Countdown. Ruth Wind

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      “Will do.”

      Kim was about to hang up when O’Brien said, “Hold up. Tanner just got here. I’ll put you through.”

      “Thanks.”

      She listened to the sound of Vivaldi piped through the lines for a minute, then a man said, “Tanner here. What can I do for you?”

      Kim had never had a phone conversation with him. All their business had been conducted via instant messaging or e-mail. For five-tenths of a second, she was startled by the unexpected richness of his voice. Humid with the blurred edges of somewhere south. Deep South.

      “Hello?” he repeated.

      “Hey, Lex Luthor,” she said, recovering. “Kim Valenti, at the NSA. How’re you doing?”

      “Darlin’!” The genuine pleasure in his voice was unmistakable. “I’m doing just fine now that I’m talking to you. What’s up?”

      “I’ve got a problem. Hoping you can help.”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      “We have intelligence that shows a Q’rajn cell in the burbs of Chicago, and they’re utilizing a virus to encode their e-mails. We broke the code and my partner and I are pretty sure they’re targeting Chicago in some way.”

      “Yeah, well—”

      “Damn it!” Kim swore. “Not you, too.”

      “Hold on. No need to get ugly, now. I just heard from your buddy at the CIA who said they caught your guys.”

      Gritting her teeth, Kim said, “First thing you need to know is that Milosovich is so not my buddy. He’d love to see me fall face-first in a mud puddle. Second, they’re not my guys. They’re Milosovich’s guys, and he wants to think my guys were castrated by the fall.”

      “And you don’t think they were.”

      “No. Those guys were in Berzhaan and they’re undoubtedly all part of the same twisted terrorist sect, but my group is here, on American soil.”

      “All right. What’s your intelligence say they’re going to do?”

      “It’s not that clear. A bomb. Maybe the airport or an airplane.”

      “We’ve been over the airport five thousand times.”

      “I know. Believe me, I wouldn’t insist if I weren’t pretty sure.”

      He sighed. “Valenti, my hands are tied, babe.”

      “Don’t call me that.”

      “Sorry. Old habit.” She could hear a tapping sound, fast and tinny. “Look, it sounds like Milosovich and you have some bad blood, all right, but he’s a good agent. And he’s got a lot of seniority.”

      “And I don’t.”

      “Exactly.”

      “Okay. Look, what if it’s not the airport? What if it’s along the route to the airport, or somewhere one of the candidates is going to speak? Bridges, television stations—” She paused, trying to brainstorm. “Wherever. You know your city.”

      He said, “Hmm.” And in spite of her concern and irritation, she felt it on the back of her neck. Velvety, rich. “A question—why target the candidates anyway?”

      “Because they can? Because it causes trouble? Terrorists don’t need a clearly defined reason to do things—they just want to create fear and confusion.”

      “I see your point.” Again that background noise of quick tapping.

      Kim said, “What is that noise?”

      “Sorry.” The sound ceased. “I have a bad habit of tapping a pen.”

      “No big deal.”

      “Look, Valenti, you’ve done me favors, and I’ll see what I can do, all right? But maybe you oughta look at the intelligence in another way, too. Maybe it’s not pointing where you think it is—and that would be tragic, too.”

      “You’re right. I’ll go over it again. Let me know what you find out.”

      “Will do.” He dropped his voice, and his next words were even richer, darker, like chocolate. Laced with espresso. “We still on for next week in your neighborhood?”

      “I’ve gotta tell you, Lex, your voice didn’t hurt the cause any.”

      “Yeah? You like it?”

      Kim smiled. “Call me if you find anything, Luthor.”

      “I’ll be talking to you.”

      Scott, sitting at his desk, raised his head when she hung up. “You’ve got that gleam in your eye, Valenti.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and stood up. “I’m going to take some personal time. I’ll be back later.”

      Chapter 4

      S he drove home and without taking off her coat, she fired off an e-mail.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Subject: need help

      Give me everything you have on Chicago, the campaigns, anything the Chicago set might have done previously. Not making a lot of progress through usual channels. Advise.

      Ariadne

      Still wearing her coat, she went to the kitchen, opened a vacuum-packed envelope of tuna and ate it leaning on the counter. From the other room came a soft beep and she walked back.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Subject: re:

      -Intelligence from CIA shows infiltration at Chicago UBC television station, CIA might have a man in there.

      -Three moving vans were stolen last week in southern California. Home-move type, not professional.

      -Quote keeps showing up in unrelated material: Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because Allah has guarded them. Surah 4:34

      -Reference to Cristopho in materials CIA intercepted. Columbus? Clue to city or holiday? Check. As always, act independently if necessary. Oracle will back you.

      Delphi

      Kim narrowed her eyes, punched in a thanks. A man at the Chicago UBC affiliate—at least it was a place to start. Her gut was screaming that Chicago was the place, the time not far distant. Not even as far away as Columbus Day, which was Monday, either. The flurry of e-mails was СКАЧАТЬ