Simon. I don’t… He can’t… The wind’s knocked out of me so fast, I almost drop the phone. My arm goes numb and slides down the side of my chest. It can’t be.
“I know,” Vaughn says. “Makes you want to reach for the Charmin, don’t it?” Before I can answer, he adds, “My boy said when they first met him, he thought he was all sly-like we don’t watch CNN or nothin’. Anyway, they staked him out-worried he was bein’ followed. When the deal’s done, he goes back to his car-and one of my boys who’s lurkin’-he swears he sees Nora hidin’ in the front seat. Big kiss on the lips when Sugar Daddy comes home-she was all over him. And when they climb in the back-Action Jackson, baby. He does her right there-up against the side window. My boy says she’s wild too. Likes to take it in the-”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but if she’s tuggin’ your ya-ya, you gotta know where she’s goin’ with it. Which means we better make some time to get together.”
“What about Si-”
“Ten seconds,” he interrupts. “Write this down. A week from Friday. Seven at night. Woodley Park Marriott-Warren Room. Ya got it?”
“Yeah, I-”
“Five seconds. Plenty to spare.”
“But we-”
“See you next Friday, Mikey. It’ll be worth it.” With a click, he’s gone.
Alone in the anteroom, I’m pounded by silence. It doesn’t make any sense. If she… she can’t. There’s no way. With a tight fist, I tap my knuckles against the desk. It can’t be. I hit a little harder. And harder. And harder. I hammer the desk until my knuckles are raw. The middle one’s starting to bleed. Just like Nora’s nose.
Searching for answers, I reread the note I jotted for myself. A week from Friday. Seven P.M. Woodley Park Marriott. Warren Room. I still can’t shake the nausea that’s choking me, but I remember what he told me right before we split up in the movie theater. Always subtract seven. Seven days, seven hours. In the blink of an eye, seven P.M. becomes twelve noon. A week from Friday becomes this Friday. Tomorrow. Noon tomorrow at the Woodley Park Marriott.
The code was all Vaughn’s idea. If the FBI was able to get that close to our meeting at the zoo, it was going to take more than another popcorn kid to buy us some privacy. I take the extra few seconds and scribble in the revised time. Stuffing the handwritten note in my pocket, I dash back to my office-and back to the one person who can answer my questions.
According to the toaster, Nora’s in the Residence, but a quick phone call to her room suggests otherwise. I flip through my copy of the President’s schedule and see why. In fifteen minutes, the First Family is taking off so they can spend all of tomorrow morning at breakfast fund-raisers. New York and New Jersey. Five stops in all, including the overnight. I glance at my watch, then back at the schedule. If I run, I can still catch her. I tear out of my office. I have to know. As I pull the main door open, however, I see someone standing between me and the hallway.
“How’re you doing?” Agent Adenauer asks. “Mind if I come in?”
CHAPTER 29
Why so out of breath?” Adenauer asks as he backs me into the anteroom. “Worried about something?”
“Not at all,” I say with my bravest face.
“What’re you doing here so late?”
“I was going to ask the same thing of you.”
He keeps moving forward, pushing toward my office. I stand my ground in the anteroom.
“So where’re you running to?” he asks.
“Just going to watch the departure. Takeoff’s in ten minutes.”
He studies my answer, annoyed that it came so quick. “Michael, can we sit down for a second?”
“I would, but I’m about to-”
“I’d like to talk about tomorrow.”
He doesn’t blink. “Let’s go,” I say, turning toward my office. I head for my desk; he heads for the couch. I already don’t like it. He’s too comfortable. “So what’s going on with you?” I ask, trying to move us along.
“Nothing,” he says coldly. “I’ve been looking at those files.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“I didn’t realize you were originally pre-med,” he says. “You’re a man of many parts.”
I’m ready to mouth off, but it’s not going to get me anywhere. If I plan to talk him out of going public tomorrow, he’ll need some honesty. “It’s the dream of every kid with sick parents,” I tell him. “Become a doctor; save their lives. Only problem was, I hated every minute of it. I don’t like tests with right answers. Give me an essay any day.”
“Still, you stayed with it until sophomore year-even made it through physiology.”
“What’s your point?”
“No point at all. Just wondering if they ever taught you anything about monoamine oxidase inhibitors.”
“What’re you talking abou-”
“It’s amazing, really,” he interrupts. “You have two medications that separately are harmless. But if you mix them together-well, let’s just say it’s not a good thing.” He’s watching me way too carefully. Here it comes. “Let me give you an example,” he continues. “Let’s pretend you’re a candidate for the antidepressant Quarnil. You tell your psychiatrist you’re feeling bad; he prescribes some, and suddenly you’re feeling better. Problem solved. Of course, as with any drug, you have to read the warning label. And if you read the one on Quarnil, you’ll see that, while you’re taking it, you’re supposed to stay away from all sorts of things: yogurt, beer and wine, pickled herring… and something called pseudoephedrine.”
“Pseudo-what?”
“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” Losing his smile, he adds, “Sudafed, Michael. One of the world’s best-selling decongestants. Mix that with Quarnil and it’ll shut you down faster than an emergency brake on a bullet train. Instant stroke. The strange part is, on the surface it’ll look like a simple heart attack.”
“You’re saying that’s how Caroline died? A mixture of Quarnil and Sudafed?”
“It’s just a theory,” he says unconvincingly.
I give him a look.
“The Sudafed was dissolved in her coffeepot,” Adenauer explains. “A dozen tablets, judging by the strength of the sample we scooped up. She never saw it coming.”
“What about the Quarnil?”
“She’s been taking it for years. Ever since she started working here.” He pauses. “Michael, whoever did this did their homework. They knew she was already on Quarnil. And they had to have more than a basic understanding of physiology.”
“So that’s your grand theory? You think they taught me this at Michigan? Poison 101: How to Kill Your Friends with Household Products?”
“You said it, not me.”
We both know it’s a stretch, but if he’s been through my college transcript, it means they’re tearing my life apart. Hard. “You’re on the wrong track,” I tell him. “I don’t play around with drugs. Never have; never will.”
“Then what were you doing yesterday at the zoo?” That’s what he was waiting for. I walked right into it.
“Watching the monkeys,” I say. “It’s amazing now-they all have walkie-talkies.”
He shakes his head with parental disapproval. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? Vaughn’s not just the local bully. He’s a killer.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m not sure you do. He’ll slice you open for fun. You heard what he did to his buddy Morty-piano wire through his-”
“I don’t think he did it.”
“Is that what Vaughn told you?”
“Just a theory,” I say.
He stands up from the sofa and walks toward my desk. “Michael, let me paint a little picture for you. You and Vaughn are standing on the edge of a cliff. And the only way to safety is a rickety bamboo bridge that leads to the other side. Problem is, this bridge is only strong enough to hold one more person. After that, it’s going to crumble into the canyon. You know what happens next?”
“Let me guess-Vaughn runs across.”
“No. He stabs you in the back, then he takes your canteen, then he swipes your wallet, then he runs across. Laughing all the way.”