pointed to the screen. The image shimmered slightly as he touched it, then settled. “If you look at this hand, you’ll notice her fingers have slipped under the desk. If I enhance the picture—” He did so, until the woman’s hand dominated the screen. “You’ll notice the silvery dot on the top of her index finger.”
“And that is?”
“A microdot,” Rhoan said. “Latest in storage media, and incredibly resilient.”
Jack nodded. “The desk has a small hole drilled into it. The disk was placed into a container fitted into the hole.”
“So Gautier just strolled in afterward and collected the container?” I asked, even as Jack dropped the closeup and sped up the film.
Brown did the dirty with the woman several more times, then both of them left. Nothing happened for a while, then Gautier wandered in, checking the office and walking past the desk in the process. He collected the container from the desk in a smooth, slick movement that would have been easy to miss, then left.
“So when Gautier sprung me and Quinn in Brown’s office, he was actually going to collect a drop-off?”
“We think so.”
“What made you suspect this was happening?” Liander asked. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, behind Rhoan’s chair.
“The fact that we could find no moles in the Directorate other than Gautier.” He hesitated. “The only A.D. hiding secrets was Alan Brown, so we took the risk of reading him. You know he’s being blackmailed?”
I nodded. Rhoan had told me that much ages ago.
“Gautier’s behind it. Every Directorate decision is being relayed through Gautier to Deshon Starr. That madman knows what we’re going to do before we even implement it.”
“Which is why his cartel has managed to stay two steps ahead of the Directorate for so long.”
Jack nodded again. “Of course, we then had to find out how Gautier was passing the information, which meant watching his every move, not only within the Directorate, but on missions as well. Four nights after the incident we just watched, Gautier strolled into Brown’s office, this time before Brown arrived with Jones, and even though he wasn’t actually on watch that night. That’s when we finally realized what was going on.”
“And she retrieved the disk?”
“Yes. And undoubtedly passed on a detailed report of all the going-ons in the Directorate for the coming week.”
“So how is Brown getting the information to Gautier? He couldn’t risk being seen with him at the Directorate.”
“No. But Brown likes the greyhounds, and is severely in debt to the bookies. Gautier meets him there every Wednesday night.”
“Wednesday being the day the board generally meets,” I muttered. They were organized, no doubt about that. But then, this mob had been operating for well over fifty years—though Starr’s takeover had only been relatively recent.
“Have you pulled in the prostitute?” Rhoan asked, leaning back in his chair. “Questioned her?”
“No, though we did follow her. Brown drops her off in Fitzroy Street, St. Kilda. Five minutes after he’s left, a limousine picks the woman up and drives her to a large house in Toorak.”
“To another client?” Liander asked.
“No. She lives there.”
I raised my eyebrows. “She’s one hell of a prostitute if she can afford to live in Toorak.”
Jack smiled. “She’s not a prostitute at all.” He pressed another button, and the woman’s picture reappeared. “She actually goes by the name of Dia Jones, and she does psychic readings for the rich and famous.”
Surprise rippled through me. I mightn’t read newspapers or watch the news much, but even I’d heard of Dia Jones. The woman’s predictions were supposed to be deadly accurate and, last I’d heard, the waiting list to see her was over a year long. “Why in hell would a woman like that play prostitute for Deshon Starr?”
“If she is one of the clones, as Misha said, she may have no choice,” Rhoan pointed out,
“And that is?”
“A microdot,” Rhoan said. “Latest in storage media, and incredibly resilient.”
Jack nodded. “The desk has a small hole drilled into it. The disk was placed into a container fitted into the hole.”
“So Gautier just strolled in afterward and collected the container?” I asked, even as Jack dropped the closeup and sped up the film.
Brown did the dirty with the woman several more times, then both of them left. Nothing happened for a while, then Gautier wandered in, checking the office and walking past the desk in the process. He collected the container from the desk in a smooth, slick movement that would have been easy to miss, then left.
“So when Gautier sprung me and Quinn in Brown’s office, he was actually going to collect a drop-off?”
“We think so.”
“What made you suspect this was happening?” Liander asked. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, behind Rhoan’s chair.
“The fact that we could find no moles in the Directorate other than Gautier.” He hesitated. “The only A.D. hiding secrets was Alan Brown, so we took the risk of reading him. You know he’s being blackmailed?”
I nodded. Rhoan had told me that much ages ago.
“Gautier’s behind it. Every Directorate decision is being relayed through Gautier to Deshon Starr. That madman knows what we’re going to do before we even implement it.”
“Which is why his cartel has managed to stay two steps ahead of the Directorate for so long.”
Jack nodded again. “Of course, we then had to find out how Gautier was passing the information, which meant watching his every move, not only within the Directorate, but on missions as well. Four nights after the incident we just watched, Gautier strolled into Brown’s office, this time before Brown arrived with Jones, and even though he wasn’t actually on watch that night. That’s when we finally realized what was going on.”
“And she retrieved the disk?”
“Yes. And undoubtedly passed on a detailed report of all the going-ons in the Directorate for the coming week.”
“So how is Brown getting the information to Gautier? He couldn’t risk being seen with him at the Directorate.”
“No. But Brown likes the greyhounds, and is severely in debt to the bookies. Gautier meets him there every Wednesday night.”
“Wednesday being the day the board generally meets,” I muttered. They were organized, no doubt about that. But then, this mob had been operating for well over fifty years—though Starr’s takeover had only been relatively recent.
“Have you pulled in the prostitute?” Rhoan asked, leaning back in his chair. “Questioned her?”
“No, though we did follow her. Brown drops her off in Fitzroy Street, St. Kilda. Five minutes after he’s left, a limousine picks the woman up and drives her to a large house in Toorak.”
“To another client?” Liander asked.
“No. She lives there.”
I raised my eyebrows. “She’s one hell of a prostitute if she can afford to live in Toorak.”
Jack smiled. “She’s not a prostitute at all.” He pressed another button, and the woman’s picture reappeared. “She actually goes by the name of Dia Jones, and she does psychic readings for the rich and famous.”
Surprise rippled through me. I mightn’t read newspapers or watch the news much, but even I’d heard of Dia Jones. The woman’s predictions were supposed to be deadly accurate and, last I’d heard, the waiting list to see her was over a year long. “Why in hell would a woman like that play prostitute for Deshon Starr?”
“If she is one of the clones, as Misha said, she may have no choice,” Rhoan pointed out,
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