Conspiracy of Angels Read online

  She froze, watching him like a wounded animal. “What are you talking about?”

  “This is not …” He grasped at the air with his hands, as if he could squeeze some meaning out of it. “This looks very bad, I know. But we’re getting close. So very close. And I can’t control them the way I used to.”

  “Gabe and Raph? They do what you tell them to.”

  “It’s supposed to work that way. But they won’t take orders from me anymore. Not exactly. They won’t tolerate any mistakes, any breaches. They don’t trust you, Genie.”

  “Then what am I doing here?”

  “Oh. Well.” He cleared his throat. “No thanks to me. I’m just trying to keep you alive.”

  “Then let’s go. You and me, together. Let’s get the hell out.”

  That surprised him. “We can’t just walk out of this.”

  “We can find the Archangel on our own.”

  Michael let out a long breath that turned into a weak laugh. “Ahh, no. We can’t, Genie. We can’t.”

  “Then tell me the truth. Who is he? The guy in there. The guy you abducted.”

  He chewed it over and shook his head. It was too big a risk.

  “Tell me!” she said.

  He let the anger creep into his voice. “I can’t.”

  She looked like she’d just been slapped. She stared at the stained concrete floor, fighting off tears.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry. It seems cruel, but it’s for your own safety.”

  He expected her to yell. Curse at him. Throw something. Instead, she just turned her brimming eyes up to him. “How did we get here? Like this?”

  He stepped closer. “Look, nobody planned this. This was just … The opportunity was there, and we took it. We caught him without his guards, without his radio. He was walking out of a bagel place.” A sad smile quirked up the corner of Michael’s mouth. “Doesn’t get much more random than that, does it?”

  She wiped at the corners of her eyes with the palms of her hands, her face already composed and calm. Or so it seemed. “Why is he here?”

  “He has … security clearance.”

  “To what?”

  “Look, Genie, I want to tell you everything, but I can’t. Not yet.” He reached for her.

  She slammed the Cougar’s door and folded her arms. “Don’t touch me.”

  He hesitated. “Look, very soon, I can tell you—”

  “No. You do whatever it is you need to do with this guy, and get it over with.” She walked away.

  Michael watched her go. He stood alone in the garage for a long time after that, debating. Weighing his options.

  He decided on speed. That was the most efficient course. He would get this done, get the answers, and put a stop to this before it got out of hand.

  He left the garage and walked back down the hall. He had to do this now. Alone.

  He grabbed the rumpled paper bag Raph had given him and went in.

  The prisoner didn’t say anything when Michael entered and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t even make much noise when Michael pulled the duct tape off, leaving a rectangle of irritated skin around the man’s mouth.

  Michael squatted on the concrete floor and dug through the bag. The prisoner watched him. “What are you looking for in there?”

  “Well, Arthur—” Michael stopped to study him. “That is your name?”

  “Yes.” The man didn’t sound so sure.

  “Well, Arthur, I just somehow find it bleakly funny that the man in charge of the most powerful government conspiracy in American history has a weakness for Very Berry cream cheese.”

  Arthur stared at him.

  Michael shrugged. “Half a dozen bagels in here, and all of them are sesame seed. They must have quite a variety available at the shop. So either you’ve forced your associates to share in your sesame-seed fetish, or you’ve got a truly epic appetite.”

  Arthur blinked his bloodshot eyes at Michael. “What?”

  Michael straightened up and idly took a bite out of one of the bagels. “It’s very simple. We were lucky, finding you unprotected like this. You’re a difficult man to reach, as I’m sure you’re aware. So, since a search-and-rescue operation for you is certainly in progress, I’m not going to waste any time getting to the point. We have the suitcase. How do we open it?”

  “What are you talking about?” Arthur tugged uselessly at the tape holding him down. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous? I’m duct-taped to a chair!” Arthur took a couple of panicked breaths. “This is crazy. I don’t know who you are. I didn’t do anything to you!”

