The kitchen door burst open and Tony came out again, carrying a big white box, a tin plate, and a roll of silverware.
“No need to pay,” he said as Sam reached for his wallet. “Your friend already took care of it for you.”
“My friend?”
“Called about an hour ago. Paid and left a big tip. Enjoy!”
A note was taped to the top of the box.
FOR SAM REILLY — I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE GETTING HUNGRY. W.H.
W.H.? Who was W.H.?
Sam lifted the lid. A meat-lover’s pizza with sausage, salami, pepperoni, ground beef, and Canadian bacon. It smelled delicious. He pulled off a slice, cheese stringing between the pie and his slice, and ate it steaming hot.
Tony brought him a Coke and a straw. “Good, yes?”
Sam nodded.
Sam leaned back. For a guy intent on destroying the city, he seemed to appreciate the place. And finding a terrorist thoughtful enough to order lunch — that stuck out, too.
Who was this guy?
A couple of slices later, Sam still didn’t have a clue. He looked up. The photos in the frames above his booth showed a New York skyline, not one of D.C. That was odd, yet Sam was certain of it. There was no way that the body of water along the shoreline in some of the pictures was the Potomac.
In fact, he recognized the docks in one of the photos.
He’d been there before.
Unlike D.C., Sam had been around New York a fair amount, especially as a kid, accompanying his father back and forth from his various cargo ships.
Sam tossed the crust of pizza back into the box, wiped his hands on a napkin, and stood up.
Almost gingerly, he lifted one of the photographs from the wall.
In it, there was a boat floating along a dock, a big shipping boat. On the side was a name that Sam recognized.
Global One.
He turned the photo, tilting it back and forth.
Although Sam’s division of his father’s company was known as Deep Sea Expeditions, the overall holding company was officially Global Shipping, Inc. It had been founded by his grandfather. His very first ship had been optimistically called, Global One.
Standing in front of the boat were four people. In pen, someone had written the initials of each of them directly above the faces. He recognized the first of them. He had the initials M.R. and how could Sam not recognize him, the man was his very own grandfather, Michael Reilly. The second had the initials, A.S. and was Andrei Sakharov the Soviet scientist. The third person was shaking Andrei’s hand, and had the initials W.H., just like the pizza.
Werner Heisenberg.
Sam studied the fourth person in the photograph. The initials were, C.F. He looked very young, with intelligent green eyes. Sam searched his memory for the face but came up blank. As far as he knew, he’d never seen the man before. That didn’t matter, he had no doubt Elise would be able to put the image into a database and come back with a name.
He turned the photo over. On the opposite side was a handwritten note.
It read: I thought I’d remind you of this meeting. I hope you’re all happy with the outcome. May God rest your souls, because I know my grandchildren never will.
It was signed, Wilhelm Gutwein.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Hey, Sam. You all right?” Tony asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Sam turned to face him, still holding the photo.
“How long has this picture been here?”
“That one? Let me see. Ah! That’s an old one. It’s been here since the place opened. My great-uncle and grandfather immigrated here all the way back in the Forties,” he said proudly. “This is one of the photos they took when they got here. They were shutterbugs, you know? Took pictures of everything.”
“And who are these people standing in front of the boat?”
“Whatdya mean, people? There aren’t no people.”
Sam showed the photo to Tony. Now that he was taking a second look, he could see that the four of those in the photo had been clipped from another photo and pasted in.”
Tony’s face reddened. “What’s going on here? What kind of moron pulls a stunt like that?”
Sam turned the photo over and looked at the back.
“Hey, what’s that doing there?”
Tony reached over Sam’s shoulder and snatched the piece of paper that had been tucked inside the frame.
“I don’t even know what this means,” Tony said. “What is this? Must be some joker of a college kid does something like that. Thoughtless is what it is.”
“May I see it, please?” Sam asked.
Tony handed him the piece of paper.
Sam frowned at it. It was a code of some type.
“Can I have this?”
“You think that it’s a message from your friend? He seems like the bad kind of a joker, you ask me. The kind of guy who superglues his best friend to a toilet seat.”
“Oh yeah, he’s a real joker, alright,” Sam agreed wryly, taking a picture of the photo using his phone before returning it to the wall. “But do me a favor and leave it for a few days. The guy’s not all right in the head. I wouldn’t want to piss him off.”
Tony gave him a sharp look. “You’re working on the bomb case, aren’t ya?”
“Good guess, but don’t spread the word around. He’s already thrown one fit that got innocent people killed.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sam checked the burner phone again as he stepped outside Old Tony’s and onto the sidewalk.
Now what?
He couldn’t call Elise or he’d piss off the terrorist. He couldn’t miss his next “clue” or he’d piss off the terrorist. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
He’d never heard any family history about his grandfather being somehow tied to Werner Heisenberg, let alone taking a photo with the famous scientist. Or Andrei Sakharov for that matter.
A taxi pulled up to the curb. The front passenger door popped open and a hand waved at Sam. “Call for a cab, mister?” a man with a broad east coast accent asked.
“Thanks!”
Uber had captured much of the D.C. taxi trade, but there were cabs available. Sam climbed into the seat, as happy as if the good fairy had granted him a wish. The moment he slammed the door, the cab pulled away from the curb.
Incredibly, traffic had cleared somewhat, so the car was able to move.
“Where you headed, mister?”
“To this place.” Sam handed over the piece of paper.
The cabbie said, “Huh. I thought I knew every place in the city, but sure as shootin’ I don’t know that one. Mind if I call my dispatcher?”
“Be my guest. I’ve no idea, either.”
The cabbie dialed a number and read the code off to the person on the other end of the line.
“Take just a minute, mister. She’s lookin’ it up.”
At the end of the block, the cabbie took a sharp right. The terrorist couldn’t have opened up the Beltway. It must be the Secretary of Defense’s work, getting people to clear the roads.
“Hey, whaddya know?” the cabbie asked. “Looks like she found it.”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief.
“The World War II Memorial, Washington, D.C. It’s gonna cost you, though,” the cabbie warned. “It’s north of the Capitol. Take us a while to get there, that is, as long as this traffic keeps moving.”
“I don’t mind,” Sam told Tom Bower, not fooled for a moment by his fake accent. “If it gets too bad, I’ll get out and walk.”
“As long as you pay me first,” Tom muttered. “By the way, mister, did you hear the news?”