Carmellini problem himself.
The lobby was empty this time. I held the pistol down beside my leg and walked out of the building. Ducking down, I scuttled over to the nearest vehicle and hunkered down beside it, then scanned the parking lot carefully.
Assuming the listeners weren’t in an apartment in the building — which is where they would have been if this gig had been set up as a long-term surveillance — then they were in a vehicle parked near the building with the equipment to receive wireless transmissions from the bugs. All I had to do was find the vehicle, which was probably a van of some kind, with room for people to work a radio and computer and stay out of sight. And I didn’t have much time. I was praying these guys hadn’t called Royston with the news that Grafton and Carmellini were going to bug the New York Hilton. If they had, it seemed to me that Sarah Houston would have called me. If all the fancy techno-shit worked the way it was supposed to.
The parking lot was nearly full, of course, but there weren’t that many vans. I began circling the building, mentally marking likely vans. There were only three that I could see.
Staying low, I went toward the closest. Nope.
I bingoed on the second one, a panel van. While it was marked with a construction company name and logo and sported Maryland plates, it had four antennas protruding from the top.
The driver’s seat looked empty as I approached. It was parked nose-in to a row of cars with not much room for either door to open.
If there was someone in it, I needed to find out fast. Squatting, trying to stay below the view of the outside mirrors, I tapped on the sheet metal with the silencer and waited with my ear against it. No noise. If there was someone in there, he was being damned quiet about it.
I lifted the driver’s door handle as quietly as I could, taking my time while sweat coursed off my face and soaked my shirt.
One deep breath, then another. Still no noise inside. If someone was in there, he was going to blow my silly head off when I jerked this door open.
If I hadn’t pocketed a wad of keys from the guy in the elevator, I wouldn’t have touched that van with anything less than a flamethrower.
No guts, no glory, they say. That isn’t very inspiring, but the truth is, you can only die once. In a way, that is comforting.
I jerked the door open and waited. Nothing.
Stuck my fool head inside and looked.
Empty!
Then I upchucked on the asphalt.
I was so weak I had to bend down and grab my knees to keep blood in my head.
When I was feeling better, maybe a half minute later, I closed the door and checked the killer’s keys. Found one labeled Dodge and tried it in the door. Yep.
I went back upstairs to have another little visit with Joe Billy Dunn.
A key on the killer’s ring worked on the outside door of the building, which figured. That was how he got into the lobby so he could wait for me. I rode the elevator back to Dunn’s floor, knocked on his door until he opened it.
I went through in a rush, sweeping him onto the floor. He was tough as nails — he went down under the rush and would have thrown me off and wound up on top if I had let him. I didn’t. I jammed the silencer against his teeth and growled, “One more twitch and I’ll start pulling this trigger.”
That took the fight out of him, but his eyes were blazing.
“This apartment is bugged. You know about that?”
The look in his eyes was enough. He didn’t know. I backed up, holding the Woodsman on him.
“Met the guy in the lobby who was listening. He was carrying this piece. His van is parked outside — it’s the receiving post for your bugs.”
He was eyeing the little spatters of blood on my shirt. “Who is he?”
“Didn’t know him.” I put the Woodsman behind my belt and looked around. “Let’s find a few of the things. The van and these bugs should be everything I need.”
“He dead?”
“Uh, no.”
It took us six minutes to find ten bugs. They were the latest and greatest, ultrathin, transparent, and capable of being hidden darn near anywhere. Dunn gave me a plastic trash bag from under his sink, and I stowed them in it.
“We might not have gotten them all, but these will do,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”
“Where is the van dude?”
“On the top floor in the corridor. I gotta get going before someone finds him and calls the police.”
“Okay.”
“You still willing to help?”
He eyed me without enthusiasm. An affirmative answer would be proof he needed psychiatric help.
“Like when?”
“Now.”
“Doing what?”
“Follow me around town while I dispose of the van, then bring me back here to get Grafton’s car.” I told him where and when to meet me, then left before he could say no.
I heard a siren as I drove out of the parking lot. Didn’t see the patrol car or ambulance, whichever it was, and he didn’t see me.
I am so lucky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I stopped a block from Willie Varner’s and looked the situation over. Two of Jake Grafton’s friends were watching the place, so I knew I would be seen. The admiral had made a telephone call earlier that evening to tell them I would be coming, but you never knew.
I crawled into the back of the van and looked over the equipment. Yep, just as I thought, it was an FBI rig, complete with radio receivers, digital recording gear, signal monitors, police scanners, computer, all the goodies. I knew how to operate most of t. That came from watching experts work with the signals from bugs I planted. Ah, me. The things you learn in a misspent life. I locked up the government van and walked toward Varner’s, thinking again what a crummy neighborhood it was. I passed a wino nipping from a bottle on a stoop and a kid on the corner waiting for a customer who needed a fix before I turned in at Varner’s building. The light in the stairwell was still out. Terrific!
I clumped up the stairs, consciously making noise. The role of honest citizen doesn’t come naturally to me.
As I was raising my hand to knock on the door, I heard a noise in the darkness behind me. Someone was on the stairs. “Freeze,” the voice said conversationally. “I’ve got a gun. Don’t turn around.”
I stood there like the Statue of Liberty with one hand in the air.
“You got a name?”
“Carmellini.”
“He’s probably asleep. The door is unlocked.”
“Thanks.” I lowered my hand, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.
“That you, Tommy?”
“Yeah, Willie.” He was propped up in his easy chair with a blanket over him.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You met those guys outside?”
“Great guys. Couple of brothers. Retired from Special Forces. One of them is always nearby.”
