Capitol Threat

24

Loving stood on the sidewalk and idled about, pretending to read a discarded newspaper, admiring the display windows of overpriced Georgetown boutiques, and otherwise purposelessly killing time until he was certain Nadya had disappeared into the coffee shop and wouldn’t be watching or returning—at least not until her son’s journey to his inner self was over for the day. Sweet Jeepers, why couldn’t she just hire a babysitter? Given what she’d said, he had a little under an hour, so he couldn’t afford to waste time. Didn’t like standing around in plain view, anyway. He tried to convince himself there was no danger, despite what Leon had told him. There was no logical reason to think assassins were watching his every move, right? That was just paranoia, and with the Senate committee hearings already under way and Ben left with no way of explaining the murder at the press conference, he couldn’t afford to give in to paranoia. That was just craziness.

Yeah. And if he kept saying it to himself long enough, maybe the pain in his leg where the bullet creased him would stop suggesting he was in total denial.

He tore a scrap of paper from a newspaper in a trash bin, bummed a pencil, then casually strolled up to Nadya’s Toyota. He crouched beside the driver’s door, peered through the windshield, and copied down the VIN from the embossed metal label on the dash. He almost felt bad about doing this. Well, he rationalized, it was her own fault for not covering up the number. It was illegal to remove the VIN plate, but nothing prevented you from putting a strip of electrician’s tape over it. For that matter, an index card wedged into the bottom of the dash would work—anything to prevent criminals from doing…exactly what he was doing.

He flipped open his cell phone and activated the scrambler. The scrambler would not affect his call; he and the person on the other end of the line would be able to speak naturally. But to anyone trying to intercept the signal, it would sound like gibberish. He was still fighting the urge toward paranoia, but he knew that it was pathetically easy to eavesdrop on cell phone calls. Anyone with a receiver purchased at Radio Shack could do it. Amateurs could simply roam the frequencies, listening for interesting chatter, but professionals knew how to triangulate onto a cell phone’s signal or hack into a database to get its serial number and thus determine the perfect frequency for eavesdropping. He’d never used a scrambler before Ben and his crew had come to Washington, but then, he’d never been able to afford one before, either.

He stepped away from the car, then called Information to locate the nearest Toyota dealer.

“Georgetown Imports.”

“Hey, this is Al Loving. Sorry to bother you, but I’ve locked the keys in that car I bought from you guys a while back and I have to be at an important meeting in thirty minutes. Is there any way you can cut me a duplicate key?”

The voice on the other end of the line sounded bored to tears, as if she had heard this story a thousand times. “Have you got the VIN number?”

“Sure.” Loving read it off.

The woman took it down. “Can you get a ride down here?”

“Not a problem.”

“We’ll start cutting the new key now. It’ll be ready for you when you arrive. You can also get a keyless lock controller, if you wish. Sounds as if you might need one.”

“Thanks, just the key will be great.”

“We’ll get right on it.”

Loving disconnected, then stuffed the phone into his pocket. He’d pulled this scam at least a half dozen times. It was ridiculously easy. Someday, he supposed, someone was going to get wise to it, put it in a book or something, and then car dealers would start being more careful. But in the meantime, why should this only be available to car thieves who used the VIN to hijack a car in broad daylight and drive it to the chop shop? Seemed only right that the trick should occasionally be used by the forces of good and righteousness.

And he was working on the side of good and righteousness. Right?

Less than thirty minutes later, Loving was back at the side of Nadya’s Toyota with a brand-new sparkling door and ignition key. He slid the key into the lock, trying not to attract any attention, although there was no reason for anyone to believe that he wasn’t the owner of the car. After all, he had a key, didn’t he? Unless Nadya happened by. That would be bad.

Loving didn’t waste any time. He opened the Filofax calendar to the present month, then removed his handy-dandy DocuPen R700. The gizmo was no bigger than your average writing pen, and that’s what it looked like, but in reality, it was a miniature scanning device. He rolled the pen over the pages for the entire month; the DocuPen would record everything—text and graphics—and it took only four seconds. Later, he’d take it back to the office and Jones would upload it to his computer via a USB port. So easy even Loving could understand it, despite his acute computophobia.

He closed the Filofax, crawled back out of the car, shut the door, relocked it, and had started moving away when he saw Nadya approaching from the opposite direction. She saw him, too. This left two options: he could try to make some excuse for his presence, or he could run. The latter would probably be more prudent, but the former would be more fun. And what was life without a little fun?

Nadya marched right up to him, her expression angry. “Why are you hanging around my car?”

“I was waitin’ for you to return.”

“Why?”

“I told you already—I need to find Trudy.”

“And I told you already—I’m not telling you anything. Remember?”

“Yeah, but I thought you might be more agreeable after you got your caffeine fix.”

She glared at him. “You thought wrong.”

“Well, can’t fault a man for tryin’.”

“I think I could.”

“Say—do you do this yoga stuff, too?”

“Of course. You think I’d indoctrinate my son in a discipline I don’t practice myself?”

If it bought you an hour’s peace in a coffee shop, probably so, he thought. For that matter, if you drank less caffeine, you might need less yoga. But he opted not to voice either observation. “I was just wonderin’, you think maybe I could do that, you know, that yoga stuff?”

She eyed him dubiously. “Are you seriously interested in leading a balanced life? Trying to find inner tranquillity?”

“Absolutely. If you’d be my spiritual guide.”

She took a step closer. “You’d…you’d want that?”

He stepped even closer. “Absolutely.” He stared deeply into her eyes. Their noses were inches apart.

Her lips pursed. “You’re playing me, aren’t you?”

“Totally.” He grinned. “Kind of fun, though, wasn’t it?”

“It might be, if I didn’t think you were trying to get my friend in trouble.”

“I won’t get her in trouble.” He paused. “But I can’t promise she isn’t already in trouble. Somebody out there has a secret they want kept secret. And they’re playing for keeps.”