The Killing House

71

M stood by the elevator, alongside the agent who had accompanied her upstairs. Alexander Borgia had excused himself to answer a phone call. She was too far away to hear what he was saying, but his gaze was locked on her.

The first part of the plan had worked out perfectly. Entering the garage at this late hour, she had found only one agent inside. Now he was standing next to her on the fourth floor and no one was inside the garage, not as yet. Fletcher was no doubt already underneath the Jaguar. No one could see or hear him. He had told her about the EMP device that would scramble the cameras.

Alexander Borgia may very well be inside your father’s home, Fletcher had told her. If he is, he’ll want to question you. You’re to fight back verbally — act upset and put out at being detained when you’re in a rush to get a list of Karim’s medications faxed to the hospital. I doubt they’ll waste time trying to track down the doctor by phone to see if such a request was made.

This afternoon, M had prepared for the possibility that Borgia or another federal agent would try to contact Karim’s physician, Dr Segal, who was, in fact, at the Cape May Hospital in New Jersey. Karim’s bodyguard, Bar Lev, had explained the situation to the doctor. Segal had agreed to cooperate to keep Karim safe.

Karim is a powerful man, with a cadre of lawyers at his disposal, Fletcher had told her. They’ll be fearful of a wrongful-death lawsuit and, most likely, allow you to collect Karim’s medications under the supervision of an agent. The important thing is to give me enough time to secure myself inside the Jaguar’s hidden compartment. It should take no more than ten minutes. I’ll contact you once I’m inside.

Borgia hung up and approached her. He didn’t dress in the usual drab colours she associated with federal agents. He wore a pinstriped grey suit with a pale lavender tie and good shoes. Gold cufflinks. The suit, along with his grey hair and the stiff way he walked, gave him the appearance of a private Swiss banker — someone who dealt exclusively with rich clients because he could be trusted to keep their secrets. She saw smudges of TV makeup on his starched collar.

‘My apologies for keeping you waiting, Miss White.’ He glanced at her hearing aid. ‘Am I speaking loud enough for you to hear me?’

‘You are. Now may I go to collect Mr Karim’s medication?’

‘I have someone doing that.’

‘I need to do it. Mr Karim is a bit of a slob. This person you assigned won’t know where they all are.’

‘I think we’ll manage just fine.’ Borgia pressed the elevator button.

‘Where are you going?’

‘ We’re going downstairs,’ Borgia said. The doors chimed opened and he motioned with a hand for her to enter. ‘Mr Ortega, you can remain here. I’ll contact you when I’m done.’

Fletcher hadn’t contacted her yet; she needed to stall Borgia.

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she said. ‘Privately.’

‘You can tell me downstairs.’ When she didn’t move, Borgia smiled politely, grabbed her forearm and escorted her into the elevator.