Sarah smiled, but then a strange look crossed her face.
'What did you just say?'
'Oh, please, I could go on forever about the foolishness of--'
'Shatter glass,' Sarah said instead of waiting for Virginia to finish.
'Excuse me?' Virginia asked.
Sarah picked up her water glass and looked at it. She then set it down and looked at Virginia and Alice in turn.
'What happens to a glass when an opera singer hits a certain decibel level?'
'Well, I've heard that they can ...' Virginia trailed off as she thought about what Sarah had asked. 'You mean sound?'
'Sound and earthquakes, Sarah?' Alice asked, lowering her teacup.
Sarah stood up and smiled.
'Excuse me, ladies, I have some calls to make.'
'Dammit!' Jack exclaimed from the front seat.
'What?' Will asked as he took a corner as fast as he could without losing traction.
'We should have brought a laptop so we could tie in to Europa!'
'Wait a minute, Will; pull over here by those kids,' Ryan said from the back.
Mendenhall pulled into the curb and Ryan jumped out. Everett, Collins, and Will watched as Ryan spoke animatedly to them about something.
For the past fifteen minutes they had been trying to read the names on the wet paper, and now they thought they finally had all four: Henry Fellows Carlisle, Davis Cunningham Ingram, Martha Lynn Laughlin, and Carmichael Aaron Rothman. None of them recognized these names, but they meant something to someone, that much was clear. Jackson Keeler had wanted them protected enough to die for, and the people who had killed him had ruthlessly sought them.
'What in the hell is that flyboy doing?' Everett asked as Ryan finished with the young teenagers and then trotted back to the car and jumped in.
'Third and Argyle,' he said, settling into his seat.
Everett looked at Ryan with a blank stare. 'You need a patch-in to Europa--well, there's a cyber cafe on the corner of Third Street and Argyle.'
'You navy types never cease to amaze me,' Jack said as the car sped away into traffic.
The man who had taken the photographs of Jack and his team at the law firm sat in the back of the white van and directed the driver to follow them into the heart of downtown Boston. The white lab coat he had used and the ID he had taken from the police forensics technician lay crumpled on the seat beside him. He was using a portable film developer on the pull-down table in front of him. The first photo of the man came out crystal clear as he pulled the still-wet eight-by-ten from the mouth of the machine. He snapped on an interior light and examined the face. He now knew for sure that it was the same man he'd seen in the warehouse.
He bypassed the five other shots on the reel, setting them aside as he placed the photo of Collins inside a scanner and closed the top. Then he opened his laptop and examined the black-and-white photo more closely. He centered the cursor on the identification badge and zoomed in a hundredfold. The name came into focus.
'John Harriman, ATF,' the long-haired technician mumbled under his breath. 'Let's just see if you are who you say you are, John.'
The man picked up a cell phone and made a call. He gave the name and the department of the subject and then waited.
'There is no John Harriman at Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, huh? I kind of suspected that; this guy is a little too efficient for government work.' The man thought for a moment. 'Look, can you get a trace-visual ID on this man and see if you can come up with any matches? I'll wait.'
The person he was speaking with was a deep-cover operative run by Dahlia and used sparingly because of his position in the federal records division. You didn't burn someone who was in a position to give you that kind of information.
The cell phone rang.
'What have you got?' He listened as he wrote down the information. 'That's all? Colonel Jack Collins, U.S. Army Special Forces on detached service, and then nothing? I'll pass it along to Dahlia you were a
'They're pulling over in front of that cyber cafe,' the driver said.
'Park somewhere nearby and for God's sake don't be seen. These guys are starting to make me a little nervous.'
The man opened the cell phone and hit a single number.
'Keyhole here. I'm faxing you some photos. Our friends from the warehouse are back. They went to the law offices and then to the morgue and they left there in one hell of a hurry. Listen, Dahlia, I used our source in federal records and we're dealing with an unknown here--a Colonel Jack Collins was ID'd. U.S. Army and a former Special Operations guy who is on detached service to an unknown entity, and I believe he and his men may have uncovered something from the coroner's office because they left there in one hell of a hurry. I'm going to keep a tail on these guys but I need some major backup. Is the Boston strike team still in town? Thank you. Now I'm going to see if I can eavesdrop on what they're doing. I'll call back.'
The man shook his head, knowing that Dahlia failed to realize that somehow she had allowed a possible federal agency of unknown prowess to tag her movements. Oh, she acted calm enough, but then again she was safe in New York, while he had his ass hanging in the wind, tagging a damn Green Beret and his people who scared you just by looking at you.
'Damn, this is just too much,' he mumbled as he brought his telephoto lens up to his eye and started perusing the cafe, looking for Jack Collins.
Jack felt exposed as he and Carl made the link with Europa. Everett kept an eye on the cafe's patrons to make sure no one moseyed by for a look-see. Luckily, most of the cyber kids were their doing homework or chatting up on MySpace and none of them seemed interested in the two adults. They were stuck in at a table that faced the rear of the cafe, so Everett kept most of his attention focused on the people nearest the plate glass window as Jack started his conversation with the Cray computer in Nevada.
Jack typed the names they had read on the piece of paper and asked Europa for any sort of record on them. It did not take her long on the first two.
HENRY FELLOWS CARLISLE, DECEASED, 81 YEARS OF AGE, DIED 1999. FORMER CHAIRMAN OF THE FELLOWS GROUP OF COMPANIES.
'Damn! Strike one,' Jack said.
DAVIS CUNNINGHAM INGRAM, DECEASED, 90 YEARS OF AGE, DIED 2004. FORMER CEO OF INGRAM FIREARMS COMPANY, CEO INGRAM METAL FABRICATION, FORMER CHAIRMAN OF THE ADALAY SHIPYARDS IN MARYLAND.
'Strike two.'
MARTHA LYNN LAUGHLIN, 1932-? CHAIRPERSON OF LAUGHLIN LABORATORIES, FOUNDER OF DEELEY PHARMACEUTICALS.
'Okay, that's better,' Jack said, as he copied down the information. CARMICHAEL AARON ROTHMAN, 1921-? FORMER CEO OF ROTHMAN INDUSTRIES, FORMER BOARD MEMBER GENERAL DYNAMICS CORPORATION, FORMER BOARD CHAIRPERSON LOCKHEED MARTIN AERONAUTICS.
'Whoa, that's a couple of heavy hitters,' Everett said as he looked over Jack's shoulder.
'They sure are. They were the last two names on the piece of paper that Keeler hid in his mouth and also the only two that are alive.'
'You think our attorney friend kept a list of his friends?'
'Or enemies. These two may be responsible for his death, and he wanted the authorities to get their names.'
'Well, we're not in authority, but finder's keepers, Jack,' Everett said.
Collins typed in the two bottom names and asked Europa for their current addresses.
'Virginia. So I guess we're headed south, huh?'
