They know that I know that they know.
Having established the mutual awareness, I give a friendly wave to the young lady dropped off by the SUV and carry on, speed-walking up Beacon. Take a left for six short blocks on Charles Street, and thence-as boss lady might say-into Mass General, and up to the secure floor where Randall Shane is being treated.
Im not cleared to enter his room-that privilege has now been restricted to his attorney, no casual visitors allowed-so Dane meets me at the end of the hallway, near the nurses station, where I make a show of handing over a tube of my own lipstick.
What, no Pale Peach? she says with a grin.
Just so you know, I was tailed from the residence. A team effort.
Dane seems not the least surprised. She links her arm in mine and says, I think we need a trip to the ladies. Steering me farther on down the hallway, until were out of sight of the uniformed officer stationed outside of Shanes room.
To my surprise, Dane walks us past the public restroom, and into a small utility closet, shutting the door and blocking it with her hip. Obviously a location shed scouted for just this eventuality as a place unlikely to be bugged. The utility closet-a small room, really-reeks of Pine-Sol, with a distinct and recent whiff of illicit cigarette smoke. Custodians sneaking a puff, or maybe nurses. Or doctors, for that matter. Whoever, it wont be long before some needy nicotine addict tries the door.
Shortly after his giant girlfriend left, the big guy beckoned me.
Beckoned? I say.
With the hand that isnt cuffed, she says. Wanted me to bend down so he could whisper in my ear.
Thats great, I say. What did he tell you?
Dane, eyes lively with conspiratorial glee, puts her lips to my ear, quite literally, and imparts, in nine succinct words, an extremely important piece of new information.
Back at the residence, I confer with boss lady, who seems to be slightly peeved that I didnt mention the particulars of my errand before leaving.
Its not the being followed, thats to be expected, she says, giving me the cold eye of her disapproval. Its that you could have been snatched from the street upon your return and interrogated, or worse.
I took a taxi back.
Boss lady is not impressed. These people smashed their way into this residence and dragged our client out in a net. You think they wouldnt stop a taxicab?
I shrug and say, Trust me, this isnt the same crowd. If a special-ops team had me under surveillance, I doubt Id have spotted them. This was more like the FBI we all know and love. Could even be a local police operation, but I seriously doubt the locals have the resources to dispatch an entire surveillance team whenever one of us leaves the residence. Hence my vote for our pals at the Bureau.
Naomi shakes her head. Maybe, maybe not, but from now on no one leaves without letting me know where theyre going and why.
Fine, but tell me again why we cant be bugged? Why youre so sure theyre not listening to us right now?
She rolls her eyes but indulges me. Intruders could well have placed bugs in the residence, but it doesnt matter because theres no way any bug can transmit from this location. When the building was gutted and renovated it was made secure against electronic surveillance of all types. Theres no radio frequency or variable signal that can penetrate, meaning any and all bugs are inoperable or will fail to transmit. Thats why cell phones have to be routed through the roof antenna. The same signal interference system is used in the shielded areas of U.S. embassies deemed vulnerable to espionage. London, Moscow, Beijing, Baghdad. So were good. Speak freely.
Im sure youre right, I say, grabbing a pencil and a steno pad. But I prefer to write this down.
If you must, she concedes with a sigh.
Kendall Square. Behind Dumpster. Shanes laptop. Jack will know.
Naomis big brown eyes are suddenly all aglow. This is potentially our biggest break in the case thus far, assuming that the hidden laptop can be recovered. When she gets like this, stoked by her keen intelligence with positive energy, I sometimes get the impression that shed like to give me a hug, share the glow, but she never does. Touchy-feely is not part of her outward nature, or if it is she manages to keep it firmly under control.
Okay, well play it your way, on the off chance, she says, feeding the piece of paper into the shredder. Then she leans out the command center doorway and calls out, loud enough to be heard at the FBI field office at One Center Plaza, with or without bugs. Teddy! Stop whatever it is youre doing! Alice wants to take you shopping!
Chapter Twenty-Six
When it comes to shedding tails, Teddy Boyle is a mere tadpole, but surprisingly enthusiastic at being given the opportunity.
This is sort of what Matt Damon does, he confides as we head out on foot.
Matt Damon has stunt doubles, I remind him. Hes not really driving cars a hundred miles an hour on a wrong-way street.
Cool, Teddy says. But you should know I dont have a drivers license.
