Finally, a bell rings as the elevator arrives. It’s as heavy-handed as they come, but the elevator operator says it best: “Welcome to the Holocaust Museum.”
CHAPTER 21
Can you tell me how to get to the Registry of Survivors?”
“Just around the corner,” a man with a name tag says. “It’s the first door on your right.”
As I head toward the room, I take a quick scan for Vaughn. The mug shot I saw was a few years old, but I know who I’m looking for. Thin little mustache. Slicked-back hair. I don’t know why he picked this museum. If he’s really worried about the FBI, it’s not an easy place for us to hide-which is exactly what I’m afraid of.
Convinced that he’s not standing outside the room, I pull open the glass door and enter the Registry of Survivors. First I check the ceiling. No security camera in sight. Good. Next I check the walls. There it is, in the back right-hand corner. The reason he picked this room: an emergency exit fire door. If it all goes to hell, he has a way out-which means either he’s just as worried about me, or that’s part of his deal with the authorities.
The room itself is modest in size and sectioned off by dividers. It houses eight state-of-the-art computers, which have access to the museum’s list of over seventy thousand Holocaust survivors. At almost every terminal, two to three people are crowded around the monitor, searching for their loved ones. Not a single one of them looks up as I head to the back. Checking the rest of the room, I reassure myself that leaving Trey back at the office was a good idea. We could’ve put him in a disguise, but after having him spotted at the pay phone, it wasn’t worth the risk. I need my two thirds.
I sit down at an empty computer terminal and wait. For twenty minutes, I keep my eyes on the door. Whoever comes in; whoever goes out-I crane my head above the divider, analyzing everyone. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be so obvious, I finally decide. Changing my tactics, I stare at the computer monitor and listen to the voices of all the other people around me.
“I told you she lived in Poland.”
“With a K, not a CH!”
“That’s your great-grandmother.”
In a museum that’s dedicated to remembering six million people who died, this little room focuses on the lucky few who lived. Not a bad place to be.
“I hate this place,” I mutter fifteen minutes later. Cowardly son of a bitch is never going to show. Fighting frustration, I stand up and take another quick reconnaissance of the room. By now, we’re on our fifth round of tourist turnover. There’s only one original member of the band, and I’m it.
Circling the main group of tables, I stare up at the wall clock. Vaughn’s over a half hour late. I’ve been stood up. Still, if I plan on waiting it out, it’s best to stay in character and act like all the other strangers in the room. Glancing around, I realize I’m the only one on my feet. Everyone else looks exactly the same-pen in hand, eyes focused on their computers-all they do is type in names…
Oh, man.
I race back to the terminal and slide into my seat. Punching at the keyboard, I type thirteen letters into the Registry of Survivors. V-A-U-G-H-N, P-A-T-R-I-C-K.
On-screen, the computer tells me it’s “Searching for Matches.”
This is it. That’s the real reason he picked this room.
“Sorry, no matches found.”
What? It’s not possible. V-A-U-G-H-N, P.
“Sorry, no matches found.”
Once again, the computer whirs into search mode. And once again, I get the same result. “Sorry, no matches found.”
It can’t be. Convinced I’m on the right track, I throw it every name I can think of.
By the time I’m done, I’ve got tons of matches. Vienna, Austria. Kaunas, Lithuania. Gyongyos, Hungary. Even Highland Park, Illinois. But none of them brings me any closer to Vaughn. Annoyed, I push the keyboard aside and slump back in my chair. I’m about to call it a day when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I spin around so fast I almost fall out of my seat. Behind me is an olive-skinned woman with kinky black hair. A black T-shirt with the word “Perv” in white letters hugs just tight enough to get a double take, while her faded jeans hang loosely from her hips.
“Let’s get out of here, Michael,” she says, her voice shaky.
“How do you-?”
“Don’t ask the obvious-it’s not going to help.” As I get out of my seat, she’s glancing around the room, her hands fidgeting as she nervously clicks the long nails on her middle fingers against her thumbs. She rubs her nose twice, unable to stand still.
“When is he-?”
“Not today,” she blurts. She pushes me from behind, straight toward the door. “Now let’s get you out of here in one piece.”
I rush forward without another word. She yanks on the back of my shirt to slow me down.
“Only morons run,” she whispers.
Pushing open the glass door, I wait until we’re back among the crowds. With a sharp left, we’re heading down the wide staircase that leads to the main concourse. “So he’s not coming?” I ask.
At hyperspeed, she arches her neck in every direction. Over her shoulder, over mine, over the railing of the stairs… she can’t help herself. “They had his ex-girlfriend’s staked out since Tuesday,” she explains. “And Vaughn don’t even like her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s no good,” she stutters. “Not here.”
“So when do we-”
She lays a sweaty hand on my shoulder and pulls me close. “National Zoo. Wednesday at one o’clock.” Letting go, she speeds down the rest of the stairs.
“Is it really that bad?” I ask.
She stops where she is and turns around. “Are you kidding?” she asks, wiping a stray black curl from her face. “You know what it takes to make him scared?”
I hold on to the railing to keep myself up. I don’t think I want to know the answer.
“So you just let her go?” Nora asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“What’d you want me to do? Tackle her and demand an even trade?”
“I’m not sure about tackling, but you gotta start taking some action.”
Standing from my seat, I cross Nora’s bedroom and lean back on the front edge of her antique desk. On my left, I spot a handwritten note signed by Carol Lorenson, the administrator of the blind trust that holds all of the Hartsons’ money. “Weekly allowance-second week September.” Next to the note is a small stack with a few twenty dollar bills.
“You don’t understand,” I say.
“What’s to understand? You had her-you let her go.”
“She’s not the bad guy,” I shoot back. “She was even more terrified than I was, and the way she sounded, it was like she was about to have a heart attack.”
“Oh, c’mon, Michael. This woman knows the guy you’re looking for-the one guy no one can find! No offense, but you should’ve taken Trey with you-at least that way he could’ve followed her.”
“Don’t you get it, Nora? The FBI’s got a mad-on to get you on this one-she was already being followed. Besides, I’m not letting anyone else get hurt over this.”
“Anyone? Who’s anyone?”
I don’t answer.
“Okay, here we go,” she says as her face lights up. “What’re you not saying?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“So this has to do with why you didn’t take backup? Is that what’s got you all sweaty?”
Again, I don’t answer.