Smith put out a hand to shake Ohnara’s. “Let’s hope not.”
Smith and Russell walked to the front of the building, but as they reached the door, Smith hung back.
“Still worried?” Russell said. “How about I go out and drive around to the back. You can jump in as before.”
He smiled at her, letting the relief show in his face. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Smith repeated what he now called the “run to the car” game and was relieved when Russell drove away from the campus.
“Well, what do you make of the swab?” he asked.
Russell frowned. “I don’t like that it’s from Dattar’s region, but I guess you picked up on that.”
Smith nodded. “I did. Could you be targeted? Have you run into him in the past?”
Russell turned down a street and Smith saw a Metro stop at the end. “No. I’ve never had any contact with him. It could be completely unrelated, but it doesn’t feel like it is.” She seemed to want to say something further.
“Yes?” Smith prodded.
She shook her head. “Nothing. Back to the Four Seasons?” she said.
“Can you drop me here? I’ll take the Metro. I have some errands to run.”
“Certainly. You should be fine. No one tailed us.”
Smith smiled. “I’ll take your word on that. I know it’s good.”
She smiled back, but grew serious. “There’s a situation brewing with regard to some missing bacteria. I may ask you for some more assistance.”
The coolers, Smith thought. “Of course.”
He angled out of the sedan, sketched a wave, and headed to the Metro. The minute he was out of sight, he called Marty. There was no answer, but he left a message saying he was on his way over. He boarded the train and settled in for the ride to Marty’s house, eyeing the other passengers. Most either read books or newspapers or stared off into space. None noticed Smith. He got off the Metro at Dupont Circle and prepared to walk the rest of the way, making sure to keep moving and giving quick glances behind him as he headed into a quiet residential area. As he neared Marty’s house, he spotted the small, rotund man pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. He looked agitated and held an open laptop in his hands. When he saw Smith, a smile creased his face.
“Jon! Jon! I got the message that you were coming! I’ve been waiting for you. I’m here.” He waved a hand excitedly. Smith gave a small groan and glanced around. He wished Marty had waited for him inside the house. The last thing he needed was Marty announcing his presence to the entire neighborhood, but there was no stopping Marty once he was wound up; fortunately the street appeared quiet. Marty closed the gap between them, still holding the laptop. He shoved it at Smith.
“I’ve found her!” he said.
14
Smith stood in the marble and wood lobby of Landon Investments in New York City and wondered anew why Pakistani terrorists wanted Rebecca Nolan dead, why a Pakistani-derived strain of cholera was smeared on Russell’s refrigerator light, and how Dattar might have figured into it all. He’d spent the entire train ride from DC reading the documents about Nolan that Marty had amassed and printed for him. What he’d learned about her had impressed him, but also left him returning to the key question about who wanted her dead and why. He’d given her name to Russell, who was throwing the additional strength of the CIA’s research capabilities into the project.
Now he gave his name to the front desk clerk, obtained a pass, and headed to the gleaming elevator banks. The elevator was equipped with a television and he watched as a female spokesperson on a financial channel analyzed a complex transaction involving counterbalancing puts and calls in order to gain a dollar spread on a trade. Through it all the screen kept a running ticker tape showing the stock market’s performance minute to minute. Smith kept some of his money in the markets, but tended to purchase blue chip stocks through a fund and then held them during good times and bad. The woman on the small screen could have been speaking in tongues for all he knew.
The doors opened with a pneumatic sound and he stepped directly into the Landon Investments offices. A petite woman wearing a telephone headset manned a massive mahogany reception desk. The sheer opulence of the offices attested to the success of Landon Investments. Thanks to Marty’s research, Smith knew that the company had over $3 billion under management with a growing private-wealth customer base and a stellar reputation. Rebecca Nolan alone managed over $900 million and was considered a rising star within the company. One article in Fortune magazine had described the company as “the finest fund that no one knew.” The article stated that managers in the company deliberately eschewed the limelight, preferring to act in a discreet manner that matched the wishes of their extremely wealthy clients. The young Asian woman behind the desk smiled at him as he approached.
“Mr. Smith, I apologize for the lack of a waiting pass, but I was unaware of your visit.”
Smith smiled at her. “Please don’t apologize. Ms. Nolan is not aware that I wish to see her. It’s important that I do, though. Is she available?”
A slight frown appeared on the woman’s face. “Did you say Ms. Nolan?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry, but Ms. Nolan does not take meetings while the markets are open. Perhaps you can return after four o’clock when they’ve closed?”
Smith shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no. I must speak to her now. Can you please ring her?”
The woman’s frown became more pronounced. “Are you one of Ms. Nolan’s clients?”
“No. I’m a member of the United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases and I must speak to her.” He handed her his business card.
“Army? Is this about the Wingspan anthrax vaccine? The announcement moved the shares of that company quite nicely.” The very idea seemed to make the woman brighten, and he decided to go with it.
“It is about bacteria, though not that one.”
“Then I’m sure she’ll speak to you the minute the market closes.”
“I need to see her now, please,” he replied.
Smith watched the receptionist struggle to maintain her composure, which he found fascinating. He thought his request was simple enough, yet the woman acted as though he’d asked to see the pope during Sunday mass. The receptionist punched a button. After a moment she announced his presence and said, “he’s with the Army,” listened and then said, “of course.” She switched off the line and returned her attention to Smith.
“Ms. Nolan says that she’s sorry, but she can’t take a meeting at this time. She asked that I reschedule you after the markets have closed.”
Smith was done with the niceties. Behind the receptionist was a frosted glass wall that separated the lobby from the working offices. Smith could see the blurry outlines of people sitting at desks and moving around the room. He started toward the glass doors set into the wall.
“Mr. Smith, I’m sorry, but where are you going?” Anxiety rang in the receptionist’s voice and she rose from her chair. She was petite, lovely, and extremely agitated. Smith was sorry to have to upset her, but he needed to do what he must to see Ms. Nolan. He reached the doors and pulled on a handle. It didn’t move. He looked back at the receptionist.
“Please unlock the door.” The receptionist straightened to her full height, which Smith estimated to be five feet. Despite her small size, she would defend Ms. Nolan’s schedule come what may.
“I can’t, sir. I would have called security already, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re with the army. You must come back here. I’ll be happy to make an appointment for you promptly at 4:00 when the markets close.”