“Not a mind reader, Rachel, but you’ve got instincts. You do this work the way Magic Johnson used to play basketball. With a knowledge and sense of the full court. After just a five-minute phone conversation with me you stole an FBI plane and flew to Nevada because you knew. You knew, Rachel. And it saved my life. That’s instinct, and that’s why I want you there tomorrow.”
She looked at me for a long moment and then nodded so slightly I almost didn’t see it.
“Okay, Jack,” she said. “Then I’ll be there.”
The rich rum didn’t do us any favors in the morning. Rachel and I were both moving pretty slowly but still managed to get out of the hotel with more than enough time to make our appointment. We stopped at Hightower Grounds first to get some caffeine moving in our veins, then doubled back to Western Data.
The front gate of the complex was open and I pulled into the parking space closest to the front door. Before turning the car off, I took a final drag on my coffee and then asked Rachel a question.
“When the agents from the Phoenix office went in here last week, did they tell them what it was about?”
“No, they said as little about the investigation as possible.”
“Standard procedure. What about the search warrant? Didn’t it lay it all out?”
She shook her head.
“The warrant was issued by a grand jury that has a blanket mandate to investigate Internet fraud. The use of the trunk murder site fits under that. It gave us camouflage.”
“Good.”
“We did our part, Jack. You guys didn’t do yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
I noted her use of the word we.
“You’re asking if the Unsub, who may or may not be in this place, is aware that Western Data might fall into a greater focus. The answer is yes, but not because of anything the bureau did. Your newspaper, Jack, in its account of Angela Cook’s death, mentioned that investigators were checking the possible connection to a website she had visited. You didn’t name the site but that only leaves your competitors and readers out of the loop. The Unsub certainly knows the site and knows that if we are onto it, then it may only be a matter of time until we put it together and show up here again.”
“We?”
“Them. The bureau.”
I nodded. She was right. The story in the Times had blown it.
“Then, I guess we better go in before them shows up.”
We got out and I grabbed my sport coat out of the backseat and put it on while on my way to the door. I was wearing the new shirt I had bought the day before at an airport shop while waiting for Rachel to land. I wore the same tie for a second day. Rachel was wearing her usual agent outfit-a navy suit with a dark blouse-and she looked impressive, even if she wasn’t an agent anymore.
We had to push a button at the door and identify ourselves through a speaker before being buzzed in. There was a small entrance area and a woman sitting behind a reception counter. I assumed she was the person who had just talked to us through the speaker.
“We’re a little early,” I said. “We have a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. McGinnis.”
“Yes, Ms. Chavez will be showing you the plant,” the receptionist said cheerfully. “Let’s see if she’s ready to go a few minutes early.”
I shook my head.
“No, our appointment was with Mr. McGinnis, the company CEO. We came down from Las Vegas to see him.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not going to be possible. Mr. McGinnis has unexpectedly been detained. He is not on the premises at the moment.”
“Well, where is he? I thought your company wanted our business, and we wanted to talk with him about our particular needs.”
“Let me see if I can get Ms. Chavez. I’m sure she will be able to speak to your needs.”
The receptionist picked up the phone and punched in three digits. I looked at Rachel, who raised an eyebrow. She was getting the same vibe I was getting. Something was off about this.
The receptionist spoke quietly and quickly into the phone and then hung up. She looked up and smiled at us.
“Ms. Chavez will be right out.”
“Right out” took ten minutes. A door finally opened behind the reception counter and a young woman with dark hair and dark features stepped out. She came around the counter and held her hand out to me.
“Mr. McEvoy, I’m Yolanda Chavez, Mr. McGinnis’s executive assistant. I hope you don’t mind my taking you around today.”
I shook her hand and introduced Rachel.
“Our appointment was with Declan McGinnis,” Rachel said. “We were led to believe that a firm of our size and business would merit the attention of the CEO.”
“Yes, I assure you that we are very interested in your business. But Mr. McGinnis is home ill today. I hope you understand.”
I looked at Rachel and shrugged.
“Well,” I said. “If we could still get the tour, we could then talk to Mr. McGinnis when he’s feeling better.”
“Of course,” Chavez said. “And I can assure you that I’ve conducted the plant tour several times. If you can give me about ten minutes, I will show you around.”
“Perfect.”
Chavez nodded, then leaned over the reception counter and reached down for two clipboards. She handed them to us.
“We first have to get a security clearance,” she said. “If each of you could sign this waiver, I will go make copies of your driver’s licenses. And the letter of introduction you said you had.”
“You really need our licenses?” I asked in mild protest.
My concern was that our California licenses might raise a security flag since we had said we were from Las Vegas.
“I’m afraid that is our security protocol. It’s required of anyone taking the facility tour. There are no exceptions.”
“Good to hear. I was just making sure.”
I smiled. She didn’t. Rachel and I handed over our licenses and Chavez studied them for indications they were counterfeit.
“You’re both from California? I thought you-”
“We’re both new hires. I’m doing mostly investigative work and Rachel will be the firm’s IT person-once we reconfigure our IT.”
I smiled again. Chavez looked at me, adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses and asked for the letter from my new employer. I pulled it out of the inside pocket of my jacket and handed it over. Chavez said she would be back to collect us for the tour in ten minutes.
Rachel and I sat down on the couch beneath one of the windows and read the waiver form attached to the clipboards. It was a fairly straightforward waiver with check boxes stating that the signer was not an employee of a competitor, would take no photographs during the tour of the facility and would not reveal or copy any of the trade practices, procedures or secrets revealed during the tour.
“They’re pretty serious,” I said.
“It’s a competitive business,” Rachel said.
I scribbled my signature on the line and dated it. Rachel did the same.
“What do you think?” I whispered, my eyes on the receptionist.
“About what?” Rachel asked.
“About McGinnis not being here and the lack of a solid explanation why. First he’s ‘unexpectedly detained,’ next he’s ‘home sick.’ I mean, which is it?”
The receptionist looked up from her computer screen and right at me. I didn’t know if she had heard me. I smiled at her and she quickly looked down at her screen again.
“I think we should talk about it after,” Rachel whispered.
“Roger that,” I whispered back.
We sat silently until Chavez returned to the reception area. She handed us our driver’s licenses and we gave her the clipboards. She studied the signatures on each.
“I spoke to Mr. Schifino,” she said matter-of-factly.
“You did?” I said a little too un-matter-of-factly.
“Yes, to verify everything. He wants you to call him as soon as possible.”