They looked like a couple out for an evening stroll, not that Jack would take Sue in that rough neighbourhood if he were given a choice to begin with. And since there were just so many times they could pace that alley before they attracted attention upon themselves, Jack led her behind a dumpster. He had a perfectly good backup plan in his mind in case people wondered what they were doing hidden from view.
They waited over an hour, during which nothing out of the ordinary happened, aside from spotting a few stray cats, and a homeless beggar who quickly sought refuge behind one of the dozen doors that lined the alley as the weather took a miserable turn for the worse. Jack was ready to leave when a back door opened and a shady character exited. Suddenly they were back on alert. They nicknamed the newcomer Smoky, for the cigarettes he lit up one after the other while pacing in front of the doorway. He was obviously waiting for someone, the agents concluded, as they saw him take yet another look at his watch. And that someone seemed fashionably late.
Jack doubted the individual was related to their case. Somehow he didn't fit the profile of an art or classified secrets smuggler. But either way, Jack didn't think that being seen leaving by Smoky was a safe option.
Smoky's cell phone rang loudly in the night, startling Jack. Sue pulled out her binoculars after Jack spelled 'phone' in her hand. Smoky was agitated, twitching around as he spoke, making Sue's task challenging. Jack watched her as she frowned, lines appearing on her forehead. She whispered words to Jack, frustration tangible in her voice. Jack regretted not having a camera handy. The man seemed very ordinary. No distinct features, no facial hair, medium height and built, he was wearing jeans, a dark leather jacket and a baseball cap lowered down, but his mouth remained perfectly visible when he was considerate enough to turn in their direction and not wander too far from the single light bulb over the door.
Jack processed the words Sue picked up. Late... supposed to meet... money... deal is... stupid enough to stash... It could mean anything, Jack reflected, from a drug deal gone sour to a blackmailing scam. Too dangerous... listen Soprano... FBI involved...
The conversation abruptly ended, but the last two words acting as a beacon.
Sue and Jack watched as Smoky walked away toward the street. Jack signed 'follow'.
***
His gloved hand turned his cell phone off, while he kept his eyes across the street from where he parked his black sedan. At any moment, he expected Nowen to exit the alley. After speaking on the phone with him, Nowen would never suspect his presence in the neighbourhood, and he would catch him off guard. Nowen was his only link to the botched operation, the only person who could identify his voice. He needed to protect his identity at any cost... but he also needed Nowen to provide him with the classified information.
Nowen was walking across the street, offering an easy target. No, he decided. At the moment, Nowen remained more valuable alive than dead. He saw Nowen turn left. He had no doubt Nowen was heading towards his favourite bar, The Drunken Cave, a few streets down. With the flick of the wrist he changed gears, ready to merge with the light traffic when movements in the alley caught his eyes.
He immediately recognised Hudson and Thomas as they emerged from the same alley than Nowen. They were scanning the street, while Hudson was talking on the phone, visibly searching for something or someone.
He grabbed the newspaper that was lying on the passenger seat expressly for that purpose, and hid behind it. He couldn't be seen. Were they tailing Nowen? Did they witness Nowen's end of their conversation? Did Hudson hear, or Thomas read? Cold sweat dripped down between his shoulder blades as he recalled the exchange. Was there any compromising information that was leaked?
He watched as Hudson and Thomas returned to Hudson's Bureau issued car. They would probably canvass the nearby streets in hope of tracing Nowen, he surmised. He couldn't allow Hudson to apprehend Nowen. The situation had changed drastically. He needed to cut his losses. His thumb pressed the control button on the steering wheel, and the car slowly accelerated into the night.
***
He parked in the alley behind The Drunken Cave. From there, he had an unobstructed view of the back door. He attached a silencer to his gun before dialling the same number again.
"Hello." If Nowen's intonation was any indication, he was annoyed.
"I lost the connection earlier," he lied. "We need to talk."
"I'm listening," Nowen yelled. He thought he heard a woman laughing.
"Get rid of the bimbo," he ordered, imagining a curvy waitress sitting on Nowen's lap while pouring him a drink. "And get out. I can barely make out what you're saying."
The noise level being the perfect excuse to get Nowen to leave.
