The Book of Spies

22

Brentwood, California
ATTORNEY BRIAN Collum was sound asleep in his large Tudor home when his telephone rang. His eyes snapped open. The master suite was cool and bathed in shadows. He checked the glowing digital numbers on his bedside clock--two A.M.--and snatched the phone.
His wife rolled over to gaze anxiously at him. The days of panicked clients calling at all hours were long past, so something must have happened to one of their children. They had three, all studying at various universities.
"Yes?" he said into the telephone.
"Hello, Brian." The voice was familiar. "Sorry to disturb you. This is Steve Gandy. I've got an unusual situation here. It involves one of your clients, Eva Blake. I need a favor."
Steve Gandy was the longtime coroner for the County of Los Angeles, a straight shooter who could be relied on for a no-holds-barred game of racquetball. Brian made it a practice to cultivate people in government, and since this concerned Eva, he was even more willing to listen.
"Hold on." He turned to his wife. "This isn't about the children. Go back to sleep. I'll take it in my office."
As she nodded, he carried the phone out of the bedroom. "Is Eva all right?"
"I assume so, but I don't have any way to get in touch with her. She's been released from prison. No one seems to know where she went. Do you still have authorization to sign documents for her?"
"I do." He was shocked. Eva was out of prison? "Tell me what's going on." He sat behind his desk in a patch of pale moonlight. Not only had he represented Eva at her trial, he now handled her legal affairs.
Steve's voice was tense. "I need signed permission to exhume her husband's body."
"Why?" Brian's lungs tightened. "Who wants it exhumed?"
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "The CIA. The term national security came up in the conversation several times. They're telling us nothing except it's critical we make damn sure we identify accurately who's buried in Sherback's grave and how he died, and we're to contain who knows about the exhumation. But there's hell to pay these days when anyone gets caught up in a CIA publicity disaster. Maybe this is legitimate, but I sure don't have that kind of crystal ball. And I damn well don't want my office to face repercussions. The problem is, they want us to exhume the body without a signed order. That's why I'm bringing you in."
"Jesus."
"Precisely."
"This is insane. You know Charles Sherback is in that grave. Your office matched the dental records."
"That's not conclusive enough for them. They want another autopsy--and for us to check the DNA."
He swore silently. "Do you have a name at the CIA?"
"Gloria Feit made the call. She's with the Clandestine Service."
"Her bona fides are good?"
"Yes. I don't want a duel with the CIA, but at the same time I've got to protect myself and my people," Steve said. "I want you to sign the order, Brian. I'll drive over there now. That way we can start digging at daylight, and I can get the CIA off my back with some answers."
Brian thought quickly. "Here's another idea. I've got a key to Eva's storage locker. I'm sure she must still have some of Charles's things. I'll swing by there early in the morning and see what I can find to give you a head start on the DNA. Then I'll drive to your office and sign the order."
Steve sounded relieved. "That's not perfect, but you're right. A DNA sample will speed the process. Be here by eight A.M. And thanks."
They hung up, but Brian stayed in his chair, staring at the shadows in his office. The room was full of books, the titles unseeable in the darkness. Still, he was comforted by them and their enduring counsel, handed down through the ages. Smiling wryly to himself, he remembered some earthy advice from Trajan, Rome's long-ago warrior emperor: "Never stand between a dog and where he's pissing."
Fortunately, he did not have to risk interfering with Steve's investigation. The man who was buried in Charles's grave was a salesman from South Dakota, a loner whom Preston had chosen in an L.A. bar and eliminated later with a snap of the neck, which was consistent with an injury received in a car wreck. Then Preston had arranged a late-night break-in at the office of Charles Sherback's dentist, so records of the dead man's teeth could be substituted for Charles's. Brian had kept the dead man's gloves and a few other things locked away in his office safe.
Although the DNA match from inside the gloves and the clean autopsy would make the CIA's curiosity evaporate, Brian was left with a much larger and potentially more dangerous question: Who or what had provoked the intelligence agency's interest?
He picked up the phone and dialed the Library of Gold's director. "Marty, this is Brian Collum. We've got a situation." He described the coroner's call. "The CIA order for exhumation came from someone named Gloria Feit in the Clandestine Service."
Martin Chapman exploded a stream of oaths. "How did you leave it with the coroner?"
"I'm going to provide him with the corpse's gloves for a DNA match. That should resolve things. Can you think of a reason they'd want the identity rechecked?"
"No reason, except now Charles Sherback really is dead."
Brian felt a moment of shock. "That's a blow to the library. He was damn good at the job. What happened?"
Brian had begun cultivating Charles a dozen years ago, admiring his knowledge about the Library of Gold and appreciating his obsession to find it. When they had needed a new chief librarian, he had recommended Charles, and the book club had authorized him to secretly offer him the position. Now the club would have to find a replacement.
"He died in London," the director said. "Shot to death."
"Did Preston retrieve The Book of Spies successfully?"
"Yes. It's on its way home."
"That's a relief." He remembered what Steve had said. "The coroner told me Eva's out of prison. Does she have anything to do with this?"
"She's just the beginning of the problem."
Astonished, then increasingly concerned, Brian listened as Martin Chapman described Eva's spotting Charles in the museum, his attempt to kill her, the bug on The Book of Spies, and Preston's search for Eva, ending with the discovery of Charles's corpse.
"Preston thinks a trained man is helping Eva," the director said. "Obviously someone was intent on trying to track The Book of Spies--maybe back to the library. I'm concerned about who had the ability to plant the bug. Now that the CIA is involved, I'm wondering whether it's them."
"Shit."
"Besides that, Charles had a tattoo on his head--LAW 031308. Does it mean anything to you?"
"Not a damn thing."
"It could be a message," the director said. "But to whom? And why?"
"Think about Charles's predecessor. None of us ever guessed he had the balls not only to want to leave, but also to smuggle out The Book of Spies. One of the reasons we chose Charles was because the library was the most important thing in his life. But the downside was his ambition and arrogance. God knows what the message means. Whatever it is, it could be dangerous to us."
"If Eva saw the tattoo--and we have no reason to think she didn't--she may be able to understand it."
"You're right."
"Preston has a way to track her through her cell phone. You take care of the coroner." There was a thoughtful pause. When the director spoke again, his voice had its usual brisk, businesslike tone: "I have a way to handle the CIA."