There was only one wealthy, male, American-born or early immigrant government employee whose travel and work patterns exactly matched that of Shelley's cellular phone. Sam recognized Emile Frank. It was awfully hard to believe. She had to be sure. She double-checked the timing of calls made to or from the phone with calls made to and from Shelley's home.
Around the time Renner shot MacUther, someone made a call from the San Francisco area to Shelley's phone, somewhere in Springfield, Virginia. Seconds after that call ended, Doctor Frank made multiple calls out from his encrypted house phone. He received another call while Gene and the team were interrogating MacUther in the hospital, then called out on his house phone.
Sam indulged in a self-satisfied smile. She'd just proved exactly how much shit Gene and the guys were in.
She pulled up Frank's employee records and let out a low whistle. Impressive guy. She scanned his online resume and didn't find anything useful. She accessed his security clearance background check and a name jumped out at her. He worked as Chief Research Associate for Bailey Pharmaceuticals in the seventies but didn't include it on his resume. Her grin was fierce. "Gotcha, you bastard. You'd better hope Renner finds you before we do."
She looked at the clock. It was three AM. Midnight in California.
She tried Gene on the COM. He didn't respond, but that wasn't a surprise this late. She tried him on his phone. Four rings, then a pleasant female voice relayed a message. "The cellular customer you are trying to reach is currently out of the service area. Please try again later."
Sam frowned and hung up the phone. Gene's team all had the same issue phone, and when they couldn't get cellular service, it switched to satellite coverage. You could get a call in the middle of Siberia with these things. She uploaded the data onto a secure personal server that she used as an FTP drop for Gene's team, but realized she had no way to tell Gene to go get it. Her mind raced; she knew where she had to go. She grabbed her purse and headed for the bus. A quick ride home to get her car, and she'd be off.
Chapter 25
February 3rd, 3:26 AM EST; Sam Greene's Apartment; Washington, D.C.
Twenty minutes later Sam got off the bus a block from her apartment building. The short walk was quiet. She always preferred the night. It was so much more peaceful than the daytime, especially in the city. She trudged up the stairs, let herself in the front door, walked over to the elevator, and hit the up button, all without seeing another soul.
She fiddled with her keys outside her apartment door, found the right one, and put it into the lock. She turned and the deadbolt slid back. Acting on years of ingrained habit, she removed the key halfway and twisted it back the other way a quarter turn. Nothing happened.
She frowned down at the key in her hand, her heart thumping in her chest. The intrusion detection tumbler she'd installed when she moved in hadn't tripped, and that meant only one thing. Somebody who didn't know about it had unlocked, then relocked her door. A little healthy paranoia goes a long way, Sammy-girl. Her mind raced. Too late to run—they already know I'm here. Well, best to play ignorant, then.
She reached into her purse and grabbed the handle of the Ruger SP101 5-shot revolver she'd been carrying since college. The metal was cold and slick in her sweaty hands but tremendously reassuring, and the Trausch grip fit her hand perfectly. She buried her hand deep into the purse and tilted it, hiding the weapon. She opened the door as casually as possible.
Sam stepped inside and closed the door, rooting around in her purse as if searching for her ChapStick. In truth, she kept her hand on the grip and her finger off the trigger, just like at the range. She left the door ajar and did her best to pretend that nothing was amiss as she walked into the kitchen. She placed her purse on the counter, still rummaging, listening for any sounds of movement or breathing. She jumped out of her skin as a man spoke from the darkness of the apartment behind her.
"Don't move, and don't turn around." Even expecting the intruder to still be in her apartment, it terrified her to have an uninvited stranger in her living room.
She froze in place. Her body shook. Her fingers trembled on the pistol grip as her index finger found the trigger. This is a lot different than target shooting at the range. Her usual targets weren't breathing. She'd never even hunted before. Her mother had always told her to never carry a gun unless she was willing to use it. Could be do or die time. The SP101 .357 was known for stopping power and could do tremendous damage at short range. Sam didn't want to know how much.
"Who did you tell about the information you were searching for this evening?" The voice was warm, almost friendly.
When in doubt, play dumb. "What information? I don't know what you're talking about."