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They agreed to meet in the lobby of a boutique hotel in one of Cali’swealthiest neighborhoods, Ciudad Jardín. Kate hung up. She looked at Enrique, who was sitting in the armchair in her hotel room.
“I’m worried,” said Kate.
“Stay cool,” he said. “You took control in this morning’s call. Kidnappers hate it when negotiators do that. So it’s no surprise that Javier would try to reestablish control by pushing off the next meeting to eight p.m.—to a time selected by him, not you.”
“I agree with all that,” said Kate.
“Then what worries you?”
“From the previous calls, my impression of Javier is that he’s impulsive and quick to react. I would have expected him to call me right back, immediately after I hung up, and retake control. He didn’t. Instead, he waited two hours, called Jeremy Peel on a line that I’m not even privy to, and asked him to pass along a message to me. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“I hear what you’re saying, Kate. You think he hurt Patrick.”
“I can’t live with myself if my plan backfires.”
It was a cumulative effect: Patrick’s disappearance, meeting Sandra Levy, her negotiations with Noah, the calls from the kidnappers, standing up to Jeremy Peel—all in the wake of her mother’s suicide. Kate needed a tissue.
“Hey, it’s okay,” said Enrique, handing her a whole box of them.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Not a problem. If it means anything, I cried like a baby when I lost my interpreter.”
Kate gathered herself and said, “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me, too,” he said.
Chapter 57
Christian Gamble arrived at the Washington office of BJB Funding before noon. He was there to see David Walker.
The CIA headquarters is in Virginia, but the agency fastidiously guards against any claims of overlap between its national security operations and its venture capital arm, so BJB operated out of a nongovernmental building on the other side of the Potomac River. The George Bush Center for Intelligence is too far north to be seen from the District, but Walker seemed to have gone the extra mile to assert his independence from the agency by choosing a corner office facing the National Mall to the south, his back squarely to the CIA while seated behind his desk.
Gamble hadn’t spoken to Walker since the meeting at Peel’s house, where Kate had told the chairman of the board and the CIA to fuck off and announced that she was “going private” to negotiate for Patrick’s release. Gamble had phoned ahead from the helicopter on the flight back from FCP Alderson to set up what he described as “a critical follow-up meeting,” just the two of them in Walker’s office.
“I went to visit Sandra Levy,” said Gamble.
“I know,” said Walker.
Smug remarks like that one, the air of omniscience that Walker conveyed, made Gamble question the actual degree of separation between the agency and its venture capital arm.
“Then am I correct that the prison guard’s sudden decision to cut my visit short was no coincidence?”
“It was my understanding that her visitation privileges have been restricted due to a rule infraction.”
“I’m sure. The fact that you know so much about it tells me that’s bullshit.”
“Christian, if you’ve come here to give me a tongue lashing, I have far more important things to deal with.”
“Then allow me to readjust your priorities. My conversation with Sandra Levy gave me serious cybersecurity concerns. The DOJ’s security audit is ongoing. I came to you because I wanted to discuss my concerns with you first. But if you don’t have time,” he said, rising, “that’s unfortunate.”
“Sit down, Christian. Before you embarrass yourself by going to the DOJ, what do you know about Sandra Levy?”
Gamble settled back into his chair. He didn’t want to divulge too much of his conversation with Sandra, but it was simply a good negotiating tactic to show Walker that he wasn’t there on a fishing expedition—that he had some critical level of knowledge.
“I know that the CIA played a key role in structuring what appears to be a very favorable sentence for her.”
“Yes, that’s true. You do realize Sandra Levyworksfor the CIA.”