forgiveness, but you told her to pound sand, because you just came into a major inheritance, and the girls are lined up outside your door?”
“Whatever you spiked your coffee with, save me some. And no. Fitzpatrick just called. She’s on her way to Italy.”
“And what’s she doing there?”
“Being that she’s an upstanding agent, she couldn’t discuss it with me, for fear I’d end up in front of the OPR tribunal alongside her,” he said, referring to the Office of Professional Responsibility, the Bureau’s internal affairs watchdogs. “So you can see my dilemma.”
“So what is it you can’t discuss with me, for fear I’d be drawn and quartered alongside you?”
“You mean the part about the ambassador to the Holy See’s daughter being murdered, after having her face and prints removed to prevent her ID? Or something about a possible affair with a congressman and the pontification of whether or not the death was related?”
“First,” Doc Schermer said, “I’m impressed you can use pontification in a sentence. Second, in light of the case matter relating to the pope, I’m wondering if you did it on purpose. Third, if I’m going to get fired, I’d rather it wasn’t for a bad pun. So what is it you’re not really asking me?”
“To find out everything you can on this congressman. I want to know every skeleton in his closet, and every committee he’s ever sat on. I want to know about the girl and what she’s involved with. And last but not least, I could use a legit reason to get on a plane to D.C. ASAP, so I can get the Bureau to pick up the tab. If I’m going to be unemployed soon, I’d rather not be out the airfare.”
“I’m sure I can dig up an old case for you that needs follow-up in the D.C. area,” he said, and Carillo heard the click of his keyboard as Doc Schermer started typing. “Give me the names of all the involved…”
Sydney looked around her apartment, trying to figure out all she’d need for the trip. Everything except her work clothes was still in boxes. Her indecision on where to look for an apartment was now costing her time, and she wished she’d just let Scotty pick out a place. A few minutes later her contact at Homeland Security called her back.
“What’s the good word?” she asked Levins.
“Your guy’s flying to Rome, Fiumicino, via Dulles at seven P.M.”
“What are the chances you can book me on that flight in the seat next to him?”
“Can’t. But I can put you in the row right behind him.”
“Works for me.”
“Ciao. And you owe me. Credit card number would be a good start. I’ll think of a proper extortion after you get back.”
Perfect, she thought, looking around at all the boxes, searching for the one marked “Important Papers.” Time to pull out her damned passport.
Zach Griffin’s seat was near the rear of the plane, far enough back to be able to see what was going on up front, and the best way he knew of scanning and profiling each passenger on board. It was one of the reasons he was always the last to board, when circumstances necessitated public transportation. He preferred knowing whom he shared a plane with, because he didn’t like surprises.
And he didn’t like finding unexpected passengers seated one row behind him.
He stopped at his seat, eyed Sydney Fitzpatrick, who occupied the middle seat right behind his. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Good to see you again, too.” She smiled.
He didn’t smile back. Instead, he looked at the twenty-year-old kid sitting next to her in the aisle. He dug a few bills out of his wallet and waved them in front of the kid’s face. “Yours if you switch seats with me.”
The boy shrugged, grabbed the bills, and got up to switch seats.
Zach swung his bag in the overhead bin, then sat next to Fitzpatrick, who sat with her hands folded on top of some file folder in her lap. He eyed it, then her. “What the hell are you doing on this flight?” he asked.
“I’d ask you the same, but I figure it has something to do with this.” She opened the folder, then slid out a section of a newspaper, the article and accompanying photograph on Alessandra Harden, while making sure no one else could see it.
“How did you discover who she was?”
“How was it you didn’t?”
“Besides the obvious?” he asked, referring to the victim having no face. Or fingerprints. “We had