Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [114]
Cutting back through the welcome area of her boss’s personal office, Dinah said a quick hello to the young receptionist in the denim shirt and bolo tie, then grabbed the last cherry Starburst from the candy bowl on his desk.
“Bastard eighth-graders cleaned me out,” the receptionist explained.
“You should see what happens when the AARP people come visit . . .” Never slowing down, she zigzagged through reception, bounding out through the front door and into the hallway. But as she glanced right and left up the white marble hall, she didn’t see the person she was looking for—not until he stepped out from behind the tall Arizona state flag that stood outside Cordell’s office.
“Dinah?” Barry called out, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Whah—” she said, spinning around. “Don’t scare me like that!”
“Sorry,” he offered as he held her elbow and followed her up the hallway. “So we done?”
“All done.”
“Really done?”
“Trust me—we just solved the puzzle without even buying a vowel.”
Neither of them said another word until they turned the corner and stepped into an empty elevator.
“Thanks again for helping me out with this,” Barry began.
“If it’s important to you . . .”
“It was actually important to Matthew. That’s the only reason I’m involved.”
“Either way—if it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” Dinah insisted as the elevator doors slid shut.
With a single sweep of his cane, Barry looked around, listening. “We’re alone, aren’t we?”
“That we are,” she said, stepping closer.
Barry once again reached out for her shoulder, this time lightly brushing his fingers against the edge of her bra strap. “Then let me say a proper thank-you,” he added as the elevator bucked slightly, descending toward the basement. Sliding his hand up the back of her neck and through her short blond hair, he leaned forward and gave her a long, deep kiss.
58
FINAL BOARDING CALL for Northwest Airlines flight 1168 to Minneapolis-St. Paul,” a female voice announced through the Rapid City airport terminal. “All ticketed passengers should now be on board.”
Shutting the switch for the PA system, the gate attendant turned to Janos, checking his boarding pass and driver’s license. Robert Franklin. “You have a good day now, Mr. Franklin.”
Janos looked up, but only because his cell phone started vibrating in his jacket pocket. As he pulled the phone out, the gate attendant smiled and said, “Hope it’s a quick call—we’re about to push back . . .”
Shooting the attendant a dark glare, he headed up the jetway. As he turned his attention to the phone, he didn’t need to check caller ID to know who it was.
“Do you have any conception how much money your sloppiness just cost me?” Sauls asked through the phone. His voice was as calm as Janos had ever heard it, which meant it was even worse than Janos thought.
“Not now,” Janos warned.
“He threw our technician into the sphere. Sixty-four photomultiplier tubes completely shattered. You know how much each of those costs? The components alone came from England, France, and Japan—then had to be assembled, tested, shipped, and reassembled under clean-room conditions. Now we have to redo it sixty-four damn times.”
“You done yet?”
“I don’t think you heard me. You blew it, Janos.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Sauls went silent. “That’s the third time you’ve said that,” he finally growled. “But let me promise you right now, Janos—if you don’t take care of it soon, we’ll be hiring someone to take care of you.”
With a soft click, the phone went dead.
“Nice to see you tonight,” a flight attendant said as Janos boarded the plane.
Ignoring the attendant, he went straight for his seat in first class and stared out the oval window at the concrete runway. Sauls was still right about one thing: He had been getting sloppy lately. From getting stranded on the first flight, to the second elevator—he should’ve seen those coming. It was the most basic rule of tracking: cover every exit. Sure, he’d underestimated Harris—even with Viv slowing him down, and despite the panic that had to be swirling through his brain,