"There! What I tell you?" He sprang from his chair and pointed. "What I fucking tell you?"
Verran stared at the screen. It listed three locations where Cleary had used her key today. The first was the fifth floor access slot in the elevator at 3:12 p.m.; the second the fifth floor west stairwell door; the third the fire door on Science's west flank at 5:16.
Shit. It hadn't been Kurt at all. The bitch had gone out the fire door.
So now what? Verran felt like a jerk.
Only one thing to do: Pull a Swann.
Good old Ed Swann had been Verran's direct superior at the Company. Back in the Iran hostage days, he'd chewed Verran up and down for following the wrong Syrian Embassy car around D.C. all day. But when it was discovered that he'd given Verran the wrong license plate number, what did Swann do?
He turned to Verran and offered his hand.
Which is just what Verran did now.
"My apologies, Kurt," he said, keeping any hint of sheepishness from his tone. "She fooled us both. I shouldn't have jumped on you like that. I'm sorry."
Kurt stared at him in shock for a few seconds, then shook his hand.
"Yeah...okay, Lou," he said, completely disarmed. "I guess if places were reversed I probably would have thought you'd screwed up too."
Verran smiled—inwardly as well as outwardly. Kurt had been poised to jump all over him, but Verran had rocked him back on his heels with a matter-of-fact apology. The tactic had worked for Swann, and it still worked like a charm. Kurt had gained the high ground, but the apology made Verran look like the bigger man—and defused a tense situation that might have affected the usually relaxed working atmosphere of the monitoring room.
He didn't want anything to interfere with his operation.
He gestured to the screen. "She's a tricky one. Almost caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. Better not take anything for granted with that one."
Elliot finally must have thought it was safe to open his yap. "You able to get the bug, chief?"
"Of course." He reached into his coat pocket. "It's right..."
The pocket was empty. He tried the other side. Empty too. He patted his pants pockets, pulled them inside out.
"What the hell?"
"What's the matter, Lou?" Kurt said.
"The bad bug. I know I had it."
"You lose it?" Elliot said. "Shit!"
Shit is right, Verran thought as he pawed through his pockets again. He prayed he hadn't lost it; there'd be hell to pay if the wrong person found it.
Kurt rummaged in the cabinet under his console. At first Verran thought he might be looking for the electronic sweeper, which would do no good since electret mikes were non-radiating. Instead he came up with a metal detector. He turned it on, adjusted the controls, and approached Verran.
"Here. Empty your pockets and I'll give you the once-over. If it's on you, we'll find it."
After Verran had dumped all his change on the counter, Kurt began waving the business end of the detector over his clothing. As the wand worked its way around his body, Verran watched the indicator needle in the handle. It would start to move when it crossed something metal. It lay dormant.
"It's not on you, Lou," Kurt said. "You must have dropped it somewhere."
"How could I drop it?" Verran snapped. "I distinctly remember putting it in my pocket."
"Well, it ain't in your pocket now."
Elliot chimed in: "Which means it's gotta be somewhere between here and the room."
"All right, all right." Verran was pissed and there was no one to get pissed at but himself. "Let me think."
Kurt and Elliot stayed mum while Verran retraced all his moves since switching the bugs. He was sure he'd put it in his pocket, just before he'd put the chair back...which was just before he'd heard the key slipping into the door lock...
Acid surged around Verran's ulcer.
"Christ," he said. "It must have come out of my pocket when I hit the floor."
Kurt held up the metal detector. "Want me to go back to the room and see if I can find it?"
"No," Verran said, glancing at the clock. "They'll all be wandering back from dinner now. No way you can get in and out without being seen."
"You can't just leave it there."
No, they couldn't just leave it there. The discovery of an electret mike in a dorm room might tip the first domino. The whole scenario played out in his head: Questions asked, jokes made, talk about the place being bugged, people starting to search their rooms...
That one little mike could bring down the whole operation.
"It's small. If it's in the room it's on the far side of the bed by the window. Nobody's going to see it there. We're okay. We'll pick it up tomorrow. No sweat."
No sweat? he thought. Then why am I shaking like a little old lady inside?
TWELVE
Quinn pinned her ID badge onto her new lab coat—her white lab coat—and turned to Tim.
"How do I look?"
Tim glanced up from the spare bed in her room where he was stretched out on the spread reading this morning's Baltimore Sun. He had his shoes off and looked perfectly at home.
"Very scientificky. But I still say you'd score more points in your running shorts."
"Fine," she said quickly. She didn't want him starting in on her legs again. "Be like that. While I'm out toiling to push back the frontiers of medical science, what'll you be doing?"
"Reading the funnies."
"You going to stay here?"
"Yeah, just for a little while, if you don't mind. Kevin's sacked out—he was up late studying last night—and I figured I'd let him sleep."
Quinn shook her head. She didn't mind at all. In fact she wished he'd stay until she got back. Not just because she liked having him around; it had been kind of creepy coming back to the room during the dinner hour yesterday. The floor had been deserted yet she'd had the weirdest feeling that someone was lurking about.
"Stay as long as you want. Why not hang out till I get back and I'll buy you dinner."
"Deal," Tim said and stuck his head back into the newspaper.
*
Matt Crawford let himself into his New Haven condo and tossed his notebooks onto the couch. He dropped into the recliner, turned on the TV with the remote, flipped through the thirty-four channels in as many seconds, then turned it off. He sat there and stared at the blank screen.
He was feeling low and not sure why. A brand new high-rise apartment with a panoramic view of the harbor and the Sound beyond, luxury furnishings selected and arranged by the decorator his mother had hired, a fully-stocked fridge, all to himself.
Maybe that was the problem. Too much to himself these days. Never anyone around—at least not anyone he had anything in common with. Unlike The Ingraham, Yale and most other medical schools had no dorm. Students lived wherever they could find a place they could afford. Matt's dad had jumped on this condo not only as a great place for Matt to live, but as a great investment as well.
He was half right.
At times like this, Matt almost wished he were at The Ingraham. But then if he were, Quinn would be somewhere else, sweating her tuition payments as well as sweating her courses.
He felt his mouth twist into a crooked smile. "'Tis a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done."
Quinn's strawberry-blond head with its wide blue eyes and red cheeks appeared in his mind and suddenly he had to talk to her. He pulled out his address book and punched in her number.
A groggy male voice answered on the third ring.
"'Lo?"
Matt wasn't sure what to say. "Is, uh, Quinn there?"
"Matt?"
Now he recognized the voice. "Tim? What are you doing there?"
"Didn't Quinn tell you? We moved in together. In fact, she's right beside me here in bed."