"Go to--"
Hoping to fish Nowen out, he hung up before Nowen had a chance to reply.
He wasn't disappointed when the back door opened and Nowen exited phone in hand. The driver side window rolled down without a sound. What made Nowen turn in his direction, he would never know, but it gave him the perfect opportunity. At that distance, he couldn't miss and he never missed. He smiled with satisfaction, as his record remained unblemished. Nowen was dead before he hit the pavement.
He scanned the alley, making sure they were alone. After a few minutes, he painstakingly exited his car, holding on to the door. With great effort, he walked towards Nowen, rehearsing an alibi in his mind in case someone stumbled on him. His legs shook as he bent down to retrieve the phone that was dropped mere inches away from the body. He placed it in his pocket. After unlocking its secret, he would dispose of it. He then proceeded to search Nowen, taking his wallet, and replacing it with a small bag of white powder. Drug deals gone astray were nightly occurrence in this part of town. The investigation would be closed quickly. Satisfied that he left nothing to chance he made it back to his car, only to collapse on his seat from exhaustion. He did it, he terminated the last link.
***
Jack noticed a small crowd agglomerating towards an alley as he drove by. His instinct told him he found who he was looking for. His badge was enough to make the crowd disperse. With Sue by his side they stared down at Smoky.
"Another dead end." She shivered as she spoke despite the warm jacket Jack had given her in the car.
She watched as Jack searched the man, only finding a small bag of white powder.
"Sue, do you see his phone lying around?" His eyes scanned the dark alley.
They looked around the immediate area while waiting for the crime scene unit to show up. Sue wasn't surprised when she realised Jack had called their own people and not DCPD.
"You don't think it's a drug deal?" she whispered to him after he handed the evidence to a young agent. In return, Jack was given a picture of the dead man.
"Not sure yet. He had alcohol on his breath. Would you care to accompany me in one of those fine establishments, Ms. Thomas?"
She twitched her nose at him. "If that's a first date, Jack, I'm disappointed."
He grinned at her, his deep brown eyes twinkling merrily. She was flirting with him.
"But the company will more than make up for the lack of ambiance," he assured her, placing his hand on the small of her back and leading her towards the closest bar, The drunken Cave.
"Oh, you mean the man of my dreams is waiting for me inside?" she said, innocently raising her brows at him.
"Very funny." He rolled his eyes at her. "You stay close to me."
"If you insist."
She leaned against him as they entered the place, leaving him wonder.
Badges were bad for business so the owner quickly saw the wisdom of cooperating. The longest the FBI agents were inside, the more uncomfortable his patrons grew and the less they drank.
"That guy started coming here about two months ago," the owner said, returning the picture to Jack. "He always paid cash, was never rough with the girls, so I left him alone. He was sitting at that table over there not an hour ago."
"Anybody with him?" asked Jack.
The owner rubbed his chin before motioning for a curvy waitress to join him.
"Hello handsome." She swung her hips against Jack's leg. "What can I do for you?"
"FBI." Showing his badge, he moved aside so Sue was between him and the woman with the skimpy outfit. "We would like to ask you a few questions," he said, ignoring Sue's amused smile.
"I didn't do anything," she retorted, suddenly on the defensive.
"Relax, Mimi," the owner ordered her. "It's about that regular of yours, sitting at the corner table. Show her the picture."
Jack complied.
"Pete? He looks funny. What's that dot on his forehead? Something happened to him?"
"You could say that. He's dead," informed Jack.
"But... he was here... an hour ago."
"You said his name was Pete?" Sue asked the visibly shaken waitress.
"I didn't know his name, but he looked like a Pete, so I called him Pete. He didn't care. He was a really good tipper... not like some of the losers in this joint."
"Mimi!" warned the owner.
"Whatever." She slumped on the nearest stool.
"Was he with someone tonight?" Jack continued.
"No. Always alone. Comes for a drink. Likes it when I sit on his lap to pour it in his glass. Not that I..."
"Of course not." Jack's tone of voice didn't quite match the words. "Anything peculiar happened before he left?"
"Hum... a phone call. Some john wanted to talk to him. Pete was pissed. He left by the back door. That's it."
