A Fare To Remember_ Just Whistle_Driven - Vicki Lewis Thompson [71]
“You win, Ms. Marlowe. So tell me, what do you know about the images you saw?”
“Graphic art is just that—art. There are styles, signatures, sometimes very subtle since the images go by so quickly.”
“We’ve broken down each image frame by frame,” Roman insisted.
“I’m sure you did. Even if you’ve studied every aspect of graphic design, you might not pick up something so insignificant. In fact, I might not have seen it myself if I wasn’t such a geek. I love studying the work of other designers. That’s how I learn and improve. Most working artists don’t really bother.”
“What can you tell us about this person?”
Rachel took a deep breath. “He’s not in New York.”
“It’s a man?”
Rachel nodded.
“Where’s he located?”
She shrugged. “I can give you his name, that’s it. His work is fairly popular. He’s in high demand. Though come to think of it, he’s dropped off the circuit a bit lately. Being really choosy about what he does, from what I hear from production people who wanted to hire him and then got me instead. Our styles are fairly similar.”
Amelie Tremayne’s stare narrowed. “This is a rather convenient coincidence, don’t you think?”
Rachel had considered that, but the truth was the truth. “Perhaps. Or maybe just one hell of a lucky break.”
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT HELD no resemblance whatsoever to what Rachel expected. Even before she’d stopped talking, Roman had dashed out of the room, stopping only to kiss her thoroughly and deeply so that her knees nearly buckled from the overload of pleasure.
Then he was gone.
Tremayne remained for a few minutes more, extending the interrogation until another operative came in and took over. Rachel was given a computer with secure Internet access, and through a portal she was sure wasn’t legal, she was able to tap into her home computer. She pulled up as much information as she could about those old studies, but she didn’t have much more than what she’d told Tremayne and Roman initially. She admired the man’s work.
Then she’d waited. The Agency had put her up in a fairly comfortable room within the same building, provided her with hearty meals and endless entertainment in terms of television, satellite radio and video games. But she hadn’t been interested in anything but the computers.
Surprisingly, she was allowed to continue to study the images she’d seen in the conference room, and after nearly twenty-four hours of trying, she’d perfectly mimicked the messages she’d seen—just to prove she could. Only moments after she’d popped open a can of Diet Dr Pepper to celebrate her success, Director Tremayne knocked on her door.
“You’ve been a busy bee,” she said, walking inside the apartment with a dark-haired, dark-skinned male lackey behind her.
“I’m not good at relaxing,” Rachel said.
“Clearly not. You’ve succeeded at copying the style of the graphic in question. Very clever. We should have asked you initially instead of wasting our own team’s time.”
Rachel took a sip from the soda. “Yes, you should have.”
“Do you think you can replicate the graphic again?”
With a snort, Rachel set the cola can beside the laptop. Every move she’d made had been watched. She wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t creeped out.
“With my eyes closed.”
Tremayne’s eyes narrowed, her expression serious to the point that Rachel felt her stomach roil with dread.
“We’ve intercepted the artist you directed us to. According to the agents on the scene, he was preparing to send a final message to the sleeper cell.”
“But you stopped him?”
Tremayne shook her head slightly, but enough for Rachel to understand that this was not a victory. “If the cell expects a message and receives none, they may take that as an order to attack.”
“What kind of attack?”
Tremayne frowned. “We’re not sure. We haven’t been able to locate the cell,