Odin chambered a round. “Good thing I don’t give a shit.”
“Well, you care about your team. The man can get to them to get to you.”
“My team’s all dead. Betrayed by someone inside the system. The same system you now belong to, apparently.”
Evans’s smile started to fade.
“And if you check around, I think you’ll find they’re already hunting for me. Killing you would have no effect whatsoever on my afternoon, much less my life.”
McKinney could see the change in Evans’s face-the first time he’d shown any regard whatsoever for Odin. She watched, feeling bad for being a party to threatening this man she’d never met, and tried not to react to Odin’s lie.
Evans had gone pale. “Who’s your pretty friend, Odin?” Evans grinned weakly.
“You call her ‘Professor.’”
Evans extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Professor.”
McKinney nodded and shook his clammy hand.
Evans didn’t let go immediately but instead studied her hand. “Not an operator.” He pointed toward Odin but spoke to McKinney. “See that callus on Odin’s gun hand? You get that firing fifty thousand rounds a year. The training acclimates you to gunfire. And the screams of innocents.”
Odin still held the pistol aimed toward the drop ceiling.
Evans kept a wary eye on Odin. “Professor, do you have any idea how many people he’s killed?”
McKinney couldn’t help but glance with concern at Odin.
“You remember that shopkeeper in Dushanbe, Odin? How he pleaded for his life, and you just double-tapped him in front of his kid. So glad I could help you locate him. Makes me proud to be an American.”
Odin remained emotionless. “If you were so disturbed, why’d you take his cigarettes?”
“Because they were French cigarettes.” Evans was starting to perspire. “In your experience, Professor, what usually happens to witnesses when heartless guys like this get what they want? See, I think they kill witnesses to cover their tracks. That’s what I think.”
McKinney cast an impatient look at Odin and motioned for him to put the gun down. “Mr. Evans, we just need information. If you help us, I promise you that I won’t let Odin harm you.”
Evans laughed. “Oh, you won’t let him harm me. I’d like to see that. What sort of information?”
McKinney cast Odin another look and kept the floor. “Communications records.”
He looked back and forth between them, and then let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, we’re doing this the hard way: What sort of communication records?”
McKinney hesitated. “We need access to historical data-we want to find out who in the intelligence sector might have been searching for drone attack victims just before they were killed.”
Evans cast an incredulous look at Odin. “Is she for real?”
Odin nodded.
Evans turned back to McKinney. “Ah. Right. Let me just hook you up…”
“Mr. Evans-”
“No, let me just confirm this: You want to eavesdrop on the eavesdroppers-have I got that right? Which pretty much means you need root access to whatever the NSA developed Project ThinThread into, not to mention AT amp;T’s Aurora database-quite possibly the biggest data store on earth.”
McKinney held up her hands. “Look, I know that-”
“No problem. I figure we can knock this out in a few minutes.”
Odin interjected. “Mort, this is no joke. My mission is to identify whoever’s behind the drone attacks-and when we got close, somebody inside the system sent drones after us.”
Evans just rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. “I’m not hearing this.”
“Someone in the establishment might be behind the drones. I need to find out who.”
“Fuck! Why the hell did you come down here? Goddammit, man! I finally have my life together.”
Odin leveled the pistol at Evans. “I guess we’re through, then…”
Evans raised his hands to hold him off. “And if by some miracle I manage to do this? What then-you kill me and dump me in the Everglades?”
“Is there anything in my past behavior that leads you to believe I would kill for no reason? You know damn well that shopkeeper in Dushanbe was a bomb maker. That he strapped bombs to kids.”
They sat staring at each other for several moments, Evans breathing heavily.
“There are big issues on the line-not just national defense, but the future of the human race, and I’m convinced you can point us in the right direction. Someone has hijacked at least part of the national security apparatus, and I think it’s related to the multibillion-dollar autonomous drone bill being fast-tracked through Congress. How do we find out who?”
Evans looked horrified. “Oh, man! You’ve got to be shitting me. These are not people I want to tangle with.”
Odin raised the gun again. “I’m going to make you do the right thing, even if it kills you.”
McKinney nudged it aside. “He’s going to help us.”
“This is why you shouldn’t get involved in the underworld, Mort. What’s to stop me from letting them know you helped us, even if you haven’t? I could just pick up your phone and speak over the line in my voice. That should do it.” Odin reached for the receiver.
“Don’t!” Evans slid the phone away. “What you’re asking is hopeless, but I’ll see what I can do. But we can’t do it here. I need access to real equipment.”
M cKinney glanced around the huge condo with its tall windows and wide view of the bay. It was a penthouse unit in a quasi-Mediterranean twenty-story tower on Bayshore Boulevard. The condo was new and looked relatively unlived in-there was no clutter or dirty dishes. It was coherently, if a bit enthusiastically, decorated. There was an L-shaped sectional sofa on a zebra carpet, wide expanses of wood floor, a full bar, mirrors, brushed steel lamps, urns, bold modernist paintings that said nothing, but loudly, as well as petrified blowfish and other bric-a-brac on shelving units that McKinney couldn’t quite map to the urban cowboy who presumably owned it.
Once he’d conceded defeat, Evans didn’t put up much fuss about being hijacked by Odin. He seemed resigned to his fate. McKinney had followed Evans’s Jaguar in her domestic rental car, watching as he chatted constantly at Odin sitting in the passenger seat. Now Evans seemed almost jovial, humming to himself as he fixed a drink at the bar just off the living area.
“Want anything, Professor?”
She shook her head.
“I make a mean mai tai.”
“I said no. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself. You know, you’re pretty cute, in a tomboyish sort of way. What kind of chick joins CIA, anyway?”
“I’m not CIA. Let’s just stick to business, Mr. Evans.” She joined Odin, who stood at the glass wall overlooking the glittering water of the bay. “Do you really think this goombah can get us access to anything?”
Odin remained poker-faced. “No, but he can get us to the people who can. I’m just waiting for him to make his move.”
This surprised her. She glanced over her shoulder.
Evans worked a silver martini shaker, then tapped the top on the edge of the bar, deftly pulling the halves apart. He poured through a strainer into a chilled martini glass.
Odin spoke while facing the window. “You’ve gone up in the world, Mordecai. How much did this place set you back?”
“A million five-only half a million more than it’s worth now, which actually passes for real estate acumen in Florida nowadays. But I don’t give a shit. Zion’s doing booming business.” He took a sip and let out a satisfied “Aaaahhh.”
“Interesting that your company has no website-given your mad technical skills.” Odin turned to him. “What does Zion Group do exactly?”
“We work under contract to public relations firms. Boring stuff, but it pays well.”
