Girl Undercover 10 & 11: The Abduction & Dante's Inferno, page 14
“I can totally understand that.”
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m fine. I just wanted to call you to tell you that everything’s okay and where Dante is. By the way, you’re gonna have to get a new phone. The kidnappers confiscated yours when I got there. Sorry.”
“Oh. Okay. No problem. I’ll just get a new one. Where are you going now? Wanna come over to our house and chill until my mom comes? It’ll take an hour at least before she gets here. You could use a glass of wine after a debacle like that. We could go to the hospital together afterward.”
I could definitely use a glass or two, maybe even an entire bottle of wine, to relax after the crazy day that I’d been through. Unfortunately, as much as I wanted to drive to her house and then go to the hospital with her, there was no time for any of that. It was best I headed downtown and checked on the doctors. Made sure our guards didn’t need anything. Better yet, relieved them despite being beat.
“I’d love that,” I said, “but I need to take care of a couple of things first. I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I can after that, I promise.”
“Okay. Thanks for the call. I was really going crazy with worry here.” There was a brief pause, then Ricki added in a graver tone, “Take care of yourself, Gabi. Be careful. I know you’re up to something.”
I couldn’t help but smile a little; Ricki might be a busybody, but she was also someone who could see through people immediately. And who truly cared about your well-being.
“I will,” I said and disconnected after adding a quick “see you soon.” Next I dialed Jose’s number. He also picked up almost as soon as I’d placed the call.
“Digame,” he said. Most of Jose’s acquaintances were of Spanish descent.
“Jose, it’s me, Gabi,” I replied in Spanish. As soon as he’d assured me that everything was under control with our captives, I proceeded to update him on the latest, which took a good ten minutes during which I didn’t get very far because of all the traffic.
“You’re absolutely sure they’re not up to anything?” I asked.
“Relax, Gabi, they’re cool,” Jose said again. “Sergei says they’re just chillin’ in front of the TV. He just ordered them a huge steak dinner and some wine. At their request. He knows what he’s doin’”
“Okay, good to hear. We want to treat these two well. Best way to gain their trust. I’m on my way over there to relieve the guards. They could use a break having been there all day.”
Jose sucked in a breath. “You crazy, nena? After what you and Dante have been through, you need a break yourself. Go home and get some sleep, then go back there tomorrow when your head’s fresh. My buddy and I will go and relieve Sergei and Sammy.”
But I didn’t want to go home and sleep. Checking the time, I saw that it was only nine thirty; not very late at all. I still had some juice left in me. I wanted to use that to work the two doctors some more. If they were well fed and relaxed, just watching TV, it seemed like a good time to get them talking. Gazing out the windshield, I tried to gauge how much time it would take before I could get downtown. Even though I had finally exited Malibu and entered Santa Monica, traffic remained bad; it seemed news had traveled exceptionally fast and everyone and their mother had wanted to get a glimpse of the hostage situation while it was still going on.
“You guys can come, but I’ll be there, too,” I told Jose. “See you there.”
Moments after disconnecting, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, and let out a small yelp. There were the beginnings of bags, not to mention smeared mascara, under my eyes and my hair was a big, frizzy mess. Since the traffic was moving so slowly, I had plenty of opportunity to give myself a sniff under my arms without risking to have a car accident.
Yuck. I needed a shower and a fresh set of clothes before I went to see the doctors again. But driving to the W hotel in Westwood and getting myself fixed up before heading downtown would take another hour if this traffic didn’t let up. At least. Which meant that I probably wouldn’t be down at the apartment until shortly before midnight. By then the doctors might have passed out from too much wine and steak, and my own energy levels were likely to have subsided.
I sighed and thought that maybe I should heed Jose’s advice and just go to bed after all. I’ll see how I feel when I get to the hotel, I thought. Either way, Jose and his buddy would go down there, so I didn’t have to make up my mind right this second.
As I reached the Santa Monica freeway, I thought about the fact that both Ricki and I had called for assistance as I had been on my way to help Dante, and how none had gotten there. I had called my division and notified the operatortwice, telling her to broadcast the emergency to all responding officers . I scowled. Why the hell had it taken such a long time before help arrived? Actually, now that I thought about it some more, help hadn’t arrived until the conversation with the mayor of Malibu was well under way and the kidnappers themselves had called the cops. In other words, it seemed my requests, as well as Ricki’s call to 911, had gone ignored.
How was that possible?
I supposed that if I was the only one making the calls to my division, the explanation could be as simple as the operator there being useless—I hadn’t recognized her—but what about Ricki’s call to 911? This couldn’t be a matter oftwobad operators. Coincidences like that just didn’t happen. Then what the hell was going on?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the burner phone that I had thrown on the passenger seat beside me. I remembered then that Ricki and I had both used her phone. If someone tracked the three calls, it could easily be translated into the same person having made all of them. The same person as in me.
I could only think of one logical answer to this riddle. Captain Brady must be involved somehow. As crazy as he thought that I was, he could have intercepted both my calls to the station as well as Ricki’s 911 call, even though the latter was a bit more complicated. The 911 operator would have sent out requests for help via police radio that would have reached our division. But Brady could have put out a call to all responding units to disregard the call to 911. Why he would do such a thing, I had no idea—me being unstable and making crank calls seemed like a weak explanation. Still, it must be what was going on.
