David Dun - Unacceptable Risk

"FBI. We've been alerted that someone has broken into your offices. They might be looking for the office of Arthur Stewart. Have you seen any strangers?"

"Bearded guy. He was looking for the fireproof cabinets. He said Mr. Stewart was there and we told him where to go." They meticulously described the route. "What's with the guns?"

Sam could see that the agents each held a 9mm model 459 Smith amp; Wesson. The weapon was not standard-issue FBI, and if they were Feds, they would not be running around with their guns out when there was no threat.

"Thanks. You should leave immediately. Get out of the building."

"Whatever you say."

"This guy is very dangerous."

They weren't even good imitators. Real agents would have given a name.

They left.

Sam knew that if he ran down the stairs to lower floors, he would have a good chance of fueling a gun battle and that was just what he didn't need. If he went to the elevators, somebody might watch the elevator descend and that would be a dead giveaway. If he went for the emergency stairs in the building, the number of bodies chasing him might increase geometrically as he descended. This was feeling like a trap resulting from a tip-off.

He followed the two men, figuring they would end up in Martha's office. When he got to the right turn leading down Martha's hall, he stopped and listened.

"You're sure you haven't seen any strangers, no bearded guy?"

"No. Only a new lawyer by the name of Scott Davis. That's it"

"Where is he now?"

Sam quickly stepped into the first open office before hear ing the answer. He closed the door, locked it, and stepped behind the door. There was a window to the hall with blinds and he saw their legs move by in a blur.

After waiting a minute, he opened the door and went quickly to Martha's office.

When he walked in, she jumped and looked frightened.

"It's me again."

"What in the hell? The beard?"

"Be calm. I'll explain."

"The FBI is here. They said to leave."

"Obviously I'm not Scott. I'm Sam. Those men are im personating the FBI and I am a government contractor of sorts."

"Oh, my god. Why are they pretending to be the FBI?"

"Here's what I want you to do. Get the number of the New York FBI, Manhattan office."

"Okay."

She grabbed the phone and dialed, still looking fright ened.

"Please don't be frightened. In seconds you'll have real FBI agents on the phone and on the way."

"I'm beginning to hope so."

"You got them?"

"Yes. Tell them you want to be put through to the Wash ington field office. Tell them you are placing the call for Agent Silverwind."

"She says just a minute. She says she doesn't know what you're talking about. She says she's new."

"Tell her that she should have a list of FBI agents on her computer. Tell her to look up Agent Silverwind."

"She says, 'What now?'"

"Ask her what it says by the asterisk."

"She says that it says to put through all calls and gives a number."

"Ask her to do it."

"Please put the call through."

"She says, 'Why didn't you say so?' "

"It may take awhile. It's running through relays to the cell of whoever is on call."

"Hello. I'm standing here with a guy named Sam who says he knows you."

"Tell him I need to prove I'm a government contractor." Sam said.

"He says he needs to prove he's a government contractor." Pause.

"You have a locket?" She looked genuinely perturbed.

They waited and she reached out for the locket, which was still outside his shirt. "Let me see." She studied it.

"I see the locket. It's gold and has a picture of an old Indian gentleman. He says to take off your right shoe. There is a red birthmark on your instep."

Sam quickly took off his maroon dress shoe. It had gum soles in keeping with tradition.

"I see the birthmark. He says now to ask you how the earth smiles."

"In flowers," Sam answered.

"He says you're a good guy, but not an employee of the government. He says though that he would trust you with his own mother."

Sam took the phone. "Who have I got?"

"Ernie."

"Thank God it wasn't your hard-ass partner."

"You lucked out. What's going on?"

"Long story, no time. I'm at Binkley, Hart, and Rove on Wall Street. We have guys with guns over here impersonating agents and hunting me."

"Are you clean?"

"No, but I think I'm onto a big one."

"As in terror?"

"Terror for profit."

"Okay, so maybe we aren't so concerned about you being dirty. But don't use the term government contractor. You kill anybody?"

"Not yet. I've got to get out of here, though."

"I'll get people there as fast as I can. But this is Man hattan and there's traffic."

"Hurry."

"Do you look like yourself?"

"What difference would that make?"

"Good point."

"At the moment I may go with the full beard. Not sure."

Sam hung up.

"Make a copy of these." Sam held out the Chaperone pa pers.

"These are documents from our law firm. Client documents."

"I have reason to believe the people who want these are on the verge of committing a massive atrocity that will make 9/11 look like child's play. It is a crime in the future, not in the past. The attorney/client privilege doesn't cover it, and if it does, then damn the privilege."

She looked at him with hardened green eyes.

"You want a lot of trust."

"I think I'm looking at someone who has the courage to be a hero."

"Or is a damn fool." She took the papers to a copy machine, copied them in about two minutes, and handed the originals back to Sam, who put them in his briefcase. She went to a file folder full of papers as thick as a couple of New York phone books and placed them in the stack.

"If you don't hear from me tomorrow, make sure these go to the man you just talked to. He's Ernie Dunkin, like Dunkin' Donuts. FBI. Call him and tell him to show them to Jill. He'll know."

"What if you don't call, how will I find you?"

"If I don't call, things are bad. I'll have to find you."

"How did you sign in?" Martha asked, obviously think ing.

"As Michael Bowden. But I had this beard. In a minute I won't."

"If I say you're Scott Davis, who is going to argue? There's probably not many partners around."

"If they know what I look like, they won't argue-they'll just shoot."

"With witnesses?"

"You die just as fast if people are watching. I gotta go."

"I'm coming with you. I can help get you out."

Sam thought of a lot of things he could say, and perhaps should say, but he had a feeling about Martha. She understood the danger and was determined to help, and standing around discussing it could be more dangerous than moving.

"Let's go up five or ten floors on the outside stairs."

"Isn't that the wrong direction?"

"We'll pull a fire alarm up there. Those guys who want my ass will have to wonder if it's real. The firefighters will come."

"I know someone up there. We'll need someone to open the door this time of night."

They slipped into an office near the exit to the stairway to use the phone. Sam pulled off the beard and got the makeup off as best he could.

"My friend always works late." Martha said. "Let's hope this isn't the only night she takes off this week."

Her friend was in and agreed without much explanation to open the stairway door. They went through the exit to the stairwell with their shoes off to keep the sound down and began climbing fast. After a couple of flights they heard someone running up from a few floors down. By the seventeenth floor Martha was breathing deeply and slowing a bit.

"One more," she said.

At the eighteenth floor a woman was holding the door open a crack. She was young like Martha, dark and Latin-looking.