Guilty Minds

72

This is the book you wanted, right?” Merlin said. “The 48 Laws of Power?” He pulled an orange hardcover from a plastic Barnes & Noble bag out of one of the duffel bags and set it on the dining table. Next to it he placed a small True Value hardware bag. “Razor blade and glue,” he announced.

The book was a remainder, but it was a hardcover, which was the important thing. It had to be a hardcover book. “That’s the one.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“Never read it,” I said, absently. “It just seems plausible, and it’s thick enough.” I opened the book to the title page and scrawled, in loopy handwriting,

It looked like a woman’s handwriting, or close enough. Then I opened the razor blades’ packaging and slid out one blade from the dispenser.

Dorothy looked at what I was doing and laughed. “Heller, you son of a bitch,” she said.

We got to the big post office on Mass Avenue, next to Union Station, shortly before seven. Just in time to send off the package via overnight express mail.

In the car on the way back to the hotel, I sniffed the air and said, “You started smoking again.”

“Couple days ago,” Merlin said. “I feel lousy about it. Don’t give me shit.”

“Stressed?”

“I don’t know. Nick, I gotta be on an FBI or DHS list somewhere, buying all this junk.”

“You’re nobody if you’re not on a Do Not Fly list.”

“Yeah. Uh, are you going to fill me in on what exactly you’re planning?”

It was a reasonable question, but there was no quick explanation. I didn’t finish outlining for him the operation I had in mind until we were back at the hotel suite.

“You don’t even know for sure what to expect — what this guy Vogel’s house is like, what kind of security precautions he takes. I mean, we’re flying blind here.”

“Not really. I know people like Vogel. So do you. I know what someone like Vogel would do. Which reminds me.”

I took out my phone and texted Vogel, using that Disappearing Ink app:

The answer came thirty seconds later:

I wrote back:

The reply took almost five minutes. It was a picture of Mandy, seated. Her eyes open, obviously alive. Looking exhausted and terrified. There was a cut on her cheek. Her hands were at her side, probably bound. I couldn’t tell where she was. Some kind of garage, maybe.

Then the picture disappeared.