Chapter 23 #3
“We need to make sure that factory and shipment are secure.”
“Good idea, but I know they have good security from when I visited last Fall. We had to be vetted before we were allowed inside, and we were supervised the entire time.”
“Anyone fail the vetting process?”
“Not during that visit. It was Wilson, me, Amed, Mira, oh, and Les.”
“I’ll doublecheck and make sure. And tell WMD to get involved there.”
She climbed to her feet and closed the last cupboard door. “I didn’t find anything.” It would have been too easy if she had. “I’m going to head back to my place now on foot. I don’t want to be seen with you guys—”
“Now you’re hurting my feelings.”
She smiled the way he’d meant her to.
“Give us five minutes, and Crisco will follow you home. She’s the only one who could pass for a student.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Krychek thinks otherwise.”
“Krychek is paranoid.”
“He’s got good reason.”
Daisy exhaled. “Fine, but I don’t want anyone in my place.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find somewhere to sleep. A park bench maybe—”
“God.” She gritted her teeth and looked up at the ceiling as she counted to five. When she looked back down, she noticed Emilia’s package was gone. She blew out a deep breath. “Fine. You can stay with me, but you’re all on the floor or couch. I get the bed to myself.”
“I thought you liked older men?” Regan said slyly.
Daisy pushed out of the main door as she raised her face to the fresh breeze that was starting to smell like spring.
“Too soon?” He spoke almost gently.
“Too soon,” she agreed.
Daisy had forgotten she had a half-finished puzzle on her small dining room table.
Instead of allowing her to tidy it away, Regan and Cisco had both immediately started work, placing their laptops open beside them so they could monitor all the different feeds while piecing together a picture of old candy bar wrappers.
Harry Marcus had gone to a hotel. The FBI wanted him to stay local, but as a top guy for WMD he also had other work to catch up on, including making sure the fuel rod fabrication factory was on high alert and the upcoming shipment protected.
And she wasn’t lying when she said her apartment was small.
She had a couch and a small blow-up mattress that she’d slept on before the new queen-size bed she’d treated herself to had arrived.
The need to sleep in her own bed tonight, to go to sleep and pretend everything was normal, was almost overwhelming.
Daisy unpacked from her extended trip to Mexico and headed down to the laundry with her mountain of washing, surprised but grateful they let her go alone.
When she got back, she decided to push it further. “I could really do with a grocery run. I’m out of coffee. What do you guys want to eat later?”
“Write a list. Crisco can go grab stuff.”
Obviously, it had been too much to hope for. She dipped into her laptop bag for a pen and her wallet and touched slippery plastic. “Oh, crap. I forgot about the letter I found.”
“Shit.” Regan climbed to his feet. “So did I.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I need sleep. Crisco, head to the store and grab coffee, lots of coffee, milk, food for tonight, breakfast, and enough for a day in the van should it come to that. Pick up a glue stick too.”
Florence immediately headed out.
“Will she be okay alone?” Daisy asked as she listened to her footfalls receding on the stairs.
“Don’t let appearances deceive you. She’s a trained FBI agent who is damned good with a weapon.
She should be fine in a grocery store.” He looked like he was about to say something else but stopped himself.
He pulled surgical gloves out of a side pocket of his bag and pulled them on. “You got a tea kettle?”
“Sure. Not an electric one.” Daisy went and dug it out from under the counter, filled it with water and stuck it on the burner. “My mom’s a tea addict. Oddly enough, I think Rowena is too. Obviously, my dad has a type.”
Regan barked out a laugh. “Your dad is a hell of a lucky guy.”
“I should call him.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Daisy looked at Regan’s twinkling eyes and decided she didn’t have the energy to deal with the mischief he might create. “Hmm. Tomorrow might be better, it’s nighttime there now.”
After a couple of minutes, the kettle began to shrill.
Regan carefully unwrapped the envelope out of the plastic bag. He laid the envelope on her beaten up counter and photographed it front and back. There was no address on it. “Got a butter knife?”
She passed him one out of the drawer.
“Does that really work?” She nodded to the steaming kettle.
“Yeah.” He looked up. “The issue is you don’t want to get the paper so wet it warps because then it’s pretty damned obvious what’s been going on, especially if you’re a terrorist with something to hide. It’s good quality paper which helps.”
He held the seal above the flipped spout, and moved it slowly back and forth, nudging the blunt edge of the knife into the gap and slowly easing the gum apart. Then he moved it away, and Daisy turned off the heat under the kettle.
Regan unfolded the letter.
Daisy stared at the beautifully scripted words that meant nothing to her. “What language is that?”
“No idea. Where’s Amed from?”
“Pakistan. I don’t know exactly where, but I know he has a wife and child there who he hopes can move here next year.”
Regan took photos and turned it over, then photographed the other side.
“Signed ‘Amed Hussein.’” She pointed to his signature at the bottom. A letter he’s written but hasn’t mailed yet?”
Regan didn’t answer. “I’m going to send it to a translation expert at the National Laboratory.”
Daisy snapped a photo and opened Google Lens. As she read, she reached out and gripped Regan’s forearm. “I can’t make out all the words, but does that say ‘jihad’?”
