The Prince of Risk A Novel(80)
“I don’t want the Bureau’s full cooperation,” said the unidentified voice. “Otherwise I would have contacted it myself. The Bureau isn’t safe.”
“What do you mean it isn’t safe?” asked Alex.
“It has been penetrated.”
“By a mole? Is that the information Edward Astor was trying to give the president?”
“Not by a spy per se. But it’s been penetrated nonetheless. Weren’t you listening to your husband when he told you that someone had been listening in on him and Penelope Evans?”
“You’re saying they’re listening to the FBI, too?”
“Why not?”
Alex looked at Astor. “Exactly who’s listening in on whom? How do you know this isn’t the asshole causing all the problems?”
“Alex, please. Calm down.” He turned back toward the computer. “You know why my father was taking Gelman and Hughes to visit the president. What’s stopping you from telling us?”
“Nothing is stopping me. As a matter of fact, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. You see, I’ve finally realized that the only way I’m going to get any respect is if I prove to the government that I’m right.”
“So you’re going to help us,” said Astor.
“On the contrary. I’m not going to do a thing.”
“Why should we care what you say anyway?” demanded Alex.
“I’d have thought that was obvious.”
“What? That you’re a hacker—some kind of creep with a bone to pick with the government? Take a number.”
“Because I’m the one you’re looking for. I’m—”
White noise filled the screen. Cassandra99’s words were garbled and unintelligible.
“What did you say?” asked Alex.
The screen cleared. The audio was as crisp as ever.
“I am Palantir.”
52
For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Too much had happened. Each needed time to make sense of it. Alex went to the bathroom and returned with warm towels to wrap Bobby’s wound. She told him he needed to get to a hospital, and he said he felt all right for the time being. She gave him her look, and he promised he would go immediately.
Seized by a need to do something—anything—Astor stood and sorted through the papers on his father’s desk. He was looking for something similar to what he’d found at Penelope Evans’s home. There were letters from member firms, invitations to galas, memos from his father’s office. All appeared related to Edward Astor’s day-to-day responsibilities, both public and private. If his father had been concerned about unwanted attention the investigation might bring, it made sense that he’d conducted his research at Penelope Evans’s home. She was his cover.
“Don’t take anything,” said Alex.
“I’m just looking,” said Astor. “Besides, it’s my house.”
“It’s your father’s house. You have no legal right to be here. Technically, you’re trespassing.”
Astor stopped and faced her. “So?” he said. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“I need the jet. The G4. For work. I didn’t think you’d say yes on the phone.”
“You guys have jets.”
“Officially, I’m supposed to be taking a couple days off. Getting over Malloy and the others.”
“But you can’t?”
Alex shook her head. She almost smiled. “Of course not.”
“So what gives?”
“It has to do with what went down on Windermere Street yesterday. Something bad is about to happen. I can’t go into it.”
“Like what ‘something bad’?” The question was not driven by idle curiosity. The kinds of bad things Alex dealt with might adversely affect the market, and hence his funds. The fact that she was requesting a jet did little to settle his nerves.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Can you tell me where you’re going?”
“London.”
“That’s twenty grand, fuel and pilot there and back. If you hustle, you can pack and still be able to make a commercial flight out of JFK.”
“Too tight. I can’t chance missing it.” Alex brushed hair off her forehead. “Twenty grand isn’t very much to prevent an attack that might take a lot of lives.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
“That’s the idea.”
“You still didn’t answer me.”
“I don’t have to. I’m asking a favor. Just tell me yes or no and let’s cut the horse trading.”