"Are you sure it was a man?"
"Nope, but Pete is not rude with ladies... and he was...." She looked at Sue and shrugged. "So..."
"Did he have money? A wallet?"
"Of course," she quickly answered as though Jack's question surprised her. "Drinks ain't free you know. Not that he was loaded, but I could see lots of green when he pulled his wallet out to pay."
"And was he into drugs?"
"Not that I know of. He wasn't the type."
"Listen, you may not believe it, but I run a clean bar," the owner insisted. "Nothing fishy happens inside. If the guy was a dealer, he took his business outside."
***
He spent the night at his office, going through Nowen's phone records. And dawn found him staring in anger at the latest information on his computer screen. Running Nowen's fingerprints only confirmed his findings. Nowen duped him.
He slammed his fist on his mahogany desk, paperclips spilling over the shiny surface. When did his perfect scam begin spiralling down? It only started going wrong with the botched handling of the last paintings. He shook his head. He must have made a prior mistake to warrant Nowen's involvement, though he couldn't conjure up which one. The blueprints should have been his last venture to raise the thousands of dollars he needed to finish the treatment. Now the documents were useless, more than likely altered since they couldn't afford to leak the gun's real specifications... not that they were in his possession anyway. He sighed. Where would he find the money?
He doubted they suspected him personally, but they were closing in. Did he get rid of Nowen in time? It was just bad luck that Hudson found the body first and decided not to turn it in to DCPD. Nowen's death should have been quickly dismissed as another bad drug deal, though maybe it wasn't too late to give Nowen a completely new identity. It would buy him time, time for one last operation before Hudson's team unravelled the mystery.
He leaned back in his chair forcing himself to calm down and think. He had problems to solve. He needed solutions. And he could afford zero mistake.
As ideas swarmed into his mind, he pondered his chances of success.
***
Jack was glad to see his team was already working on the case when he showed up to work with Sue and Levi.
"You and Sue were busy last night." Myles' baritone voice echoed in the bullpen. "Though last thing we needed was another case." His sight encompassed the paperwork piled on his desk, oblivious to the blush creeping on both Jack and Sue's cheeks.
"Or did you pick up more than a dead body at the bar last night, mate?" Bobby teased, not missing the signs.
Bruce kept silent, but he watched and listened with interest at the exchange, as Sue went to her desk, while Jack totally ignored Bobby, asking about Tara's whereabouts instead, since the short blond agent was conspicuously absent from her computer.
"When Tara phoned the morgue earlier to enquire how come she hadn't received Smoky's fingerprints yet," explained Bobby, "the ME mumbled something about unreliable courier, being busy..."
"She went to lift the fingerprints herself," Myles interrupted, giving Jack the short version.
"And I got them, fresh from the body," she exclaimed all bubbly as she came in the bullpen, to immediately download the pad in her hand into her computer. "Also got pictures." Smiling, she distributed them to everyone. "Try to get him to smile but he wasn't too cooperative."
"You don't say." Myles rolled his eyes. "Jack, I will go talk to the curator again," he volunteered, sighing at his own suggestion. "Now that he's over the shock of recovering his mutilated paintings, he may remember seeing our mystery man roaming around."
"Or someone else at the museum may have seen him, sir," Bruce added, standing up as Myles motioned him to come along.
"Is it my imagination, mate, or is Myles taking Junior under his wing?"
"I think he likes that Bruce is calling him Sir," quipped Sue, grinning widely.
"Yah, that would do it," agreed the tall Aussie.
"Okay, what do we have?" asked Jack.
"Since you called me twice in the middle of the night, first to tell me you were following Smoky, and second you found him dead... Well... Nothing, mate. I visited the crime scene this morning and talked to the locals. I think the only English words they know are saw nothing, know nothing." Bobby shook his head in frustration. "No sign of Smoky's cell or wallet. You want to tell me why you didn't turn that case to DCPD? Myles is right, we're swamped. And the guy had cocaine on him. Do you really think he is related to any of our cases?"
"My gut feelings are telling me he is." Jack ran in fingers into his hair, gazing at Sue. "And another suspect who dies as he is about to be apprehended is too much of a coincidence."
