Reuben whipped around. “Oliver, you didn’t tell me that.”
Annabelle looked back at an exasperated Stone. “That’s okay, Oliver, Susan’s not my real name either. What a shock, huh?”
A minute later they heard the front door open and close. Reuben quickly took up post at the telescope, but just as quickly moaned, “Damn, they must have already finished.” He turned to Stone and said reverently, “God, what a woman.”
Yes, thought Stone, what a woman indeed.
Annabelle climbed into her car, started it and then pulled out the photo, rubbing her wrist where Stone had grabbed it. The guy named Oliver had actually caught her picking his pocket. Even as a kid assigned by her father to fleece tourists in L.A., she’d never been caught in the act. Tomorrow might prove to be very interesting.
Her attention turned to the photo. It was amazing how one picture could bring back so many memories. That year of her life was the only truly normal one she ever had. Some might have thought it boring, or at least uneventful. She had considered it wonderful. She’d stumbled across a man who’d fallen in love with her. No ulterior motive, no hidden agenda, no leveraging for a bigger con down the road. He’d fallen in love with just her. A bookman and a con girl. All odds were against them making it, and as she well knew, only a fool bet against the odds.
And yet a gentle man who collected books had somehow captured her heart, toughened and scarred as it was. Early on in their relationship Jonathan had asked her if she collected anything. Annabelle had told him no, yet maybe that wasn’t true, she thought now. Perhaps she did collect something. Perhaps she collected lost chances.
She stared up at the big old house. In another life she and Jonathan might have lived there, with a passel of children, who knew? It was probably a good thing it hadn’t turned out that way. She would’ve likely made a terrible mother.
Her thoughts turned to the obvious issue. Jerry Bagger would be erupting in two days. The smart move would be to leave the country now, despite what she’d told the men about meeting tomorrow. It didn’t take her long to decide. She was staying and seeing it through. Maybe she owed it to Jonathan. Perhaps she owed it to herself. Because right now seemed a good time to end her collection of lost chances.
Chapter 31
Annabelle and the Camel Club gathered at Stone’s cottage at seven o’clock the next morning.
“Nice digs,” she said, gazing around the small interior. “And you have such quiet neighbors,” she added, motioning out the window to the tombstones.
“There are some dead people whose company I would prefer over that of certain of my living acquaintances,” Stone replied tersely.
“I can relate,” Annabelle said cheerfully, sitting down in front of the empty fireplace. “Let’s get to it, guys.”
Reuben sat next to her looking for the world like a large puppy hoping for a little scratch around the ears. Caleb, Milton and Stone sat across from them.
“Here’s my plan,” Stone said. “Milton will find out as much as possible about Bob Bradley. There may be something about that we can use. I’ll visit Bradley’s house, or rather what’s left of his house, and see what I can discover. Reuben used to be stationed at the Pentagon. He’ll work his contacts there to find out what he can about Behan’s military contracts that Bradley’s dethroned predecessor might have helped push through.”
Annabelle gazed at Reuben. “Pentagon, huh?”
He tried to appear modest. “Three tours of Nam too. Enough medals to decorate a damn Christmas tree. Hey, it’s all about serving your country.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Annabelle said, turning back to Stone. “But what about Jonathan’s death? How do we find out if someone killed him?”
“I have a theory about that, but it’ll require going to the Library of Congress and checking out the fire suppressant system there. The one problem with that is we don’t know where it’s located in the building. Caleb can’t find out because it’s classified for some reason. I guess so unauthorized persons couldn’t sabotage it, although I think that’s precisely what happened. The building is so massive that even if we could search room by room, it would take forever. We also need to see the configuration for the ventilation system for the room where Jonathan was found dead.”
She asked, “What’s this fire suppressant system got to do with anything?”
“I have a theory,” is all Stone would say.
“Wouldn’t the architect who did the building have the plans that would show both the fire system and the HVAC?” Annabelle pointed out.
“They would,” Stone said. “Although the Jefferson Building was built in the late 1800s, it underwent extensive renovation about fifteen years ago. The Architect of the Capitol has the plans, but we have no access to them.”
“Did they use a private architectural firm to help with the renovation?” she asked.
Caleb snapped his fingers. “You know, they did, one right here in D.C. I remember now, because the government was trying to stimulate the local economy and was getting more into public-private partnerships.”
“There’s your answer,” Annabelle said.
“I’m not following you,” Stone replied. “We still have no access to those plans.”
She looked at Caleb. “Can you get me the name of the firm?”
“I believe so.”
“The only issue will be whether they’ll let us take pictures of the plans. I doubt they will, and copying them is probably out too.” As she was thinking out loud, the Camel Club stared at her mystified. She finally noted this and said, “I’ll get us into the architectural firm, but we need copies of the designs if we’re going to locate the fire room and HVAC in the building.”
Milton said, “I have a photographic memory. If I look at the plans once, I can memorize them.”
She looked at him skeptically. “I’ve heard people make that claim before, and it never quite works out.”
“I can assure you that it ‘works out’ with me,” Milton said indignantly.
She grabbed a book off the shelf, opened it to a page in the middle and held it up in front of Milton. “Okay, read the page to yourself.” He did so and nodded. Annabelle turned the book around and looked at the page. “All right, Mr. Photo, start regurgitating.”
Milton read the page from memory, including punctuation marks, without one misstep.
For the first time in their company Annabelle looked impressed. “You ever been to Vegas?” she asked. He shook his head. “You might want to try it sometime.”
“Isn’t card counting illegal?” Stone asked, quickly deducing what she was alluding to.
She answered, “No, so long as you don’t use a mechanical or computer device to do it.”
“Wow,” Milton exclaimed. “I could make a fortune.”
Annabelle said, “But before you get your hopes up, even though it’s not illegal if you’re just using your brain, if they catch you, they’ll beat the crap out of you.”
“Oh!” Milton said, horrified. “Never mind.”
She turned to Stone. “So how do you think Jonathan was killed? And no more doublespeak or I walk.”
Stone studied her and then made up his mind. “Caleb found Jonathan’s body. Right after that he fainted. At the hospital the nurse said that he was getting better and that his temperature was coming up, not down.”
“And your point is?” Annabelle said.
“The fire suppressant system at the library uses a substance called halon 1301,” Caleb said, taking up the explanation. “It starts as a liquid in the pipes but turns into a gas when it comes out of the nozzle. It puts out fires in part by eliminating oxygen in the atmosphere.”