Джеймс Паттерсон - Killer Instinct

Still, Elizabeth wasn’t about to take No comment for an answer.

“It’s called Halo,” I said. “That’s what’s causing the glow.”

“ Halo? I don’t know what to ask first,” she said. “How does it work or who created it?”

“It was developed by a CIA lab back when I was stationed in London,” I said. “As for how it works, I’ll be damned if I understand all the science behind it.”

Elizabeth blinked in disbelief. “Did you just admit to ignorance?”

“Bite your tongue. I said I didn’t know all the science. The device, sometimes disguised as a necklace, reflects infrared waves, along with some visible light, and distorts any CCTV image. The effect is that blur of white you saw.”

“With a simple necklace?” she said.

“That’s the gee-whiz part. They’ve been able to produce the effect with what look like ordinary beads.”

Wait for it, Dylan. In five seconds, she’ll forget all about the science and realize the implications. Five, four, three, two…

“Jesus,” said Elizabeth. “So this woman with Darvish is CIA?”

“It’s possible.”

“Could she have killed the professor and made it look like an accident?”

“Also possible,” I said.

“Would Pritchard know something like that?”

“It’s highly unlikely anyone in your unit would know, including your boss.”

“But he could know about Halo, right?” she asked.

“We’re back to it’s possible,” I said. “But you can’t ask Pritchard because—”

“You and I never had this conversation. I get it. Besides, I’m not even assigned to the case anymore.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” I said.

“Can you blame me? We need to find out who this woman is.”

“We?”

“You want to know, too, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily. If she’s an operative, I’ll take it on faith that she was acting on good intelligence—information that no one inside the Agency is about to share with me.”

“What if she’s not, though?”

“Acting on good intel?”

“No,” said Elizabeth. “What if she’s not CIA?”

It was a fair point. Halo’s technology had been around nearly a decade, albeit in the hands of a very select group. That didn’t mean, though, that someone else hadn’t gotten hold of it. The wrong hands.

“What time does Bergdorf’s close?” I asked.

There wasn’t a more out-of-left-field question I could’ve thrown at Elizabeth in that moment. Her face confirmed it. “Bergdorf’s?” she asked. “Why?”

I reached for my phone, quickly googling the store’s hours. It was already past seven. “We need to do some shopping,” I said. “Then we need a huge favor.”

Chapter 27

“I’M REALLY going to hate returning these,” said Elizabeth, gazing down at the shoebox in her lap as we pulled away in the cab from Bergdorf’s. We caught a break. The store stays open until eight during the week.

I turned to her. “Who said anything about returning them?”

“Yeah, right,” she said with a laugh. Then she realized I was serious. “Dylan, that’s crazy. I can’t keep these.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, they cost over nine hundred dollars.”

“Yeah, what is it with women’s shoes? You girls know you’re getting scammed, and yet you still buy them like drugs,” I said. “Anyway, that’s not a good enough reason not to keep them.”

Elizabeth opened the box, taking out one of the Christian Louboutins and staring at it, transfixed. She was clearly in love. Still, as if snapping out of it, she shook her head.

“I’ll give you a better reason why to return them,” she said. “They’re just going to sit in my closet.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” I said.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Please don’t. My sister already gives me the you-need-to-get-a-boyfriend speech about once a month.”

“She isn’t very persuasive, is she?”

“No, I’m just that pathetic.”

I didn’t say anything. Apparently I was supposed to.

“For the record,” said Elizabeth, shooting an elbow into my ribs, “this is the part where you tell me that I’m not actually pathetic and I simply work too hard.”

“Oh, you mean the old married-to-your-job cliché?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Okay, here you go,” I said, clearing my throat. “You’re not actually pathetic. You simply work too hard.”

“That wasn’t very persuasive.”

“You don’t believe it so why should I?”

“Do you really think I use my career as an excuse to avoid dating?” she asked.

“Actually, no. I think the excuse you use is your father cheating on your mother.”

“Wow, you went there, didn’t you?”

“Hey, you asked.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” she said. “You don’t try to psychoanalyze me, and I won’t make the joke about gay men knowing more about women’s shoes than most women.”

“That’s an even bigger cliché than being married to your job.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “It is, isn’t it?” She turned the shoe upside down, staring at the signature red sole of all Christian Louboutins. “So is this idea of yours going to work?” she asked.

“It’s worth a try,” I said.

A few blocks later, we pulled up in front of a converted warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen near the corner of West 44th Street and Tenth Avenue. SILVER KEY STUDIOS read the sign over the entrance.

Tracy’s friend, Doug Chadwick, was waiting for us in the lobby. I shook his hand and introduced him to Elizabeth.

“Thanks again for doing this,” I said.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he answered, “but Tracy said the magic word.”

“What’s that?” I asked, trying to remember what I’d heard Tracy tell Doug over the phone back at our apartment. I assumed he didn’t mean please.

“Tracy said what you were hoping to do was practically impossible.” Doug smiled wide. “I live for impossible.”

Chapter 28

TAKE AWAY Doug’s thick lumberjack beard, pierced eyebrow, rimless glasses, and Woodstock revival wardrobe and replace them with a permanent glass of single-barrel whiskey, a British accent, and the “screw you with a capital F ” attitude of a devilishly unparalleled hacker, and you’d basically be looking at Julian Byrd’s separated-at-birth brother.

Or, in other words, he was nothing like Julian.

Except for one thing.

Like Julian, Doug Chadwick clearly didn’t appreciate being on the surrender side of a challenge. Especially one involving a computer.

“Follow me,” he said.

Once again, life was just as much about who you know as what you know. Tracy had been introduced to Doug through an actress he’d met on the set of a shampoo commercial. Almost a year later to the day, Doug hired Tracy for his 3-D motion-capture shoot.

And tonight, Doug was about to help us identify a woman based solely on the way she walked in a very particular pair of high heels. At least that was the plan.

Elizabeth and I had Tracy to thank for setting this all up. He was also being a mensch for staying home with Annabelle. It was a double favor. But it was Doug who was doing us the huge favor.

“Just let me know what the hourly rate is,” I said as we entered one of the studios at the end of a long hallway.

“Zilch,” he said. “The booking agent felt bad for holding me to my session the day after the bombings, so this one’s a freebie.”

“What about your time, though?” I asked. “I need to pay you something.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. To be honest, making Tracy jump around for hours in that ridiculous green leotard makes me feel a bit guilty for not paying him more,” he said. He turned to Elizabeth. “Speaking of that leotard, I assume you have the honors?”