Executive Privilege

Dana shifted the lens to the man in the doorway. She could see his shirtsleeve and part of a pants leg but she couldn’t see his face. One of the guards got into the driver’s side of the car she had followed from the mall and Walsh threw herself into the backseat. As the car drove off, Dana used the cell phone to report that Walsh was probably heading back to the mall. While she talked, she kept an eye on the front door in hopes that the man Walsh had been with would put in an appearance. Just as she was finishing her report the man stepped out of the house. Dana dropped the phone and aimed her camera. The man turned his face in her direction. He was too far away for Dana to make out his features clearly, but something about him was familiar. She snapped off a quick shot and was going to take another when a branch snapped.

Dana froze for a second before rolling behind the tree against which she’d been leaning. The crackling of more leaves told her that someone was headed her way fast. She guessed it was a guard who was patrolling the woods and felt like a fool for assuming that the only guards were stationed around the house.

Dana peeked around the tree and spotted a man carrying an MP5 moving toward her. She cursed under her breath and stuffed the cell phone in her pocket as she ran through her choices. She was armed but she wasn’t going to shoot the guard. Under the circumstances, it would be felony assault or cold-blooded murder. She couldn’t run without being seen and he was so close he’d hit her for sure even if he was a lousy shot. When she realized that her choices boiled down to surrender or resistance she flashed back to the basement.

Dana felt light-headed and began to shake. Her flashbacks weren’t memories. They were more like a dream in which what you dreamt seemed real. Dana could smell the dank odor of mold on the basement walls and the foul water that pooled against them. Worse still, she could smell the sweat coming off the men who had held her captive.

Whenever the flashbacks occurred, Dana forced herself to take deep breaths. She did that now because she could not afford to be paralyzed by fear. The deep breathing distracted her long enough for the guard to disappear from view. Dana panicked as she sca

Dana ran, zigzagging through the underbrush to give the guard as difficult a target as possible. The guard raced toward the sounds Dana made in retreat. She knew he’d catch her soon or get close enough to take a shot, so she slid behind a tree, hoping that the guard’s heavy breathing would mask the fact that she wasn’t making any more noise. When the guard ran past her tree Dana smashed the flashlight across the back of his skull. He dropped to his knees and the gun discharged, spraying tree trunks and bushes. She wrenched it away and hurled it into the woods. The guard struggled to his knees, and she hit him again. He collapsed just as snapping branches, crackling leaves, and muted gasps from the base of the hill told Dana that the other guards had heard the shots and were speeding toward her.

Dana broke out of the trees and vaulted the fence. She’d guessed where her car was and she was only off by a few yards. She wrenched open the driver’s door, threw the camera and flashlight onto the passenger seat, and started the engine. As she peeled out of the side road she looked in the rearview mirror and saw the redheaded guard vault the fence. Dana floored the accelerator, and the souped-up engine did what it was built to do. She swerved back and forth, sending up clouds of dust in the hope that they would make it more difficult for the guard to get off a good shot, but he held his fire. When she looked in her rearview mirror again he was writing something in a notebook. If it was her license plate number she was screwed. She was miles from home. If an APB was broadcast there was a good chance she’d be stopped while driving or find the police waiting for her at her apartment.

Dana tapped into her GPS and took side streets until she reached a large housing development. When she was certain that no one was following her, she parked on a side street. She’d had some time to think and she made a decision. Dana dialed the mystery client and heard the familiar generic voice tell her to leave a message.

“This is me again,” she said after the beep. “I was just chased through the woods by a man with a gun. I had to slug him to get away. Being chased by armed men was not in the job description I was given. This definitely isn’t what I signed on for, so this is my last report.

“The subject looked pretty upset when she left. I’m guessing she’s headed back to her car in the mall and she’ll probably go home after that, so I don’t expect there’ll be much more to report today anyway. I’ll get the photos I took to your lawyer and he can give them to you.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I have no idea who you are so I can’t give you up. The attorney-client privilege should protect you, too, so you don’t have to worry about anyone discovering your identity. Your lawyer should be able to find someone else to carry on the surveillance.”

Dana couldn’t think of anything more to say so she ended the call. Then she sat in the car and tried to figure out a plan that wouldn’t involve her going to jail for assault and trespass, but she was too wound up to think straight. Dana closed her eyes and saw an image of the man Charlotte Walsh had met. Why did she feel she’d seen him before? He had to be someone important or he wouldn’t have had all those guards. Who was he? Was he someone famous? Had she seen him on TV?

Dana got an idea. She put away the cell phone Dale Perry had given her, turned on her own, and made a call to Andy Zipay.

“Zip, it’s Dana. Do you know someone who can run some license plates for me?”

“Is this for the Perry thing?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a cop who’ll do it for me, but I don’t like to use him too much.”

“It’s important.”

“Give me the numbers,” Zipay said.

Dana told him the license number of the Ford that had taken Walsh to the house, the number of the Lincoln sedan that was parked at the house, and she threw in Walsh’s license plate for good measure. Maybe Walsh’s car was registered in her parents’ name and she’d get a clue to why Walsh was so important. She knew she was done with the case but she was still curious to know what was going on.

“How soon do you need this?” Zipay asked.

“As soon as possible.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

Dana ended the call and thought about what she’d do next. It had been dark when she escaped and she’d stirred up all that dust. Maybe the redheaded guard hadn’t gotten her license plate number or maybe he’d written it down incorrectly. She’d find out soon enough, but she didn’t want to find out tonight. The natural choice for a place to sleep was Jake’s, since she was house-sitting anyway. Dana started the car and headed there, glad to be rid of Dale Perry’s assignment.