Found Money - James Grippando [71]
Ryan started to sweat. Part of him felt the need to say something. Part of him felt the urge to get the hell out of there. He didn’t know his rights, but he knew someone who did.
“I’ll be happy to talk to you,” he said. “After I talk to my lawyer.”
33
They were out of lettuce. For nine straight days, Sarah’s late-morning snack had consisted of the same unique sandwich delicacy. Peanut butter, sliced bananas, mayonnaise, and iceberg lettuce on rye bread, grilled on both sides until the mayo was bubbling and the lettuce went soft. Dee-licious. But it just wasn’t the same without the lettuce.
She slumped with despair as she stood staring into the open refrigerator. She made one more attempt to bend her pregnant body and check the bottom vegetable bin. Definitely no lettuce. Her hormones took over. She was suddenly on the verge of tears.
The phone rang. She paused, unsure whether it was worth the effort to answer. The wall phone was all the way on the other side of the kitchen. Her swollen ankles were worse today than yesterday, and the cold air from the open refrigerator was feeling mighty good.
It kept ringing. Seven, eight times. Somebody really wanted to talk to her. She stepped away from the fridge and slowly crossed the room, grimacing with each step. She answered in a clipped tone. “Yeah.”
“Sarah, it’s Liz. Where is Brent?”
“Not here.”
“I didn’t think so. Where is he?”
Sarah checked the clock on the oven. “Probably halfway back from Denver by now.”
Liz hesitated. “I appreciate your candor.”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t expect you to actually admit he came here.”
“Liz, what are you talking about? He went to Denver to see you.”
“Me?”
“He left early this morning. Real early. Like two A.M. Said he wanted to catch you before you went to work. He couldn’t sleep. Was up thinking about that deposition your lawyer wanted him to give. He needed to talk to you about it.”
“I never saw him.”
“That’s funny. Then I don’t know where he is.”
“Neither do I. But I have a pretty good idea of where he’s been. Somebody beat the daylights out of my lawyer this morning. Jumped him right in his garage on his way to the office.”
“Oh, my word. Is he hurt bad?”
“Bad enough to land in the hospital.”
“Gosh, Liz. That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
She stiffened at the accusatory tone. “Wait a second. You don’t think Brent—what are you thinking?”
“Just look at what happened. Yesterday, Brent was served with a subpoena. It made him so mad he couldn’t sleep. He jumped in his car in the middle of the night and drove to Denver, supposedly to talk to me. Next thing we know my lawyer’s in the emergency room getting his face stitched up.”
Sarah’s hand shook nervously. “Just slow down. I know this looks bad. But let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“This is hardly a jump. Brent’s in trouble this time, Sarah. Big time. All I can say for you is that I hope you had nothing to do with it.”
She was about to respond, but the line clicked. Her hands shook harder. She gripped the phone, paralyzed with confusion. The dial tone hummed in her ear. Liz was gone. Brent was unaccounted for.
And Sarah felt completely alone.
Ryan insisted on a thoroughly private line for his call to his lawyer. Agent Forsyth offered the use of an embassy phone, but somehow that sounded about as private as dialing into a talk radio station. The only viable option was a pay phone on the street. Forsyth wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t seem prepared to arrest him to prevent him from walking out of the building. The Panamanian police were no longer a threat, since their only apparent objective had been to assist the FBI in bringing him to the embassy. Ryan found a public phone right on Avenida Balboa.