Chapter 15
“There’s like forty thousand dollars here,” Agent Unhappy Face said, looking up from where the contents of my pack, pockets, and body bag were spread out on a big table.
“Forty-one thousand two-hundred six dollars and fifteen cents,” I corrected.
“Nine millimeter Springfield Hellcat, with spare mag. Expandable baton, loaded syringe, multiple knives, and bear spray, for God’s sake,” Agent Carmine said. “Enough here to charge you for multiple counts.”
“The, ah, Hellcat”—I snickered a little to myself—“has Oscar’s prints on it, not mine,” I said.
“Still carrying what is likely a controlled substance,” Carmine said, glaring at me.
“Yeah. So?” I shrugged.
“Phones?” Agent Steele asked, pointing at the two burners in the pile.
“And three unopened pay-as-you go SIM cards,” Agent Frayer noted.
“I would have thought you’d be checking on that serial killer thing?” I asked Agent Frayer.
“My people are on that,” she said with a wave of a hand. “This is more interesting.”
“Really? More interesting than a political nightmare of a serial killer of politicians?”
“See, when you put it that way, it makes me want to stay down here pretty much forever,” she said.
I didn’t love how interested she was, but I did kind of like her style. Pretty cool boss lady.
“Junior army clothing,” Carmine said, holding up a green nylon quilted jacket.
“Screw you; that’s my woobie hoodie,” I said. “Dad gave it to me.”
“Don’t mess with the woobie,” Agent Kessler said. He stood, muscular arms folded, watching the proceedings.
“Thank you, Marine,” I said with a nod.
“Passport, driver’s license. Oh lookie here: a second driver’s license in the name of Amber Shay, four prepaid Visa cards, a computer drive, Garmin GPS,” Agent Piss Pants continued.
“Let me see that drive,” Frayer said. “Ah, not a drive. Crypto wallet,” she said, holding it up to me.
I shrugged. “My generation is comfortable with crypto.”
“More clothing,” Carmine said. “Cute underwear,” she said as snide as possible.
“Shit, I’ve landed in the least professional task force in the entire US government,” I said. “Do you hire right out high school?” I asked Steele.
“Sometimes, I think we do,” a new voice said, female and authoritative.
“Ah. Assistant Director Ripley Shire,” I said, turning to face a bone-thin woman in a dress suit.
A brutally severe eyebrow lifted in mild surprise. “Yes, Miss Blake. You’re as astute as advertised.”
“I saw you on television,” I said. “The Capitol threat press conference.”
“Of course,” she said with a stiff smile. “For a moment, I imagined you deduced my identity with some arcane mentalist routine.”
“No, you were right there in the limelight for everyone to see,” I said.
“I did do some background work on you though. Ripley Alexandra Shire, only child of Judge William Shire and Shirley Shire. Yale graduate, Magna Cum Laude, with a degree in Criminal Justice. Graduated from the Columbia Law program. Admitted to the New York State bar prior to joining the prestigious New York city law firm of Eiger, Saucer, and Parsons, where you were assigned to the American Vigilance account and worked closely with William Cramer. After two years, you left the firm to pursue a much lower-paying job with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You rose rapidly through the ranks, achieving your current position as an Assistant Director by age thirty-nine.”
AD Shire was visibly surprised by my summary. And not in a good way.
“Well, you appear to have memorization down as part of your act,” she finally said.
“Oh, I can keep the act going if you’re finding it entertaining,” I said.
“How about I recite the tail numbers from both Blackhawks along with the make and model and license plate of every car parked outside the building? The pilot gave me a great look at the whole place. At least six entry points in the building, approximately one hundred and forty-eight windows, oriented on a northeast by southwest axis and, based on the two street signs I spotted, located about seventeen miles west of the National Mall or just outside of…”
“Enough!” she said. “You are extremely flippant for a person in your position.”
“Oh? What position am I in?”
“A person of interest in a national security operation who is perilously close to being charged with terrorism.”
“My attorneys will be extremely interested in those charges. Have they contacted you yet… I gave them your name. Coors Bennington. Have you heard of them? Although Mr. Coors might just go straight to Director Brown. I think they went to law school together.”
AD Shire pulled back, the anger on her face unconcealed and mixed with, dare I say it, a bit of hate. She turned on her heels and stormed off.