  “Not personally.” Michael took another bite out of the bagel, then stuffed it back in the bag and tossed it in the corner. “But you’re trying to profit from it. That, I find offensive.”

  Arthur slowly shook his head side to side. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “We know who you are.”

  “Apparently, no, you don’t.”

  Michael leaned in close. “I have very little patience for this game.”

  Arthur met his gaze, unafraid. “Then you’re going to need a lot more, friend.”

  *

  Geneva sat at the table, watching the screen of Michael’s laptop. His silenced nine-millimeter MP-5 submachine gun sat on the table next to it.

  On the laptop’s screen was a choppy video of the small bare room with the fat man tied to the chair, his gaze following Michael around the room. Michael took his time, strolling around. He stopped to tie his shoe. Geneva could see his mouth moving, but there was no sound from the laptop.

  Then he came up behind the man, put his hands on the man’s shoulders, making him jump. Michael kept talking, looking soft-eyed right into the camera as if to tell Geneva: See? I’m a nice guy. All I’m doing is talking to him.

  She wanted to trust Michael, wanted it so badly, because she used to think she loved him. Or it was something like love, anyway, the way she imagined it. Because if she didn’t trust him, that meant that everything she’d gone through since her parents died was wasted. All the pain, the sacrifice, it was all for a lie.

  She watched on the computer screen as Michael continued the interrogation, folding his arms now and tilting his head back, talking fast as the fat guy was shaking his head. She could see his lips saying, “No, no,” his double chin shaking.

  Michael took his time, walking around behind the man again, his arms still folded. He said a single word. It looked like, “When?”

  Now the fat man was getting mad. He craned his head around to look at Michael, cussing him out, it looked like. Geneva had to smile at that, sort of liking this guy, or at least feeling for him. Somebody had to put Michael in his place.

  Michael circled around out of the picture, then back in again, his back to the camera. The fat guy had shut up now, looking madder than ever but listening, watching as Michael told him something. They stayed like that for a while.

  Geneva remembered the picture of the warehouse Michael had tried to hide from her before. She touched the pad and pulled up the list of recent documents. They all had strange code names. Michael had a thing about being obscure.

  She went down the list, trying each one, until she found what she wanted. She didn’t see what was so special about the place. It looked like an ordinary warehouse. Gray concrete, big parking lot surrounded by a chain link fence. Michael had typed in an address at the bottom. She didn’t recognize it, but she knew the area.

  In the picture, she could make out a row of black dots that ran across the outside of the building, barely noticeable. Each one was about the size of a coffee cup. Michael had drawn red circles around them, and an arrow next to one. She zoomed in on it.

  The picture got fuzzy as she magnified it, but she could make out that the thing was round, like a shiny black dome glued to the side of the building. A sensor of some kind? A camera? There was no way to tell.

&nbs
p; All she knew for sure was that Michael was casing this warehouse. There had to be something important inside. She scrolled back down to the address and memorized it.

  The door slammed down the hall. Geneva tried to close the file, and it asked her if she wanted to save changes. She clicked “No” and turned around just as Michael came into the room with his hands pressed together in front of him, looking deep in thought. He stopped at the table, drummed his fingers on it. He glanced at the silenced submachine gun.

  Geneva said, “And?”

  He ignored her, still doing that prayer thing with his hands, touching his index fingers to his lips. “He’s not exactly the most forthcoming person.”

  Geneva got up and risked a glance at the laptop. It showed the choppy video feed of the prisoner. No warehouse. She let out a long breath and walked into the kitchen. “Maybe bringing him here was a mistake.”

  He followed her, leaning in the doorway, saying nothing.

  “I mean, did you think about this? Tie the guy up, put duct tape over his mouth? That was the plan?”

  He stayed silent.

  “You keep telling me how necessary this all is. If it was so goddamn necessary, how come I never heard about it before now?” She folded her arms. “You never said anything about kidnapping. About hurting anybody. I thought this was about you and me, always. About how we were going to stick together. Do whatever we have to do to ensure the success of the mission.”

