be gone.”
“Hotel Saint-Jacques. It’s in the Latin Quarter, Left Bank. It’s Paris,” says Joselyn. “He’s headed for Paris.”
Liquida zoned out in the back of the limo on the way to the airport. For ninety minutes he drifted in and out. His only worry now was whether the Thai authorities at the airport might have a description of him, or worse, a sketch provided by Madriani’s daughter.
If they had the Spanish name from his passport, they probably would have nailed him at the hotel in Pattaya. The hotel had taken a copy of the passport. Liquida had to assume that the passport was still good. He would get a new one the minute he connected with Bruno.
“Oh, shit!” With the name Bruno, it hit him right between the eyes.
“A problem?” said the driver.
“No, no, everything’s fine.” The message Liquida had left for Bruno was still on the tape. With the cops drilling out his locked box it wouldn’t take long before they discovered the message system. That is, if they hadn’t already found it.
Liquida whipped out his cell phone and started dialing. He waited for a moment while the instructions played out, then keyed in the code. He listened to his own message and took solace from the fact that the system was still up and running. The message was still there. If the FBI had found it, Liquida was guessing that after listening to the messages, they would have taken the system down and hauled the hardware back to their lab for analysis.
He waited for the message to Bruno to end. The moment it did Liquida pressed seven. “Message deleted.” He went on to Bruno’s original message left for him and erased that as well. “There are no messages on your system.”
He wondered if the eggheads at the FBI would have any way to retrieve deleted messages. If so, by the time the lab sorted it out, he would be gone. Liquida made a mental note to keep his stay in Paris brief.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The doorbell rang in the D.C. condo. Sarah turned the dead bolt, unhooked the chain, and opened the door without hesitation. She already knew who it was.
“Hello, Ms. Madriani?” The man was in his midforties, with short gray hair cut military style and parted neatly on the left. In a blue worsted suit he could have passed for an Iowa banker, but for the FBI credentials he was holding with the flap on its leather case hanging down.
“You must be Agent Ellison.” Sarah spoke without looking at the agent or his credentials.
“So they tell me.”
Sarah’s gaze was stranded on the Olympic-class eye candy standing behind him. By the time she forced her attention back to Ellison, he was already smiling.
“That’s OK. I’m getting used to it. Being a potted plant, I mean.”
“I’m sorry.” Sarah smiled and felt her face glow red.
“The good-looking one here is Mr. Adin Hirst,” said Ellison. “Don’t feel bad. You should see the secretaries in my office. He leaves in a few days. The place is going to look like a wake when he goes.”
“Yes, well, your office called earlier. They told me you would be coming by.” She tried to change the subject. “Please come in.”
The two men stepped inside. Sarah closed the door behind them. Ellison gave her a business card and told her he was with the Bureau’s International Operations Division, training section.
No matter how hard she tried to fix her attention on Ellison, Sarah couldn’t help but sneak another glance at the younger one. Six two, dark wavy hair, brown eyes, and tawny complexion. She guessed that the James Bond of the FBI couldn’t have been more than mid to late twenties.
She was overjoyed to have company, any company, so this was a pleasant surprise indeed. After four days alone, with only the dog Bugsy for companionship, Sarah was going stir-crazy in the cloistered apartment.
“The handsome one is here for training,” said Ellison.
“Gimme a break.” Adin blanched. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been giving me a hard time since we met.”
“I can imagine.” Sarah looked up at him and smiled coolly.
“Nice to meet you.” He reached out and shook her hand.
Sarah had always wondered if such smoking exterior looks routinely spoiled whatever was on the inside. She had never been close enough to find out.
“They told us you had a dog?” Ellison was looking around. “A Doberman?”
“You mean Bugsy,” said Sarah. “Not to worry. I locked him in the back room. He’s a little skittish around strangers, especially men. I figured you probably didn’t need that. Why don’t we go in the living room.” Sarah led the way. “Go ahead and have a seat. Can I get you some coffee? Something else to drink?”
“I’m fine,” said Ellison.
“How about you?”
“I’m good,” said Hirst.
The two men planted themselves on the couch like bookends.
Sarah took one of the wingback chairs across from them.
“How are you doing here alone?” said Ellison.
“I’m OK,” Sarah lied.
“You know, we have offered to have one of our female agents come and stay with you until your father and your friends get back. It’s not a problem.”
“I know, but it’s not necessary,” said Sarah.
“What about counseling?” said Ellison. “I know they’ve talked to you about having someone from our behavioral science unit come by. We have mental health people on staff. They’re not generally into therapy, but they do have training…”
“I know, but I think I’m OK.”
“OK, but if you change your mind, I want you to call me.”
“I will.”
“You’ve got my card,” said Ellison.
She looked at the business card. “What, ah, what exactly is the International Operations Division, training section?”
“Back to business,” said Ellison. “How much did they tell you on the phone?”
“Nothing,” said Sarah.
“IOD has to do with overseas operations. In addition to doing investigations stateside, the FBI also maintains agents in various U.S. embassies around the world. They provide a liaison with law enforcement from other countries. We exchange information, and in that regard we do a fair amount of training. That’s where my office comes in.”
Sarah nodded as if she understood.
“To make a long story short, you’ve become part of today’s training exercise. That is, if you’re willing to do it.”
“Sure, why not? I have nothing else to do,” said Sarah.
“Adin says that someone from his agency overseas sent him an inquiry last night about getting whatever information he could on witness protection as well as the bureau’s safe-house operations. Did I state that correctly?” He looked at Hirst.
“Dead-on.”
“So we thought we would start with a tour of the facility. Your name came up, so we thought we’d start here.”
“How did my name come up?”
“That was my fault,” said Adin. “Someone told me that your father and his partner and someone else had left…”