Except, Brady told me he wasn’t working at the moment. He might have caught Ricki’s call from home since he always had a police radio on at his house, but what about my calls directly to the precinct? How had he found out I’d calledthere? In order for him to think I had been behind Ricki’s call, he had to also be aware of my calls to the precinct.
Picking up the phone from the passenger seat, I called my division again and asked the operator if Captain Brady was working today.
“Yes, but he’s left for the day,” the operator replied. I thanked her and instantly disconnected, feeling weird.
So he had lied to me then when claiming that it would take some time before he’d return to work...
The disappointment at this realization hit me harder than I had expected, causing my stomach to ache. Oh, God, why had he felt the need to lie to me about that? Didn’t I deserve to know that harmless little truth at least? Even if he thought I was totally off my rocker, we had known each other for years and had always had a very good relationship. Shouldn’t that count for something? I shook my head. None of this made any sense.
Needing to discuss this, I called Ian. As the rings went through, I wondered if he had caught what had happened at Cuerpos on the news. But instead of him picking up, the call went to voicemail.
Damn. I left a quick message, telling him to call me as soon as he could.
***
I woke up in my hotel bed at eight fifteen a.m. the following morning. Returning the alarm clock that I’d peered closely at to the nightstand, I pushed myself out of bed. I tried to remember how I’d ended up there and why I had a huge bath towel wrapped around my naked body. As I retraced in my head what I’d done when I reached the hotel, I recalled that I had immediately jumped into the shower. When I was done cleaning up, I’d gone to the bedroom and decided to take a short nap before heading downtown. But I didn’t wake up again until now. Huh. I must have really needed that rest.
Wrapping the towel tighter around myself, I stumbled into the bathroom where I found my burner on top of the toilet seat. I picked it up and saw that I had four missed calls, three from Ian and one from Jose. Fortunately, nothing from Jonah. Then I realized that I was looking at my burner, not my regular phone, so there shouldn't be any missed calls from him. I clicked to listen to the voicemail Jose had left me in which he asked if I was okay, then checked the three from Ian, all of them urging me to call him back and nothing else.
I contemplated calling Ian back right now, but changed my mind; I needed to get some coffee into my system first. There was plenty of time for us to catch up later.
Instead I called Jose to tell him I was all right and to see what was going on with our captives.
“They’re sleeping,” Jose told me. “All good.”
“Okay, good,” I said. “Sorry about not showing up yesterday, but I just passed out after taking a shower.”
“No problem, nena. I thought that was what had happened.”
“I’ll be down there in an hour and change,” I told him and disconnected.
I took a quick shower to wake myself up further. Eager to get the day started, I hurried to wash my hair and lather up my body. When I was done in the shower, I dried off and applied ample amounts of a nice-smelling body lotion as I was planning on wearing clothes that revealed lots of skin. I also found the fragrant body lotion to be more subtle than using perfume. Of course, my smell was the only thing that was going to be subtle about me today. I wasdeterminedto win the doctors over at last. I pulled on a pair of denim shorts that ended only inches below my butt and a form-fitting, sleeveless top in a warm yellow, a color that always made me pop. I blow-dried my hair as nicely as I could and applied mascara, eyeliner, blush and lots of red lipstick. After my last encounter with the doctors, I operated under the assumption that the sluttier I could make myself look, the more information I’d get out of them, or at least out of Dr. Kelly. I didn’t know about Dr. Juback. Horndog or not, he seemed to be a lost cause. But I could work with Kelly. I was convinced that, if I played him well enough, he’d let me know not only how one could tell whether someone was an untouchable or not, but if there was a way to “undo” them as well. And hopefully also what Otto Stenger really looked like.
When I was done, I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror and was pleased with the woman staring back at me.
“Not too shabby,” I told her and left the bathroom.
Heading down to the hotel’s restaurant, I went to the bar and ordered some coffee and a sandwich. While waiting for the girl behind the counter to bring me the items, I called Ricki to see how Dante was doing.
She picked up right before the call could go into voicemail.
“Gabi?” she said, breathing shallowly.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I replied, thinking that I needed to get a new disposable immediately if Ricki recognized my number so easily. It was time anyway; it was days since I’d exchanged my most recent one. “How’s Dante?”
“He’s fine. He had surgery last night to remove the bullet out of his thigh. He woke up a couple of hours ago.”
So he did have surgery then, I thought, instantly worried that he’d been worse off then I’d originally thought. “Will he… will he regain full function of his leg?”
“Yes, the surgery went very well,” Ricki said in a sunny voice, which assured me he would indeed be okay.
“Phew,” I said, smiling. “I got a little worried there…”
“I’m sorry. But really, everything’s fine. Looks like he’ll be discharged later today even, so you can come to our house and see him there instead of here.”
“Great. Talk later then.”
We said goodbye and hung up. My coffee and sandwich arrived. As I was halfway through the meal—which, being the glutton that I am, took about one minute—I found the card Sergeant Jackson had given me yesterday and called him.
