Part 11 (2/2)

From the get-go, the very beginning, I'd been playing catchup. Who killed Claire? Who was the source she was going to see, and what did he know?

Now I knew. So what next?

It seemed pretty obvious to me. Of course, that should've been my first red flag.

”Owen?” I said.

”Yeah?”

His eyes remained locked on the screen. He was barely even blinking. That was fine. He didn't need to look at me so long as he listened.

”We need to go to the police,” I said.

”Yeah, I know. That makes sense.”

”Good.”

”But we're not going to.”

”Why not?”

”Because it doesn't work that way,” he said. ”They can't help us.”

”They can at least protect us.”

He threw me a look. ”You really think so?”

It had occurred to me. Maybe I wasn't seeing the big picture, or at least how it looked from his point of view. ”You want to go to another paper, is that what you're saying? Maybe a news network?” I asked.

Finally, he stopped rubbing his hands and turned to me. The words were calm and measured, but the meaning was anything but. To h.e.l.l with whistle-blowing. This was no longer about going public. This was now personal.

”A decision was made to kill my boss ... then Claire ... then me ... then you,” he said. ”And if you can make a decision like that, you're not worried about the law. You're above the law.”

Attorneys, especially former prosecutors, generally bristle at the idea of anyone being above the law. Then again, I'd been disbarred.

”What exactly do you have in mind?” I asked.

”The only way to smoke them out is to remain their target,” he said. ”Think about it. As long as they're coming for us ...”

”It's a path right back to them,” I said.

Owen nodded-bingo-before glancing back at the screen. ”Now we just need a little background information,” he said. ”Always get to know better the people who want you dead.”

Words to live by.

So there you had it. Why we were standing in the middle of an Apple store playing match-dot-com with the personnel files of the CIA. Let them come after us, Owen was saying. Let's be foolish.

”Can I borrow your phone for a minute?” I asked. ”I seem to have lost mine.”

Owen ignored my sarcasm. ”Who are you calling?”

”No one.”

He still wasn't sure, but he handed it to me anyway. Then he watched as I made a beeline to the accessories section, pulling an i-FlashDrive off the shelf.

As I began to open the package, a female blue-s.h.i.+rt with a ponytail and geek-chic gla.s.ses came over in a panic. She looked as if I'd just defaced the Mona Lisa.

”Sir! You can't just-”

”How much is it?” I asked, reaching for my wallet.

She craned her neck to check the price. ”Forty-four ninety-five,” she said. ”Plus tax.”

I gave her fifty. Then, before she could tell me she needed to scan the bar code, I removed the drive and handed over the packaging. ”I think I'll pa.s.s on the extended warranty,” I said, walking away.

I returned to Owen while plugging the drive into his phone. ”What are the file names of the two recordings you showed me at the Oak Tavern?” I asked.

He gave me the names and I transferred them to the drive. I handed him back his phone. ”Thanks,” I said.

He motioned to the drive as I put it in my pocket. ”What's that for?”

”Just tell me where I can meet you in an hour,” I said, taking a couple of steps back.

”Wait. Where are you going?”

I reached for my sungla.s.ses, sliding them on. ”Margin of error,” I said. ”Just in case you get us both killed.”

CHAPTER 36.

I QUICKLY wrote everything down on the only blank piece of paper I could get my hands on in the back of the cab taking me across town to Eighth Avenue. It was the flip side of a log sheet the driver was using to keep track of fares. He was fine letting me have it, although when I also asked for his pen and clipboard it was clear I was pus.h.i.+ng my luck.

”You want to drive, too?” he asked.

After he dropped me off in front of the New York Times Building, it dawned on me how long it had been since I'd last set foot in Claire's office. One reason was that she didn't actually have an office, just a desk out in the open in the very crowded national affairs section. Visiting Claire was like being on the wrong side of the bars at the zoo. No privacy. You were essentially on display.

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