Deep Black

65

It was amazing what two shirt buttons could do.

Dean watched Lia loosen them, then walk up to the plainclothes detectives at one of the side gates to the complex. She had foreign press credentials saying she was a Singapore television correspondent. He tagged along, bodyguard/driver whose job was to keep his mouth shut. Her spiel was all in Russian, but the outlines were in a universal language:

“You’re cute; I’d like to see what’s inside so the TV cameras don’t get tripped up; you’re cute.”

“Sure, but I have to frisk you first.”

“Go for it.”

Dean was frisked, too, though considerably quicker. They’d stashed their weapons; the guards seemed more interested in Lia’s cosmetics than her handheld or the small satellite phone, both of which looked like normal business items.

Dean wondered how the Russians could be taken in so easily, allowing access to a restricted area in exchange for a chance to cop a feel. But there were other people inside looking at the sight lines, and one of the guards walked with them as they went. So probably they thought, What’s the big deal? And let’s squeeze a little tit if we can.

Which angered him. Feeling more than a little protective, he glared at the Russian as he led them around to the area where the press would be allowed to stand — a good fifty feet at least from the president’s path.

Lia stumbled and grabbed the Russian’s arm; as he pulled her up, Dean felt a stab of jealousy. He watched her flirt a bit more, then turn back toward the gate. Baffled, he followed her out. Lia paused and gave the guard a kiss, then began bantering with his partner and finally kissed him, too.

“What the hell was that all about?” said Dean, following as she walked back up toward the street. “Jesus. We didn’t even get close to any of the spots. And what was that about kissing them?”

“Jealous?”

“Why did we go in there and not see anything?”

“Wait.” She glanced at her watch, then took out a small folding set of opera glasses from the handbag she’d brought with her. The bag — the first Dean had seen her carry since he’d met her — seemed almost foreign.

About a half-block up, she turned and looked back. “One down. One to go. Watch them while I check the layout again,” she told Dean, handing him the glasses.

Dean peered through the small case. The first detective had slipped back into his chair and nodded out. The other was laughing at him but looking a little tired himself. He reached into his pocket and took a hit from a flask, then ran his hand along his collar.

“What’d you slip them?” Dean asked.

“It’s similar to what guys give dates to knock them out and rape them,” said Lia. She looked at her handheld, clicked one of the keys twice, then put it back in her purse. “Except it’s faster.”

“How’d you get it in them?”

“I don’t think I’m going to tell you,” she said, heading back toward the gate. “Just in case I need to use it on you.”

None of the spots Dean had picked out were pre-set for a sniper. Lia placed what looked like a thin brown elongated pebble at each one. There was a tiny hole at one end where a wide-angle video cam could survey the area. The rest of the rock was a wireless transmitter set to come on at irregular intervals. It took more than an hour for them to go to all the spots Dean had picked out; they had to work around the dozen or so other security people who were overseeing the area.

When they returned to the gate, the guards were still sleeping. Lia walked back up the block to a tree, then took what looked like a tampon holder from the purse and gave it to Dean.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he said.

“Just hold it.”

He held it doubtfully in his hand, as gingerly as if it were a hand grenade. Lia took a small compact from the bag and took it apart, leaving the mirror. Then she took the case back, pulled it, and pushed one part onto the compact shell.

“Give me a boost,” she told him. “To the branch.”

Dean gave her a foothold with his hands. She grabbed the tree limb with one hand, pulling herself up as she held the contraption in the other. Her legs swung and her shoe almost hit him in the face as he looked up to make sure she’d made it.

It might have been worth the view. He wondered what she’d look like in a long tight skirt.

“Get your rocks off, Charlie Dean?” she asked when she jumped down.

“I’m just trying to figure out what you’re doing.”

“The transmitters in the flies are very low power. This picks them up and uploads to a satellite. The data is then fed through a computer which will look for anomalies — in other words, if anything changes, the program will sound an alert. We have to call our friend Mr. Austin and let him know it’s set so he can bring it on-line. It’s probably overkill, but you’re the sniper expert.”

“You don’t think they’re going to scan the site before the president comes?” asked Dean. “They’ll find the bugs.”

“I think they’ll be looking for bombs, not surveillance gear,” said Lia. “But that’s why we used the low-powered flies. They’re very difficult to detect, especially if there are other systems in the area. One of the people we saw inside was from the BBC service, so you know the media will have a feed. And then there are the security people themselves.”

“Any one of whom may be an assassin.”

“These guys, maybe,” said Lia. “But hopefully Kurakin’s people will be on top of them. There’s only so much we can do. Come on — let’s go check the apartments.”

“You got a nice butt, you know,” he said, following her.

“So do you, honey.”