When the journalist had asked him point-blank if Anne Comely existed and, if so, where and who she was, Cowl had terminated the interview.
As the video ended, Devine thought he could see just the barest of smiles on Cowl’s features.
At seven fifty, Devine finally received a text from Campbell.
Thank you, Jesus.
He left the building, walked around the corner, and passed a man who had just left a paper bag on a stone wall. Devine gripped the bag as he walked by and looked inside it. The object was small and wafer thin. He surreptitiously palmed it, then threw the bag in the trash and bent down as if to tie his shoe. He slipped the device into his sock and pushed it down until it rested inside his shoe.
He had no formal training as a spy, but he had spent years as a soldier in the Middle East. And those wars weren’t just about carrying guns and shooting at the enemy. They had been about gathering information, getting Afghans and Iraqis in villages and towns and cities and deserts to trust him and provide intelligence. And he had participated in a number of info drops where he knew he was being watched and had to carry it off in a way that would not cause harm to him, or death to his informants.
He returned to work, feeling better about things.
At 8:58, the door opened and there stood Willard Paulson. He motioned to Devine, who put on his jacket, grabbed his briefcase, and waved to the remaining Burners. Two of them, a man and a woman, looked up at him curiously. He’d had beers and meals with them, not many, but a few. They had vented about Cowl and Comely, about the oppressive workload, the ungodly competitiveness abounding in this building, and the insecurities they all possessed about not being good enough to make the cut.
And yet he knew little about their personal lives, and they knew next to nothing about his. It was just that way here. As a soldier, he had known pretty much every personal detail of the men and women with whom he served. It was just a totally different reality on Wall Street, where literal walls were set up everywhere.
And I hope to breach a big one tonight.
CHAPTER
49
MONTGOMERY MET HIM AT THE elevator and Paulson left them. She was dressed all in black, as though she were in mourning. Devine hoped it wasn’t for him, and he suddenly began feeling some nagging doubts about the woman. But he had a mission to perform and he had to get started.
He glanced at the pot of gold in her hand. Here was the whole ball game. He drew a deep breath and said, “Um, Michelle?”
“Yes?”
“Can you help me do something?” He hadn’t asked her this in the text. This was something he needed to do face-to-face. Like Cowl had said. Analog.
“What?”
He took the iPhone he’d bought that day and held it up. It was the same model as Cowl’s, with the same gold cover. And he had made the screen saver the exact same image of the blue Bugatti Chiron. He also had the same icons showing, using the screenshot he’d taken previously of Cowl’s phone as a guide. He had also signed up with the same phone carrier so it would have that name and network bars showing.
“I don’t understand,” she said, glancing at it.
“I need that phone, just for a few minutes. And you can give Cowl this one while I have his.”
She paled and drew back. “What the hell! Are you crazy? No!”
“I am a little bit crazy, I guess. But some men tried to kill me early this morning. And it had to do with something going on here.”
She just gaped. “Someone tried to kill you this morning? Do you really expect me to—”
He took the bandage off his hand and held it up. “I didn’t cut that on a soup can.” He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeve, and showed her the wound there.
“Oh my God, did you call the police?”
“Yeah, and the guys were long gone by the time they got there.”
“How do you know it has anything to do with Brad’s firm?”
“From things the guy said. He might be freelance, I don’t know.”
“Freelance?”
“Mercenary might be a more recognizable term.”
“What the hell are you mixed up in, Travis?”
“The question is what the hell is Brad Cowl mixed up in. And that’s why I need his phone.”
She looked down at Cowl’s phone like it was a cobra about to strike her.
“Please, Michelle, it might have to do with Sara’s murder, too.”
She looked visibly distressed. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to get into a place in this building I can’t get into without it. At least I hope it’s the golden key. If it’s not, there’s no harm done.”