Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [116]
No doubt, Lowell had been careful. Careful with his money . . . with his career . . . and with his future. But right now, as the shrapnel of rain sprayed across his windshield, he slowly realized there was a fine line between careful and cowardly. On his left, a navy Acura blew past him. Lowell turned his head slightly to follow it, but the only thing he saw was the crack in his side window. He looked back at the road, but it wouldn’t go away.
Elmo beat Deputy General, he reminded himself—but the more he thought about it, that was precisely why he couldn’t just sit there any longer. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed the number for his office.
“Deputy Attorney General’s office. This is William Joseph Williams,” a male voice answered. During his interview for the job, William said his mother picked his name because it sounded like a President. Right now, he was still Lowell’s assistant.
“William, it’s me. I need a favor.”
“Sure thing. Name it.”
“In my top left-hand drawer, there’s a set of fingerprints I got off my car door last week.”
“The kids that cracked your window, right? I thought you already ran those.”
“I decided not to,” Lowell said.
“And now?”
“I changed my mind. Put ’em in the system; do a full scan—every database we’ve got, including foreign,” Lowell said as he flicked on his windshield wipers. “And tell Pilchick I’m gonna need some detail to watch my family.”
“What’s going on, Lowell?”
“Don’t know,” he said, staring dead ahead at the slick road in front of him. “Depends what we find.”
60
HARRIS, SLOW DOWN,” Viv begs, chasing behind me as I cross First Street and wipe the rain from my face.
“Harris, I’m talking to you . . . !”
I’m barely listening as I plow through a puddle toward the four-story brick building halfway up the block.
“What was it you said when we landed last night? Be calm, right? Wasn’t that the plan?” Viv calls out.
“This is calm.”
“It’s not calm!” she calls out, hoping to keep me from doing something stupid. Even if I’m not listening, I’m glad she’s using her brain.
I whip open the glass doors and charge into the building. It’s just a hair past seven. Morning security shift hasn’t started yet. Barb’s not in.
“Can I help you?” a guard with some acne scars asks.
“I work here,” I insist just forcefully enough that he doesn’t ask twice.
He looks to Viv.
“Nice to see you again,” she adds, not slowing down. She’s never seen him before in her life. He waves back. I’m impressed. She’s getting better every day.
By the time we reach the elevator, Viv’s ready to tear my head off. The good news is, she’s smart enough to wait at least until the doors close.
“We shouldn’t even be here,” she says as they finally slam shut and the elevator lurches upward.
“Viv, I don’t want to hear it.” Early this morning, I picked up a new suit from the locker at my gym. Last night, after throwing our shirts in the plane’s washer-dryer and clocking a half hour each in the onboard shower, we spent the entire flight back using the plane’s satellite phones to track people down at the National Science Foundation. Because of the time zones, we couldn’t get any of their scientists directly, but thanks to a jittery assistant and the promise that we’d be bringing the Congressman himself, we were able wrangle a meeting.
“First thing this morning,” she reminds me for the fifth time.
The NSF can wait. Right now, this is more important.
As the doors open on the third floor, I rush past the modern paintings in the hallway and head for the frosted-glass door with the numeric keypad. As quickly as I can, I punch in the four-digit code, shove open the door, and weave my way through the inner hallway’s maze of cubicles and offices.