"He mentioned FBI involvement," Sue remarked. "Do you think you could trace who left that tip on my blackberry?"
"I can try," said the perky computer genius.
"We also know he wasn't victim of a robbery or a bad drug deal... or the drug would be missing along with his wallet and phone."
"I don't know about that, Jack. The coke was low grade according to the lab," Tara specified. "Though you couldn't tell by looking at it," she admitted.
"Okay, I'll keep that option open," Jack conceded. "Can you give me a name?"
"Computer is searching the database." She peeked at her screen. "The ME gave me a preliminary report. Cause of death was a bullet to the head. Small calibre. Ballistic report should be in shortly. The tox screen was negative."
"So Smoky wasn't a user," Sue repeated. "Did they find any other items on him?"
"No," replied Tara. "While I was down there, I looked at the body for any marks that could help identify him and..." Her gaze unfocused as in her mind she stared back at the naked body, noting some details she dismissed earlier as irrelevant.
"Tara? Luv?" Bobby placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her. "Your computer is beeping. Where were you?"
***
"Good morning, sir." Myles greeted the man in the wheelchair who rolled at the back of the elevator to give Leland and Davis some room.
"Agents," he replied distractedly.
"Sir?" The rookie addressed Myles quietly, unaware of the identity of the man sharing the elevator with them. "Thomas? Is she..."
Myles raised his brow at the young agent.
"Seeing someone?" he continued. "To your knowledge... I mean are her and Hudson... you know..."
Myles' eyes widened in horror, as the man behind them cleared his throat.
"My floor, gentlemen."
The chime indicating he reached his destination reverberated in the small enclosure. The man in wheelchair rolled out and the doors closed behind him.
"Davis, do you have any idea who that man was?" asked Myles, barely controlling his exasperation.
"A visitor?"
The red shade on his senior agent's face told Bruce Davis that it was the wrong answer.
"Assistant Director Connors. The director's personal adviser," Myles specified forcefully.
"The man who took a bullet to the back to save the President?" Bruce sounded visibly impressed of having met a living legend.
"Yes. The one and only. And Assistant Director Connors is also a firm supporter of the no-dating rule," Myles irritably explained to the clueless young agent.
"Oh!" exclaimed Davis.
That would be an understatement, thought Myles.
"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know that... that..."
Myles lifted his hand to stop his apology as they exited the elevator to walk to the parking lot.
"No damage, they're not dating," Myles revealed.
"They're not? You mean Thomas is..."
Myles sighed at the young man's exuberance.
"Read between the lines, Davis. Unless you want Jack to shoot you, I would stay away from the fair Ms. Thomas," he advised.
"But..." Bruce swallowed the rest as he pondered what Agent Leland told him. "I understand," he said even though he didn't. "What about Agent Williams?"
"What about Tara?" Myles asked, starting to be seriously annoyed.
"Is she seeing someone, sir?"
The dark look he received convinced the rookie to stop his inquiry.
***
Tara returned her attention to her screen, anxious to see if her mental image of their dead man matched the description she was about to read.
"Name is Arnie Strudel." She spelled it for Sue. "Small time dealer from Pittsburgh. Multiple charges for disorderly misconduct, possession and intent to distribute, but was released for lack of evidence. No fixed address," announced Tara, frowning as her mind went back to the body in the morgue.
"You've got to love our justice system," mumbled Bobby.
"It doesn't add up," revealed Tara, her fingers dancing on her keyboard. "Give me fifteen more minutes, Jack."
"You got it. Bobby, call Pittsburgh, see what they can tell us about Arnie."
"On it, mate." Bobby moved away from Tara's shoulder to reach for his phone.
"Jack?"
Upon hearing his name, Jack sat on the corner of Sue's desk. "Yes?"
"When I received that tip... the wording... I assumed it came from a woman..." As she spoke, he was listening intently. "And it felt like... like she knew me."
"Call your blackberry provider and see if they can trace the call."
Sue nodded, already absorbed on the task.
Jack returned to his desk. Time for him to renew contact with the military. But to add to his frustration, after being transferred to half of dozen people, he met a wall of stone. Military wasn't talking, and he couldn't help wonder why since it should be in their best interest to cooperate.
