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“I need to get a phone for my teenage daughter.”
“All right. Do you have a preference…Motorola…Nokia…”
Gould shook his head.
“Does she need a camera?” the young man asked.
“I suppose.”
“How many minutes a month are you willing to get her?”
Gould thought about it. He’d probably put five or ten minutes on the thing at the most, and then he’d chuck it. “It’s mostly for emergencies, so probably one of the smaller plans.”
“Are you already a customer?”
“No.”
“Do you want to be? We’ve got some great friends and family plans.”
Gould shook his head. “I’m under a government contract.”
“Okay.” The young man reached under the glass and grabbed one of the phones. “I’d put you into this one right here. It’s got a two-mega pixel camera, she can download ringtones and…”
The clerk went on and on about the phone’s features, but Gould had already stopped listening. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a credit card. “How much?”
“It’s twenty-four ninety-five a month plus tax and fees, and if you sign a one-year contract, the phone is free.”
“Can you bill it automatically to my credit card?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll take it.”
Gould left the store with the phone in his pocket and a block later he chucked the bag and packaging in a garbage can. He turned down 18th Street and started working his way back to the White House. He had a good idea where to start his search. He’d studied a map and earlier in the morning, before Claudia got sick, he’d checked out the immediate area around the White House. The street that ran along the west side of the White House was West Executive Drive. It was blocked off at both ends by a heavy gate and manned by the Secret Service. There were a limited number of spaces, probably reserved for people who worked directly for the president. Gould checked the area anyway and did not see any BMWs. This did not deter him. Convenience and logic were on his side. Rapp’s wife got to work early, which meant she would have her pick of garages and at the same time, she would not want to walk far.
The first ramp on his list was just off the corner of 17th and H. An attendant dressed in black pants and a red windbreaker stood at the top of the underground entrance next to a sign that announced how much it cost per hour and for the day. Gould walked right up to the guy and fished out his new credentials. He held them in his left hand to the side of his face like he did it countless times every week.
“I’m Agent Johnson with the IRS.” Gould snapped shut the case and continued, “You guys park any blue BMWs this morning?”
The attendant shrugged and looked down the concrete ramp to one of his coworkers. The two spoke briefly in a language Gould did not understand. The other man hustled up the ramp.
“You are looking for a blue BMW?”
Gould guessed the man was probably Somalian. “Yeah. Series Five. Do you know which make that is?”
The man nodded. “I parked a silver one thirty minutes ago, but no blue ones.” The man studied him warily. “What is this about?”
“I’m investigating a tax cheat who works in the area. We’re looking to seize her vehicle.” Gould had taken the story right from the IRS’s Web site.
“Is there a reward?” the first man asked.
“Hundred bucks.”
“How do we get ahold of you?”
“I’ll be back by before lunch. Anyone else parking cars with you guys this morning?”
“No.”