Regan looked at the screen. Swore. “Handwriting is too messy to be sure.” He picked up his cell and dialed a number. “Lisa, I just sent you a photo of a handwritten note. You got it? I need a translation ASAP. Nope, not first thing in the morning. Now.”
Daisy couldn’t make out what this person was saying, but she sounded pissed to be disturbed on a Saturday evening.
“Would I ask if it wasn’t vitally important?” Regan raised his face to the ceiling as if imploring some unseen force.
“That was one time!” His voice rose with frustration. “Okay. Good. Thanks. I owe you. It’s what?” He looked at Daisy in frustration. “Where can you find someone who speaks endangered languages of Pakistan in the next twenty minutes?”
Daisy sucked in her lips. Could Amed really be involved in something dangerous?
“I don’t care. Wake them up. Wake them the fuck up like it’s the eve of 9/11 and you’re the only one who can stop those goddamned planes from taking off.”
He disconnected the call. There was something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Worry.
“I need to call the director.”
“Use my bedroom.” She found herself shaking. “Amed’s a nice guy. Kind. Helpful. I can’t believe he would be involved in hurting anyone.”
“And serial killers are always those polite fellas who keep to themselves and never cause any trouble.” Regan went into her bedroom and closed the door.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, she was alone the way she usually liked. Except this time, it didn’t feel good.
She couldn’t believe Amed would be involved in anything that hurt people. He was a nature lover and always respectful of others. She sat on the couch and hugged her knees. This had to be a mistake. She wanted to call Jordan. Get his opinion. Hear his damned voice.
Her finger hovered over his name. The temptation to press the call button almost overwhelming.
That’s what happened when you started to rely on people. And when he didn’t pick up, when he was too busy or doing Top Secret things in Top Secret places—who’d comfort her then? Herself, that’s who. The only person she could genuinely rely on.
She tossed her cell onto the coffee table, then heard heavy footsteps on the stairs.
Shit.
Was that Florence back so quickly? Or the owners from downstairs coming to check on her? Or some bad guy. She dashed over to where she kept her Glock in a gun safe with a fingerprint lock. She quickly pulled it out and went to stand around the corner in the kitchen.
The door banged open, and her heart jolted.
“Can someone give me a hand?” Florence yelled.
Feeling ridiculous to be so freaked out, Daisy called back. “Coming.”
She slid her weapon into her oversized hobo purse and followed the other woman down the stairs to help unload groceries and quietly update her on the situation.
She and Florence were putting the food away when Regan strode out of the bedroom. “You told Crisco about the developments?”
Daisy nodded.
Regan pointed at the letter then grabbed the glue stick. Took everything to the dining table. “We need to get this back into place exactly as you found it. ASAP.”
The smell of roasted chicken wafted through the small kitchen, but rather than making her feel hungry, it made her feel sick.
“Let me grab a sweater.” She went into her bedroom and pulled on a crimson turtleneck then tried to calm herself for a moment. It wasn’t easy.
It had to be done.
She found some black ankle boots and tugged them on. Headed back into the kitchen.
Regan put the envelope in the plastic bag and handed it to her. She grabbed her bag and tucked it inside.
“I should bike there.”
“No.”
“Then at least let me drive my own car. Otherwise, someone is going to spot me getting out of your van, and the gig’s over.”
The muscles in Regan’s jaw worked.
“I need to go in alone. I’m usually alone.”
He inhaled a deep breath. “Fine. Let me get you a camera to wear. Wear the earpiece I gave you earlier. Crisco, arrange a parking pass for the van to be on campus tomorrow, something no one will question.”
Florence nodded and got straight to work on her laptop.
Regan rooted in his bag and then turned around and hung a pendant around her neck. It was chunky and Victorian, and she kind of liked it.
“Whatever happens don’t take it off.”
She fingered it and nodded.
“I’m gonna called Harry for backup. We’ll be outside the building in an unmarked car.”
She nodded.
“Don’t freak out and shoot anyone with that Glock you have in your purse unless you know for sure it’s not one of my guys. Understand?”
She frowned as she pushed the Glock deeper into the confines of her bag. “You just happen to have ‘guys’ available here at the snap of your fingers?”
Regan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I got guys everywhere.”
“Hmm.” She decided against a coat. “I left my tablet on my desk so that’s my excuse should I need one. I’ll say I forgot it.”
Regan crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. “If you run into anyone, act normal. If you run into Amed Hussein, act really fucking normal, and then get the fuck out of there. Start crying or something.”
“Crying is normal?”
“After all that online shit people have been throwing at you? I’d say crying would be pretty normal.”
“For you, maybe.” Daisy pulled her shoulders back and nodded. “Okay.” Picked up her car key from the rack near the door. She hesitated. Cleared her throat. “You know, Jordan got me pretty paranoid about bombs and stuff.” She swallowed. “I don’t suppose someone can take a quick look under my car?”
Regan’s blue eyes pierced her. “Already taken care of.”
“Oh. Good.” She took another deep breath to fortify herself. “I’m ready.”
“Put it back exactly as you found it. Capisce?”
“Now you’re the Godfather?”
“Now I’m God when it comes to this op.”
“Capisce.”