When the stairwell door shut with a solid thunk, Agent Carmine breathed out a hiss. “That was maybe the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen.”
Steele gave her a hard look, but Frayer was nodding. “Yeah, this has been a great week,” she said. “Who is getting Miss Blake settled in the visitor quarters?”
“Oh, that’ll be me,” Carmine said, her tone almost friendly.
“I can go too,” Kessler said in an even tone.
Steele nodded and then he and Frayer turned away, moving to the same stairwell Shire had vanished into.
Agent Carmine repacked my bag with my clothes and toiletries, leaving my gear on the tabletop. A technician waiting on the side handed her a detailed list, then began packing my stuff up for storage. Carmine signed the receipt, Kessler countersigned, and then handed it to me.
“Come on, Miss Blake. We have secure quarters here for visitors. They’re pretty dope,” Agent Carmine said.
I started to follow her, with Kessler coming up behind me. “Do you really have Coors Bennington for lawyers?” he asked.
“I do. I almost never bluff, Agent Kessler. Maybe a little in poker, but mostly not. People know that the FBI has me—multiple people who can call Director Brown and get right through.”
“How?” Agent Carmine asked.
“How can I afford fancy lawyers or how do I have connected friends?”
“Both.”
“One of the best uses for detecting patterns is in financial markets. I spotted Bitcoin when I was a kid… younger kid. Convinced my dad to let me buy in with all my saved restaurant money. It worked out.”
“What about knowing people of power?” Kessler asked.
“My dad came home from undisclosed missions to undisclosed places, dying of radiation poisoning and cancer. His service was never acknowledged—publicly. Privately is another story. If I chose to seek admission to West Point or Annapolis, I would get in, if that tells you anything.”
“You can’t mean what I think you mean,” Kessler said, turning to me sharply.
“I do. It has never been awarded because the events involved are apparently top secret, but Grandpa said that someday it might be,” I said.
“Then how do you know it’s real?” Kessler said.
“Because the general told me it was,” I said.
“Are you two talking about a Medal of Honor?” Carmine said.
“What general?” Kessler said, nodding affirmative to Carmine as he did.
“I can’t say. Listen, believe me or don’t, but the major general told me if I want to apply to a military academy to just let him know. Although he implied that it better damned well be West Point.”
Carmine looked a bit confused while Kessler just looked at me, head back, arms folded.
“Where do I throw my clothes?” I asked.
Carmine opened a door to the second floor of the building, and we were suddenly in a nicely decorated hallway, kinda like a hotel, with carpeted floors and nice light fixtures.
She led me to a door with 2A on it and opened it to reveal a pretty decent suite.
Bedroom, living area, mini- fridge, microwave, coffee maker, some popcorn, tea, and coffee supplies, and a sweet bathroom with a real tub as well as a shower.
“Not bad, Agent Carmine. Not bad at all,” I said, sitting back on the couch that faced a big screen TV. “Can I actually watch anything?”
“Local news, national news, and a couple of streaming services,” Carmine said. “Maybe some movies you haven’t seen yet.”
“Can I ask why you are suddenly being nice? I mean, I prefer it, but why?”
She looked at me for a moment, and Kessler snorted. After a quick glare in his direction, she turned back to me. “I’m the skeptic of the bunch. I haven’t had the best of experiences with people. They seem to universally disappoint.”
“So some kid who claims to know stuff might be a fake?” I asked.
“Yeah, a really good fake,” she agreed. “But then you lambasted Shire, and it was fantastic. She’s the worst of the Bureau, a nepo baby with rich mentors and no understanding or appreciation of what we do. Hey, could you really recite all the vehicle plate numbers?”
“Well, I doubt I saw all the cars, but if I saw them and had a view of their plates, then yeah. I have really good eyesight—twenty-slash-five vision—and an excellent memory.”
“So you see at twenty feet what a normal person sees at five?” Kessler clarified.
“Yeah. It makes my visual memories very sharp.”
“Well, let’s see if you can see a movie or two,” Carmine suggested. “Then we’ll talk about what clothes you need ’cause your bag doesn’t have much.”
“I had to leave stuff behind, and then I had to leave my bike.”
“Oh, I heard Pittsburgh Police recovered an ebike. I’ll look into if it’s yours,” Kessler said. “I’ll leave you two to settling in,” he said and left.