Gigi-who seemed to spend far more of her life in costume than she did as herself-looked alluringly sexy. Transformed in a long black wig set against blood-red lips, white blouse, coal-black pencil skirt, burgundy jacket, black stockings and high heels, she looked like a femme fatale from a 40s noir brought to life and selectively colored in.
Unlike the sirens from those films, though, I knew I could trust her.
Yet again, I had to hand it to Kurt. And to the universe in general. Maybe good things really could happen to good people.
Gigi had kindly admitted my fictional alter ego to the New York State Bar Association last night and first thing this morning Kurt had hacked into the law firm’s phone system and, posing as one of the practice’s senior law clerks, cleared my security permission with the MCC’s legal department, which meant I required only the fake driver’s license we’d procured late last night and not a Federal Bureau of Prisons Secure Pass Identification card, which would have been harder to get hold of.
I had filled out the Notification to Visitor form and we’d both walked through the metal detector. A young guard had been about to tell Gigi that he needed to search her-it was tough to argue with his obvious appreciation-when an older guard had waved him away. We’d had our hands stamped and signed the old-style bound logbook.
In the face of some pretty forceful objections from Kurt, we’d decided to leave our smartphones in Gigi’s car-we wouldn’t be allowed to use them, and that made them just one more thing to worry about. Kurt had prepared a stack of authentic-looking legal papers, half of which were the sole contents of a battered leather briefcase Gigi had found at a thrift store, while the other halfwas in a leather document wallet held by Gigi. Nothing more than props, but necessary ones. Both briefcase and wallet had been searched and passed through the fluoroscope.
I glanced at my watch. Forty minutes after two. We needed to start by three o’clock, which would give us half an hour before Daland had to return to his cell for the four o’clock count. We’d decided not to request that Daland be put on the “out count,” which, although it would mean we could all remain in the interview room during the count, would also mean that Gigi and I would be subjected to an additional layer of scrutiny in addition to having to stress our way through the count itself without the right to leave till it was done.
We were admitted to Eleven North, the self-contained unit where Daland was being held, and led along a corridor toward an interview room.
Twenty yards up ahead, I tensed up at the sight of a couple of guards who were walking a detainee back to his cell. I knew exactly who it was: Vince Northwood, a white supremacist and homegrown terrorist who’d posted several death threats against African-American politicians before trying to blow up a community health center in Queens simply because it received federal funding. He’d failed-luckily-and the only reason he wasn’t going to get a second chance was because we’d arrested him. He’d been here almost three years, the trial date having been put back so many times he probably now considered the MCC his home.
My blood turned to ice as the distance quickly closed between us. If he recognized me, we were screwed. Gigi must have noticed my body tense up because she immediately accentuated the swing of her hips and lasered a killer of a seductive curled lip on Northwood, giving him something he couldn’t afford not to look at.
When they were within touching distance, Northwood gave Gigi a leer acidic enough to dissolve Kevlar. We drew level, which meant I was in Northwood’s direct line of sight, even though Gigi was between us. His eyes flicked up from Gigi’s ass and landed on my face. There was a moment of almost-recognition, then the guards nudged him forward. The three of them turned a corner before Northwood could look back.
We really couldn’t afford another moment like that.
I gave Gigi a pointed, relieved glance as our guard unlocked the interview room and showed us inside. Gigi turned to the guard. “I’ll give you a shout when we’re done with our client.”
The guard eyed her with bored indifference, then nodded and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. It gave a disturbingly clean click.
She turned to me. “You OK, G-boy?”
“Loving every second,” I said.
Barely a minute later, Daland-his silk kimono replaced by an orange jumpsuit-was led into the room by another guard, who walked the detainee to the far side of the table, then stepped back toward the wall. If Daland had noticed anything unusual about Gigi or me, he was keeping it to himself-for now.
I held out my hand. “Mr. Daland, Ben Burnham. And this is my paralegal, Polly Harris. I’ll be representing you going forward. As you know, Simon had to move to another case, but we’re fully briefed and up to speed on everything.”
He took my hand in a firm grip, his eyes boring into mine. I could tell he had recognized me-and that he was using the time to decide how to react. I could see his thought processes so clearly it was obvious that he wanted me to. If he ratted us out, then he’d never find out what was going on. If he played along, then he might discover what was happening, but by the time he’d come up with his own plan, it might well be too late to save the deep network beneath Maxiplenty.
After a nerve-melting few seconds, he let go of my hand. “Sure. Simon told me about it. He says you’re a cybercrime specialist.”
I kept my immense relief in check and indicated for him to sit. “I have some experience that should be relevant, yes.”
Gigi and I sat down opposite him.
I gestured to the guard. “Could you please make sure all the cameras and recording devices are switched off?”
He nodded. “I’ll be outside.”
The door snapped shut behind him.
Daland leant back in his chair, waiting for us to make the first move.
“Polly” opened her leather document wallet, took out a single sheet of paper and laid it on the table.
Daland pretended not to look at it, but I could see he was quickly scrutinizing every inch. After a moment, he looked at Gigi.
“You look familiar.”
This threw me. I’d expected him to tell me he knew exactly who I was.
Daland kept looking at Gigi. “Wonder Woman. New York Comic-Con.”
Gigi smiled. “Wow. I’m impressed. But still, keep your paws to yourself.”
He grinned and relaxed back in his seat. “How could I possibly forget that body?” He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. “You made a damn fine Diana of Themyscira.”
After savoring the memory, he finally turned to me, and all delight drained off his face. “What is this? You posing as a rogue agent to trick me into telling you more than I should? Seriously, dude. You Feds need to get over this infatuation you have for stings. Even if it did help you nab Ulbricht-a total fucking amateur, by the way-doesn’t mean it’ll work with me.”
I knew all about Dread Pirate Roberts and Silk Road. Even if the FBI’s Cyber Division hadn’t found a backdoor into the Silk Road servers, Ulbricht-the man accused of creating it-had been so lax with his personal online security it was only a matter of time before the Bureau caught him.
Daland was a whole different order of pirate.
I tried a different tack. “Think about it. Would I really go to these lengths and risk you not hearing about me?”
“You could easily have paid someone in here to tell me you’re a wanted man. Or threatened them. Northwood, for example. He and I shared some fond memories of you.”
What was that I said about him being smart? He was so damn keyed-in it was scary.
Daland must have noticed my unease. He could have made me suffer for longer, but instead he gave another signature shrug.