Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [51]
“You know Bob Copeland?”
“Yes, I wanted him to take the briefcase but he told me to leave it on your boat.”
“Maybe you’d better back up a bit and tell me what this is about.”
She hesitated again, as if trying to gather her courage, then she said, “Yesterday afternoon my colleagues and I went to lunch at Fisherman’s Wharf and we left some sensitive materials in the back of our van. Somebody broke in and took everything except that briefcase, including a classified laptop computer.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “So what does this have to do with Copeland?”
“We’ve already been burned and are looking at some serious disciplinary action. I went to Bob for help and he suggested I stash the briefcase and documents in case I ever need to use them for leverage.”
“And he told you to give them to me?”
“Yes. He said he was too hot to be hanging on to them for now and that you’re the most trustworthy person he knows. But when I went to your boat you weren’t there, so I left them by the door.”
“Something that sensitive,” he said. “You just leave it like a UPS package.”
“That’s exactly right,” she replied. “It’s called a Poe Drop, after Edgar Allan. From ‘The Purloined Letter.’ Hide what people are looking for in plain sight and they’ll never see it.”
“If you say so. What are you expecting me to do with them?”
“Just keep them safe until Bob can take possession of them. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “I think I can manage that.”
“Thank you. Now, I really have to go. I don’t want to be on this line any longer than necessary.”
Then she abruptly hung up.
Jack stared at the phone for a moment, wondering how this played into everything that had happened so far, but couldn’t for the life of him make a connection.
Just another typical bit of Bob Copeland cloak and dagger, he supposed.
Taking the papers from the briefcase, he stuffed them into a manila envelope and put them in the safe in his cabin.
Yet another question to ask Copeland when he saw him this afternoon.
* * *
At ten past four, Hatfield stood in the central atrium of the Museum of Modern Art wondering if Copeland would ever show.
After the events of this morning and that bizarre phone call last night, he was concerned about the guy. Shortly after the second call, he’d remembered that Copeland had a house in San Mateo, and before going to bed, he’d called every number listed in the book. But all he’d succeeded in doing was pissing off a bunch of half-asleep strangers.
Jack sent his friend several text messages during the day, using their usual contact number, but so far there had been no response. Not that this was all that unusual. It often took Copeland a while to get back to him. And based on the guy’s behavior this morning, Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he was still passed out somewhere, in an alcohol-induced coma.
But none of this made him feel any better. He liked Copeland and hated to think of him that way. There were, of course, other matters to consider. Copeland wouldn’t have requested this meeting if he didn’t have information, and Jack was curious to know what that information was.
Like the building itself, the atrium of the Museum of Modern Art was a thing of beauty. Jack had always had a soft spot for great architecture, even if his knowledge about what was stored inside this place was limited. Fine art was more Rachel’s territory, and in their ten years of marriage they’d come here several times to see various exhibits.
The place had been a San Francisco icon for nearly two decades, and still had that edgy, modernistic look that made it stand out in a crowded urban environment. The atrium was cavernous, boasting a huge, tubular skylight, and you couldn’t help having a feeling of awe every time you entered the place.
Unless you had other things on your mind.
Jack checked his watch. Four-twenty, still no Copeland.
He stood there wondering if he should stick around a while longer or call it a day. Maybe check in with Maxine, see how the video was coming. Just as he made up his mind, his cell phone rang.
It was Tony.
Jack clicked it on. “Hey,