Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(63)

Oliver pushed the photographs back to me. “I’ve only heard vague rumors.”

“I’ll never consider myself too good for cheap whiskey or vague rumors.”

As usual, he didn’t laugh. “The company became unintentionally involved with something big. Our networks were linked to so many cameras, we were collecting so much data, so much raw footage, all over the world. In hindsight, they should have realized that at some point certain parties would approach us, wanting to use what we had collected in ways we hadn’t anticipated.”

“Parties?”

He shook his head in distaste. “You’re making me spell it out? I thought you were some kind of detective. Foreign governments, or affiliated agencies.”

“Affiliated agencies … you mean security services? Counterterrorism?”

He nodded.

“And Karen Li was involved in this? She had been working on In Retentis, right?”

He shook his head emphatically. “She found out accidentally.”

I relaxed a little. He was telling the truth, at least here.

“How did you find out about any of this?” he wanted to know.

“That doesn’t matter. There was a date,” I pressed. “Something major happening on November first. What is it?”

Now his head shake was definite. “I don’t know anything about a date.”

“Who are the people in the photographs?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Humor me.”

“Are you even listening to me?” he said impatiently. “Which countries we’re talking about—which parts of the world? They breed radical extremism like stagnant ponds breed mosquitos.”

“So these are terrorists? Planning some kind of attack? Is that what Karen was talking about when she said people will die? Something happening on November first that the people in these pictures are planning, and Care4 won’t release information it got hold of?”

That frightened him. He chewed his lip nervously. “An attack? Is there going to be one?”

I looked straight into his eyes. “We should go to the police. This is too much for us.”

“Really?” He looked even more nervous. “The police? Are you sure?”

“I think we need to. I know some people I’ll get in touch with this week.”

He licked his lips. “When, exactly? Will the company find out I was involved?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep your name out of it.”

Oliver took this in. We were nearing the shoreline. I could see the main street of Sausalito, just above sea level, a border of toothy black rocks set against the water. A charming street full of antique stores and ice-cream shops. Above the town jutted steep green hills flecked with homes. “Look,” Oliver finally said. “It’s not safe for me to be seen with you. I’m serious. I’m going to disembark. You stay on the ferry, take it back to San Francisco. If anyone asks, we never spoke.”

The ferry was slowing as it approached the gangway. Below I could see a line of people waiting to board. Oliver headed for the staircase without another word. My coffee had gotten cold but I sipped it anyway, feeling an emotion that I wasn’t used to encountering in my professional life. Self-doubt. Whatever I had gotten caught up in was starting to feel unmanageable, and each step forward seemed to lead to impossible new questions. There were too many missing parts, too many unconnected pieces, and only a handful of days between now and the first of November.

Time was running out.

Even worse, I still didn’t know what would happen when it did.





33


The next morning I went for a long run in the Berkeley Hills. I often did my best thinking while running, and I was starting to feel desperate. I had exhausted every lead, every piece of information. There had to be a way to take the next step—but what?

The trail I was on ascended gradually for a few miles before looping around. I was high up and could glimpse fragments of the Bay in between the hills and trees. Like glimpses of Care4. Pieces, fragments. But I couldn’t see everything. I passed a pair of plodding hikers with a leashed golden retriever. The dog jealously watched me pass. The trail steepened and I forced myself to keep my pace. I leapt over a branch, ran faster. Gregg Gunn hired me to follow Karen Li. Next. Karen Li was killed. Next. I found the photographs she hid. Pictures that she had wanted me to have.

And then?

I got another glimpse of the Bay. From this distance, the water looked still and artificial. Those faces. Where did they lead? What did they mean? If there was a pending attack, where would it be, and what was Care4’s role? Pieces. All I had were unconnected pieces. How could I see the whole picture? My foot snagged a root and the next thing I knew I had sprawled onto the ground. I caught myself on the palms of my hands and rolled over to a seated position, laughing for no good reason at my clumsiness.

I had started with Care4 by following Karen Li. And ended up back there after finding her. Circular. A loop, like this trail. Offering glimpses but not the whole view. My visit to Care4, Gunn’s soft tone, warning me to leave it alone. But leave what alone?

Leaving Care4, hating myself for having failed Karen, pulling away, almost being sideswiped by the Mercedes.

The man in the Mercedes.

Still sitting on the trail, rubbing dirt off my leg, I said two words. “Brenda Johnson.”