  He nodded, and she realized she’d made his point for him.

  That only made her angrier. “That’s not what I meant. ‘Whatever we have to’ does not mean this. Dammit, say something!”

  Very quietly, he said, “What do you want me to do?”

  “What I want is to get that poor guy out of here before somebody gets hurt.”

  Michael took a step closer, but he didn’t touch her. “That poor guy knows where the Archangel is. He knows how to capture it. He has decades of government secrets locked up in his head. The blood of how many people is on his hands? And you would like me to what, slap him on the wrist? Show him to the door with my apologies, ask him to play nice from now on?”

  She lowered her voice. “At least … at least let’s treat him like a human being. Bring him some food or something.”

  “If you want to feed him. If it means so much to you.”

  She couldn’t look at him. She went through the storage cabinets, pulling out Doritos, half a bag of pretzels, some Oreos. “We should have some decent food in this place.” She got a little bottle of fruit punch out of the fridge.

  He blocked her way out of the kitchen. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said in her ear. “This is the way it is. It’s ugly, but it’s true. You know that. Don’t ever forget that we’re in this together.”

  She nodded. He stepped out of her way.

  She got halfway down the hallway to Michael’s room when she heard Michael cock the MP-5. She looked back over her shoulder.

  Michael settled back in his chair, holding the gun. “You go ahead. I’ll just watch from here.”

  “Fine.” It took an effort to say it without trembling.

  She got to the door and put her hand on the lock when Michael said, “Geneva? Don’t talk to him, love. You can’t trust him. He’ll say anything but the truth.”

  She nodded, took a deep breath, and went into the room. She shut the door behind her and sagged back against it.

  The fat guy’s gaze went from her eyes down to the food and back to her eyes again. He had a scar that ran through his eyebrow. It looked old. His face was shiny with sweat.

  She said, “Don’t talk. Just listen. That guy who was just in here? His name is Michael, and he’s dangerous. Okay? Don’t say anything, just blink your eyes twice if you understand me. He’s watching you.”

  The guy blinked both eyes hard, two times.

  She licked her lips, feeling like she had all those years ago, hiding in the cellar of her parents’ cabin while men with guns paced the floorboards right over her head.

  She took a deep breath. “Now. You want to get out of here alive?”

  SIX

  The last thing Lanny had expected, aside from somebody spraying bullets through his restaurant’s back door, was Mitch in a bathrobe, giving him a bear hug. Lanny pushed him away and stepped back, glad he could breathe again. “Yeah, dog. Good to see you too.”

  His right-hand man, Clean, leaned against the wall with his arms folded, flexing his muscles. The giant barrel of the chromed Desert Eagle stuck out like he had forgotten he had it in his meaty hand.

  “Yo, put that up before you blow a hole in somebody,” Lanny said. “And check up front. Make sure the coast is clear, nobody called blue.”

  Clean’s smirk faded. “And if they did, you want me to what? Lie to the cops?”

  “That’s what I pay you for. And get that handyman out here, what’s his name. Rico.”

  “Santo.”

  “Whatever. Tell him I want that door done tonight. Immediatamente.”

  “That’s Italian.”

  “Just make the call, fool.” Lanny led Mitch into his office and closed the door behind them. “Damned if I can find good help these days.”

  “Huh,” Mitch said. “Pretty good with a gun, though.”

  Lanny snorted. “You see him hit anything? I didn’t.” He looked Mitch up and down, his messed-up hair, stubble grown halfway into a beard, a ratty old bathrobe. “You look like hell, dog. These boys get you out of the shower or what?”

  Mitch sat down on Lanny’s zebra-upholstered couch, beneath a giant painting of Jimi Hendrix’s head. “Been one of those days.”

  “Hear that.” Lanny crossed the office and poured them a couple of drinks.

  Mitch put his feet up on the upholstered coffee table. “I like what you did with the place. Very classy. Kind of a Miami Vice motif, just even less subtle.”

