furs and leather coats hanging on a rack in the corner.
Tony found Dobyns on the second floor. The man was cowering in the upper portion of the split-level ranch, which had been transformed into one large room filled with computers. There was so much equipment, the place resembled a miniature version of CTU’s command center. Dobyns had tried to dial someone on his cell, but his hands were shaking too hard to manage it. Now the phone slipped from his grasp, bounced off the carpeted floor.
“They don’t have 911 down here,” Tony calmly informed him.
“Don’t kill me, Navarro! Please, please don’t,” Dobyns whined. His fat pink knees were shaking.
“What is all this?” Tony asked, waving his free hand at the network of computers.
“I don’t know,” Dobyns sobbed. “Your friend Lesser set it up for Hasan. Me and the Chechens were supposed to guard it. In a couple of hours some technicians are gonna take over. Honest. I don’t know what they’re up to!”
Tony waved the Glock. “Speaking of set ups, why did you sell me out to the Chechens?”
“I…I knew that story about Lesser you told was a lie,” said Dobyns. “I knew you were some kind of Federal agent, too. Within days of your last disappearance, the cops swooped down on everyone who ever worked with you. I just put two and two together—”
“You know Richard Lesser’s flipped. He wants immunity.”
Dobyns shook his head. “It’s an act. He’s still working for Hasan.”
“How do you know?”
“Nobody crosses Hasan and lives. There’s no ‘protection’ from him. If Hasan wanted Lesser dead, he’d be dead. You couldn’t do anything about it, and Lesser knows it.”
Tony contemplated Dobyns’s claims. The man was unreliable at best and likely to say just about anything to save his own life. Glancing around, Tony figured the answers to a lot of questions were probably right here in this room — including evidence of Dobyns’s veracity where Lesser was concerned.
“Please don’t kill me, Tony. I can help you. I can get you out of here, across the border. You’d be crazy to off the only guy who can help you. You know you don’t want to kill me…”
Dobyns kept talking, but Tony had stopped listening. There were a lot of reasons to shoot the man. His betrayal. Fay’s brutal murder. Turning Tony over to be tortured at the hands of the Chechens. His part in whatever scheme of terror was about to go down.
Yeah, Tony had a lot of reasons to kill Ray Dobyns. But in the end, the reason he finally pulled the trigger was to shut him the hell up.
Rush hour traffic was heavy on Tinsel Town’s glorified strip mall for obscenely expensive shopping. If you wanted a fifteen hundred dollar pair of shoes or a ten million dollar necklace, Rodeo Drive was the street for you. It was also the address for the lead Frank Castalano had given him.
Six blocks from the Valerie Dodge Modeling Agency, Jack dialed a number. The phone was answered on the first ring.
“Hello,” said Jack. “I need to speak with Ms. Valerie Dodge. It’s a matter of some importance. My name is —”
“Ms. Dodge is unavailable. Please call during business hours.”
The line went dead. The next call Jack made was to Jamey Farrell. “I need to you to check the IRS records for a Valerie Dodge Modeling Agency, CEO Valerie Dodge.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I need to know the name of a supplier. Someone Valerie Dodge’s agency works with often. Maybe the name of a company she uses as a major deduction.”
Jamey paused. “How much time can you give me? Ryan’s on my back. We’re about to run a diagnostic on Lesser’s virus program.”
“I need the information, Jamey, and I need it now.”
“Wait!” she cried. “I can use Fay Hubley’s bloodhound program. With Lesser here, all those megabits are going to waste. Let me just change the search parameters…”
A minute later, Jamey had the files Jack needed. “This program is amazing…Okay, I have an A.J. Milne Fashions, on Sepulveda.”
“Can you possibly cross check that company’s records with the overnight carriers, Federal Delivery, that kind of thing?”
“With Fay’s program I can. ” After a moment’s pause, she said, “Okay, I have a match. Federal Delivery had nine priority packages in Valerie Dodge’s name, all of them delivered today to the Chamberlain Auditorium.”
“Today?”
“Yeah, Jack.”
“That will do. I’ll get back to you.”
Jack pulled up and parked in front of Valerie Dodge Modeling. The woman’s office occupied the first floor of a faux-adobe building. There were no windows in the front of the building and the door was locked. Jack saw the intercom and pressed the bell. He buzzed three times before a voice crackled from the speaker. Jack recognized the woman’s voice. It was the same person he’d just spoken with on the phone.
“We’re closed,” she said.
“This is Federal Delivery. A delivery to the Chamberlain Auditorium was refused. We’re returning the package to the sender.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Jack moved close to the door, drew his Tactical. A woman walking her poodle saw the gun and moved quickly from the scene. Jack heard the lock click. The knob turned and the door opened a crack. There was no chain in place and Jack kicked open the door. It crashed against a blond woman and she flew backward, striking her head against the wall. Jack moved through the doorway, weapon ready as he scanned the office for threats.
There were two people in the whole place: the blond woman he’d knocked senseless, and a female corpse that had been unceremoniously dumped in a corner. The blond woman was lying still. Jack leveled his weapon at her, kicked the gun out of her hand.
He searched the office, saw a handbag on a chair. He rifled through it, found a wallet, and ID. The picture of Valerie Dodge matched the face of the corpse.
He noticed the computer on the desk, print outs stacked up around it. On the monitor he saw a schematic similar to the one they’d printed out at architect Nawaf Sanjore’s home. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, saw the woman on the floor shifting, heard her groan.
“What are these plans on the screen?” he called to her. “What are you up to?”
The woman wiped a trickle of blood off her cheek, saw her gun was gone. She seemed to realize she was helpless, trapped.
“Why did you murder Valerie Dodge? What are these plans for?” Jack repeated.
The woman moved to sit up, adjust her clothing.
“Answer me,” barked Jack. He moved toward her, pointing the Tactical.
The woman simply smirked. “You can kill me, but you’re too late to stop us.”
Her smile turned radiant, eyes bright. Suddenly she looked away, bit down on something. Jack saw her jaw move, heard the crunch of the capsule in her mouth. With a gasp, the blond woman began jerking spastically, legs kicking wildly, foam flecking her mouth.
“No!” Jack shouted. He leaped toward her, reached into her mouth to pull out the poison. He found bits of glass on her bloody tongue. The woman’s eyes went wide and she gurgled. With a final spasm, she died. Jack checked for a pulse, found none.
He gazed at her young, lovely face, and the smile of pure ecstasy that remained after all life had fled.
Then Jack stood up, crossed the room. He slumped down in the office chair and studied the computer screen. Within a few seconds, he found the text box that identified the plans he was looking at. Heart racing, he called Ryan Chappelle.
“Ryan. Valerie Dodge is dead — murdered. Someone was in her office, using her computer. There are schematics on the monitor, part of the same plans Nina found—”
“We’ve already got a situation here, Jack. Can’t this wait?”