“Jackson,” an authoritative bass voice replied after a couple of rings.
“Hello, Sergeant, this is Detective Gabi Longoria. We spoke yesterday after the hostage situation.”
“Good morning, Detective. How can I help you?”
“I’m calling to find out who’s in charge of the investigation so I can leave my statement and also to find out when the autopsy will be done.”
There was a brief pause, then the sergeant cleared his throat.
Uh-oh, I thought. That doesn’t bode well.
“There won’t be an autopsy of the body. I just got off the phone with Captain Brady of your division—I believe that’s your boss—and he told me you’re having some… some difficulties after your husband’s murder. And that in order to keep your job, you need to undergo significant therapy.”
What the fuck? Fury streamed through me at the way Brady had backstabbed me—I was past getting hurt by his unreasonable behavior now. Even so, I controlled myself. If I let my emotions take over, it would only underscore how crazy I allegedly was. It was imperative that I speak with calm and restraint.
So I took a deep breath and said, “Sergeant, that’s a misunderstanding between me and my captain. There are certain things he refuses to accept as truth, which is why he claims I’m not well in the head, to put it frankly. But I can assure you that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me. To prove it to you, you’re welcome to speak to our police psychologist, a Harvard-educated doctor. She can vouch for my sanity. Would you like me to have her call you?”
“Um, yeah, sure. Tell her to give me a call.”
“She’ll get back to you by the end of the day.”
Disconnecting, I checked the time. It was ten past nine, so Dr. Sokoloff should be in her office. I called my division to speak to her, squeezing the phone so hard my hand hurt I was so pissed off.
Well, as soon as the sergeant speaks to her, he’ll know I’m not crazy, I thought to calm myself.
The same operator from yesterday answered the phone.
I didn’t bother identifying myself as that seemed to do no good and instead just said, “May I speak to Dr. Sokoloff, please?”
“I’m sorry,” the operator replied, “but Dr. Sokoloff was in a car accident early this morning. She’s dead.”
Chapter 7
At first, I thought I had misheard the woman, so I asked her to repeat what she had just said.
“Unfortunately, Dr. Sokoloff was in a car accident early this morning and has been declared dead,” she stated again.
“Okay, thank you,” I managed to get out before disconnecting the call.
Staring before me, I was so stunned I felt like I had turned into a statue, unable to even blink.
Dr. Sokoloff is dead?
It can’t be true. How could she have been in a car accident? Hurt so badly she died? Oh, my God… Planting my elbows on the bar counter, I buried my face in my hands as I tried to make sense of what I had just been told. No, it can’t be true. But deep inside I knew that it was, and that it had to do with Brady. Or, to be more precise, with The Adler Group and Stenger.
As the realization of what was going on—what was really going on—grew bigger and bigger in my mind, sweat began to form around my hairline and in my armpits, coating the sides of my face and ribcage in ever-faster rivulets. I couldn’t keep denying the truth any longer—Ian was right; they must have turned Brady into some kind of untouchable, making him do what they wanted. It was the only explanation to why all this was happening, why he was fighting me to this degree, blocking my calls for help, telling others not to take my requests seriously because I was crazy, having people killed in order for no one to believe me. I didn’t buy for a second that Dr. Sokoloff had just been in a car accident. It hadn’t been an accident but staged somehow.
Oh, God.
I sucked in as much oxygen as I could manage through my nostrils to get hold of myself, the hysteria spreading inside me. Yes, Brady had most definitely switched teams.
Christ… Who else might they have gotten to if they’d gotten to Brady? I was willing to bet my life that he hadn’t become UT voluntarily, even if they had offered him tons of money while propositioning him. Much too ethical a person, he wasn’t someone anyone could buy. The man I knew would rather have died before becoming part of The Adler Group’s mission. So they must have drugged him somehow… Of course, Brady was definitely not acting like a zombie, which meant they couldn’t have given him an injection of the virus against his will. According to Dr. Kelly, in order for a person to retain most of their personality, they needed to ingest Zoc 2, the pill version, for a week. What the hell must they have given him then?
A third version of the virus?
I thought about how Burt had told me that a transformation from regular person to untouchable was permanent. That meant the captain that I had known and respected for so long was essentially dead, didn’t it? The Brady I had been dealing with since returning to Los Angeles certainly felt like a complete stranger. The thought of Captain Brady being lost forever to me and the rest of the world made me feel like crying. Oh, God… I snatched a few paper napkins out of the dispenser on the counter and dabbed at my eyes, shrugging and trying to make myself smaller so no one would wonder who the blubbering woman at the bar counter in the restaurant was.
Okay, freaking out about this won’t do you any good, Gabi, I reminded myself. Think rationally. What can you do to solve the situation? Was there anything that could be done? Maybe it wasn’t as permanent a change as Burt had made it sound… I could only hope.
Taking advantage of the fact that there was no one else seated near me, I found my burner phone in my purse and called Ian. It was way past noon in New York, so he should be easy to get hold of.
He was, picking up right after the first ring. “Hello.”
