A few seconds later the engine roared to life.
“Get in,” he said, as he used the power-lock button to unlock the other doors.
The two women hastened to obey; Cecelia took the front passenger seat while Mirim ducked into the back, shoving the trash aside.
Casper backed the car carefully out of the space, then asked, “Either of you have any idea where the nearest ATM is? And have you got your cards? They may have stopped mine already.”
Both women began digging through their purses as Casper headed down the ramp. Cecelia found her card first, Mirim a moment later.
“I didn't know you knew how to steal a car,” Cecelia remarked, as Casper pulled out of the parking structure onto the street.
“Neither did I,” said Casper, as he scanned the traffic. It wouldn't do to get into a fender-bender or get stopped by the cops. The broken window was going to be risky enough in that regard without doing anything else to attract attention, like speeding or any sort of hot driving. “I was guessing-it seemed like something this stupid imprinting ought to include, and sure enough, once I started looking, I knew what to look for.”
“I'm still not sure this is a good idea,” Mirim muttered from the back seat.
“What, stealing the car?” Casper shrugged, then ducked his head to get a better look at the traffic light. “Maybe it wasn't. I mean, taking it from the middle of a commuter garage, I figure no one will notice it's gone until 5:00 or later, and we'll have ditched it by then. And except for the window we aren't going to hurt it. If you want, we can leave a couple of hundred bucks for the gas and the repairs. I mean, once we've got some more money.”
“I didn't mean that,” Mirim said. “I meant going to Leonid's place.”
That had been Casper's suggestion; this was the first feedback he'd gotten on it.
“Oh, that.” Casper turned the corner. “Well, no one had a better idea. If you think of one while we're getting money, you know, while we're at the ATMs, let me know, okay? But I didn't know what else to suggest. They'll be watching all my friends and relatives, they're watching your apartment, and Cecelia's office, and probably Data Tracers-where else could we go?”
“But if they're being that thorough, they must know I'm with you,” Mirim protested.
Casper hesitated. “Well, yeah,” he admitted, “but if you were after a man and a woman who were running away together, would you expect them to hide out with her boyfriend?” Cecelia threw him a suspicious glance. Casper saw it from the corner of one eye, but ignored it. If he once started trying to allay Cecelia's suspicions about something going on between himself and Mirim, he'd never be able to stop. Best to just ignore the obvious, as if he were so innocent that he didn't even realize she had doubts.
A few days ago he wouldn't have thought that way; he'd have been telling Cecelia how there wasn't anything between himself and Mirim and saying it so badly that he'd be stuffing his foot further into his mouth with every word.
Now, even though he felt pretty much like himself at the moment, he knew better.
Had he figured it out for himself, or was the imprint telling him this? What the hell kind of imprint would include advice on keeping a girlfriend from being jealous, on top of everything else?
“Why not?” Mirim answered. “After all, we picked up your girlfriend-what's the difference?”
Casper didn't have a ready reply to that; he was sure there was a difference, but he couldn't put it into words. The imprint didn't offer any help on this one. “They probably think I took you hostage or something like that,” he said at last.
“Why would they?” Mirim asked.
“I don't know. I just think… I mean… Look, we'll get the money first, and when we get to Leonid's place I'll check for a stake-out-you know I can do that, right? You'll trust me on that? I managed okay back at Celia's office, didn't I?”
“Yeah, but back there you were…” She stopped in mid-sentence, not sure how to say what she meant-or at least, not sure how to say it without offending Casper.
Back then, he had been calm, controlled, efficient, in charge-the imprinting had been telling him what to do, she supposed. Now he was being, at least intermittently, timid and confused and whiny and unsure-his old self, in other words. He'd been the new Casper when he kicked out the window and started the car, but his voice now was back to his former personality.
It was hard to explain just what the difference was, but she could sense it instantly. Sometimes Casper was on, was the new assertive Casper, and sometimes he was off, was the old, timid Casper.
She had heard stories about how movie stars could turn something on-without it they were ordinary people, but when it was on they were stars, they drew stares, they were always the center of attention. Charisma, star quality-she wasn't sure what to call it.
She'd never really believed the stories-until now. She'd never met a movie star, but she'd seen Casper turn on, turn into this irresistible force, this presence she couldn't resist. He'd done it with his speech at Data Tracers, he'd done it when he killed those two men at his apartment, again when they had arrived outside Cecelia's office, when he'd killed the two men in the street, and in the coffee shop when he'd convinced them to join him.
But right now it was off, and he wasn't a leader of men, he was just Casper Beech, liability analyst. It was hard to take him seriously, hard to trust him with anything important. He was a nice guy, fun to talk to, but no more than that.
Could he turn it back on, whatever it was, when he needed it? Could he spot people watching Leonid's apartment?
Well, they'd find out soon enough.
She just hoped they'd survive it.
“So after he took out Groves and Dominguez, he spotted their back-up? Spotted the tail?” Smith said.
“Maybe,” his assistant said. “We don't know if he spotted her or was just getting loose on general principles. She didn't think he'd made her.”
“He probably had, though. This son of a bitch is good. He's spotted and dealt with everything we've done-dodged it if he could, killed if he couldn't dodge.”
“Yes, sir,” his assistant said.
“So we have to assume he'll spot any of our people, no matter what we do,” Smith said.
“Yes, sir.”
“So he won't approach anyone we have covered.”
The assistant hesitated. He wasn't any too sure of anything about what this Casper Beech would or wouldn't do.
“Yes, sir,” he said at last.
“But he has to go somewhere. He's got the women with him-he's not going to just sleep in the street, not with all three of them. And he can't get a hotel room without using a credit card, and we've flagged all their cards.”
“He's getting cash from ATM machines,” the assistant pointed out. “We can't cover all of them, and we can't reach them in time when his card registers.”
“Freeze his accounts-haven't we done that?”
“Uh… no. You just said to flag them, not to freeze them.”
“Well, do it, idiot! And the women's accounts, too. How much have they already gotten?”
“Uh… about two grand. His own account's cleaned out; they've been working on Ms. Grand's.”
“Well, freeze what's left. And have you ever tried to get a hotel to accept cash? No respectable one will take it any more. Besides, put out a notice, in case they try-if any hotel has a customer pay cash, we want to be informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So we're covering Beech's friends and relatives?”
“Of course.”
“And Anspack's?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Grand's?”