You wont need one. We wont be wrecking Lamborghinis or jumping from rooftop to rooftop. All were going to do is go into the Nike outlet and shop.
Thats it? he says, sounding disappointed.
The cool thing about this, you get to buy something, for real. Im thinking, at the very least, a hoodie and kicks.
I hate the swoosh, he says scornfully.
Think of it as taking one for Team Nantz.
So far, the black SUV is hanging back, but I have to assume theyve got someone cruising the blocks ahead of us as we approach Newbury Street, which is to Boston what Rodeo Drive is to Beverly Hills, except with way less celebrities and movie stars. Way less, but not none-I once spotted the aforementioned Mr. Damon coming out of Daisy Buchanans, all on his own, no entourage. Take my word for it, hes even better looking in person.
I think I see em! Teddy hisses.
Pay no attention. Were almost there.
Im not old enough to be Teddys mother, but big sister fits comfortably, and thats the role I assume upon entering Niketown, on the corner of Newbury and Exeter streets. Handing over my own credit card, an act of faith Im reasonably sure the young hacker wont abuse. And if he does Ill cancel his ass so fast hell be gulping like a guppy. Actually, hes quite attentive when I explain the drill.
Kay, first I pick out shoes, then we go upstairs and find a hoodie, he says, repeating the instructions. Try it on, pay for everything and then leave with the hood up.
You got it.
And somewhere along the way, youll, like, vanish or something.
Or something.
Its way too warm for a hoodie.
Look around, its never too warm for a hoodie. Guys your age wear them down to breakfast while Mom pours the cheery little Os. Inside, outside, the hood is always up.
Guys like that are morons.
No argument. But the peepers will think youre attempting to disguise yourself. Theyll pay attention.
Peepers? Is that even a word?
Try to stay focused. This is very important.
No fool, Teddy, when it comes right down to it, he selects a pricey pair of the Zoom Kobes and a green cotton hoodie, one of the retro styles-or as I like to think, timeless-and hands the charge card to a teenage clerk who, from the look in her doelike eyes, finds my little brother totally fascinating, from the tip-top of his gelled hair spikes to his soon-to-be zooming feet. Her glance at me is dismissive-clearly a late-twenties female lacking in neck tattoos is no competition. On the positive side shes more than willing to clip away the tags so he can wear the product out of the store.
Bambi hands bashful Teddy a bag for the shoes and does everything but roll over with her paws in the air.
When he rejoins me I point out, All you have to do is whistle.
Huh? he responds, genuinely puzzled. Brilliant as he may be in all things internet, when it comes to girls hes as pathetically impaired as any teenage male.
Never mind. Were going to make one last circuit of this floor, over by that double rack of T-shirts, and then youre going to put up the hood and head downstairs like youre in a hurry. Show your receipt if you have to, but when you get out the door, go very quickly up Exeter Street and turn left on Boylston. Look around as if you might be followed, because you will be. Dont worry about the peepers, even if you do spot them. Theyll hang back. Go one block west to the corner of Dartmouth Street and go down into the T-stop. Take the green line to Park Street, exit onto the Common. Find a bench, sit down and pretend to be waiting for someone important. Give it ten minutes or so, then get all agitated when they dont show and make your way back to the residence.
I could try to lose them in the Public Garden, easy.
I dont want you to lose them. Ready?
Kay, sure.
He whips up the hood, hurries down the crowded stairway. Meanwhile, I step around the T-shirt display, scoot through a couple of racks in the busiest part of the store and take the staff stairway to the ground floor. Removing a plastic security card from my purse, I disarm the alarm for the door that exits onto the brick alley behind the store (what can I say, once upon a time we did a huge favor for a Nike exec). Crossing the alley I gain access to the Exeter Street parking garage through an unmarked door and meet Jack Delancey on the second floor of the garage.
Your chariot awaits, he says with a grin, opening the passenger door to the generic sedan hes just rented.
Swoosh, were out of there, undetected.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Before leaving the garage, Jack takes off his tie and blazer, carefully folds both items, places them on the passenger seat, then dons wraparound sunglasses and a Red Sox cap. He suggests that I slump down in the backseat until weve cleared the area. A rental car is being utilized for a couple of reasons. First, the working assumption that Jacks regular ride has been compromised, planted with bugs and/or a tracking device. And more generally because even if thats not the case, his Town Car has no doubt been visually identified as to make and plate, and would pop on any surveillance team watch list.