The Millionaires

32

“How we doin’?” Gallo asked.

“Just gimme a sec,” DeSanctis said from the passenger seat. In his lap, his fingers pounded the keyboard of what looked like a standard laptop. A closer examination, however, revealed that the only working keys were the numbers along the top, which DeSanctis used to adjust the receiver that was perfectly hidden inside. It was just like tuning a radio: Find the right frequency and you’ll hear your favorite song. Hunting and pecking across the row, he typed in the numbers the Technical Security Division guys gave him: 3.8 gigahertz… 4.3 gigahertz… The closer they got to microwave frequencies, the harder it’d be for outside parties to intercept. Add some encryption with a frequency-hopping signal and it was next to impossible. With the signal always moving across the dial – it was now a radio station built for two.

Stabbing the keys, he punched in the final digits. Onscreen, a window in the bottom left corner blinked to life. As it faded in and the colors became crisp, they had a perfect digital feed of Maggie Caruso bent over the coffee table in the living room, looking like she was about to throw up on it. Her tight fists rubbed against the table. Her legs buckled and she slowly sank to her knees.

“What’s wrong?” Gallo asked. “Is she sick?”

“Just another second…” DeSanctis keyed in one final number and Mrs. Caruso’s voice echoed from the built-in speakers.

“… ank you… thank you, God!” she shouted as the tears flooded. She shook her head and unleashed a pained, but unmistakable smile. “Just take care of them… please take care of them…”

“What the hell is going on?” Gallo barked.

DeSanctis’s mouth dropped open.

“They called her!” Gallo blurted. “The bastards just called her!”

Furiously clicking at the keyboard, DeSanctis opened another window on the laptop. Caruso, Margaret – Platform: Telephony. “That’s impossible,” DeSanctis said, reading from the screen. “I got everything right here – it’s blank – nothing incoming; nothing outgoing.”

“Fax? E-mail?”

“Not for the seamstress. Doesn’t even have a computer.”

“Maybe the brothers called it in to a neighbor.”

DeSanctis pointed to the video picture on the screen. In the background, behind Mrs. Caruso, was a clear view of her front door. “Tech boys were watching since we got here. Even for the two minutes it took to set this up, we’d see someone coming and going…”

“Then how the hell did they get to her?”

“I have no idea – maybe-”

“Don’t give me maybes! This isn’t time for guessing games!” Gallo shouted. “She’s clearly got something in there that’s letting her talk to her boys – now I don’t care if a neighbor’s tapping the radiator in Morse code, I want to know what it is!”

“She’s clearly got something in there that’s letting her talk to her boys – now I don’t care if a neighbor’s tapping the radiator in Morse code, I want to know what it is!”

Staring up the block at Gallo and DeSanctis’s car, Joey sat back in her seat and lowered the volume on her walkie-talkie-sized receiver. For a single mike stuffed in a dome light, it did the job just fine.

On her lap, she flipped up the screen of her laptop computer and opened up the photos of the offices she had downloaded from her digital camera. Oliver’s, Charlie’s, Shep’s, Lapidus’s, Quincy’s, and Mary’s. Six in all, plus the common areas. One by one, she studied each room, raking through the details. The cheap reproduction banker’s lamp on Oliver’s desk… the Kermit the Frog poster in Charlie’s cubicle… the photos on Shep’s wall… even the lack of personal artifacts on Lapidus’s desk.

“Sounds like you were right,” Noreen interrupted through the earpiece. “They’re already calling in to mom.”

“Yeah… I guess.”

Noreen knew that tone on her boss. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Joey said, still digitally flipping through the photos. “It’s just… if Gallo and DeSanctis are treating this like a real manhunt, why’re they the only two people doing surveillance?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just protocol, Noreen. The FBI may bumble it, but when it comes to surveillance, Secret Service is top dog. When they sit on a house, they send four people at a minimum. Why’s it suddenly two guys sitting alone in a car?”

“Who knows? They could be shorthanded… or over budget… maybe the rest are coming tomorrow…”

“Or maybe they don’t want anyone else around,” Joey challenged.

“C’mon, now – you really believe that?”

Joey stopped to think. Through the receiver, she could hear Gallo and DeSanctis arguing.

“When Shep was killed, they lost a former agent,” Noreen pointed out. “Ten bucks says that’s why they’re keeping it personal.”

“I hope you’re right,” Joey said, pulling the receiver in close. “But if I were Charlie and Oliver, I’d be praying we’re the ones who find them first.”