His mind and eyes wandered to Sue. He'd finally driven her home in the middle of the night. He didn't realize how cold, shivering and exhausted she really was until she'd tripped going up the stairs. He'd caught her and pulled her to him. She'd gripped his jacket and leaned her head on his shoulder, ready to fall asleep. He'd taken her inside her apartment where Levi was eagerly waiting to be let out. Jack couldn't help but think where was Lucy when he needed her to put Sue to bed. Through no fault of hers, her roommate attended a seminar in Baltimore for the week. Sue's fingers were stiffed. He'd removed her outer layers in the living room before walking her to her room, then he'd taken care of Levi. When he'd returned twenty minutes later with the golden retriever, he'd found her asleep on her bed in her wet clothes. So, he'd gently undressed her, trying to rein his wild imagination, leaving her only in a very sexy yellow underwear set that fuelled the fire raging inside him. She'd murmured his name when he'd lifted her to place her under the heavy blankets, but she never opened her eyes, sleep reclaiming her immediately. He couldn't resist and he'd wished her sweet dreams, his lips brushing her cheek.
And when they met this morning in the parking lot, neither mentioned last night, though she averted her eyes when she first saw him.
"Jack?" Sue pulled him out of his reverie. "It was a text message. And they couldn't trace its origin."
"Sue?" Tara gesticulated to get her colleague's attention. "I will try your server as soon as I have a moment. Now, Jack, about this Arnie Strudel, I couldn't find any other record of him."
"Homeless, unemployed?" suggested Sue.
"Not the man I saw." Tara pulled away from her computer, wondering how she could explain the discrepancies to her colleagues. "I go to the gym three times a week... or at least I try to..."
"Tara? The point please?" Jack's patience was being tested this morning.
"Yes, well. Not that I pay much attention to the guys around me with their tight shorts and t-shirts." Tara felt herself blush. "But... well... the point is I can tell if a guy has been training regularly, or if he's a newcomer... you know... how defined his muscles are and how..."
"We get the idea, luv." Bobby joined the discussion after terminating his discussion with Detective Hubert from Pittsburgh. "So, what did you learn from checking guys out?" He flashed his dimples at her.
"Bobby!" This was exactly what Tara didn't want him to think.
"Tara?" Jack sighed.
"Yes, well, the dead man wasn't big by any stretch of imagination, but he kept himself in shape. And I know the ME cleaned the body, but the man had very good personal hygiene. His teeth were dentist perfect. His nails, fingers and toes, were well manicure. Even his hair was stylish. No bruises, cuts or scars of any type. I could bet you anything that he had never been in a fight in his life and didn't live in the streets, therefore I should be able to find something on him, anything, besides those accusations."
"Are you thinking he's a respected citizen by day, and a small offender by night?" Sue voiced. "If so, Arnie Strudel could be an alias."
"See, that's an interesting theory, because Pittsburgh has no paperwork record of any Arnie Strudel," finally revealed Bobby.
"Could they have forgotten to file the paperwork?" Jack asked, his suspicion rising.
"Not according to Det. Hubert," Bobby replied. "He couldn't explain how Arnie ended up in their computer system, and after looking at it, he pointed out the names of the arresting officers were noticeably omitted. His department offers full cooperation."
"That's a welcoming change." Jack was delighted they'd finally caught a break. "Feel like going on a trip, Bobby? I heard Pittsburgh was lovely at this time of year."
Bobby grinned. "I thought you'd never offer, mate."
"Keep in touch with Tara, she can share her computer expertise with you over the phone. Have a nice flight."
"Flight?" Myles' baritone voice reverberated as he came in with Bruce. "Where's Bobby going?"
"Pittsburgh, mate." Bobby smirked at Myles' confused expression. "See you later."
"We'll update you, Myles, but first did you find something?" Jack wanted to know.
"The paintings were fake," informed Bruce.
"Did you say fake, like in not the original?" demanded Sue.
"So much for the punch line, Davis," chided Myles. "The curator was attempting to restore the paintings when he discovered they were indeed replicas, very good replicas mind you, but nevertheless still only imitations. Ironically, if they had not been damaged, he wouldn't have found out."
