Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel(32)

“We all done here?” Lula asked.

“Yep. All done.”

We put our heads down and walked the laundry cart to the service elevator. We got off at the ground floor, pushed the cart beyond the point where there were security cameras, and shucked our masks, gloves, gowns, and scrubs. We left the cart in the hall and exited the building. Connie and Briggs were waiting at the curb. A black SUV that I suspected was a Rangeman vehicle was idling across the street. Lula and I got into Connie’s car, and she drove us back to the office. The black SUV pulled up behind Connie’s car, and Hal got out.

“Ranger would like to see you,” Hal said.

I got into the SUV, and Hal drove me to the safe house on Bender Street. I took the elevator to the third floor and found Ranger at his desk.

“You didn’t have to make your one phone call,” he said.

“No. I got in to see Gardi, and so far no one’s come after me.”

“How is he?”

“He looks terrible, but he was coherent. He’s been talking to the FBI, but it sounds like they don’t think the information is worth anything. Gardi doesn’t have a name. He said it was a business deal. He needed money bad, and this guy came to him and offered him the job. Gardi saw the man once. The money was paid in cash to Gardi’s business partners. The canister of poison was left in a New York hotel room for pickup. That’s it.”

“Did he give you a description?”

I told Ranger everything Gardi had told me, from the FBI interrogation to the guy with the scar and the tattoo.

“Let me guess,” Ranger said. “It was a skull and a flower.”

“Yes! Do you know him?”

“Only as Vlatko. Our paths crossed while I was on a search and rescue mission in North Korea, and he was a Russian SVR thug. SVR is the new KGB.”

“Did you work together?”

“No. We were on opposite sides. He was Russian intelligence, and I was point man for a ground troops unit.”

“And?”

“The operation was a success, but it wasn’t clean. Troops were lost on both sides. I was captured and handed over to Vlatko for torture. His specialty was disembowelment. He put a six-inch slice into my belly before I managed to get the knife from him.”

“I thought that scar was from an appendectomy.”

“If the knife had gone deeper, it would have been.”

“And what did you do to him?”

“I stuck the knife in his eye.”

“Wow, that’s pretty horrible. North Korea was years ago. Have you heard from Vlatko since?”

“No. I thought he was out of my life.”

“I guess he didn’t like losing an eye.”

“Go figure,” Ranger said.

“The only other thing I got from Gardi was the name of the hotel in New York. It was the Gatewell.”

Ranger tapped the name of the hotel into his computer.

“The Gatewell is on the West Side,” he said. “It’s a small boutique hotel. I’ll do some research on it.”

“Would that research involve hacking into their client database?”

“That would be illegal,” Ranger said, “and difficult from this location, but we might be able to manage it.”

Hal drove me back to the bonds office. I loaded Briggs into my car, and picked up a couple pizzas. Morelli was just returning from a walk with Bob when I rolled in. Bob rushed over, sniffed at the pizza boxes, and growled at Briggs.

I put the pizza boxes on the coffee table, and Morelli brought a roll of paper towels and a cold six-pack of Bud from the kitchen. He flipped the television on, and we dug in.

“Any luck finding Poletti today?” Briggs asked Morelli.

Morelli shook his head. “He’s out there, but he’s moving around.”

“Big of you to let us stay here, considering the risk,” Briggs said.

Morelli paused with a pizza slice in his hand. “Risk?”

“The probability that you’ll get a firebomb shot through your window is really high,” Briggs said.

Morelli looked surprised. Like he hadn’t actually thought about it.

“If we don’t advertise that you’re here,” I said to Briggs, “no one will know and no one will shoot a rocket through Morelli’s window.”

Briggs looked at the beer. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a Heineken?” he asked Morelli.

“I’ve got Bud,” Morelli said.

Briggs gave out a major sigh of disappointment and took a Bud. “Have you got a beer glass?” he asked.

“You didn’t ask for a glass at my house,” I said.

“My expectations are lower at your house,” Briggs said.

Morelli got Briggs a glass. “Don’t let the curtains on the windows and the toaster in the kitchen fool you. I’m even less civilized than she is.”

It was a nice thought, but I wasn’t sure it was true. I chugged my beer from the can and scarfed down two pieces of pizza.

“I need to go to my parents’ house to get my laundry,” I said to Morelli. “Grandma has my black suit airing so I can wear it to the funeral tomorrow.”

Morelli looked over at Briggs. “What about him?”

“I was going to leave him here.”