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“How do I fit in?”
“The only info we have is that the malware is going to be delivered via flash drive by one of these billionaires.”
“I don’t get it. Why would a billionaire want to hold the country hostage? Doesn’t he already have enough money?”
“Remember that line from Scarface? You get the money first; then comes the power.”
“That’s not how it goes.” Melanie did her best impersonation of Al Pacino and repeated the line correctly.
Once again Gilmour almost spit out his coffee. “Mel, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
“Finger paint, cutting construction paper into flowers. Sniffing glue.” She laughed. “Maybe not sniffing glue, per se. But I do get to sit in on some of the art classes.”
“Can we please get serious?”
Melanie sat straight. “Yes. Sorry. I have a caper hangover.” She reached for her pad and pen.
“You weren’t drunk last night.” Gilmour knew she’d had fewer than two glasses of wine over a three-hour stretch.
“Hung over from the gig. Duh.”
“Oh, I get it.” He let out a huff. “After dinner, you will accompany Reinhardt to his suite at the Baccarat on Fifty-third. You’ll love the opulence and ambiance.”
“Wait a minute. I am not doing that.” Melanie’s nostrils flared.
“No. It’s not what you think. There will also be a few of these tech dudes with their wives or mistresses. It’s a techie soiree. He’s booked the Baccarat suite. It’s almost eighteen hundred square feet, and a dollar a square foot per night.”
“Geez. That’s much bigger than my house. And probably my yard, and my mortgage payment.” Funny how things are always being compared to a mortgage payment once you buy a house.
“Right. There will be plenty of room for you to maneuver. Honestly, I don’t think you’ll be put in any kind of compromising position. We don’t think he has an overactive libido. Never had a steady girlfriend, never married, rarely seen with the same woman more than once. He’s very refined and enjoys female company. That’s the best info I can give you.”
“And where will I be staying?”
“At the Warwick. Around the corner. It’s a very lovely hotel.”
“Yes, I know it.”
“You’ll check in using your next identity. Leonora Stavolo. You’re a high-end real estate agent. Nothing less than two-million-dollar showings.”
“Where am I from?”
“Minneapolis. You’re in New York to find a loft for a client.”
“I can fake that.”
“Good girl.”
“So what’s supposed to happen at this soiree?”
“We think it’s where the negotiation will take place. We’ll have the room rigged, but we need eyes on the scene.”
“Got it.” Melanie was writing down the details. “When is this supposed to happen?”
“Next weekend.”
Melanie wasn’t the least bit surprised these jobs were coming fast and furious. The agency had a quota to fill before the end of the year if they wanted to maintain their budget.
“And how am I getting there?”
