The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [62]
“I know the one you’re talking about,” Nathan said. “Bangkok Orchid.”
“That’s the one,” Ben said. “I figure you and Ober should get there at about seven. I’m supposed to meet Rick at eight. They’re right across the street from each other, so we should definitely be in range.”
“Is there anything that might interfere with the microphone?” Lisa asked. “Shortwave transmissions? Satellite dishes? Anything like that?”
“My friend said it should be fine,” Nathan said. “It’s not the best equipment, but it’s still reliable.”
“Y’know what we need?” Ober said, excited. “We should have a password. Just in case something goes wrong, it’ll be our signal that you need help.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Ben said, returning to his seat on the couch.
“How about if the password is ‘What’s your damage, Heather?’” Ober asked.
“No way,” Ben said. “It has to be something that I can easily work into the conversation, and it can’t look like I’m panicking.”
“How about ‘travesty of justice’?” Nathan asked.
“What about ‘electric cheese’?” Ober said.
“How the hell can I work that in?” Ben asked. “Please don’t kill me, and can I please have some electric cheese?”
“‘Crimes against humanity,’” Nathan said.
“‘Devil Dogs,’” Ober said.
“How about if I just scream, ‘Help me, unimaginative roommates! Help me!’” Ben said.
“Why don’t you use the word ‘bingo’?” Lisa asked. “It’s easy to work into a sentence, and it always works in the movies.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ober said. “Name one movie that used bingo as the password.”
“Lots of them.”
“Name one,” Ober challenged.
“I don’t care if it works in the movies,” Ben interrupted. “Bingo’s the password. If I say ‘bingo,’ you guys come running.”
“That should take care of the bribing part,” Lisa said. “The only other thing we have to worry about is getting his picture taken so we can I.D. him.”
“This should take care of that,” Nathan said, pulling out a telescopic lens from the duffel. “It’ll fit on my camera, and it should give us all the pictures we want of this asshole.”
“We need detailed pictures, though,” Lisa said.
“Trust me, this puppy’ll show us the blackheads on his nose. It even has a built-in infrared filter.” Nathan looked at Ben and added, “I just need to know who to photograph. I’ve never seen Rick before.”
“I took care of that today,” Ben said. “Two Quail has one table that sits in front of the main window. Rick and I will be seated at that table, so all you have to do is snap pictures of the guy I’m sitting with.”
“And what if you don’t get seated at that table?” Nathan asked.
“We’ll be there. During lunch, when I went to scope out the restaurant, I gave the maître d’ a hundred bucks to make sure that my party is seated at that table.”
“You blew another hundred bucks?” Ober asked.
“When I got there, there was already a reservation in my name,” Ben said. “It was pretty spooky.”
“You’ll be fine,” Nathan said, repacking the microphone in the duffel.
“I was just thinking,” Lisa interrupted. “What if Rick doesn’t ask for the info?”
Ben shrugged his shoulders. “I guess we’ll just have to be happy with the pictures we get. If we can I.D. him, we’ll be able to finger him if he decides to act against me. And then we can at least link him with whoever his next Charles Maxwell is.”
“Speaking of which,” Nathan said, “do you have any idea what case he might ask for?”
“I was thinking about that,” Lisa said. “The American Steel case is a big money issue. That one’s got to be worth at least a couple of million.”
“No way,” Ben insisted. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one it could be: Grinnell.”
“You think?” Lisa asked.
“I’m sure,” Ben said. “That case is a potential gold mine.”
“How about clueing us legally impaired spectators in?” Nathan said.
“Howard Grinnell and a bunch of other investors own a gigantic old church in downtown Manhattan. About three years ago, they decided to tear down the church to build a new restaurant and shopping complex—just