Each bay had a number. From her previous visit, Ginny knew that the first four digits referred to the year. She found a bin labeled with the year in which the smuggling operation had occurred. Gray metal filing cabinets filled the space. Each drawer in each cabinet had a label with letters in alphabetical order, so she opened the drawer labeled “Ta-Tm.” She had to move aside to let the ceiling light shine on the files. To her delight there was a file for TA Enterprises. Ginny opened it. The file contained papers of incorporation in the Cayman Islands for the company, and correspondence. The letter on top had Millard Price’s name on it. Ginny took out her cell phone and snapped pictures of each page in the file. She was almost through when she heard the elevator doors open. Ginny replaced the file and closed the drawer. Then she snapped her phone shut and hid it in her pocket. When she turned around, Greg McKenzie was standing in the doorway, his massive body blocking the light from the corridor.
“What are you doing?” McKenzie demanded.
Ginny had prepared a fallback position in case someone discovered her in the basement. Her heart was tripping, but she smiled and held up a thick file from an insurance case with a claimant whose last name began with a “T.”
“I’m checking to see if there were any prior insurance claims by this guy. We think he might be a flake. What are you doing here?”
McKenzie stared at her for a few seconds before answering.
“Mr. Masterson sent me. He wants to see you.”
“I’ll be right up.”
“He wants you now.”
Ginny debated telling McKenzie to back off, but she was all alone and he scared her. McKenzie stood aside to let her out of the bay. Then he followed her to the elevator. The associate made no effort to give Ginny space. One massive shoulder was only inches from hers and she could smell the cloying scent of his aftershave.
On the ride up, Ginny wondered how Masterson knew she would be in the subbasement. Did he suspect she was looking into TA Enterprises? She wondered if her computer inquiries had raised a red flag somewhere. But how would anyone know that she was making them? She’d used the partner’s password. But she’d used her own computer. Was the CIA or NSA tracking anyone who looked into TA Enterprises? Was there technology that could trace her search back to her computer?
When Ginny returned to the surface, the sight of people on the other side of the elevator doors made her feel safe, at least for the moment. McKenzie herded her toward Masterson’s office.
“Tell Mr. Masterson that I’ve got Ginny Striker,” McKenzie snapped at Masterson’s secretary. Ginny assumed that a secretary for a senior partner would normally be shown a lot of deference by someone who wanted to be made a partner, but McKenzie showed the woman none, and the secretary was clearly intimidated. She buzzed her boss. A moment later, she told McKenzie to go in and told Ginny to wait. Ten minutes later, McKenzie came out and glared at Ginny.
“He wants you,” he said. Then he turned his back on her and walked off.
Masterson smiled when Ginny walked into his office, but he didn’t offer her a seat. He was sitting at his desk, the sleeves of his white silk shirt rolled back to reveal corded forearms. The knot of his tie was pulled down and his shirt collar was open.
“How are you getting along at the firm?”
“Fine. It’s very interesting work, especially my assignment with Miss Stewart’s nomination hearing.”
“And you’re fitting in, feeling comfortable?”
“Definitely.”
Masterson leaned back in his chair. “I imagine a day at the firm is a lot less exciting than what you were used to in Oregon.”
“Quite honestly, Mr. Masterson, not having to dodge reporters is a big relief.”
“I can empathize with you from my days at the CIA. Everywhere I went, there were cameras flashing and microphones shoved in my face. Knowing what we know, I wonder how you and I would have voted if we were back in colonial times and considering what to do with the First Amendment.”
Ginny forced a laugh. Maybe it was a coincidence that she’d been sent for while she was looking for the TA Enterprises file.
Masterson picked up a thick folder and held it out to Ginny. “There are articles in here that Audrey has written on national-security issues and memos from her days in the CIA. I want you to make a digest of them with a synopsis of her position on torture and the limits of interrogation. She’s going to be grilled on that for sure, and we need to be able to cite her actual opinions word for word.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Good. I’d like it by the day after tomorrow.”
“No problem,” Ginny assured him, though she knew that creating the digest and finishing her other assignments by the deadline meant working late into the night.
“Is your fiancé enjoying his work at the Court?”
Ginny felt a chill pass through her. “Very much.”
“And he likes working for Justice Moss?”
“Yes.”
“That was something.” Masterson shook his head. “If a Supreme Court justice isn’t safe in the sanctuary of the Court, none of us are.”
Ginny nodded, afraid to speak.
“I understand you were in the subbasement.”
“Yes,” Ginny answered.
“That place has always unnerved me. It’s like a medieval dungeon, don’t you think? A woman was attacked down there a few years ago. A janitor tried to rape her.”
Ginny’s stomach rolled.
“Retrieving files from that graveyard is the job of a secretary or legal assistant. Who sent you down there? I’ll make certain it doesn’t happen again.”
“Actually, no one sent me. I was just looking for a file in an insurance case.”
“You won’t need to go to the subbasement to complete this assignment,” Masterson said. “It was nice talking to you.”
Ginny felt sick as she walked to her office. What had McKenzie told Masterson? Had the associate seen Ginny taking pictures of the TA Enterprises file? Had Masterson assigned her the task of digesting Stewart’s articles and memos because it would make her work into the night? There would be few other people in the office after six. She would be vulnerable. How could she protect herself? There was only one person she could think of to call. As soon as she was in her office, Ginny shut her door and phoned Dana Cutler.
Chapter Forty-nine
Dana had neglected her other cases while she was in Oregon, and she played catch-up starting the morning after her visit to Brad Miller’s apartment. She was finishing a report in an industrial-espionage case when she heard the ringtone of the cell phone with the number few people knew.
“Yeah?” Dana said.
“It’s Pat; I’ve got an assignment for you. We’re going to do a feature on Indian legends like shape-shifters and Indian vampires.”
“Do Indians believe in vampires?”
“Don’t be a bigot. Surely you don’t think that the only cultural group that can have vampire legends are lily-white Eastern Europeans? You’re not an Aryan supremacist, are you?”
“Definitely not where vampires are concerned. Go on.”
“Anyway, a good place to start is the National Museum of the American Indian. Have you been there?”
“Not yet. Jake did a photo shoot inside, but I was out of town conducting surveillance.”
“Well, here’s your chance to level the cultural playing field with your boyfriend. Somebody in that place should know a few legends you can use. Why don’t you drop over as soon as you can so you can get a jump on the story.”
The National Museum of the American Indian, part of the Smithsonian Institution, was located at Fourth Street and Independence Avenue. The museum was one of the more interesting architectural structures on the Mall. The adobe brown, curvilinear building was designed to resemble natural stone formations and was a stark contrast to the buildings that surrounded it.