  Lanny sat down, passed Mitch his drink. “You’re a funny man. I paid a dude a fat stack to redesign this entire place. Pick the fabrics, the colors, the neon. Lot of bread. We supposed to reopen tomorrow. Imagine that’s going to have to wait.” Lanny sipped his drink. Not all that great, but he needed it. “Bullet holes ain’t supposed to be a part of my decor.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  Lanny leaned forward. “Man, you got out. That’s all right. How come you didn’t come see me?”

  Mitch held his arms out wide. “Here I am.”

  Lanny shook his head. “Last couple years, it’s like you dropped off the face of the planet. I send you messages, I don’t hear back. I wait for you to call, nothing. I went to visit you, dog. Sat there in the room. You never came down.”

  Mitch sipped his drink, considered it, and set it back down. They sat for a while without talking.

  Lanny cleared his throat. “You know, I went to Jocelyn’s funeral.”

  Mitch didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he did, his voice was rough. “Yeah.”

  “Lot of flowers there, man. Lot of people loved her. Just a kid. Shouldn’t have gone like that.”

  Mitch finally looked at Lanny again, and his eyes were haunted. “I let her down, Lanny. That’s all I keep thinking about.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “You try to put your life back together, right? But how do you do that? There’s this … there’s this hole. Where she’s supposed to be. Like maybe she’s off on a trip somewhere, she’s just late getting back. And I’m waiting here. I’m waiting, and I should’ve been there all along. And I wasn’t.”

  “It ain’t your fault, man.”

  “I’m her father.” Mitch slammed his fist down on the coffee table, making the drinks jump in the glasses. “I should’ve been there. And where was I?”

  Lanny shook his head, feeling a lump rise in his throat, thinking about Jocelyn. Feeling that dark cloud closing in over him, the same one that had shown up that moment years back when he first learned Mitch had been picked up by the highway patrol. “I didn’t want
that. I didn’t want you getting pinched. It was my deal.”

  “Look, forget it.” Mitch stood up. “I gotta go.”

  Lanny followed him to the door, his voice getting louder than he meant it to. “I didn’t ask you to take a fall for me.”

  Mitch opened the door. “This was a mistake. I never should’ve come here.”

  Lanny reached past him and slammed the door, trapping Mitch inside. “You didn’t have to do the time, dog. I didn’t want you to.”

  “What the hell else was I gonna do?” Mitch held his thumb and finger up, pinching the air between them, his face creased with rage. “They had me. They had all the evidence. I was done for. They knew it. I knew it.”

  Lanny swallowed.

  “Dragging you down too wouldn’t have done any good.” Mitch turned away and paced the office, scrubbing his fingers back through his dirty hair. “Ahh, Jesus.”

  Lanny went back over to his desk, poured himself a straight shot and downed it. He thought carefully about what he was going to say. “I checked in on her. You know that? While you were inside.”

  “Yeah?” Mitch didn’t look at him, pretended to study the giant Jimi Hendrix head instead. “How’d that go?”

  “She didn’t want a damn thing to do with me.”

  “Figures. Tough kid. Doesn’t want her dad’s friends hanging around.”

  “Gave her the money.”

  “Yeah?” Mitch finally turned around. “What’d she do with it?”

  “I don’t know. Ran away. Imagine her boyfriend maybe ended up with it.”

  “Damn.” Mitch paced the office, scratching his chin. “This girl came to my house. Said she knew Jocelyn. Black hair, black car, black jacket. Lots of eyeliner. Name’s Geneva. You ever see her around?”

  Lanny shrugged. “What kind of car she drive?”

  “I don’t know. Real old muscle car. Sixties or seventies. Has these taillights that light up from the center out.” Mitch waggled his fingers. “Bip, bip, bip. Like that.”

  “Yeah. Sequentials. They put them on old Thunderbirds, Cougars. Shelbys too, I think. Back in the day.”

  “It was about Mustang size. Quick.”