"So who has the expertise to create such imitations?" demanded Tara, taking a break from her screen after downloading Arnie's picture into the facial recognition program databank.
"There is a market for reproductions," explained Myles. "It offers to some collectors the possibility to admire some of the most prestigious paintings that would be otherwise kept solely in museum."
"And those paintings we retrieved..."
"Are of the highest quality," Myles finished for Jack.
"Are you suggesting that some collectors somewhere suddenly own the real ones?" The idea sounded somewhat preposterous to Sue.
"That would be the curator's theory," said Myles. "He disclosed that three months ago, another incident occurred. Four of his paintings went missing for a few days while they were in transit for an exhibition. But since they were located in time for the opening, he never officially reported it to the authority. Now he will have them authenticated again."
"It's the perfect crime when you think about it," Sue commented. "The collector pays good money for the real ones and the museum never knows it was handed perfect copies."
"Except someone was negligent, and didn't handle the reproductions properly this time around," surmised Myles. "Coincidentally, I haven't heard from that informant of mine ever since he gave us that tip on the warehouse. He may have been exposed."
"As much as it makes sense, we still need evidence," Jack reminded them. "Myles, see if any other museums temporarily misplaced their works of art. There may be a pattern."
"Davis and I will be on it, and we'll investigate those four paintings as well, assuming the curator confirms they are fake," Myles assured his team leader. "By the way, no one recalls ever seeing or meeting our dead guest. Did we find his identity?"
"We may know who is not." Jack explained the newest developments to the two agents before going to brief D.
***
His meeting with D lasted longer than Jack had anticipated as they reviewed the entire case. When he made it back to the bullpen, he was disappointed to see that Sue was gone out for lunch without him.
Not that he asked her to wait for him, he reminded himself.
Tara was also absent, he noticed a moment later. Her computer screen was showing pictures at an alarming rate, meaning it still hadn't made a positive identification. He leaned in his chair and closed his eyes.
Instead of solving the puzzle or puzzles, they kept adding pieces. Jack still didn't know if all those cases were related, but if someone went through the trouble of tampering with police records, it could only mean that whoever Smoky was, he was an important piece. And someone was going through lots of trouble to stop them from finding out which one.
Once again Jack's mind wandered to Sue's empty chair. She was his partner and there were rules they had to follow. But denying his feelings for her was becoming increasingly difficult. Soon he knew he would explode if he kept bottling them up. But the words failed him when he was alone with her. She was the only woman who'd ever had that effect on him, and he had the sneaking suspicion he knew what it meant. Who was he kidding? He was sure it meant what he knew it meant. He needed to find the right words, and forget about the rule, that last part being easier than the first, he conceded to himself. He considered writing his feelings down, and after scanning the bullpen to make sure he was indeed alone, he started typing.
Strangely, his hands took a life of their own, and words flew freely on his screen. He became so engrossed in his private world that he missed the girls coming in.
Sue was juggling her purse, two coffees and Levi.
"Levi, go get Jack," she instructed her faithful companion after dropping his leash.
He was putting the final touch to his missive, when Levi's furry paw on his lap startled him. He jerked away from his computer and his finger mistakenly hit the send button. His eyes widened in horror as he watched the mail instantly disappear. He was going to rehearse it, and tell her, eventually, not send it to her NOW.
"Jack, are you all right? Did Levi make you delete a file?" Sue was by his side, gazing worriedly at him.
'No... not delete... delete would have been a good.' He fought to keep the panic from overwhelming him.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't have sent Levi to get your attention. I brought a coffee for you, thinking you would need..." His hand reaching for the coffee stopped her ramblings.
'Yes, I will need it indeed for when you read my message.' His eyes intensely searched hers for a sign, any sign that she wouldn't throw her own coffee at him.
"Thank you," he managed to say somewhat evenly, not realising he covered her hand with his until she gently pulled it out.
"You're welcome." Her head tilted towards his screen. "Was it important?"
"Yes. Very."
"Jack, I have a hit, and you won't believe it," Tara exclaimed excitedly.
