Riley stared him down. “What case are you investigating?”
“That’s on a need-to-know basis. You don’t need to know.”
“How can we stop interfering with something when we don’t know what it is?” Emerson asked.
“Good question,” Rollo said. “I see your predicament. To be on the safe side, why don’t you stop doing everything? Stop asking questions. Stop visiting people. Stop leaving the house. Stop using your cellphone. Pretty much stop doing anything but breathing. Do I make myself clear?”
“That sounds like a threat,” Riley said.
“Good, then I do make myself clear. One hates to be ambiguous. Now I’d like to examine the contents of the rucksack you have on your lap,” Rollo said to Emerson.
“Do you have a rucksack search warrant?” Emerson asked.
“The NSA doesn’t need a search warrant,” Rollo said, and he snatched the pack away from Emerson.
Emerson batted the rucksack from Rollo’s hands. The bag landed with a thud on the table, sliding out of reach on the polished surface. Emerson leapt onto the table, calmly walked to the rucksack, and scooped it up.
“I’m going to have to take that,” Rollo said.
“I don’t think so,” Emerson said, standing on the table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Rollo had to tip his head back to look up at Emerson. “This is bigger than you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Emerson said. “I’m pretty big.”
“Allow me to clarify. This is trouble. The kind of trouble that is resolved by secret NSA courts. The kind of trouble that ruins even eccentric billionaires. The kind of trouble that gets people like Maxine Trowbridge killed.”
“Fair enough,” Emerson said, moving to the edge of the table. “But I’m not giving you my rucksack.”
Rollo produced a switchblade knife. “Then I might have to take it from you by force.”
Emerson jumped off the table, snagged one of the huge tapestries hanging on the wall, and flung it over Rollo. He collapsed under the weight of the cloth and struggled to free himself. Emerson hung the rucksack on his shoulder, and in a few long strides was at the far wall.
“Come along,” he said to Riley. “Time to disappear.”
He pressed a spot on a carved wood panel, the panel swung open, and Emerson and Riley squeezed through a secret door into the space behind it. The secret door clicked closed and they were left in total darkness.
“This is creepy,” Riley whispered.
“I was thinking it was comforting,” Emerson said. “Like a starless night. And when I stand close to you like this, you smell nice.”
“Thank you,” Riley said. “What do we do now?”
“I could put my arm around you.”
“I was referring to the crazy knife-wielding NSA guy waiting on the other side of the wall. He looks like he might, I don’t know, kill you.”
“He does, doesn’t he? I find that exhilarating. This is obviously bigger than an embezzling banker. A woman has been murdered. And now we have this little man attempting to intimidate us.”
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s succeeded,” Riley said. “It isn’t part of my life plan to die here.”
“Life is a journey, not a destination,” Emerson said. “One must live in the moment.”
“I’m not all that happy about this journey and in particular about this moment. It’s scary.”
“You have nothing to fear. I’ve had many forms of martial arts training. Ninjutsu, Tae Kwon Do, Inbuan wrestling, Kalaripayattu, Malla-yuddha, Musti-yuddha, and Thang-ta.”
“Do you have a knife or a gun?”