked out his hotel. Then you showed up."
"And…?"
"And matched the description."
"That's impossible," Archie said dismissively. "I don't even know where Idaho is. Like I told you, I was in Vegas when this happened."
"Vegas?" said Tom in surprise. "Is that what you were up to?"
"Do we have to go into this now?" Archie said, rolling his eyes, before turning back to Bailey. "Show me the picture."
Bailey reached into his jacket and drew out a sheet of paper. Archie unfolded it, studied the CCTV image, and looked up skeptically. "That's not me," he said with a mixture of relief and indignation.
"That's Lasche's nurse," Tom said grimly, snatching the paper from his hands.
"Lasche's nurse?" Bailey stammered. "Are you sure?"
"I never forget a face. Heinrich, I think he said his name was."
"You're right, now you mention it." Archie nodded his agreement. "He was there when we went to see him the other day."
"What's Lasche's involvement in all this?" Tom asked.
"Well," Bailey began uncertainly, still staring uneasily at the picture, "we guessed that Lasche was the middleman for the Enigma machine. That you'd stolen it and then sold it to him."
"That's about the only thing you've got right so far," Tom said. "Except that it wasn't Archie he sent to steal it but Heinrich. Lasche must have been betrayed by whoever he sold the machine to. That same person murdered the Sons of American Liberty and, in all probability, Lasche as well, to ensure no one could make the link back to him."
" 'Him' being…?" Bailey quizzed.
"In my opinion Harry Renwick, a.k.a. Cassius — or someone acting on his behalf. Check your records. Last time I looked, he was on your top ten most wanted list. He's the one you should be looking for. He's behind this whole thing, I'm sure of it."
"But what's this got to do with a painting? How did you get mixed up in it?"
Tom paused for a second, debating how much he was willing to reveal. His natural instinct was to say nothing, but there was something about Bailey, an honesty allied with an eagerness that inspired a sense of grudging confidence. He took a snap decision to trust him. But only as far as he had to.
"We were approached by a guy called William Turnbull from MI6's counterterrorist team," Tom began slowly. "They were worried about a terrorist group in Germany who had linked up with Renwick. They wanted our help to find out what they were up to."
"Why you? Did you know him or something?"
"He's an old friend of the family," Tom said with a hollow laugh. "Anyway, it turns out they were looking for something. Something that was hidden at the end of the war. We think the painting is the final clue to revealing its location. I only found out about the Enigma machine just now, but I'm guessing that he needed one in order to unlock some sort of coded message written on the painting."
"And how did that lead you to Lasche?"
"It was just dumb coincidence. The painting was hidden by a secret order of high-ranking SS officers. Lasche is the expert on that period, so we wanted his opinion. We had no idea that Renwick had already involved him in the Enigma theft."
"And the girl — Maria Lammers — what was her involvement?"
"Her uncle was a member of the Order," Archie explained. "We were just following the trail to see whether it led anywhere. But why Renwick should want to kill her, I don't know." He shook his head, mystified. "She knew nothing."
"You're right." Tom frowned. "It's like what happened in the nightclub. There's something else going on here that we're missing."
Bailey blew out his cheeks, leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he stared down at the floor, his voice a monotone. "Okay. You two stay here. I'm going to check some of this out."
Tom jerked his head toward the door. "Somehow, I don't think we'll be going anywhere."
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Bailey's eyes widened as the search results flashed up in front of him.
HENRY J. RENWICK, A.K.A. CASSIUS. RACKETEERING INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS (RICO)-MURDER (18 COUNTS), CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER, CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT EXTORTION, ARMED ROBBERY, HANDLING STOLEN GOODS, CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MONEY LAUNDERING, EXTORTION, MONEY LAUNDERING…
He gave a low whistle. Maybe there was more to Kirk's story than he'd thought.
"Find something good?" Cunningham had stepped into the room behind him.
"Not sure yet." Bailey flicked the screen to another program and turned to face Cunningham with a nervous smile.
Carter's instructions had been clear: observe and report. Nothing more. By going into Kirk and Connolly's cell unaccompanied, he had stepped well outside that remit. How could he explain his decision to Cunningham, let alone Carter?
"You come up with anything on Connolly?" Bailey asked casually.
"No. We're still trying to run him down, but it looks like we've never come across him before. I'm going to check with Interpol."
"Makes sense."
"We caught a real break with Kirk, huh?" Cunningham said with a grin. "How's that?"
"Him just walking in here. We didn't need those extra men to go and take him down after all."
"Yeah, but we've still got nothing on him," Bailey pointed out.
"We got time." Cunningham shrugged. "He ain't going nowhere."
Bailey turned back to his computer, hoping that Cunningham would take the hint and leave, but he hovered near the door, finally breaking the silence with a cough.
"Is everything okay?" Cunningham asked.
"Sure."
"You seem kinda tense."
Bailey took a deep breath, realizing he was going to have to come clean. "There's something you should take a look at." He flicked the screen back to the FBI Ten Most Wanted page.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
When Bailey returned about twenty-five minutes later, it was with a pensive expression and Cunningham by his side. The latter took up a position leaning by the door, one leg raised and bent back behind him, so that the sole of his black shoe was flat to the wall.
"Renwick showed up on our system," Bailey began. "He certainly fits the profile."
"No kidding," Tom said drily.
"Lasche's nurse too. Heinrich Henschell. The photo we have on file matches the description. Rough customer. Did time in Spain for murdering a rare book dealer about ten years ago before escaping while being transferred to another prison. The Swiss police think they may have just found him in a ditch twenty miles outside Zurich."
Bailey paused.
"Why do I think there's a but coming up?" Archie asked coldly.