***
The soft melody playing in the background did nothing to appease him, he simply found no solace in the great masterpieces. Hudson's team lived up to its reputation, he acknowledged, refusing to concede defeat just yet. His last cup of coffee remained untouched, sitting on the papers that littered his mahogany desk. He knew better than to completely ignore the reports that were arriving hourly, so he quickly skimmed through them, pushing aside everything that didn't require his immediate attention. The new pile out of the way, his mind instantly refocused on the recent developments.
The curator found out he was handed replicates. Strangely, the thought brought a smile to his lips. If the curator had not, he would have seriously doubted the man's credential. He knew hitting the same museum twice had been risky, but one of the collectors requested a very specific portrait, and he offered good money for it. The mistake was to trust those incompetents to do the job, not that they would be talking to anyone anytime soon. He personally took care of them... all of them. Leland would be chasing ghosts. And since the FBI couldn't publicly announce what they were looking for without creating a mass hysteria within the art community, it meant the investigation would be subtle. The collectors were spread over the globe, and none was stupid enough to admit owing a stolen painting, the penalties were too severe.
Manning was in Pittsburgh, not that it should have surprised him either. To give Nowen a new identity had been a desperate attempt on his part. Obviously, Hudson noticed some inconsistencies. By the end of the day, they should have identified Nowen and...
He turned towards his computer at the sound of the soft alarm he'd set up. His day just got shorter. Agent Williams found Nowen. He was actually impressed, not quite sure how she achieved it so quickly.
His long fingers played on his keyboard, covertly tracing back her steps. "Very resourceful," he whistled admiringly.
But she was still one identity away from the real one, he reminded himself. On the other hand, Nowen's team would soon know for certain their mole was dead, though they might already know, he surmised. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced they didn't know it was HIM they were tracking down.
'If only I could stay clean, the suspicion would wash over me.'
Unfortunately, it wasn't a viable option. He desperately needed the money. He had one last lucrative operation in mind, one that should remain clear of all the on-going investigations, still...
Diverting everyone's investigations would sooth him well at the moment, he mused, as he skilfully hacked through the network for any more useful information. He was about to redirect his attention to his daily paperwork when the lack of subject on an otherwise inconspicuous email caught his eyes.
From Hudson to Thomas.
"Interesting," he murmured after he opened it. "I took you for a careful man, Hudson. On the other hand, you wouldn't be the first sane, intelligent and successful man to commit an unspeakable crime in the name of love."
An evil smile distorted his features. If he orchestrated it right, he could kill two birds with the same gun, laughing at his own metaphor.
Suddenly his day was taking a turn on the brighter side. With the right skills and equipment, fingerprints were easy to manufacture, so were emails and alibis.
He chuckled. "Rest assure, Agent Hudson, that your fortuitous contribution to my little diversion is greatly appreciated."
***
"Sir, we have a problem," the petite Asian woman told him, her gaze locked on her computer.
"Those four words, Syto, are the reason I retired in the first place," he shared with her.
"That's five words, sir." Lifting her head, she frowned at the older man whose presence filled the small office den of the cozy little bungalow they operated from.
"Never mind, Syto. Did you find Nowen?"
"I believe I did. He is in the Hoover Building."
"Is he crazy?" the imposing man roared.
"In the morgue, sir. He's dead." The last two words spoken softly, reverently, she stole a glance at the older man.
He kept his expression neutral, but his eyes darkened with what she could only assume was anger.
"How did you trace him?" His voice was low, almost threatening.
"I didn't. Agent Williams identified him for me. He was found dead last night by Agent Hudson." She read from the reports she intercepted in cyberspace.
"Has Hudson's team connected the dots yet?"
He looked directly at her but she ignored his question. She was frowning, her fingers speedily typing.
"I caught HIS trace, sir. HE is shadowing Williams. I... DARN!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot. "Lost him. Sorry. And to answer your question, Hudson's team is looking in all the right directions."
"I want to know everything Hudson's team finds out, as they find it out. And beware of Williams, she is better than people give her credit for."
The meaning was not lost on Syto, who was also a computer genius.
"She won't know I'm there looking over her shoulder," she assured him.
"Excellent, we may still salvage that operation."